#ray writes🤍

[soaps-used-urn]

About me:

I am 22 years old and use they/them pronouns. I will not be giving my real name to anyone on this platform (just personal preference) but you can call me ray (like the manta ray)

What I write:

Call of duty in the future I hope to expand this list

Requests:

On / Off

What will I refuse to write?:

Age regression,pedophilia,baby trapping,domestic abuse,teen/adult relationships, (I’ll add.)

Rules:

racism, homophobia, or sexism is not tolerated under any means. No minors if your age is not easily accessible you will be blocked. (I’ll add.)

My blocked list

Other creators works:

Gaz Price Ghost

Graves Soap Konig

Alejandro Alex Keller Farah

Rudy Kate

Help people out:

Mothana - @mothymunson

Ellie’s go fund me - @stargirlrchive

Car help - @stuffireadandenjoy

Daily click

Esims for Gaza

Donate feminine hygiene kits

Learn about Palestine

Extras

Discord server - @gothghostiie

Toby’s twitch - @tobytaco15

Food - @112-darling , @parksrway , @regalvoid , @robotics5

My writings:

Ghost

Dividers made by: @cafekitsune , @saradika

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi losing what is left of his patience when you get injured by a demon

Pairing: Sanemi x wife!reader

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: Despite the fact that your husband is the opposite of your quiet and kind self, you love him dearly while Sanemi treasures you in a purely unique way. But even though you learned to love his rough side the way it is, you can't stop tears from falling when your husband loses it after you get injured by a demon

Warning: this is THE angst to fluff y'all, Sanemi is a rough but soft boi I'm so weak for him in this fic omgomgomg, been listeing to again by noah cyrus and lana del rey while writing this, injury + angst + near death experience

this might be my favorite sanemi fic coming from my own hands so PLEASE if you feel the same, I'm super thankful for a lil like, comment or even reblog. THANK YOU SO MUCH 🤍

Oh, it was never easy, being the wife to none other than the wind hashira. When you’re quiet he’s noisy, when you’re put together he’s all over the place, while you act loving and kind Sanemi shows his devilish side.

But there was not once a day that made you second-guess your decision, not a single moment that made you feel something apart from deep affection for that man. It doesn’t matter that you are the opposite of him in each and every sense. He’s yours. And you’ll forever be his.

“Sanemi!”

Your oh so sweet voice echoes like a well-composed melody through his ears, makes him forget the wave of anger that washed over him earlier. Just seeing you standing there in the yukata he gifted you years ago while holding a dish with ohagi in your hands allows him to forget all the shit that happened for a brief second.

“Didn’t I tell you that you aren’t allowed to overwork yourself?”, he grumbles before sitting down opposite of you.

You look as good as always with your hair well-brushed and kind eyes lit by the down-going sun. What would his life look like if it didn’t contain of coming home to you? You, his only ray of sunshine. You, the only one who’s able to calm his temper down. Just you, his beloved wife. Who would have thought that out of all hashira, he’d be the one who treasures his wife the most?

“It’s not me who is overworked, but you. Did you get bruised again?”, you question with your melodic voice.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Will you stay home tonight?”

“I definitely hope so. If that crow disturbs my sleep again…”

“You have an important roll to fulfil, as a hashira-“

“’It’s my honor to bring peace to those who aren’t able to look out for themselves.’ Yeah, I already know.”

In contrary to his harsh tone, his fingertips caress your cheek gently while his eyes soften in an instant. It was hard, learning how to read him. When you first met, it was not uncommon that you broke out in tears after he talked to you like that. But now, after 4 years of getting to know him, you never lose your kind smile.

“How was your day?”, he continues.

With a swift motion, he pulls you between his legs and presses your head against his bare chest while his strong arms keep you in place. This are the moments that make your life worth living. Just you and your husband, arm in arm, watching the sunset in nothing but peace and silence.

“I enjoyed the nice weather while taking care of the garden. The tulips look exceptionally beautiful this season.”

“They’ll never be as beautiful as you, though”, he replies with low voice.

If life could stay like that. Oh, what you’d give to never let go of him again…

-later that night-

“Wind pillar, wind pillar! An emergency occurred! Countless demons were spotted nearby! The demon slayer corps need your assistance-“

“Can you just shut the fuck up”, Sanemi mumbles while pulling you closer sleep-drunken.

Immediately, you are wide awake. Nearby demons?

“Sanemi, you need to get up. What if someone gets injured?”, you whisper into the dark night.

“So what?”

You stare at him through the veil of darkness, not daring to say another word. He will get up eventually. He always does.

“Urgh, fine…Time to kill some demons, then”, he finally grumbles and drags himself away from you in order to put on his uniform.

“You stay here until I get back. Even if our estate is build pretty safe and I’ll rip off the heads of the demons around first, I don’t want you to be out there on your own. Got it?”, he instructs you before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead like he always does.

“I will. Please be careful and watch out for yourself”, you whimper.

It’s a challenge to let go of him each and every night he is forced to leave. He might be a hashira, but what if he doesn’t return by sunrise some day? What if he meets an upper-ranked demon unexpectedly? Just when he’s about to leave, you grab his hand one last time.

“And don’t act reckless”, you add.

No matter how much it hurts to let go of his hand, you know you have no other choice. This is the life you chose, the price you have to pay in order to call that wonderful man your beloved husband.

“I can never promise you that”, he replies before leaving you alone in the now cold and awkwardly dark room.

Everything will turn out alright. It just has to…

You don’t know how long you’ve been awake already. Minutes? Hours? All you’re able to do is stare at the ceiling above, ears perking up with every minor movement of the trees outside. Surely, Sanemi will return soon. Being the skilled fighter he is, it normally takes him at most two hours until he returns with his sheets still a little warm. But aren’t those two hours over already?

Another noise outside catches your attention. Is it a tree again? You furrow your eyebrows, immediately sitting up straight while staring outside the window. No, this almost sounds like the whimpers of a child. A child outside at this hour?

You swallow hard. A child outside when there are demons reported around this area?

“P-please, someone help me! I-I’m so s-scared!”

Your heart drops to the floor. There is no doubt in the fact that this has to be a child. Your mind starts racing back and forth. It would be absolutely unacceptable to leave that poor soul out on its own, especially when you can’t know if the area is really free of demons. But on the other hand…You bite your lip when your husband’s words replay themselves in your head.

“No matter what happens when I’m gone. Don’t. Go. Out. On. Your. Own. At. Night. Need me to spell it, (y/n)? Never ever, not in a million years. Got it?”

Not under any circumstances. Your husband made that very clear countless times. But does that include a helpless child outside your estate in the middle of the night? You aren’t a fighter like Sanemi is, even refused to keep an emergency katana in the house just in case. There is no way you could harm a single soul, not even a demon. Leaving a child outside in the middle of the night…isn’t that just as unforgivable?

Sanemi said that he’ll take care of the demons around first. That means you’re safe, right? But even if that poor child doesn’t face danger in the form of a demon, it will certainly freeze with that cold breeze rushing over the land these days.

“P-please, is someone there? I’m s-so tired and s-so cold…I…I can’t walk anymore…”

Your heart aches with every word. No matter how much value the promise you made towards your husband holds in your heart, you simply can’t stand the thought of ignoring an innocent little child that needs your help.

“Why are you out there all on your own, where are your parents?”, you shout into the darkness of your home while making your way to the door.

Is it really okay, breaking the promise you’ve made like that? You grab the handle of the door tightly. This might be the only time you’re actually useful. Without any skills apart from cooking, you can only watch from the side-lines how the demon slayer corps save the world. Maybe this is your chance to do a little something as well, your chance to actually be helpful.

You swing your door open while holding your breath.

“Where are you? Let’s get you inside and grab a warm tea, okay? You must be freezing”, you speak out gently, eyes scanning the garden for the little figure.

“I’m right here!”, the innocent voice cries out to your right.

Instantly, you pick up your pace and sprint towards the tiny figure lying in the grass. Oh no, you can’t imagine what this little child has been through, how it even got here. Did it get lost in the woods and failed to return before the night came? You’ll have to prepare a guestroom right away, just after inviting this little one in-

“Foolish woman.”

Time stands still, your glossy orbs starts to tremble when the tiny figure in front of you starts to build itself up, grows taller and taller until it surpasses your own height by multiple inches. This…this isn’t a child.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror, blood rushing through your ears so violently that you feel like fainting any given minute after it strucks you like lighting.

You were tricked by a demon. After Sanemi warned you over and over, you fell for the lousy trick of a demon. Out of instinct you start stumbling backwards, glossy eyes darted towards the horrific creature with bright red eyes and fangs bigger than your own head.

“I waited patiently until that demon slayer was gone. A young and beautiful woman like you sure tastes nice. Now that I’m seeing you fully, you were definitely worth the wait. I’m sure your flesh tastes excellent.”

Your blood freezes in your veins. Is this really how your life will come to an end? Because you didn’t listen to your husband, because you wanted to be somehow useful? How will Sanemi react, finding out that you were killed? Suddenly your legs threaten to give in and force you to come to a stand. It’s not like you’d be able to defend yourself in any kind of way when all you ever did was taking care of Sanemi and your imaginary perfect life.

A perfect life, ruined by one night of carelessness.

His face flashes in front of your inner eyes, the kind smile he always wore when he didn’t know you were watching. Despite the flaws others see in him, his hot temper and the way he treats his little brother, you are head over heels for him. Your husband, your everything, your Sanemi. A perfect little marriage, ruined by you.

“Don’t”, you hush into the night like the fool you’re are.

“How much I love hearing you little women beg not to get killed. Music in my ears!”

He dashes towards, ready to slice your throat open single-handed. Out of instinct, you let yourself fall backwards into the wet grass, watching how his claws brush over your forehead with enough force to discolour your vision red.

“Nice moves. You seem really healthy. That’s actually even better”, the demon purrs.

This is it. Your final moment on this earth, killed through the hands of a demon in your own well-groomed garden. You never imagined it all to go down like this, not when you’re still so young and full of love.

You didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye, to tell Sanemi one final time how much you adore him and that you’ll love him through everything. Will he be okay? The man who lost almost everything, who has to live with a burden heavier than earth itself balanced on his strong shoulders. This…this will break him even more.

“Any last words?”, the demon jeers at you.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. No, there is nothing this creature deserves to hear from you, not even a single scream will escape your lips. You rest your lids, picture his oh so gorgeous face in front of your inner eye. If you only had more time, if you only listened. Your beloved marriage, vanishing in thin air.

“I’m sorry Sanemi. I’m so so sorry…”

When will it be over?

“Touch her and you’ll die.”

What...No, this is impossible, you have to be dreaming-

“Or nah, you’ll die anyway.”

 The urge to open your eyes again becomes unbearable.

Your heart skips a beat. Instead of getting greeted by the claws of the demon, you’re able to read it very clearly.

“Destroy.”

This back, so familiar broad…

“Sanemi?”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay inside the house?”, he barks over his shoulder.

It happens faster than your eyes are able to follow. One high jump, one slash of his sword and the demon’s head falls onto the soft grass in front of you. Immediately, you are surrounded by dust rising towards the moon.

“What were you even thinking?”

Before you’re even able to feel relieved your husband storms towards you, not a single spark of affection gleaming in his furious eyes.

“You promised over and over”, he screams on top of his lungs.

“I’m-“

“And you fucking lied into my face!”

Roughly, he grabs your Yukata with both hands and yanks your throbbing figure towards him.

“I’m so-“

“Is all of this a joke to you? Don’t you trust your husband enough to do as you’re told!? You’ve had this one job, that one fucking job to stay inside the house!”

“Sanemi, I-“

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Did you really want to die right here?”

“Sanemi…”

You breathe his name into the night with strangled voice, tears now streaming down your face like a waterfall. You made a reckless mistake, but none of this happened because you wanted to hurt him. His words, his furious gaze, his hardened eyes so venomous that you have to look away dig themselves like knives into your already fragile heart and simply take your breath away. Out of all feelings, your husband is livid at you.

“I…I’m sorry”, you finally press out.

“You could have died, (y/n). You know that?”

He pulls you towards himself even harder, his hands fisting the fabric of your yukata so tightly that you fear he might rip it.

“You could have died and I couldn’t have done a single fucking thing. Losing you…Fuck!”

He yanks your chin upwards with one hand, forces you to look at him through your wet lashes. But you aren’t greeted by his stone-cold glare. No, are those…tears shimmering in his orbs? What’s left of your heart breaks in an instant.

“I can’t lose you. Not you, not the love of my life. Not another loved one. I couldn’t fucking stand this shitty world without you by my side. How many times did I tell you to stay inside the house when I’m gone at night?”, he screams at you.

“I-I’m sorry”, you hush through shaky lips.

“You’re my everything. Fuck, I love you so much…Losing you like that…”

The next second you find yourself devoured in his strong arms, holding you pressed against his chest so tightly that you can feel his heart pounding.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, (y/n). Never”, he mutters into your hair while caressing your bloody hair.

“I’m sorry”, you mumble again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Are you hurt? You’re bleeding, goddamn. Let’s get you inside, this needs to get stitched up.”

You don’t dare to contradict, allowing him to carry you back into safety with your arms cramped around his neck.

You’re safe. Sanemi is absolutely furious with you, but the worry in his eyes, the gleam…You bury your head inside his uniform, desperately trying to escape your own foolishness. None of this would have happened if you just stayed inside like he told you. If you were smart enough…

“How did he get you outside?”, Sanemi finally breaks the silence while cleaning your wound.

“He played a scared and lost child”, you mumble.

“Huh, what I thought. You’d never break a promise over nothing”, Sanemi replies, his voice a little softer than before.

“I know you tried to help, but never to shit like that again. When I saw you lying there and your blood on the grass, I almost died. You’re my everything, my wife. I can’t lose you because of a demon, you hear me? I was so damn worried about you…”

“I just wanted to do something…useful…”

“Useful? Are you too dumb to see how useful you are?”, he bites back.

Sanemi stops barking at you immediately after seeing how glossy your eyes turn all over again. No matter how fucking mad he is right now, he can’t hurt you any further. It’s clear you acted out of the right motives, he shouldn’t scream at you like that. Especially since you almost died tonight. Not his wife, not when you’re everything he has.

“I treasure you more than everything else in this world. You’re the reason I’m still believing there’s something good left here. Don’t you dare to risk your important life like that again, got it?”, he gently continues before caressing your cheek the way you love so much.

“I never wanted to cause you this much trouble. I…I was acting dumb…”, you mutter, intertwining your fingers with his.

“We’re all a little dumb from time to time, yeah? Let’s go back to sleep, that was more than enough for one night.”

You don’t hesitate when he pulls you along into the oh so inviting sheets. With him by your side, they definitely feel way more inviting. With him by your side, you don’t have to fear a single nightmare haunting you down this frightful night.

“At least I’m having an excuse now for a day off tomorrow. I love you, (y/n). So so much”, Sanemi mumbles into your hair, holding you so comforting against his chest that sleep washes over you almost immediately.

“I love you too, Sanemi…”

There is no doubt in the fact that Sanemi held you even closer each and every night after almost losing you through the hands of a demon.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @skeleton-the-gangser (reader isn't pregnant in that one, but the vibe is the same as with the Yoriichi fic you enjoyed)

[cutiepplepie]

Helloo could u write something soft with Joaquin where it’s just giving soft kisses/ make out ? Appreciating each other’s presence/ body/ beauty 🥹 thank you in advance 💘💘 (maybe hinting it’s getting warmer so it’s more summery feeling)

💌: hi @saintbusan, thank you so much for sending me request!! i hope you like it and it turns well like you asked🤍

imagined you and Joaquin just chilling on the couch in random Friday night, rewatching Harry Potter movie because you two can't decide a new movie to watch. He leans back against the couch and you leans against his side with his arm drapped over your shoulder. After a few moments, you get a little bored and tilt your head slightly to look up at him. You smile as you watch his face and admire his beauty, his curly hair, his sharp jaw, his lips that always calming your mind whenever it pressed against yours.

Joaquin sensing you staring at him. He look down at you and raise his eyebrow as he smirk, "you know...staring at me like that for another seconds and i might think you're a creep." He tease you playfully.

You chuckles softly and wrap your arm around his torso, still looking up at him, "Oh, please...you like it when i admire you, pretty boy." You said softly, almost slurring as you get lost on his beauty.

Joaquin's smirk turns into soft smile and he bring his hand to caress your cheek, "yeah... I love it." You smile as well and you lean up slightly to capture his lips.

He meet you halfway, pressing his lips against yours softly. He kisses you gently, not demanding, as if savouring the cozy, warm atmosphere between you two. You pulls back slightly and open your eyes, looking right into his eyes as you smile.

Joaquin smile as well and chuckles softly, "what?" You laugh and peck his lips, "nothing..." "Don't give me 'nothing.' I know there is something on the mind of yours," he tickles your side briefly, causing you to squirm and laugh before settling down against his side again.

"I'm just admiring you, Joaquin," you bring your hands to cupped his cheeks. "Look at you. So....pretty."

Joaquin smile, almost shyly, "do you think i'm pretty? Not 'handsome' or 'charming'?"

Your smile widen as you shakes your head. Your thumb began to caress his cheeks, "you're pretty. I love playing with your curl everytime you laid your head on my lap. I love your smile, even the smug one everytime you were teasing me," you paused as you move your hand to rest on his chest and the other on his bicep, tracing your finger on the tiny mole there, "and this...is so cute. It's like you can be as tough as you want, but deep down, you're still the ray of sunshine of mine and the sweetest person i've ever known."

Joaquin listening to your rambling about his 'beauty.' He just look at you with softness and look of love. He tilt your chin up gently and capture your lips again, deeper this time, but still gentle. You lean into his touch and kiss. His lips moving gently against yours and you let him, following his lead.

After a moment, you pulls back and pant slightly, looking up at him. Joaquin is as breathless as you are. You both smile to each others and chuckles. Joaquin just about to chase your lips again when you put your palm over his mouth, "Joaquin...my lips is already swollen."

Joaquin laugh softly against your palm and he grab your wrist gently to remove your palm from his mouth. He put your palm on his cheek instead and nuzzles against it, pressing soft kisses on there as well.

masterlist

buy me a pudding🍮

pics from: pinterest

ლ I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTER AND ALL OF MY WRITING IS PURELY FANFICTION

©Marvel Cinematic Universe

[rosyblooom]

I just finished watching Daisy Jones and the Six and I wanted to ask if you could write a Charles SMAU where his wife passes away from illness and leaves a video behind for him to find happiness. They can have a little child together please. Thank you😊❤️

when i die, i want you to live | cl16 smau

PAIRING: charles leclerc x wife!reader SUMMARY: after battling illness, y/n unexpectedly succumbs to it much sooner than expected, leaving behind her husband and their daughter. 8 months later, charles is not coping very well, so your best friend hands him an envelope addressed to him from you. WARNING(S): mentions of death, sad A/N: ooh i love that show!! anyway, this is my first ever request (!!), so hope it's as u imagined 🫶

creds to @classiclitfreak for proofreading!! <3

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: I sure hope so!😌 ] [ caption 2: my heart is so full🥹💕 ]

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 735,290 others

charles_leclerc Today, 27 years ago, is the very special day that brought me my beautiful wife and best friend. Forever grateful for that. Happiest of birthdays to you, Mon cœur ❤️

view all 3,958 comments

username HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N WE LOVE YOU😍

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yourusername ❤️❤️

(liked by author)

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scuderiaferrari happy birthday y/n 🥳🥳

username if my man ain't like charles i don't want him

username real

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, yourbestfriend and 263,719 others

yourusername had the loveliest birthday with my dearest people!💕thank you for all the birthday wishes, they've been such a joy! 🥹 here's to another beautiful year, here's to 27🥂

view all 2,483 comments

yourbestfriend ily to the moon and back ❤️❤️

yourusername love u so much🥹

username queen🫶

username 27 and still looks young af iktr! see what happens when u're unproblematic😌

username that's bc 27 IS young lol

charles_leclerc belle👸

yourusername 😘 username you guys are so cute omg username *cries in 29 and single*🤧

username girl drop the link to the dress RIGHT NOW @/yourusername

yourusername it's from my spring collection love! xx username you ate that y/n😌

iamrebeccad you look so pretty 💗

yourusername my girl 🤍

Three weeks later...

tmz_tv

liked by username, username, username and 1,005,862 others

tmz_tv Tragic news emerged in the early hours of this morning as Y/N L/N-Leclerc, a renowned fashion designer and philanthropist, passed away unexpectedly, just three weeks past her twenty-seventh birthday. Her untimely passing has left her family and friends in shock and disbelief.

In a statement released by her family, it was revealed that Y/N had been battling illness for an undisclosed duration. However, medical professionals had initially estimated a longer prognosis, making her sudden passing even more devastating.

During this profoundly sorrowful time, we extend our heartfelt condolences to Y/N's family.

views all 18,045 comments

username wow and to think she was always so smiley even with all this going on behind the scenes

username a literal ray of sunshine🥹

username I can't imagine how charles feels right now omg, please take care charlie🫶

username this doesn't feel real...

username y/n was always working with charities all across the globe, she was an absolute angel. her impact will live on 💛

username is it just me who's thinking about their little girl in all this?? she must be so heartbroken :(

username I think bc she's so young she probably doesn't even understand what's going on😭💔

username y/n, you were a great addition to the paddock, always smiling and just all around lovely to fans. we won't ever forget you!💕

username sending prayers to the family 🙏

scuderiaferrari

liked by username, username, username and 594,752 others

scuderiaferrari Due to personal matters, Charles Leclerc will not be continuing racing for the remainder of the season. Ollie Bearman, our reserve driver, will take his place instead.

This was not an easy decision, and therefore we ask that you handle this news with respect and sensitivity.

Our thoughts and support are with Charles Leclerc and his family during this challenging time. 🙏❤️

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8 months later...

Charles enters the living room, ensuring the door closes softly behind him to avoid disturbing his little girl. Running his fingers over his beard, he examines the envelope in his hand and sighs. Y/N’s best friend pressed it into his hand at a dinner party the previous evening, insisting he watch it as soon as he finds the time. And here he is now, holding the thin envelope.

If someone had told him when he was younger that he’d get emotional over something as simple as seeing his wife’s handwriting on paper, he would have scoffed in disbelief. Not him, that would have seemed absurd. Yet here he is, feeling a lump form in his throat over mere black ink on paper.

As peculiar as it seems, he brings the envelope to his nose, and memories of Y/N flood his mind. He can almost feel her soothing touch as she works the knots out of his back after a gruelling day of racing. Inhaling, he feels Y/N’s sweet scent—it is as comforting as her smile.

A smile tugs at Charles' lips as he pictures that infectious grin that lit up his wife’s face at the most unexpected moments. It was one of the things he loved most about her—she had a way of bringing brightness to even the darkest of days.

Shaking his head, he snaps out of the trance, shifting deeper into the living room until he sinks into the welcoming embrace of the couch. There, he retrieves the laptop resting on the coffee table, feeling the weight of the moment as he opens the envelope and extracts a flash drive from within. Rolling it between his fingers, he inserts it into the side of his laptop with a determined motion.

Once all is in place, he watches a file labelled “To my dearest Lover, brightest Heart, and deepest Soul” materialise in his list of files. The sight catches him off guard—his throat constricts, making each breath a struggle, and his eyes well up, though he fights against the tears. Not now. He can't afford it. Allowing himself to be consumed by grief would mean losing precious time, time he needs for his daughter waiting in her playroom down the hallway.

He takes a moment to regain composure, squeezing his eyes shut, focusing on the rhythm of his breath until the tension in his chest begins to ease. With a sharp intake of air, he opens his eyes wide and taps the file, revealing a video. Running his teeth over his lower lip, he hovers the pointer over the play button, then taps the mousepad with a steady hand.

The video opens with Y/N seated on the very same pale couch he’s currently occupying. He places both hands onto the soft sofa, yearning for a connection, a way to feel her, even though he knows he can’t—touching the past is impossible.

Y/N walks toward the camera, readjusting it before taking three steps backward and retaking her seat. Inhaling deeply, she hesitates, her mouth opening, then closing again, like a fish out of water.

“Mon cœur,” Charles whispers, moving the laptop onto the coffee table.

“Hmm,” Y/N drops her hands into her lap and smooths down her flowery dress. She stares directly at the camera, tilting her head sideways with a crooked smile. “I don’t know where to start.”

Her eyes widen. “After all this planning, I still don’t know where to begin.” She lets out a few chuckles and then purses her lips. “Well, I suppose greetings are in order?”

Her expression softens as her brows furrow. “Hello, my darling, my world, my everything.”

“Hey,” Charles whispers, his throat tight with emotion, barely allowing sound to escape.

“Although I'm very happy to see you, if you’re watching this, it means you're not living as I want you to,” Y/N's voice trembles, causing her to pause and swallow. “I know it’s hard, baby. I don’t expect this to be easy on you, but I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life looking back at us in sadness, you know?”

Charles leans forward, elbows on his lap, eyes fixed on the screen, his face tinged with a faint shade of red.

“Remember our first date, when we had to cancel our reservations at that restaurant because you felt sick on the way there?” Y/N bursts into laughter but quickly stifles it, her hand covering her mouth.

“No, no,” Charles pleads softly, shaking his head, “please don’t hide your beautiful smile, my love.”

“It’s not like there was anything you could do about being sick, but I remember feeling miffed because I already had a stressful day, so for you to cancel just like that, it irritated me,” she reminisces with a nod. “But you were quite pale, so I wanted to make sure you got home alright. And we walked, barely talked,” she giggles, the joy reaching her eyes, “but then this little kid appeared, his name was…”

“Benny,” they both say simultaneously, a faint smile tugging at one corner of Charles' lips.

"Boy, was he excited to meet you, his idol. It was like seeing a completely different person. You became someone entirely new for this little boy whom you didn’t even know. Nobody forced you to take time out of your day when he came running, his arms wide open," Y/N says, extending her arms along with the words. "You could’ve just walked away. I mean, you had a reason to: you were sick."

Pausing for a moment, Y/N sits up straighter, leaning forward and shaking her head. "But you didn’t. You put on a brave face, and you turned into Benny’s hero and so much more. I think we stood there with his parents for about half an hour, and you didn’t complain once. And that’s when I knew."

Y/N nods, crossing her legs and slinging one hand behind the sofa. "That’s when I knew you could be the man I was going to marry. And turns out you were," she says, smiling sheepishly. "The love you have for people, for our daughter, it’s… it’s so profound, it’s boundless. So don’t limit it. Don’t you dare limit yourself just because I’m not around anymore."

Her expression turns serious as she exhales. “You’re such a bright light. You bring happiness and purity into people’s lives—into my life,” Y/N presses her hand against her chest. “I don’t want you to dim it. I want you to shine for as long as that candle burns. Don’t let it die prematurely because of bad happenings. There’s so much more to love, to live, to enjoy. And while you may not see me at your side anymore, holding onto D/N, I’m right here.”

Charles sniffles, folding his hands over his mouth as he swallows his sobs, while Y/N points to her heart.

“I’m with you forever and always. I’m protecting you and D/N, and I’m watching over you, making sure everything’s alright.” Y/N releases a sigh before chewing at her bottom lip with a wistful smile. “And part of that means making space for more love, for you. You have a big heart, you know? There’s enough room for you to find happiness with someone new. There’s no shame in it, and there’s no guilt in it. It’s what makes being alive such a beautiful thing: your love is yours, and it’s not confined to just one or two people. You can spread it, and still, our love will remain unchanged.”

Tears stream down the sides of Charles' cheeks as he struggles to maintain his composure, his eyes fixated on the screen as if afraid that if he peels his gaze away for one second, his wife will disappear.

Y/N briefly looks off to the side, her attention seemingly caught by something in the room, before snapping her head back to the camera with a bright smile.

“It seems I have to go,” her shoulders sink.

Charles leans forward, the screen mere inches away from his face, as he strokes the outline of Y/N’s face on the screen, whispering desperately, “Please don’t, mon cœur…”

“I love you so, so much. You and D/N are the most precious gifts, the greatest joys I have had the privilege to experience, so please, please,” she claps her hands together, moving them back and forth, “please…when I die, I want you to live.”

Y/N rises from the couch and walks towards the screen, her eyes unwavering for even a moment. “Give my little girl all my love, and kiss and hug her extra tight for as long as you can, for me.”

Offering one final smile, she blows a kiss at the screen. “I love you. Please don’t stop. Don't stop loving and don't stop living.”

The video freezes with Y/N frozen in place, a beautiful smile etched onto her lips, filled with the purest form of love.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Charles collapses, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He drops his face into his hands and releases all of it: sob after sob after sob. There’s something liberating about finally letting go; the burden pours out of him, leaving behind a fragile yet tranquil Charles as he gazes at the still shot of his beloved wife, whom he adores so deeply.

A soft click draws his attention to the door just in time for it to creak open slowly, revealing his little girl standing there, her favourite yellow teddy bear clutched tightly in her arms.

“Papa,” her voice floats like a gentle breeze.

Charles smiles, opening his arms wide as she runs towards him. He's momentarily winded as she reaches him, but he quickly regains his composure and lifts her onto his lap.

“Hello, my love,” he whispers, touching his forehead to hers.

Her tiny hand pats his cheek, her expression filled with concern. “You’re crying?”

Charles shakes his head, trying to reassure her. “Happy tears,” he explains, “look.” He points at the screen, where Y/N's serene face is frozen in time.

“Maman!” D/N exclaims, slipping from his lap and heading towards the screen. Her small hands tap the screen eagerly as she calls out, “Maman! Maman! Maman!”

“Yes,” Charles swallows, ignoring the pang in his chest as he shifts his focus to his little girl. “You want to see Maman, huh?”

He rises from the sofa and lifts D/N into the air, settling her on his hip. “How about we go take a look at the photo albums, okay? There are lots of beautiful pictures of Maman in there, alright?”

“Maman! Maman! Maman!” D/N continues to exclaim, squirming excitedly in his arms as they walk through the door and down the hallway into the living room.

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 14,296 others

f1gossipofficial Nine months after the tragic passing of his wife, Y/N, Charles Leclerc has been spotted for the first time on a beach in Spain with their shared daughter.

Witnesses who captured the photographs above mentioned that he appeared to be coping well, and fans respectfully gave them space while appreciating the sight from afar.

We're glad to see Charles out and about again, and we extend our best wishes to him and his family as they continue to navigate these changes.

view all 2,068 comments

username im so glad the fans kept to themselves

username right?? so respectful🫶

username charlie🥹❤️ it's been so long but we'll always be here whenever he's ready

username tbh I was very worried during the radio silence but I think him being out there is a step in the right direction🥲

username still can't believe y/n is no longer here... i miss her sm😭

username omg there's a vid on twitter of them playing ball and u can hear their daughter giggling 💕

username I can't find it could you pls send the link?🙏 username dmed u! username me too pls

username it must be so hard to grief y/n while also trying to be strong for their daughter :( sending him all the strength!!

username 😭😭😭

4:44 ────────────ㅇ 4:44

[trashytracktales]

Flâner | CL¹⁶

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── It’s the beginning of the summer break, and Charles and his girlfriend escape the chaos of racing life for a peaceful hike in the Monte Carlo hills.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── teen

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 13+, very short, established relationship, protective!Charles, intimate kissing, fluff.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 1.7k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── Guys, I know. I still have requests piled up in my inbox, but I missed writing for Charles, and I was in a desperate need for some fluff 🥺🤍

GOLDEN RAYS ARE bathing Monaco in a warm, summery glow. It’s still early when their shoes crunch against the rocky trail, as Charles winds their way through the hills overlooking Monte Carlo. Below them, the city shimmers like a dream, with red-tiled rooftops, glinting glass windows, and the endless blue of the sea stretching out to the horizon.

The air is rich with a salty scent and wildflowers, the faint hum of cicadas blending with the distant crash of waves against the rocky shore below.

He walks ahead her, his athletic frame moving with ease as if the incline is barely noticeable, while she trails a few steps behind, taking her time to admire the scenery and catch her breath. But the summer heat grows heavier the higher they climb, and Charles eventually takes his shirt off, tossing it carelessly around his neck.

“How are you holding up?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice tinged with caution.

“Never better,” she replies almost breathless, her focus more on the dazzling view than the uneven trail. As she shifts her weight forward, her foot slips on a loose rock, her balance teetering dangerously.

Before she can even cry out, Charles appears next to her, his arms catching her around the waist to keep her on her feet. Her heart starts racing instantly, not just from the stumble but from the sudden nearness of him, his skin warm and slick.

“Never better, hm?” he mocks, but doesn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Let’s find some shade,” he adds, looking at her flushed cheeks.

He leads her a few more steps up the trail until they come across a small alcove, shielded by rocks and a thin canopy of greenery. The breeze here is softer, cooling, carrying the tang of the sea. Charles pulls his shirt from where it hangs around his neck, spreading it over the smoothest rock he can find, and encourages her to sit on it while handing her the bottle of water from his backpack.

She does as he says, watching him as he stands before her, his chest glistening in the sunlight. He is breathtaking, and he knows it too, judging by the teasing smile he throws her way.

“What?” asks Charles, catching her staring.

“Nothing,” she says a bit too quickly, though the faint blush in her cheeks betray her.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping water and taking in the view. The Mediterranean is agitated today, its surface sparkling like crushed glass, and the sound of birds chirping mingles with the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“I like you here. You’re… different,” she says after a while, her voice soft as she turns to him. She just realized this and, even though she hasn’t had time to analyze her thought, she knows it’s true.

Charles looks at her curiously. “Different how?”

She shrugs, “Don’t know. Relaxed? No worries?” she continues, leaning slightly toward him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, but I love it.”

He smiles, timid yet genuine. “I could get used to it,” he agrees.

The simplicity of his words strikes her, and something in her chest tightens. She gestures for him to move closer, patting the space between her legs. “Come here,” she encourages him. “Let me put some sunscreen on you before you burn.”

Charles hesitates for a moment, smirking playfully. “Is this an excuse to touch me, chérie?”

“Obviously,” she says matter-of-factly. “Sit,” she orders then, narrowing her eyes, though her lips twitch with amusement.

Charles settles himself between her legs, his back against her chest. Patiently, she squirts some sunscreen into her hands, the cool lotion contrasting with the warmth of his skin as she begins to rub it into his shoulders. Her fingers move in measured circles, massaging all the tension away.

“I swear, you’re never careful,” she scolds softly, her voice carrying just enough exasperation to make him chuckle.

“I have you to take care of me,” Charles admits, shrugging, his voice dropping an octave as her touch lulls him into relaxation.

He leans his head back against her shoulder, eyes closed, completely at ease. She tilts her head down, her lips brushing softly against his temple, a whisper of a touch that makes him hum in contentment. She lingers there for a heartbeat before she shifts, her lips finding his.

The kiss starts tender, her mouth fitting against his like a perfect puzzle piece. His lips are soft, warm, and she can taste the faint saltiness of his skin, mingled with the sweetness of her strawberry lip balm. It’s a slow dance between them, gentle and exploratory, as though savoring the moment of peace they’ve been craving for quite a while now. But then Charles turns slightly, angling himself better toward her, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck. And just like that, the kiss deepens, and she feels his tongue brush against her bottom lip, seeking the permission she grants without hesitation. When their tongues meet, it’s sensual and it makes her stomach flip. A quiet whimper escapes her throat as he pulls her closer, his fingers threading through her hair. The sound ignites something in him, and his grip tightens, his lips moving against hers with more intensity. His teeth graze her lip, gentle but teasing, before he soothes the sensation with another kiss, deeper this time, making her heart race.

Instinctively, her hands slide over his shoulders, fingers curling against his skin as if to anchor herself. She feels everything — his heat, the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath her touch, the way he pours every feeling into the kiss. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and utterly Charles.

When they finally part, both breathless and flushed, their foreheads press together. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze darkened with a mix of affection and desire. He’s silent, his thumb brushing her cheek as though words aren’t enough to express what he’s feeling.

Her lips tingle, swollen and warm, and all she can do is smile, her fingers trailing down his jaw as she whispers, “You’re so full of yourself, it’s unbelievable.”

Charles chuckles, his voice low and hoarse. “Wrong, ma chérie. I’m so in love, it’s unbelievable.”

Her breath catches for a second, and she knows he feels it. Charles is always aware of the effect he has on her, and he never fails to tease her about it. But this time, there’s no smug grin, no playful remark. Just the truth, plain and unguarded, sitting in the space between them.

She exhales a little sigh, her fingers slipping down to tangle with his, their hands resting against his bare chest.

Neither of them speaks for a while, because they don’t need to. The breeze carries the scent of salt and earth, warm and comforting, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Eventually, they start their descent back down the trail. Charles holds her hand the entire time, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of her knuckles, a subconscious promise to keep her safe. Every now and then, he steadies her when the terrain becomes tricky, always aware of her pace, always making sure she doesn’t fall behind. But then he stops suddenly, his eyes catching something small between the cracks of the rocky path. With a boyish grin, he bends down and plucks a delicate dandelion from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

She raises an eyebrow. “What… are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he holds the dandelion up, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness. Then, with a quick breath, he blows on it, sending the tiny white seeds fluttering into the air. They dance on the breeze before drifting toward the sea below.

The girl watches them disappear, then looks at him suspiciously. “Did you just make a wish?”

Charles smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe.”

She smirks at him. “What did you wish for?”

He hums, pretending to think about it, but the way his gaze softens when he looks at her gives him away. “If I tell you, it won’t come true, right?”

She scoffs, nudging his side. “You’re ridiculous.”

Charles gasps, clutching his chest like she’s wounded him with her affirmation. “Mon Dieu! Don’t break my heart.”

She giggles, shaking her head as she squeezes his hand. “You’ll survive.”

“Only if my wish comes true.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart flutters all the same. Because deep down, she knows that whatever he wished for, it probably had something to do with her.

When they reach the main path, she expects him to lead them straight home, but instead, he veers left, toward the coastline.

“The long way?” she asks, smiling.

Charles nods, squeezing her hand. “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I suppose not.”

The Mediterranean breeze is cooler near the water, and the scent of salt stronger. The waves lap gently at the shore, glistening under the afternoon sun. They walk along the sand, shoes in hand, feet sinking slightly with each step. The occasional splash of water kisses their ankles, a teasing reminder of how close the sea is.

Then, without warning, Charles tugs her hand sharply, pulling her off balance.

“Charles!” she squeals as she stumbles forward, but before she can protest, she’s in his arms, and they’re both wading into the water. The sea engulfs them up to their waists, cool against the lingering heat on their skin. She gasps at the sensation, laughing breathlessly as she clings to him. “You realize we’ll have to walk back home looking like two wet dogs.”

He chuckles, his hold on her never loosening. “So what?”

Before she can retort, he kisses her — deeper and consuming, the sound of waves crashing around them blending with the rapid thrum of her heart. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them. Her hands slip up to his shoulders, fingers pressing into the warm, wet skin as she melts into him.

The kiss is slow but intense, the heat of the sun above them matched only by the fire building between them. His tongue slides against hers, teasing, tasting, and when she exhales a quiet moan against his lips, he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.

Charles smiles first, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Now,” he murmurs, “How about ice cream for dinner?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[knnichs]

you were mine (but you were awful everytime.)

with kinich’s busy schedule, he somehow can’t find the time to even send you short letters on how he was doing.  or: watching your childhood friend disappear from your hands.

c. kinich & gn!reader ( platonic or romantic, not explicitly stated )

t. character(s) are childhood friends with reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, word vomit, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE .... LIKE WHO???, angst, hurt/no comfort wow i can finally use this tag, little to no dialogue, wc: 1.4k

taglist. @honeyney @pneumosia @tragedy-of-commons @gl4di0lus @ariadnehelx @azuresaqua @mikashisus -> join the taglist here!

A REQUEST FROM @ MIKASHISUS: i’m here for the valentine’s event >:3 may i req iris + evanesce + kalopsia + lacuna for kinich? 🤍 GARDENERS NOTE: RAY IM GOING TO STRANGLE YOU. THIS WAS LITERALLY SO INSANE TO WRITE heres me self projecting AGAIN!

more author notes at the end !

“You don’t think that one day we’ll be separated, right?” 

You played with the grass underneath you, plucking out one after the other and attempting to braid them together to create a makeshift crown. It doesn’t work, it unravels itself on your palm and the blades of green straighten itself back to its original shape. The sun was just setting, this was yet another boring day in the fields of Natlan. The boy beside you scoffs at your question, almost offended if you listen in real hard. 

“No. And I’ll make sure of it.” 

Kinich never liked to talk of the future. When you ask him of what he sees himself doing a few years from now–he would redirect the conversation and ask you to help him with some chores the tribe chief assigned him to do instead. He buries himself in work, even as a child, just to stop his mind from drifting to those kinds of philosophical questions. Who has the time for it anyway?

You, ever so displeased by his straightforward answer, pressed him even more. You wanted to hear more–what he thought of you, what he would do if you were ever to drift away from him, so you asked him: How?

He fell silent for a moment, looking down to his feet. Kinich fiddled with something in his hand before he turned to you, giving you a weak smile. The boy hands you a flower, white and pure, and sits right in front of you. 

“I’ll make a promise,” He raises his pinkie, tilting his head as he did–his bright eyes sure to be forever ingrained in your memory. “That I’ll promise to stand by you until we both die. Is that enough?” 

“But how will you make sure that you’ll keep that promise? Swear it.”

He reaches for your hand, trying to set up the pinkie promise ceremony to get this over with. 

“Then… I swear on my heart, I will be with you.”

You hook your finger around his tightly, as if trying not to let go of the moment. Kinich blocked the sun–but the orange glow reached the tufts of his hair and seeped through the black strands. He used his other hand to cover where the two of you linked, sealing the promise, and he let go.

“You better make sure of it–or else I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” You say, pointing a finger at him accusingly. He raises his hands up, surrendering to your wishes. 

Kinich has always been popular in the Scions. You remember the people who once made fun of him as a kid were now fawning over his looks now that he was older, you were really only the real person who stuck by him through the years. You were there when the other kids picked on him, and you were there even after he had gotten his vision.

But now? You could only wish to be a part of his itinerary. 

You don’t blame him, life as a saurian hunter is difficult. Yes, not many would go into that kind of profession, it’s cruel, but someone has to do it. Kinich had no issue choosing to go to that rabbit hole even when you explained to him multiple times that you were concerned about him going through all of that just for some pouches of mora. Well–the amount of mora you get per commission is indeed quite a lot, but there must’ve been some better way to earn it, right?

Day by day, you never fail to return to the same tree where the two of you had made that promise. An emptiness would fill your chest–one so painful you’re sure nothing or no one else could help fix it but him. You hold Kinich so dear to your heart that it’s difficult to imagine a world without him. What if you had never met? Would things have been different then?

The same sun would sink below the grass, the same gust of wind that greets you–brushing past your hair with the gentlest touch. The same tree would shed its leaves seasonally, and the occasional smell of nostalgia hits you hard. How you had missed lounging around here, under the leaves, with your friend. How you missed when days were boring, and your biggest worry was how you’d get home before it got dark and your parents would scold you for being out too long.

Kinich held your hand when you walked through the streets of Natlan once the moon rose, he held your hand when talking to the vendors in the market and you had no clue how to talk to them–they were intimidating, he couldn’t blame you. It’s a shame he was forced to grow up so young. He protected you as a way to heal his inner child–to give the love he never got. 

You just had to ruin it. 

You just had to be so selfish–to ask him for more time, just a few minutes more or seconds, even. Just a little more time to spend with him, just enough to watch the sun rise or fall, just enough to have one more conversation about nothing and everything. When he does give in to your requests–the two of you end up saying nothing, the silence speaks volumes, you’ve drifted apart. There’s nothing to talk about but the past. You know almost nothing of his life now that he seems so far. 

Those were the same eyes that looked at you with such fondness it was hard to express it in words. You remember the sound of his footsteps when he’d creep up behind you to greet you, you remember the messy handwriting he had when he was just learning–the random letters he’d give you throughout the day just to show you how appreciative he was of your presence. Because you were there when others weren’t, you made him feel loved when the others didn’t think of him as someone equal simply because of his childhood.

His name has always been on the tip of your tongue, a silent prayer of wanting to see him for just a second, swinging through the trees with the boxes in hand for his delivery. The bright yellow of his saurian companion, the brightness of his eyes, the sound of his voice. You had never imagined it would end like this, with him frustrated–your tears close to spilling, under the same tree you had spent time with the most, he would tell you how much you bugged him asking for time out of his very busy life. You couldn’t say anything but recall the times of your youth. 

“No one has the right to dictate my time,” He’d glare at you, his voice laced with something unfamiliar–for the very first time he was angry. “Even you.”

“You promised… you promised you’d stick with me until death. Does that mean nothing to you, at all?”

“We were kids, I don’t believe that counts–you know what? Give me a break. I already have so much to my plate that I don’t think I have the energy to do this.”

The situation was helpless. You didn’t trust your voice enough that you would retort with some witty remark like you used to as a child–you couldn’t shout back at him for being rude to you when all you’ve ever done to him was treat him with the kindness he didn’t know existed. Each word shared between the two of you were etched deep within your mind, he was a part of your soul. You couldn’t believe he would leave you this easily.

So you whisper–because you can’t shout, you can’t speak. 

“Don’t be a stranger,”

Your vision was blurry when he finally turned his back on you. You’re not sure if that was still him, stopping in his tracks, or if it was the tree swaying from the wind– almost mocking you of what just happened, giving the illusion that he was still here, that he’d be willing to salvage whatever the two of you had.

When you call out for his name, no one appears. He wasn’t there to lend you his bandana to dry your tear stained cheeks, stop you from roughly rubbing your eyes so it wouldn’t get itchy later. 

He was truly the only person that felt like home, and on the day of love–you had never expected for him to leave so easily. 

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

reblogs with comments are INCREDIBLY appreciated! go scream go feral idc i will eat all of them up and run away with a familiarly shaped reblog in my mouth, thank you.

DAWG THE WAY THIS WAS SO SELF INDULGENT UM the prompts reminded me of something that happened way back THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING ABOUT IT SO I HOPE IT WAS SO BAD UMMMM i literally dont know how to put my feelings into words if u can tell LOL! anyway probably my first time ?? writing hurt no comfort or pure angst ... this is new TO ME !!!! i hope its ok !!

[peachdues]

Hi there! Im new to tumblr so im so sorry if I do this wrong but do you think one day you could write a story about sanemi getting a tsugoku who’s almost the same age as him (20) and then after many arguements they eventually grow ti enjoy each others company and then fall in love😼 (again im so sorry if I did this wrong im new to tumblr)

Bestie, you’ve pretty much described part of the plot of my OG fic, Wind + Moon, which you can start reading here! But in case you want a little more, have a taste of some future interactions between these dorks 🤍

“Get up.”

You kept your gaze trained pointedly at the sky overhead. “No.”

Though you could not see his face, a sharp exhale told you exactly how quickly he was losing his cool. “Not askin’.”

“Not listening.”

A shadow crossed over your face, blocking out the watery expanse of the sky that hung overhead. Above you, Shinazugawa glowered, his lip curled. “If this is you quitting, then do me a favor and get your ass off my gravel. You’re ruinin’ the scenery.”

You followed the path of a cloud as it drifted lazily by overhead. How quiet and tranquil it would, to be a cloud; no responsibilities, no painful memories. Just an endless sky to explore, until the wind inevitably came and chased it away.

Wind had a tendency to do that. Ruin things.

“And you’re disrupting my peace.”

Silence followed, and for a moment, you thought yourself triumphant. Finally, Shinazugawa would fuck off, maybe go destroy another part of his estate in his anger, but he would leave you be, until you decided to peel yourself off the training ground.

Gravel crunched under tight, irritated steps, growing fainter and fainter until the sound faded entirely. You smirked to yourself, and your eyes fluttered shut against the warmth of the sun overhead. Finally, peace and quiet —-

“Hey.”

And there it was again: the source of your irritation.

Truly, he must have been a glutton for punishment. Exhaling forcefully through your nose, you readied a thousand insults, ones certain to make him cast you out of his tutelage forever, but before you could open your mouth, water pounded down on you from high above.

It was cold; frigid. It stung at your skin and flooded your nostrils, choking the air off in your throat. Instinctively, you bolted upright, coughing and sputtering and so thoroughly soaked, that the sun’s warm rays felt weak against the chill rapidly settling into your bones.

Chest heaving and eyes wild, you turned your gaze up. “What the fuck?”

Above you, Shinazugawa flung a now-emptied bucket to the side. In his right hand sat another. A bit of its icy contents sloshed over its lip as he lifted it high over head.

Your eyes widened at the threat.

Shinazugawa’s glare was nearly as menacing as the twisted snarl of his mouth. “Get the fuck up.”

[laurarakkonen]

Heyyy☺️

Just saw that u are gonna start writing for Eminem so i do have a request 🥹

where the reader is yonger then him like prob in 2005 shes 18 or so and shes a famous singer songwriter (her style being like billie eilish and lana dal ray) and like theres two different versions one where he writes a diss and during an award show she disses him back and like they later resolve their issues or so and something like them ending up recording in the same building and then them hooking up or another version being eminem loves her songs and they record in the same building so he asks to collab and them ending up together and they go through a fight and like she gets a call from his daughters ( coz they get along ) that he’s overdosed and her helping him through that phase and u can write more about how their relationship evolves like her being a huge support to himand hus daughters and them getting married ( or u could add him first not wanting to get married coz of kim but coming to his senses) then him mentioning her in his someone save me song about how much shes been there for him

Just so u know this is a random pitch u can either write somewhat the whole thing or just something like this idea 🥹

U can add anything or change a bit, thanks ☺️

꯭•:◦ 𝗜𝗙𝗛𝗬.

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| 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: Marshall Mathers III (Eminem) x Fem!Reader.

| 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘: Enemies to Lovers and slightly smut.

| 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: Slighty smut, flirting, making out.

| 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗: yes.

| 𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡: My Strange Addiction — Billie Eilish.

( heey, i just wanna thanks for being my first request! i hope you like it. 🤍 )

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— Fuck. — It's the first word out of your mouth when you sees your musical rival sitting in the second row next to you at the 2005 VMAs Award.

It was your first MTV event after the release of your first album which was a global success, which gained you an absurd popularity in the pop industry, people knew you wherever you went, celebrities begged for a collab with your participation due to your soft voice and mesmerizing…However, your talent didn't just attract good things, it also attracted negative comments that were something common in an artist's life and a diss coming from the most controversial and well-known rapper of the 2000s, Marshall Mathers, or better known by his alter- ego, Slim Shady.

You discreetly judged Marshall by his look, seeing him smile with that cunning smile while talking to his mentor, Dr Dre. For a moment, your eyes met in quick eye contact, which made you shrug your shoulders and quickly look away as you took hurried steps towards your row, which was one in front, unlike the boy, who responded to the eye contact with a challenging and some sarcastic comments.

You felt the blonde's gaze in your direction, burning your back as if it were a touch, the boy's sharp gaze went through your body as if it were a knife, he knew you had heard the diss, and you knew he was going to use it. that as a weapon.

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It didn't take long for the “Best Hip-Hop Video” category to begin, suspense hung in the air until the presenter finally decided to deliver the result: — Just Lose It, Eminem! — The presenter shouted excitedly, his mouth curving into a smile as he held the prize.

The event was filled with screams and applause from celebrities and fans who participated, Marshall got up and walked to the main stage to get his trophy. Discreetly, you sighed deeply, internally wondering how they left that song not only with diss for you but also for Michael Jackson to win, you couldn't say anything, just roll your eyes and cross your arms.

Eminem stood behind the microphone, holding his award in his hands as he thanked the presenter and waved to his fans who screamed for his presence. He got a little closer to the microphone until he started dictating his speech:

— Yo, this is crazy...I don't have a speech with me so I'll just say what comes to mind, I want to thank Dr Dre, my mentor who helped me during the Encore album process, I also want to thank the people at Shady Record and Paul Rosenberg. — Marshall said, letting his blue orbs meet yours. — I'm really happy for the award, but I see that there aren't many people happy about my achievement because of the diss, Right Y/N?

A provocative smile formed on the boy's lips when he mentioned your name, you could hear comments and laughter coming from other participants in the event, unlike you, who adjusted your performance and crossed your legs, your fists clenching every time your gaze fell on that one stupid smile he had on his face, doing everything he could to get to you as if to test your patience. The rest of the night went well, unlike the exchanges of barbs that became news in the media and the looks exuding hatred between the two when they saw each other at the MTV after-party.

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After a few weeks, you and your team were invited to start a new album project at a renowned studio in Los Angeles, your excitement was radiant as your mind reasoned and processed several snippets of lyrics and a response to Marshall's diss. However, his excitement quickly disappeared when he saw the same boy in the hallway, making him snort and a disinterested and hateful look form on his face. The rapper noticed a look of anger burning his back, making him turn his head with a look of distrust and mockery until his eyes fell on you, and soon that same sarcastic smile formed on his lips.

Your team made sure the two of you didn't run into each other in the hallways to avoid causing an argument, but it was difficult when Eminem came into your studio just to tease you.

After a long album production session, the moonlight finally fell over the sky, leaving you alone in the room just working on some last details on the first demo of your song. Your concentration and focus was broken by three soft knocks on the oak door, and soon a creak came, revealing Marshall.

— Alone? Even your team doesn't support you anymore? — Eminem asked in an ironic tone, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

The rapper's voice made you shiver with anger, turning your head slowly towards him with an irritated expression and a raised eyebrow. —What the fuck do you want? Isn't it enough to piss me off at the entire VMAs now here too? — You responded with a grunt, removing your headphones as you stood up from his chair.

The rapper's teasing laugh drifted through the studio, stepping forward towards you.

—Are you angry? Did you forget that this is my building and you are inside one of my studios? Or didn't your team tell you that? — The boy responded with the same intensity, his eyes burning your skin.

Your ego was being hurt in that indirect fight, so your pride spoke over you.

You also took a step forward and crossed your arms, looking up at him in an intense gaze.

— I don't care if this studio is yours or not, you've been bothering me all day, are you lacking attention or what? — Your posture was confident, maintaining her eye contact with him.

Only a smirk left Eminem's lips, as he curved his body slightly towards him with his pupils dilated.

— If I managed to make you angry, it's because I caught your attention, right? — He replied, with a quick attack in a mocking and slightly rude tone. Your eyes widened and a small blush formed on yor cheeks, taking a step back slowly, which made the boy's ego even bigger.

— What is that? Where's all that courage you had until now? — He asked, taking another step forward and closing the space between you.

You couldn't deny it, he wasn't ugly, he never was, but his words made you very angry... but that anger was mixing with a kind of desire, a desire that you could see in his eyes.

And Marshall noticed this, with a confident and arrogant smile on his lips, he put his hand on her waist and gently brought her closer. Bringing your face closer. Your mind screamed for you to stop, but you couldn't deny the chemistry going on between the two of you, his blue eyes were like a magnet of attraction, the more you looked, the more you wanted. And then, her face slowly approached his, closing the space of centimeters between them in a fiery kiss, hot and full of desire, desire and anger, her arms entwined around his neck while Marshall's hands caressed her waist and went down to her breasts, caressing the spot as he deepened the kiss. Your hands scratched his back lightly as you murmured between the kiss:

— I fucking hate you.

[winterrrnight]

reader x bsf!rafe when they have a small argument but make up with lots of cuddles :((

oh saying I’m in love is an understatement. I could NOT come up with any idea on what the argument can be about so I’m so sorry if this feels so vague 😭😭 imagine whatever you want LOL

bsf!rafe who just cannot see you mad… <3 listen to dreams, fairytales, fantasies by a$ap ferg, brent faiyaz & salaam remi, I heard it on repeat while writing this hehe <3 cw: suggestive content (no actual smut!), lots and lots of tension between them (when is it not there?!) <3 for: @viawritesstuff (I love you to the moon and back ml 🤍) <3 pictures are only for reference!

part of this little universe <3

“Oh come on I said I was sorry!” Rafe sighs as he follows your footsteps, as you’re rushing up the stairs of Tanneyhill. You don’t say anything, just quietly rush up the stairs with your back to him as he keeps on following you, him right at your heels.

“Come on, you know I’m sorry,” he sighs as he sees you enter his room. You’re about to close the door right at his face, but he jams his foot in at the right moment, causing the door to be just slightly ajar. You shut your eyes close and intake a deep breath, your back still facing him as you realise the door didn’t close properly.

You’re standing in the middle of the room, your body tensed and Rafe just simply watches you as he leans against the doorframe. The warm rays of the sunset outside glow inside his room through the flimsy, white curtains. He takes a deep breath and enters inside silently, letting the door close with a soft click. With hushed steps he makes his way to you, standing right behind you. You can feel him breath down on your neck, the warm air causing the hair behind your neck to stand up.

“Hey…” he whispers softly, one of his hands coming up to gently graze across your side. “Listen to me, yeah?” He breathes into the side of your ear, his lips subtly skimming across the shell of your ear. He can’t exactly see your expression, but god, if he can, he’ll see just how your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes fluttering momentarily.

“You know I didn’t mean any of it that way yeah?” He whispers, both of his hands now gently grazing your sides, his touch now becoming more firm, more… present. “I could never say anything like that to you and you know that…”

His arms now wrap firmly around your waist, and you can feel him gently pull you closer to him, your back now pressing firmly against his chest. He moves his head to the side of your face, resting his chin on your shoulder, his cheek pressing against your hair. He takes a deep inhale, letting his eyes close for a moment as he lets the scent of your shampoo and your perfume fill his senses and devour his mind completely.

You ever so subtly lean your head in the other direction, letting him rest his head comfortably on your shoulder. Your hands land on top of his; which are resting right on top of your stomach.

“Can never upset my favorite girl hm?” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head. “Can never see her sad… can never let her ever be upset with me…” he continues to softly coo in your ear. He slowly trails his lips down from your temple to the side of your neck, hovering over the soft skin for a moment.

“The…” kiss “sweetest…” kiss “girl…” kiss “ever...” kiss

His voice is reduced to dulcet tones, his kisses velvety against your skin. A soft gasp leaves your lips as the repetitive kisses are layered across your skin, your body automatically leaning back into him. Rafe brings his hands to the sides of your waist and gently turns you around so you are facing him.

Your eyes sink into his soft, blue ones, your mind starting to feel just a bit dizzy from the slightly amorous bubble you’re both fitted into.

Rafe only softly smiles at you as he lets his fingers slip into yours, your hands intertwining tightly as he leads you to his bed. He helps you sit down, and starts to take off your jacket, pulling down the zipper. You move your hand to remove it yourself, but he gently pushes your hand aside, saying something about how he’s making up to you right now. He takes the jacket off you, draping it on the back of his desk chair. He gets down on his knees and carefully takes your shoes off, gently placing them at the side of the bed. With a gentle push on your shoulders, he lets you lay down in his bed, covering you with the duvet.

He himself takes his own jacket and shoes off, and slips under the duvet next to you. He’s quick to let his arms wrap around your waist again, pulling your head onto his chest.

“You forgive me yeah?” He whispers softly, your own arm draping across his torso as you get comfortable against him.

“Yeah…” you mumble, nodding against his chest as you nuzzle your face into his chest. He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His fingers gently thread to your hair, causing your eyelids to get heavier with each moment.

“My sweet girl…” is the last thing you hear him whisper to you before you’re pulled into a deep slumber.

— —

send me any of your thoughts for this specific universe if you have any! <3

[alwaysmicado]

Sink or swim

12.3k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 8

WARNINGS: 18+, no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, flashbacks (toxic relationship, bad mental health), mention of miscarriage & surgery, smut (nothing too graphic), Tommy Miller x f!reader SUMMARY: You reminisce about the late-night conversation that changed your life forever. Joel shares a secret. A/N: Guys, it’s finally here!! This part was hard for me to write, but I’m beyond happy with how it turned out. We learn so much about reader’s past and her relationship with Tommy, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to share it with you. Have fun reading (even though it’s a bit sad) and please let me know what you think! I wanna know all your thoughts!! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics.

series masterlist | main masterlist

The ocean stretches before you like a vast expanse of liquid silk, its rhythmic waves kissing the shore with a gentle insistence. The sun, now in its descent towards the horizon, casts a warm glow, painting the water and sand in hues of amber and gold.

You’re perched on a weathered bench, sneakers softly tapping against the sand, lost in thought as you watch the waves roll in.

Dressed in yoga shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with an ice cream cone in hand and sunglasses shielding your eyes from the brilliant rays of the setting sun, you blend seamlessly into the serene scene before you.

You appear inconspicuous, just another person soaking up the sun and breathing in the fresh air. No one can see the anguish gnawing at your heart, the tumult in your head, or the pain in your hand that makes you want to scream.

No, no, you look far too calm for that, too composed, too happy.

Besides, what would someone like you possibly have to feel bad about? Seriously. You just love to wallow in your own sadness, don’t you? You haven’t changed at all. You’re still your insecure, annoying, unlovable self. God, even your inner voice is irritating. Do you hear how pathetic you sound? Of course he wouldn’t lov–

Shut up. 

You focus on the waves as they dance and sway, their melodic rhythm a soothing balm to the cruel thoughts echoing relentlessly in your mind.

The ocean’s song, a symphony of calming whispers and gentle sighs you’ve loved ever since you were a little girl, envelops you in its embrace, drawing you deeper into a state of quiet reflection. The cool breeze dancing through the air brushes against your sun-kissed skin, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of new beginnings. 

With a gentle tilt of your head, you take another lick of the strawberry soft serve you bought at the ice cream stand near the boardwalk, feeling the familiar comfort of the cool creaminess dance across your taste buds. It’s been a few months since you last indulged in this particular treat, sharing it with Joel after a rough day at work.

As the cold sweetness melts on your tongue, bittersweet memories of that afternoon flood back with vivid clarity. You can almost hear Joel’s infectious laughter as you scarfed down the icy treat a little too eagerly, his eyes crinkling with amusement at your inevitable brain freeze. But it wasn’t just the shared laughter and playful banter that made this memory so special. 

It was Joel’s genuine interest in hearing about your day, about you, his calming presence grounding you and making you momentarily forget all your troubles. He provided you with a warmth that seeped into your bones, a connection that felt effortless yet profound. Like it could be more.

Reflecting on it now, perhaps that should have been a hint that things were more serious than you wanted to admit right from the beginning. Oh well, dwelling on it is futile now. Because you did finally admit it, didn’t you? And not only that, you basically shouted your feelings from the rooftops last night, laying your soul bare.

Fucking embarrassing.

How are you supposed to come back from that? How are you supposed to ever look into Joel’s eyes again? 

There’s a reason why you stopped psychotherapy after a few months, there’s a reason why you don’t have any close friends beside Tommy, there’s a reason why your dating life has consisted of a series of superficial hookups over the past couple of years.

“Fear of intimacy,” your therapist called it. “A response to sustained trauma.”

You walked out of that session and, fueled by defiance, decided to fuck the first guy who caught your eye, just to prove to yourself, and to your therapist, that you were very well capable of intimacy.

Lying in bed that night, lonely and empty, you couldn’t shake the truth of her words. You hated her guts for forcing you to confront your inner demons, but she did have a point in everything she said.

It’s an uncomfortable truth.

There’s nothing in the world you fear more than people knowing what’s going on inside your head, knowing what you feel, knowing your vulnerabilities and weaknesses—knowing the real you.

And last night, that fear came true.

Your innermost thoughts and feelings were on display for Joel to see, leaving you exposed and raw. The memory of your outburst, of his shocked face, weighs heavily on your mind and heart, filling you with a deep sense of shame and regret.

For a moment in that bathroom, you felt yourself transported back to all the times you’d scream at Simon for whatever he did to fuck with your feelings that day, just for him to laugh in your face or call you manipulative when you’d inevitably start crying tears of hurt and frustration. 

Does Joel see you differently now, knowing the depths of your insecurities? Will he even want to look you in the eye after witnessing what the real you is like? Have you lost your chance with him, and, did you ever even have one?

You sigh deeply and lick around the top of the ice cream cone to catch the drops threatening to run down, humming at the deliciousness.

You haven’t eaten anything else today, too nauseous from your meds and the knot in the pit of your stomach to find food appetizing. You haven’t slept for more than two consecutive hours, too agitated to find any real peace. You also couldn’t stay home this morning, as your apartment suddenly felt like a cage threatening to suffocate you.

Instead, you’ve spent your day off window shopping, aimlessly wandering from one coffee shop to another, your hands now jittery from too much caffeine on an empty stomach. You’ve ambled down the boardwalk, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding you, before finding yourself drawn to the familiar comfort of the ocean.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the display on your phone lighting up with Joel’s name, the device resting on the bench beside you alongside your bag.

You know you’ll have to take his calls and talk to him like an adult at some point. And you will. But this moment, this moment right here, belongs to you and your thoughts alone.

And to the hermit crab making its way through the sand just a few feet away from you. Your lips curl into a smile as you watch the determined little creature, impressed by its resilience in such an unforgiving world. Maybe you would’ve been happier if you’d been born as a hermit crab. Who knows.

As you swallow the last bit of your cone and lean back, feeling the sun’s gentle warmth on your skin, you can’t help but think of the first time you found yourself on this bench, watching the sunset. It feels like that was an entire lifetime ago, and yet, you vividly remember the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed you down, the sense of loneliness that engulfed you—how utterly lost you felt.

You allow your thoughts to drift, captivated by the soothing cadence of the waves lapping against the shore.

Three years earlier

The sun is down.

Staring into the void, you’re consumed by solitude, the cool breeze coming from the water a thin barrier against the weight pressing on your shoulders. The world seems distant, the murmur of the ocean a mere backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your troubled mind and the beat of your empty heart.

This is it. This is where you were always supposed to be.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, quietly drifting through the corners of your memory. With each passing moment, you meticulously comb through the fragments of the past few months. They offer no solace, only a stark reminder of how you reached this point.

In the stillness of the evening, you find a strange sense of calm, a numbness that dulls the edges of your emotions. Tears refuse to come, leaving only the echo of relief at the resolution of it all.

You open your eyes again, fixating on the endless mirror of the sky before you. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart. The salty tang in the air, the rhythmic melody of the waves, the laughter of birds mingling with the gentle lull of the breeze—everything.

You dig your naked toes into the sand, relishing the connection to the earth beneath you. The sensation is grounding, peaceful, almost–

“Hey there, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

A man’s voice, rugged yet gentle, breaks through the silence, interrupting your thoughts. His words dance in the air, pulling you reluctantly back to the present.

Are you kidding me?

With a slow and deliberate movement, you lift your gaze from the horizon, meeting the eyes of the stranger who has disrupted the sanctuary of your thoughts. You rest your elbows on your knees and sigh deeply.

“Oh my fucking god,” you murmur, rubbing your temples in annoyance and disbelief. “The sun’s been down for two minutes, and the first creep’s already here.”

“Wha–” 

You look up at him. “Do you have like a radar or something where you get a notification every time a woman sits alone on a bench somewhere?”

The dark-haired man blinks in surprise, his expression caught between confusion and amusement. His brow furrows, his mouth slightly agape as he processes your words. After a moment of absorbing your outlandish accusation, his lips curve into a wry smile.

“Darlin’, I’m just–”

“Look, dude. If you’re here to murder me, could you at least spare me the whole blah blah you’ve got planned and just do it? Thank you.”

You look at him with a raised eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s not entirely sure if you’re joking, but your sarcastic tone tells him you’re at least not scared of him.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I assure you I got no such plans. Just thought I’d check in on a fellow soul contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. “Yeah, well, I prefer to contemplate in peace.”

When he doesn’t budge and just…stares at you with those big, dark eyes of his, you take a moment to size him up. 

Your gaze drifts down from his eyes, tracing the contours of his muscular chest visible beneath a fitted white t-shirt. It lingers briefly on the obnoxiously large belt buckle adorning his waist, then travels down the length of his denim-clad legs to his cowboy boots. Despite the surreal encounter, you can’t help but notice how incredibly attractive he is. 

God, what’s wrong with you?

“Look, sweetheart,” he says calmly, his voice a blend of warmth and reassurance. “I’m not trying to get into your business or anything, but it’s gonna get pretty chilly out here soon.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asks. “We could go grab a bite to eat if you want, and my place is right arou–”

“How subtle,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I’m not going home with you, dude.”

“Fair enough, but at least let me call you a cab and wait with you until it arrives, hm?”

His soft voice and patronizing tone are starting to grate on your already frayed nerves. You’ve been sitting here, not taking up any space, minding your own fucking business, and even that wasn’t good enough, apparently.

Okay, world. Hint taken. 

“What the hell is your problem?” you blurt out. 

“What do you mean? I’m just–I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question bursts from your lips like a dam breaking under pressure, laced with frustration. “Do you see me holding up a sign where I’m asking for your help? Huh? Or is this more about you and some, I dunno, bullshit white knight fantasy you’re acting out?” 

Your eyes narrow, fixing on him with a challenging glare, daring him to justify his intrusion into your solitude.

“No,” he responds calmly, his furrowed brow adding gravity to his words. “It’s because I’ve seen enough shit in my life to recognize when someone’s in need.”

The sincerity in his gaze catches you off guard, rendering you momentarily speechless. It’s as if this…stranger is peering into the depths of your soul, seeing past the walls you’ve erected to protect yourself. 

His face softens, the lines around his eyes relaxing as he meets yours. “Mind if I take a seat?”

You shrug indifferently, though a flicker of curiosity dances behind your eyes. “Suit yourself.”

He smiles warmly as he settles beside you. “I’m Tommy, by the way,” he offers, extending a hand. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually, you decide to reciprocate by telling him your name and shaking his hand with a soft sigh.

As his hand envelops yours, there’s a brief surge of something unspoken deep inside you, a connection allowing two disparate souls to briefly intertwine before returning to their separate paths again as soon as he lets go.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, darlin’,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, his mustache curling slightly as he smiles at you.

The faint scent of his cologne drifts towards you, mixing with the salty aroma of the sea air. As you gaze at him, your eyes trace the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, evidence of a life fully lived. Strangely, there’s something comforting about his presence, something that makes you feel a little less alone. 

You give him a subtle smile before turning your head back towards the ocean, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watches you silently, noticing the vacant look in your eyes and the way your gaze seems to be fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. He furrows his brow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he contemplates how lost you appear in that moment.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Tommy’s voice breaks the silence, his tone casual yet curious, as if striking up conversations with strange women on the beach is a regular occurrence for him.

Well, it probably is, you think to yourself.

“I, uh, wanted to watch the sunset,” you answer softly.

“Hm. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Should’ve been here and seen it too instead of wasting my time at that damn bar.”

“Oh? How did you waste your time? Can’t have been that bad, judging by the lipstick stains on your face,” you murmur.

“What? Where?” Tommy blurts out, his eyes widening in surprise as he hastily rubs at his lips and cheeks, searching for any traces of lipstick on his fingers.

You stifle a laugh. “I’m just fucking with you,” you deadpan, shooting him a quick glance. 

He stares at you in mock offense for a moment before his lips curl into a wide grin. “Touché,” he says, thoroughly entertained by your dry humor. “But yeah, things didn’t go the way I would’ve liked them to.” 

“What, she didn’t wanna go home with you either?”

“Very funny. But no, things were going well.” He sighs dramatically and rubs his forehead. “But then her husband showed up and kinda threw a giant monkey wrench into our plans.” 

“Wow, tough break,” you scoff, shaking your head in mock sympathy, “not getting to fuck a married woman. I hate it when that happens.”

Tommy chuckles. “Alright, alright, I didn’t know she was married, for the record. She wasn’t wearing a ring or anything.”

“Sure,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you cast a skeptical glance in his direction.

“What are you up to, then, darlin’? Hm?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Besides not making out with married women?” You hear Tommy’s laugh beside you and wiggle your toes in the sand. “Just enjoying the ocean, I guess. I’ve missed it.” 

“You’re not from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm. You’re gonna love it. There’s lots of cool things to see and do, especially for young people like you.”

You furrow your brow. “Why are you talking like you’re ninety years old and I’m your estranged grandkid?”

“I dunno,” he sighs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess…turning forty did something to me.”

“Married women apparently still throw themselves at you. You’re gonna be fine.”

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that seems to echo across the beach. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, punctuated by the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional cry of seagulls wheeling overhead. 

“What brings you here, then?” Tommy asks, observing your profile. You look tired.

“I told you, watching the sunset.” 

“No, I mean what brings you into town? Vacation or family or something?”

You turn to look at him, tilting your head slightly as you study his expression. “Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation,” he says with a smile, a glint of genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else if you want.”

“Like what?”

“Like did you know it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland?”

Your bewildered look amuses him. 

“It’s true. You’re required, by law, to get your guinea pig a little guinea pig friend. They won’t sell you just one. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly. “What kind of women do you pull if this is how you flirt?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a smirk, then turn your head back towards the water. “But what if they want to be alone?”

“Hm?”

“What if you get a guinea pig in Switzerland and you have to buy a second one to keep it company but the first guinea pig actually just wants to be alone on a bench and then some other guinea pig with a mustache shows up and asks weird questions? What then?”

“Well,” Tommy starts, happy that you’re seemingly warming up a bit. “I think the first guinea pig would quickly realize that the other, dashingly handsome guinea pig isn’t that bad and just wants to be friends. And then they’d be friends and run around together and eat hay or whatever.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and you know, I think us humans aren’t that different from them. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone either.”

You look at him. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you don’t want me to be alone?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I guess not,” you murmur softly, your gaze drifting to the patch of dry skin on the back of your right hand. “And I’m, uh, not here for any special reason. I just…needed a break from home, I suppose.”

“And you have a place to stay, darlin’?” Tommy’s voice carries a gentle concern as he leans slightly closer, trying to see your eyes. 

“Yeah, I booked a hotel room a few minutes from here,” you lie smoothly. “With sea-view and everything. Just haven’t checked in yet.”

“Where did you put all your stuff?” 

“My stuff?”

“Yeah, your clothes and teddy bears and whatnot.” 

You nudge the backpack sitting on the ground next to you with your naked foot. “This is my stuff.”

“Oh.” You must have really wanted to get away if you traveled this lightly, Tommy contemplates silently.

He used to do the same, packing a bag and escaping, seeking solace in the open road. But he learned the hard way that you can’t outrun your problems. They always find a way to catch up with you, no matter how far you go.

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Have you had dinner already?”

“I had a bagel at the airport this morning,” you say nonchalantly.

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” If you had even the slightest bit of energy left inside of you, you’d find his shocked face amusing.

“Okay, that’s just unacceptable. Wait.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens a food delivery app. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want pi–”

“Yes, you do. I’m not gonna have you starving on my watch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “On your watch?” 

“Yeah, on my watch. Now, what kind of topping–”

“Pineapple.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pine. Apple.”

“Oh, but I’m the weirdo,” he mutters, shaking his head and giving you the side-eye as he reluctantly adds pineapple as a topping to your pizza. “Anything else? Anchovies? Corn? My tears?”

“Jesus, don’t have a heart attack. Are you Italian or something?”

“No, just not a complete monster.”

You can’t help but chuckle, your smile lighting up your face for the first time in what feels like ages. Tommy’s eyes linger on you a moment too long, captivated by your sudden radiance, before he tears his gaze away as your smile fades once more.

Clearing his throat, he shifts his attention back to his task, fingers tapping away as he types the description of your location for the delivery.

“Should arrive in twenty minutes, the app says.” 

You nod and lean back, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you watch the waves again. 

“When did you decide to fly out here?”

“Last night.” 

“How? Why?”

“Simple. I took out a map, closed my eyes, and this is where my finger landed. And as for the why…well, home just didn’t feel like home anymore, you know?”

“Hm. I know that feeling.”

You turn your head and look into his warm eyes. “You do?”

“Oh yeah. It took me almost a decade after retiring from active duty to feel home again, or like I was safe, or like I belonged. It’s, uh, not easy to get that feeling back once you’ve lost it. I’m sorry you’re going through that,” Tommy says with a somber tone. He really is sorry. 

You look at him for a moment and give him a tired smile. “It’s okay,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “It wasn’t home to begin with. Not really.”

“Whatever your reasons are, you’re brave for leaving.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure, I’m brave for running away.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Look, it’s okay. You don’t need to try and make me feel better ‘cause I’m not sad. But I’m also not gonna act like I’m not a coward who accepted far too much shit for far too long ‘cause I’m very much not brave.”

You sigh deeply. “I should’ve gotten the fuck out of that miserable town and relationship years ago. But now it’s too late.” 

Tommy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Are you married?”

“No, darlin’, I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend.” 

“So there’s no one special in your life right now?”

“Nothing serious, no. No attachments for me.”

“Hm. No attachments,” you murmur. “That sounds nice.” 

Tommy nods. “It is, most of the time at least. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in love.” 

“You’ve been in love before?” You tilt your head and look at him with genuine curiosity. 

“A few times, yeah.”

“And the women you were with…they loved you?”

“Yeah, they did.” The soft smile lighting up his face tells you he has pleasant memories of his former partners. How nice that must be. 

“Do you ever wonder why it didn’t work out?”

Tommy’s expression turns introspective, his gaze drifting towards the horizon as if searching for answers in the distant waves.

“I have,” he admits after a pause, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. “But I guess that’s just how life goes sometimes. People drift apart, circumstances change, life changes...”

“Do you think it’s possible to hate someone you love?”

Your question catches him off guard, and the look in your eyes concerns him. “Well,” he says calmly, carefully choosing his words, “I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience, but I could imagine that’s how my brother felt about me back when I was spiraling and he had to watch me make bad decision after bad decision. He loved me, I know he always has, but he also hated me for what I was doing.” 

“Sounds like a good brother,” you say, mustering a smile. 

“He really is. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, but I don’t talk to them,” you say, your tone betraying a hint of sadness before you quickly mask it with indifference. “My, uh…best friend was like my sister though.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, you know,” you murmur, the smile on your lips not matching the bitterness in your tone, “that friendship kinda ended after I saw her sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, shoving her tongue down his throat.”

“What the hell? When was that?” 

“Hmm, about a month ago. And you wanna know the real kicker? They’ve been fucking for like half a year. My best friend and my boyfriend. Laughing their asses off behind my back. Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. They’re shitty people for doing that to you. You didn’t deserve any–”

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“How do you know that I didn’t deserve it? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I may not know you,” Tommy says gently, “but I know that no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by the people they trust. It’s hard sometimes to see things objectively because we’re our own worst enemies, but I’m telling you, you didn’t deserve that.” 

“I’m not sure that’s true.” 

“What makes you say that?”

You look into his eyes, and the pain he can see in yours breaks his heart.

“Because, I fucking loved it. Everything he did to me, all these years. I loved it. I could’ve left him after he cheated on me for the first time, the second time, the hundredth time, but no. I loved how he came crawling back to me time and time again, promising me the world, telling me he only loved me.”

You pull away, hands resting on his chest as you try to find your words. Simon’s intense gaze has your mind swirling with conflicting emotions, and your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, your body trembling as he presses you against the wall with his body. “You–you say you’ll change, you say you’ll never do it again, you say you regret hurting me. And I forgive you. Every time. But nothing ever changes. You do it again and again, not caring how much you hurt me.” He places a hand on the wall next to your head, pushing your shirt up around your waist with the other, his touch on your naked skin sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down at you with a hint of amusement, a devious smirk appearing on his face as he searches your pleading eyes. “I’m serious, Simon,” you insist, unsuccessfully trying to convince yourself of what you’re saying. “I’m done.” Leaning in, he traces your neck with his nose, your heavy breathing and the way your tits press against his chest making his cock twitch in his jeans. “Is that so?” he murmurs against your skin before softly sucking and kissing on your flesh. “Why are you doing this?” you breathe, instinctively wrapping your arms around him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you draw him closer. His leg between yours presses against your core, and you can’t help but whimper desperately at the feeling. “I love you,” he whispers, his warm breath gently caressing the curve of your ear, his words piercing your heart like a poisonous dart. “No, you don’t,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sadness, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within you. Despite the ache in your heart, a part of you still yearns for the comfort of his touch, the familiarity of his presence, the illusion of affection he gives you. You need him, need to feel him, need him to love you—even if it kills you. In this moment of vulnerability, you surrender to the torrent of emotions flooding your senses, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to drown out the pain, to silence the screams that plague your mind—eagerly drinking his poison straight from the source. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer, offering yourself up to him with each rough tug, fervent kiss, and harsh bite to his lips. He matches your energy, gripping the back of your neck with a bruising hold as he hastily opens his jeans to free his cock. “I hate you,” you choke out, the words laced with bitterness and the raw intensity of your need for him as your heart races and your vision blurs. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, baby,” Simon murmurs with a smirk, his words a cruel reminder of the tangled web of emotions that binds you to him, even as you struggle to break free. With a deft movement, he pulls aside your panties, sliding his hard cock through your wet folds as he holds your leg up around his waist. “Oh fuck,” you moan as he pushes inside you in one harsh thrust, your fingernails reflexively digging into his scalp. Overwhelming pleasure mingles with the anguish of your body betraying you, even as your mind screams in protest. Your walls clench around Simon with fierce intensity, his repeated thrusts against your G-spot having you close to orgasm within a minute. “Tell me, baby,” he pants, his eyes gleaming with triumph and satisfaction as he watches in real time how his poison travels through your entire body, your mind, intoxicating your very being with his essence. “Tell me how much you hate me while you come on my cock.”

You tilt your head and give Tommy a tired smile. “Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard?” 

“No, sweetheart, you’re not pathetic for wanting to be loved. You’re human and our feelings can be…complicated, irrational, dangerous. But you got yourself away from a toxic situation despite your feelings and that takes a lot of strength.”

“Hm.” You draw shapes into the sand with your toes, your heart heavy in your chest.

“Is he…why you left? You had to get away from him?”

“Surprisingly, no,” you say pensively, lost in thought as you fold one leg beneath you on the bench. “Things weren’t that bad after I decided not to care anymore. You know you can just wake up one day and realize it hurts a lot less to just not care about anything? Amazing. So yeah, that’s what I did.” You shrug and rub your left thumb with your right one.

“Of course, he didn’t like that at all, not being able to emotionally drain me anymore. He even told me I was depressed or some shit, acting like he cared, when all he actually missed was me giving him the reactions he wanted,” you scoff, bitterness dripping from your lips. “Coincidentally, that’s when he and my best friend started fucking.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’, that’s beyond fucked up. Do you, uh, have someone to talk to about all this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean apart from handsome cowboys in too-tight jeans late at night?”

“Did you just call me handsome?”

“Don’t think so,” you give him a playful smile, then turn your head to watch the waves doing their mesmerizing dance. Despite the light-hearted banter, a hint of sadness flickers across your face. “But no, I don’t have anyone left.”

Tommy’s expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and concern as he listens to your words. He reaches out, but catches himself before his hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Why did you leave?” he asks gently.

“I saw her.”

“Who?”

“Laura. My best friend,” you say, shuddering at her name. “I came out of the hospital yesterday, stood at a red light, and then I saw her. Looking right at me from the other side of the street. We hadn’t talked since before I almost died a month ago, ‘cause she never bothered to answer any of my calls or texts…and there she was. Daring to look at me with those fake-ass tears in her eyes like she isn’t a fucking sociopath.”

“What did you do?”

“I just…looked at her, knowing I could never see her again. I walked away, went to mine and Simon’s apartment, grabbed a few things, and went to the airport.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

The weight of your experience hangs heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the conversation. Tommy nods thoughtfully as he absorbs your words, until he suddenly shakes his head, chastising himself for his own stupidity.

“Okay wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say you almost died? What the hell happened?”

“Oh,” you scoff, a wide smile spreading across your face, its brightness contrasting sharply with the dullness in your eyes, “it’s nothing. One of my fallopian tubes burst ‘cause my dumbass gynecologist failed to diagnose an ectopic pregnancy, so I was hemorrhaging and had to have emergency surgery to get it removed.”

Tommy’s reaction is visceral: his eyes widen in shock, and his mouth falls open slightly, a silent gasp escaping him as the gravity of your words, spoken with horrifying casualness, hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’...”

“But hey, the doctor said I’m completely fine at the check-up yesterday, so I guess that’s what I am.” You shrug and smile at him, but your attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor–”

“Don’t, please. It’s okay,” you interrupt softly, shaking your head. “My ex told me to have an abortion when I told him I was pregnant, and I wouldn’t have been a good mom anyway, so it’s best for the baby that it wasn’t born into the shitshow that is my life.”

“Dar–”

“I swear to God, Tommy, if you say ‘darlin’’ in that stupid, sexy accent of yours one more time,” you cut him off with a playful glare. 

He smiles at you, though worry lingers in his eyes and tugs at his heart.

“I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean,” you muse, welcoming the breeze cooling your hot face down. “It’s kind of poetic that my journey ends here.”

“It really is beautiful here, I’m sure you’d love livi–” Tommy starts, but you’re not hearing him.

“You know, I have this recurring dream where I drown, but instead of feeling panicked or scared I just feel peaceful, light. Like the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders. I don’t thrash or struggle, I just…let the water take me under and I can finally breathe.”

Concern flashes in Tommy’s eyes, but he quickly masks it with a calm expression, not wanting to alarm you.

“That sounds intense,” he responds gently, choosing his words carefully. “Dreams can be strange sometimes, but that one sounds like it’s trying to tell you something. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of processing all the heavy things that’ve been weighing on you."

He shifts slightly closer to you, his tone soft and reassuring. “But you know, maybe it’s worth exploring with a therapist or someone who can help you unpack it. Sometimes talking about these things can bring some clarity and relief.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say absentmindedly. 

“Darlin’, please look at me,” Tommy’s voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze penetrating through the fog of your mind. If you had any tears left to cry, the sincerity in his eyes would surely coax them out right about now. 

“About what you said earlier…you–you don’t deserve people treating you badly, or any of the bad things that happen to you. You never did, you hear me? You were supposed to be loved, protected and cared for, but you weren’t, and that’s not fair, and most certainly not your fault.”

You tilt your head, studying his face intently. Why does he care? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? But hey, he’s trying to be nice, and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again. So, you’re trying to be nice back. 

“Thanks,” you say softly, mustering a smile. “But enough about me and my dumpster fire of a life.” You shift in your seat, untucking your leg and stretching it out in front of you. 

“I’d rather hear about you and how you get your hair to be this healthy. I can never get mine to look that good. Do you think it’s because I just eat garbage, don’t drink enough water and don’t get enough sunlight?”

Tommy chuckles and nods understandingly, recognizing your attempt to shift gears, and decides to play along until you both hear the pizza guy calling for you.

Your insistence to pay for your own pizza and drink falls on deaf ears, so you begrudgingly accept Tommy’s invitation and thank him for ordering food. Surprisingly, you find yourself ravenously hungry after taking the first few bites of your pineapple pizza—that you originally only wanted to mess with Tommy. But even he has to admit it isn’t half bad after you make him eat a slice.

As you’re eating together and the night deepens around you, the street lamps along the boardwalk spending enough light, you ask Tommy about his life. 

He shares his journey of enlisting in the army as a teenager, grappling with PTSD upon his return, and navigating through troubled times. He tells you about the unwavering support of his brother and how therapy helped him cope with his demons. You delve deeper, asking him about his wishes for the future, about his hopes and dreams.

You enjoy hearing about his life, about his experiences that are so different from yours. It’s comforting to get lost in someone else’s story for a bit. It’s a refuge, a welcome escape from your own tiring existence. 

Pizzas devoured, you sit side by side, enveloped in the soothing melody of the ocean’s whispers. Time seems to lose its grip as you share both laughter and quiet, the minutes and hours slipping away unnoticed like grains of sand carried by the tide.

As tranquility settles between you, the world around you seemingly forgotten, a question gnaws at your insides, its weight palpable in the silence. It’s a question you’re reluctant to voice aloud, knowing it will rupture the delicate bubble you and Tommy have found yourselves in. Yet, it persists, demanding acknowledgment, refusing to be ignored.

You take a deep breath.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He gives you a reassuring smile. “Of course, darlin’.”

“Why won’t you go home?”

Oh. Tommy looks deeply into your eyes, his own filled with turmoil, and finds that he can’t lie to you. 

“I can’t,” he admits softly, turning his gaze towards the distant horizon.

You nod slowly, turning your head towards the water as well. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he says simply, his acknowledgment laden with a quiet understanding.

You steal a glance at him, your eyes searching for comfort in the weary lines on his face. With a tentative gesture, you place your hand on the bench between you, a subtle invitation for connection.

Tommy, sensing your unspoken plea, catches the movement from the corner of his eye. His gaze meets yours as you turn your head, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, he understands. Without a word, he responds, reaching out to cover your hand with his own. 

His touch is protective, a silent promise that you’re not alone. 

“Do you…do you think that makes me a bad person?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you lay bare the depths of your fears.

“No,” he responds softly, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “You’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

For the first time since your miscarriage, tears glisten in your eyes, shimmering like fragments of shattered dreams under the moonlight. Tommy’s words offer a glimmer of solace, touching your broken heart. 

Silence settles between you two, heavy with shared pain. You sit like that for a while, two strangers finding kinship in the gentle embrace of this summer night.

Gently squeezing your hand, Tommy turns to look at you after a few minutes. “I need you to do something for me,” he says, his voice tinged with urgency. You look into his eyes, finding comfort in the warmth of his presence.

“Please stay with me tonight,” he pleads, his fingers tightening around yours, anchoring you to the present moment as if afraid you might slip away into the night. 

“We can stay here, we can go for drinks, we can go dancing, we can break into the zoo—whatever you want, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about anything, and I promise I won’t bother you anymore if tomorrow you decide that’s what you want, but please give me a chance to show you that I ca–”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“Okay.”

As the gentle breeze around you whispers secrets of hope and renewal, you find yourself nodding in agreement, a silent promise to give him the chance he so earnestly seeks—to let him show you the light that flickers within the darkness. 

Tommy is momentarily stunned as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation. But there’s none to be found—only a quiet resolve that speaks volumes. A wave of relief washes over him, and he can’t hold back the wide grin spreading across his face.

“So, there’s a place a few minutes from here where we could dance, or there’s the bar I went to earlier, or we could–”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m tired. Could we maybe…could we go home?”

Tommy’s face lights up even more. “Yes, yes, of course, darlin’. My place is right around the corner.”

“Great,” you say with a small smile. 

You put your socks and sneakers back on, your movements slow and unsteady after hours of sitting. As you stand up for the first time, your legs wobble beneath you, but Tommy is quick to react, reaching out to steady you with his hands on your waist.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you realize your hands are gripping his shoulders for support.

“That’s alright, darlin’. I got you.”

“You’re so cheesy, you know that?” you say with a playful roll of your eyes before removing your hands and taking a step back. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not working,” he teases back with a smirk.

“Whatever. Can we go?” You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“After you, my lady,” Tommy says with a gallant flourish, gesturing for you to go first. You shake your head with a theatrical sigh, but play along and start walking.

He falls into step beside you, eager to lift your spirits with an array of random animal facts he’s accumulated over the years, and, much to your amusement, with some particularly funny stories about failed hookups, like the one from tonight.

As you draw closer to his apartment, he suddenly sucks in a sharp breath and comes to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask if you need anything.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, tampons, make-up wipes, solution for your contacts, hair conditioner, lotion—I don’t think I have any of that at home, but there’s a convenience sto–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, touched by his consideration. “I got all my essentials in my backpack and really don’t need anything fancy. Thank you, though.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you interrupt softly. “Thank you.”

Arriving at Tommy’s apartment, you’re struck by its elegant yet welcoming nature. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished, with a modern aesthetic that speaks to Tommy’s discerning taste. You can’t help but wonder if his job as a contractor affords him such a nice living space or if he’s secretly a trust fund kid—or a very successful drug dealer.

“Must be nice,” you think to yourself.

As Tommy ushers you inside, you’re enveloped in a sense of warmth and comfort as the space feels distinctly homey, with its wooden furnishings and cozy accents that evoke a rustic charm. The polished hardwood floors gleam under soft lamplight, casting a warm glow throughout the living room.

Tommy assures you that you’re welcome to make yourself at home as he heads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water.

Despite its hominess, the apartment remains impeccably clean and organized—a testament, perhaps, to Tommy’s meticulous nature. Every surface is spotless, every item in its proper place, reflecting a discipline that may well stem from his army training.

As you explore further, you do notice small touches that hint at Tommy’s personality—framed photos of him and his friends, a worn but well-loved armchair and couch positioned opposite the TV, horse figurines on the sideboard, and a few potted plants scattered throughout, adding a touch of life to the space.

Your eyes are eventually drawn to the record player nestled in one corner, surrounded by a collection of vinyl records. The sight brings a smile to your face, appreciating the nostalgic feeling it gives you. You’re pretty sure you used to have the same model in your childhood home.  

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you hear Tommy’s voice behind you as he hands you the glass of water with a knowing smile. “You like Jazz?”

“Thanks. And yeah, I guess?” 

“Okay, wait a sec.” He moves with practiced ease, flipping through his collection of vinyl records until he finds the one he’s looking for. With a gentle touch, he carefully removes the chosen record from its sleeve, handling it delicately as if it were a precious artifact.

You sip on your water and watch in fascination as he places the record onto the turntable, the soft click of the needle finding its groove. As the first notes of a smooth jazz melody fill the air, you can’t help but smile, the music enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Tommy catches your eye and grins, nodding in approval as if to say, “See, I knew you’d like it.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his arm with your elbow. 

“Want me to show you around?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so this is the bedroom,” he says, leading you down the hallway and into the room where you’ll be sleeping. The bed sits neatly made, its dark sheets promising a restful night ahead. “I’ll change the sheets for you in a bit, okay? And I’ll be sleeping in the living room on the couch.” 

“I, uh,” you murmur, but stop yourself, shaking your head. “No, forget it.”

“What is it? It’s okay, you can tell me.” He searches your eyes as you meet his gaze, waiting patiently for you to answer him. 

“Could you maybe…not change the sheets?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t make it awkward. Instead, he nods understandingly and immediately assures you, “Sure, I’ll leave the bed as it is then.”

You offer him a grateful smile and as if sensing your need for comfort, he asks, “Do you need a shirt to sleep?” Without waiting for your response, he retrieves one of his shirts and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, taking the shirt from him and holding it close. It’s soft and smells nice.

“And here’s the bathroom,” Tommy continues, leading you through the space. “Feel free to take a shower if you want. Spare towels are here, and there’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet here. Toothpaste is over there. I even got fancy face masks if you wanna try, they’re in here. You think you got everything you need?”

“I think so,” you smile at him before leaving the bathroom to grab your backpack. 

As you’re about to head back, Tommy slips in ahead of you. You watch as he discreetly removes all the razor blades, a silent but clear gesture of concern for your well-being. You understand what he’s doing, and although it stirs a pang of humiliation and shame inside you, you don’t say anything and act like you didn’t see it.

After he leaves the bathroom, you take a moment to compose yourself before closing the door, peeing, taking off your clothes, and catching a glimpse of the small surgery scars on your belly. They appear to be healing well, already looking much better than even a week ago.

With a deep breath, you turn on the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, soothing away some of your tension. As you lather up, enveloped in the steam and the rich scent of Tommy’s body wash, there’s a knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts.

“Darlin’?” Tommy’s voice sounds through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“I’m okay. But you seriously need to start buying body wash for adults, dude. I’m gonna be smelling like a fourteen-year-old boy now, and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you tease. 

“Ha ha, you brat. Enjoy your shower.”

You smile to yourself and appreciate how clean Tommy’s shower is as, in your experience, that is not something you can count on with men who live alone.

As you lather shampoo into your hair, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of peace amidst the chaos of recent events. It’s all so surreal.

Once rinsed, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of Tommy’s plush towels, the soft fabric hugging your body in a tight embrace. With the steam still lingering in the air, you take your time cleaning your face, brushing your teeth and detangling your wet hair, these simple acts of self-care something you’ve neglected in the weeks prior.

Luckily, your past self decided to pack a fresh pair of panties and a pair of soft yoga pants you can change into now, Tommy’s shirt completing your pajamas for tonight. 

Slowly, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light of the living room floor lamp casting a warm glow on the scene before you. Tommy’s sitting on the couch, bathed in the gentle ambiance of the record player’s music.

With a glass of whiskey in hand, he seems lost in thought, fingers rhythmically tapping against the glass, his eyes focused on the spinning vinyl. As you approach, he looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he welcomes you to join him.

“Okay yeah, I get it,” he quips, his tone playful as he notices how perfectly his shirt accentuates your eye color. “You look better in my shirt than I ever could. There’s really no need to rub it in.”

Chuckling, you settle into the cushion beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence. It feels oddly comforting to be close to him again, his cologne a familiar scent.

But as you sit beside him now, something shifts in the air, a subtle change that you can’t quite pinpoint. It’s as if a newfound awareness has settled between you, casting a different light on the space you share. And as you steal glances at Tommy, you start to feel restless, your heart rate quickening.

Oh.

The realization dawns on you slowly, creeping in like the first light of dawn, illuminating the depths of your emotions. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him, mesmerized by the way he sits on the couch, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident. 

Your eyes trail over the breadth of his shoulders, down his strong arms, his sculpted torso, and settle on his spread thighs, the subtle flex of muscles visible beneath the fabric of his jeans. Each movement, each shift of his body, only serves to deepen the intensity of your attraction to him.

You’re in trouble. 

His handsome face holds a certain allure, drawing you in with its rugged charm—especially with those warm eyes and the beautiful facial hair. As you look at him, really take him in, you can’t deny the flutter of arousal stirring deep within you.

A flutter that’s enough to urge your scrambled brain to make a move.

Tommy catches your prolonged stare, and his brows furrow slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. You gather the courage to ask for a sip of his whiskey, unwittingly biting your lip as you wait for his answer. 

“Of course, darlin’,” he agrees, leaning in with a broad smile, bringing the glass closer to you.

As your fingers brush against his on the glass, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you. His pupils dilate ever so slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. You take the glass from him, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a slow sip, relishing the smooth warmth of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you lick your lips, the gesture not lost on Tommy as he watches you intently.

The flicker of desire in his eyes tells you that he’s captivated by your silent invitation, but as Tommy accepts the glass back, a faint frown tugs at his brow, his expression suddenly tense.

“Darlin’, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you ask, “Why not?”

“Because,” he breathes out, “it’s making me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

“Hmm, but what if I told you that I want to do those things, too?”

Tommy swallows hard as you scoot closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. His pulse quickens, evident in the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, unsure of what to do or say next.

When your hand lands gently above his knee, his body tenses at your touch. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but all he manages is a heavy breath.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean in slowly, searching his eyes. You can see the conflict raging within him, desire warring with restraint, and you wait for his response.

With a shaky exhale, his gaze drops down to your lips, his entire being filled with longing and uncertainty. But as your palm wanders up his thigh, drawing closer and closer to his growing erection, his resolve begins to crumble like sand underfoot. 

Unable to resist any longer, he leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet fervent kiss. His hand instinctively finds the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your wet hair as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet urgency.

Feeling you so close, feeling your soft lips against his, he surrenders to the moment, to the sweet sensation of your embrace, letting himself be consumed by the taste of you.

And yet, in the back of his mind, he’s painfully aware of the circumstances of your meeting.

“I don’t think…this…is a good idea,” Tommy mumbles breathlessly against your lips as you whine needily for more.

“I don’t care,” you breathe, pulling back for a moment to hold onto his shoulders and straddle his lap. His cock twitches in his jeans as you scoot forward, your warm core putting delicious pressure on it. Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and lean in to kiss him again. He cups your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply before nudging your nose with his. 

You open your eyes and meet his gaze, his pupils so dilated his brown eyes are almost completely black. 

“Let me look at you, baby” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. With a smile, you straighten up and place your hands behind you on his thighs, giving him a great  view of your spread thighs and torso.

“Is this okay?” Tommy asks softly as he traces your thighs with his palms, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body.

You nod your head yes, and his lips curve into a smile as his eyes roam your body and face with adoration. His hands wander over your hips, under the shirt you’re wearing, along your waist and further up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his eyes piercing yours as his hands come to rest on your waist. 

“I’m sure you say that to every girl willing to sit on your lap,” you tease with a smirk, putting your hands on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm. 

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.” His words carry a weight of sincerity as one hand reaches out to tenderly caress your cheek, while the other glides over the soft skin of your back. “C’mere baby.”

As you lean in, his lips capture yours with an almost desperate hunger, his kiss rough and deep, as if he fears you might vanish if he doesn’t hold onto you tightly enough. His hands glide to your lower back, hovering just above your ass, hesitant to go further yet craving to pull you closer, to feel every inch of you pressed against him, to consume you whole. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break,” you say softly, leading his hands down to your ass. You hum in satisfaction as he grabs it, feeling the strain of his arousal against your aching pussy.

“Tommy,” you whine quietly against his lips, begging him to understand how desperately you need him.

Lost in the moment, you both sink deeper into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there’s only the heat of each other’s bodies and the rhythm of your shared desire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands roam your back, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

But as the intensity of your kiss grows, so does the weight of uncertainty. Tommy pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he searches your eyes for reassurance.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers. “We don’t have to…”

“I want you, Tommy,” you purr, your eyes glazed. 

Your hips rock against him, trying to relieve the tension that has grown between your thighs, eliciting a deep groan from him. His hands move to your waist, helping you grind against him. 

“Oh shit,” he pants, reveling in the needy moans leaving your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he admits with a soft shake of his head, looking at you with wide eyes, still moving you against the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss and suck at his sensitive neck, leaving purple marks behind. You feel his grip tighten, his restraint slipping as he responds to your touch with a low groan.

Lost in the overload of sensations—feeling your warm body, your soft lips and wet tongue, your urgent movements on him, hearing your moans and whispered pleas—Tommy is ready to give you what you both want.

But right as he’s opening his belt with deft fingers, he inadvertently turns his head and catches his reflection in the window. Watching you writhe on top of him, clutching his shirt, his own face twisted in ecstasy, a sharp pang of guilt shoots through him.

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this.

You move to kiss his lips again, but as you do so, you catch the concern in his eyes, and your heart sinks. “Hey,” you whisper, your brow furrowed, an anxious smile on your lips. 

Your fingers trail gently through his hair, seeking reassurance, but when his movements cease and his touch withdraws, panic floods your senses.

“No, no please don’t stop,” you beg, your desperation evident in every word. You press against him, your hips moving with urgency, aching for the connection you crave so deeply. “I need you.”

Your hands gently cup his cheeks, your pleading eyes flitting between his. 

“Please? Tommy?”

Feeling something bump against your leg, you’re called back to the present.

“Oh, hi there, buddy,” you coo, looking down at the toddler who just faceplanted in front of you. You lean down and offer your hand to help him up. “What are you up to, hm? Just running around?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his face breaking into a toothy grin. “You wanna sit up here and wait for your mommy?” You lift him up, putting more pressure on your bandaged hand than you should, and set him down beside you. “Great view, huh?”

He babbles something unintelligible, his little arms flailing as his excited laughter fills the air. “You’re so right, buddy,” you agree, following his gaze to the sparkling blue, “the ocean is beautiful.”

“Benji? Oh, there you are,” a lady in a swimsuit calls out, walking towards you with a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she says to you, her tone apologetic. “Benji, how many times have I told you not to run away, hm?”

The toddler giggles in response to his mom’s reproach, his little arms reaching out for her. You can’t help but laugh along with him. 

“Think twice before you decide to have kids,” the lady says with a deep sigh, lifting her son onto her hip. “They’re not always as cute as they look.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckle.

“Say bye to the nice lady,” she prompts, her voice warm and gentle.

Benji turns to you, his eyes bright with innocence, and waves enthusiastically with his chubby little hand.

“Bye Benji,” you coo, returning his wave with a big smile, your heart warmed by his adorable gesture.

You sigh and look at your phone. You have two new messages from Tommy.

Maria says she can’t wait to see you tomorrow. And that she’ll personally drag you here if you decide not to show up. 

You’re family and there’s nothing you can do to escape us ;)

You swallow hard and can feel your puffy, irritated eyes starting to water behind your black glasses. What the fuck did you ever do in your insignificant life to deserve this kind of love?

Your phone lights up with another text from Tommy. 

just accept it <3

You snort and shake your head. You’re so grateful for his friendship. It has changed a lot over the last couple of years, of course it has, especially after he started dating Maria, and more recently since you started…seeing his brother without telling him. 

But the fact that you’re still honoring your yearly tradition to have your late-night talk on this very bench, is a testament to the depth of your bond. It’s a cherished ritual, marking the anniversary of your first meeting. You meet here, under the evening sky, exchanging stories and laughter, and indulging in pizza after sunset.

Two years ago, Tommy told you he met someone before you left his apartment the next morning. 

“Sweetheart?” “Yeah?” “I, uh, I got something to tell you.” “Shoot.” “I met someone.” Your fingers halt as you’re tying your shoes, the world around you suddenly still as his words sink in. You stare at the floor, tension building in your heart. “We’ve only been on two dates, but I–” “Really like her,” you finish his sentence as you tie the laces into a knot, straighten up and meet his gaze. “Yes.” That’s it, then. You’ve been replaced. “Does that,” you clear your throat that feels incredibly tight now, your voice shaking, “does that mean we can’t hang out anymore?” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel a rush of panic flood through you. You look down and try to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “Of course not,” Tommy says, his tone gentle yet firm. “Nothing and no one in the world could ever keep me from spending time with you.” “Okay,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper as you hastily wipe away a tear with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry for crying, I–I don’t mean to.” “Hey, you don’t need to apologize for that,” Tommy says softly, closing the distance between you two. His hands find their place on your shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Darlin’, look at me.” You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I mean it,” he says with a comforting smile, looking intently into your eyes and cupping your face with his hands. “I promise I’m not going to leave you. I will always be here for you.” You study his face and tell the nagging voice in your mind to shut the fuck up. This is Tommy. He deserves love, he deserves happiness, he deserves someone who can give him everything he wants.  And that’s not you. You give him a kiss on the cheek and a sincere smile. “I’m really happy for you, Tommy.”

You did continue spending time together—Tommy kept his word and didn’t abandon you—but as more and more time passed, you would see him less and less as his relationship with Maria deepened.

You expected that to happen, it didn’t hurt any less though.

One year ago, he told you he was going to propose to her, and you spent all night brainstorming ideas on how he could do it. After she’d said yes, they both let you know one day over dinner that they were going to elope, just the two of them, and you were the only person they’d tell beforehand. 

A few weeks ago, Tommy beamed with pride as he shared that they were trying for a baby, the twinkle in his eyes warming your heart. Despite the joyous news, you couldn’t resist teasing him for planting that image in your mind.

After you’d shared your stories, and your pineapple and pepperoni pizzas, he very casually asked you if you were seeing anyone, and you said, “No.” 

“You’re a horrible liar, darlin’.” “I’m not lying. I don’t like anyone except you.” “Stroking my ego’s not gonna get you off the hook, baby.” “Hmm, I’m pretty sure it’s working though.” “The longer you deny it, the more obvious it gets, you know.” “I’m not seeing anybody, Tommy.” “You really wanna play semantics with me?” “Alright, alright. I guess I’m…kinda seeing someone.” “Why just ‘kinda’? Does the guy not realize what a lucky bastard he is?” “It’s not him. It’s, uh…you know me.” “Yeah, and that’s why I know you’ve caught feelings.” “Ew, don’t say that.” “Well, it’s true. It’s written all over your pretty face.” “You suck, you know that?” “Yeah, it’s part of what makes me so charming. Does he know?” “I dunno, probably not.” “Are you gonna tell him?” “Uhh, I don’t think so.” “Why not? All this time I’ve known you and I’ve never seen you in love before. You can’t just…ignore it.” “Tommy…” “Don’t even try it with the puppy eyes, I’m immune to them.” “Liar.” “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t tell him.” “Easy. If I never tell him, it’ll never hurt.” “That’s not how it works.” “You just couldn’t let me live happily in my delusions, hm?”  “Sweetheart. I know you’re scared, and you have all the reason to, but…sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith, you know?” “I’m not sure I can.” “What does your gut say?” “My gut says he’s too good for me and that he wouldn’t like me if he knew who I really am.” “As someone who does know who you really are, I can assure you that it’s a privilege I wouldn’t miss for the world.” “I just…don’t wanna mess things up, Tommy.”  “Look. Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost if you try. Everything changes and everything is alright.” “Wow, that was beautiful…you’re really starting to feel that rum and coke, huh?” “You know I’m right, baby.”

It’s funny, really. 

You actually entertained the idea that Tommy might be onto something, that perhaps opening up to Joel could bring some semblance of peace, that perhaps you could be happy together. Yet here you are, back where you started, the familiar ache of loss settling in your heart, whispering that everything is far from alright.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors,  reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, you take your shoes and socks off. You sink your toes into the soft, grainy sand, relishing its comforting texture. 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, allowing the rhythmic sound of the waves to soothe your racing thoughts. With each exhale, you remind yourself that you’re safe, embracing the tranquility of the moment as the colors of the sunset dance across your eyelids. 

You feel grounded, peaceful, almost—

“Hi, darlin’.”

“Jesus, you scared me,” you startle with a gasp, snapping back to reality as Joel’s voice unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you saw me,” he says with an apologetic smile on his lips, his big puppy eyes looking puppier than ever.

You sigh exasperatedly and take off your sunglasses. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his words stumbling over each other, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just...I thought I–I mean, I wanted to...”

“Joel,” you interrupt him, too exhausted—physically and emotionally—to beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His brow furrows slightly and his heart plummets as he sees your bleary eyes, a pang of concern settling heavily in his stomach. “I wanted to see you, darlin’,” he confesses softly.

Your gaze sharpens with curiosity and suspicion as you ask, “But how did you know I was gonna be here? And can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Joel hesitates for a moment, then sits down beside you, his movements cautious as if afraid to spook you. With a nervous glance in your direction, he clears his throat, his voice low and hesitant.

“I, uh,” he begins, his words faltering slightly, “I went to your place after work to see if you’d maybe talk to me in person. But you weren’t there. And then I went to your office to see if you were working late, but I saw Kristen and she said it was your day off. You could have been anywhere at that point, so I went to Tommy’s and…told him.”

His eyes flit between yours, anxiously searching for your reaction. 

You blink slowly, processing Joel’s words with a sense of resignation rather than shock. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you realize that, at this point, nothing surprises you anymore. With a tired nod, you acknowledge Joel’s actions, feeling too drained to muster any significant reaction.

“How’d he take it?” you ask quietly.

Joel exhales deeply, a wry smile on his lips. “He isn’t too happy with me right now, but I think he’ll get over it.”

“Hm.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but after last night, I just…I couldn’t bare the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me.”

As Joel speaks, you keep your gaze averted, unable to meet his eyes, your focus fixed on the sand beneath your feet. You hear every word he says, each one echoing in the silence between you, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your reluctance to face him, Joel’s unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes silently pleading for understanding.

In the midst of the tense silence, a sudden clarity washes over you, and your heart speaks before your mind can catch up. Just as Joel opens his mouth to apologize again and explain further, you interject with your own question, the words tumbling out softly into the stillness.

“Do you ever feel like there’s something missing...like a piece of your heart is somewhere else? And no matter what you do, you’re always gonna be incomplete?” 

You meet Joel’s gaze, your eyes searching his, peering into his soul with a vulnerability that lays bare your deepest feelings. 

“I don’t feel like that when I’m with you,” you whisper.

Joel’s brows furrow in a mixture of surprise and tenderness as your words sink in. His lips part slightly, his expression softening with understanding as he processes the weight of your confession.

“Would you, um,” you clear your throat, “would you hold my hand and just sit with me for a bit?”

Joel’s eyes beam with adoration as he gently envelops your hand that’s clutching your shirt, delicately prying it away and intertwining his fingers with yours. With a soft, reassuring smile, he places your entwined hands on his thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin.

As you both gaze out at the vast expanse of the water, the waves lapping against the shore in a mesmerizing dance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you like a warm blanket.

You still carry the weight of unresolved issues and uncertainties in your heart, acknowledging that they loom on the horizon, demanding attention. But for now, they can wait.

Your hand in Joel’s feels right, and in this shared moment right here, that’s enough.

Thank you for reading! 🤍

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[pwblant]

are you cold? — song eunseok

,, wc : 878

,, pairing : bf!eunseok x gf!reader

,, a/n : hiii riizeblr !! i’ve been wanting to write a short fic like this and i thought that eunseok would be perfect for it, he’s been hitting so different lately 😵‍💫 feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy !!!! 🤍

this morning, you and song eunseok, your boyfriend, went on a long drive over to the beach. it was a peaceful, mellow drive there. you were in the passenger seat, backrest tilted backwards so you could sit comfy. eunseok’s hand rested on top of your thigh, and the windows were cracked open just enough to let the crisp air in and graze your face.

“hey, just a question. what clothes did you bring?” you asked, breaking the peaceful silence out of the blue.

“i brought a jacket and a few other stuff. i checked this morning, the forecast said it was going to be pretty chilly tonight.” he replied calmly, keeping his eyes steady on the road ahead.

“i’m doomed. i completely forgot to check the weather forecast.” you groaned as you crossed your arms, sinking into the chair in disappointment.

“don’t worry, maybe it won’t be so cold. weather forecasts aren’t always right.” he chuckled, trying to lift the mood. “plus, i’m always right here.” he added jokingly.

you chuckled lightly knowing he always knew how to get you with his words.

when you arrived at the beach, the weather wasn’t too bad. the sun’s rays were shining on your skin, giving you a warm feeling all over. you played in the water with some of your friends who came, and you had a great time. that was, until the night fell.

you and eunseok headed back to your shared room just beside the beach. you took turns showering after a long day of playing outside, getting sweaty and dirty on the sand. just your luck, the temperature around the area had only gone lower, reaching to about 12° at night. getting prepared to go to bed, you felt like you were sitting inside a freezer more than a hotel room with how cold it was. all you had brought for the night were a pair of shorts and a comfy shirt. wanting to take shelter on the bed, you quickly ran over to what you thought would be your safe space, only to be disappointed by the cold comforter and bed sheets. it would take so much time to warm it up and you genuinely felt like your fingers were about to fall off from the cold.

eunseok had fallen asleep right after he took a shower and said good night to you since he was exhausted after playing beach volleyball with other friends all day. seeing him fast asleep, you kissed his cheek and decided to crawl into the comforter yourself and face the wrath of the cold. you felt your whole body shivering. your eyes were closed but deep inside you were wide awake, it felt impossible to fall asleep in this condition.

3:24 AM, sunday

it’s almost been 3 hours since you last laid in bed, and you haven’t gotten the chance to fall asleep since. your body kept undergoing these overwhelming shivers and it was incredibly difficult to be comfortable, even with the comforter on. you pushed yourself up onto a sitting position to rub your eyes and contemplate about your night.

“are you feeling alright, y/n?” feeling the sudden movement of the bed, eunseok murmured, his voice low and barely above a mumble.

“yea—yea, i’m fine.” you said, not wanting to worry him, but the shiver in your voice kind of gave it away.

“are you cold?” he asked, sitting up to join you.

“a bit.” you confessed.

“i’m sorry i fell asleep early today. i should’ve waited for you,” he apologized, immediately reaching to take off his jacket.

your eyes softened at his thoughtfulness, “you don’t have to apologize for anything seok,” you said softly. “you did so much this morning. i want you to get enough rest for tomorrow.”

“and leave you in the cold like this? i don’t think so.” he smiled, handing over his jacket that was already warm from his body heat.

you were shocked to see his bare torso as he handed his clothing over to you. he looked so beautiful right in that moment, his gray sweatpants fitting just right in a way that felt effortlessly attractive. the way his hair was all ruffled almost made you forget what you were going to ask him, however, you pulled yourself together and prioritized other matters first.

“won’t you be cold? i thought you had a shirt underneath.” you asked, feeling worried that he’d have to suffer for the rest of the night.

“a little bit, but i’m sure i’ll be able to handle it.” he replied confidently.

“this won’t do,” you said as you pulled him into a cuddle and laid his thick jacket down on top of the both of you, hoping that the natural warmth of your bodies would make the situation feel more bearable.

“you’re so cute. i’d trade my jackets for your hugs any day,” he chuckled, adjusting the jacket so that it would cover you more than it did for him.

his words make you giggle as you rest in his arms, eventually drifting off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth and safety he always brings. you have the best boyfriend anyone could ask for, everything he does makes you fall in love with him all over again.

[amphitriteswife]

I was looking for Windbreaker headcanons and came across your headcanons—I absolutely love your writing! It’s amazing! I’ve also noticed there isn’t much Windbreaker content out there or maybe I’m just not looking in the right places. I wanted to request a Jay Jo headcanon nsfw piece because I adore him! Of course, if you’re not comfortable with that, no problem at all. Thank you so much! 🤍

Hello! I still haven’t caught up with windbreaker😭 but i can write this request for sure😈

Jay Jo NSFW HC’s

🚲 although Jay is very athletic since he’s a cyclist, that doesn’t really mean that he prefers athlets. He actually prefers fuller figures. Curves. Chubby. He doesn’t mind, in fact he feels more attracted towards them. If you are athletic it won’t bother him either.

🚲 Jay is more of an ass guy. He doesn’t really care for boobs that much. But he does when it comes to the rear end. He doesn’t really know why. Maybe it’s because his eyes drift towards the bottom when he’s cycling behind someone. He’ll never admit this by the way

🚲 well in terms of the X-ray, if you know what i mean: around 13 cm, which is around 5 inches. He’s not necessarily the biggest out there. But he’s also not the smallest. Just normal sized and he doesn’t care for it. Usually clean shaved. It’s just in his normal routine to be shaved there. The least you’ll see from his is very very short hair there. But that’s only when he really doesn’t have any time. And believe me he makes sure to take time to attend to himself.

🚲 His favorite position would be reversed cowgirl or against the wall. He liked having his hands around your thighs, legs or butt. That’s also why he prefers those positions the best. He doesn’t appose if you prefer others or don’t necessarily enjoy those. He’s not a push over and is usually okay with anything. As long as you’re comfortable and happy then he is too.

🚲 actually masturbates more than you would expect. Remember that one time in the beginning of the manhwa where Dom and Minu showed him porn? Yes that visual kind of never went away and just is engraved in his mind. It usually appears when he’s alone in his room or at night. It frustrates him a lot. Mainly because he doesn’t remember the actress, but you in that place. It really gets to him too. He may even dream about such things and get a boner in his sleep. If he arrives later in school than his normal routine that’s probably the reason why.

🚲 definitely into mature ladies. He doesn’t really mind age most of the time but prefers his age or a little older. Not younger. He thinks mature ladies are hotter. Mainly focused on the personality but also because they can take the lead sometimes and don’t necessarily shy away from intimate moments.

🚲 when it comes to his lady Jay doesn’t really mind body hair al long as it’s not over the top. It’s normal and everyone has it because it’s natural. Yet he still wants you to also take care of yourself. Just basic hygiene is all he asks. Does this also have something to do with the nether regions? Yes, he prefers it if his woman has it, not too much that it’s overgrown though. He thinks it’s sexy.

🚲 he’s actually more vocal than one would think. Most would say that he’s rather quiet but that wouldn’t be the case. Jay would rather make groans or grunts. An occasional moan here and there is definitely in there too. He moans more during oral though, blowjobs specifically. Vaginal sex is where he grunts and groans most of the time until his voice becomes strained.

🚲 in terms of being a giver or reciever, Jay is a giver. Although receiving is nice, he prefers to make you feel good above anything else. He may seem stoic, cold or distant and that is true, but that doesn’t take away that you’re his priority. He’s faster to actually perform oral on you or do things you like than his own preference. Mainly because he doesn’t see it as a big deal and likes to see you enjoying it.

Thank you for your request! 🫶

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Aww. Bless your heart my darling.

I had a bad day yesterday and I just really want Charles to call me mon coeur. And George to call me darling.

For my request. I'm not sure if you write for other drivers otherwise Oscar is totally fine.

But, reader and driver (George, Charles, or Oscar) have been in a relationship for a while. Reader is looking at driver once in awe and driver is like "what?" And reader replies "i just realised, i get to kiss and love you whenever i want"

I love you darling 🇦🇺💜

George Russell x Reader (GR63)

Summary: just a fluff ball for my love @lauz-xo , I hope you enjoy!

A/N: P.s sorry this is short, my first fic of a different driver than my man’s Oscar! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍

The door clicked shut behind you with a tired whine, a deep sign escaping yours chest. Allowing your bag to fall heavily to the ground, crumpled in defeat. You shuffle down the hall, feet dragging slightly behind you. Shoulders tensed as the days struggle weighs heavily on your mind, pressing down into a relentless ache in your joints.

Round the corner, the hand which had been raised to rub over your tired eyes stilled. Your footsteps faltering as your gaze falls on the scene unfolding in your cramped kitchen.

The low whirl of the stove fan mixed with the soft hum of music emanating from the speaker. The counters astray with empty food packaging and discarded vegetables, flour dusting the surfaces.

George stand by the stove, his back turned as he stirs the pasta into the sauce. You allow yourself a moment to stare, eyes tracing each muscle twitch and contract under his shirt. The tight material not doing much to hide the toned physique of the British driver.

A satisfied smile crossing his features as he relaxes into the evening sun. The setting rays warming the space, cascading golden beams bouncing from his damp hair. He turns to meet your gaze, a wide grin forming as he eyes light up. Placing the spoon next to the pot he opens his arms, stepping towards you before wrapping you in a warm embrace.

One arm coming to curl around your waist, the other coming to rest on the back of your head. Tucking you into his neck as he breathes deep into your hair, allowing your body to relax against his. A delicate kiss placed on the crown on your head and his hand stroked your hair. Long fingers coming through the strands with slow movements. The intoxicating smell of his soap and calogne, mixed with the bubbling pot on the stove, invaded your sense. Causing you to breathe deep into his neck as George chuckled lowly.

“Welcome home darling.” He whispered, pulling away slightly as he repositions his hand.

Coming to rest his large palm on your cheek, revealing as you place the weight of your head into his hand. His thumb tracing light over your cheekbone as his eyes meet yours. His gaze crunching in concern as he traces over your flushed skin, your stomach flipping as concern floods his features.

“Rough day?”

Your small nod has him pulling you in again, squeezing your body against his as his towering frame encases you. Holding you still as he whispered sweet nothing in your ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps to blossom down your neck.

Pulling away once more he smiled small, a tinge of pink scattering his cheeks as his eyes darted between you and the stove.

“I- uh.” He coughed, turning his head to avoid your eyes.

“I made dinner. It’s a family recipe. Well- no, not my family. Bu-but it is a family recipe, I asked Charles. And uh- well.. I tried my best.” He had gone red, skin flushed as he stumbled through his expiation. A hand coming to rub the back of his neck in a bashful movement.

Your heart stuttered as your chest swarmed with love, stomach twisting as butterflies swarmed. You stare at him in awe, watching as he plated the dinner with nervous hands. His tall frame hunched over your counter as he muttered to himself, topping the dish with fresh parsley.

Still bent over his creation George’s eyes meet your, soft and swirling with emotion. You stare back, head tiled to the side and a lopsided smile is planted on your face.

“What.” He queries, his voice soft but unsure as he searched your features.

You release a soft sigh, reaching across the counter as your yeast urge for his hand. His takes it, coming to brush the ghost of a kiss in your knuckles, a shy grin on his lips and his eyes cash down. Eyelashes fluttering across his heated skin.

“It’s just, come to me that your mine.” You start, voice soft in the warm kitchen. He didn’t speak, just gesture for you to continue, fucking his lips between his teeth.

“And I get to love you, and kiss you. Whenever I want.”

George chuckled, coming to cup your face in his hands. Stretching over the counter to place a chased kiss on your lips.

“I am truly the luckiest man on earth to call you mine darling. And I’ll love you everyday you let me.”

🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋

Tag list:

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4 @dakotapaigelove

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 7

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

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for...

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: 32.6k +

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY. struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, talks of end-of-life plans, anxiety/stress/depression, parents fighting, child neglect, eating disorder behaviors as a result, recollection of past struggles with anorexia/restricting, talks of an ED facility, passing out, blood, (from an accidental cut) SMUT: oral, (f!rec) fingering, (f!rec) cock warming, unprotected (please let me know if i missed anything that is triggering!)

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

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for. big thank you to @gracev0609 for some very sweet ideas to include in this chapter.

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December 9th:

Graduation day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, perhaps…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-where, baby?” 

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

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

What? 

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

“You…you’re still going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With him? To say you’re blindsided…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A reason…

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

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

“I’m going to L.A.”

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

So, you will fill the silence.

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

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

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

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

This isn’t just about him. 

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

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

He lets out a sharp exhale, making you stop.

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

What the fuck are you even saying?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How dare he…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twists. A lump rises in your throat.

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

But he’s not.

He’s dead fucking on.

And he knows it.

But you’re not backing down.

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

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

“Someone like me?”

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

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

And neither are you.  

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

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

“Y/n –,”

“You think I’ll fall apart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I love. 

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

Yes, that is what he means. 

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

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

You’d be chasing after him. 

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

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

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

But it’s right. 

“And what if I don’t, Jake?” 

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

“Then, I guess this is over.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

The ice melted eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only, you seem to have forgotten why.

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

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

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

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

Forever, maybe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s the same story with the sword. 

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

Again, there’s no time. 

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Graduation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chapter, coming to its final end.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

But, Jake. 

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

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

Still, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.” 

Thunderous. 

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

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

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

How? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jacob Thomas Kiszka. That’s who. 

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

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

“Joshua Michael Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is for Jake.

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

Yep. Here it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These are proud tears, happy tears. 

But, selfishly, these tears do not just celebrate. 

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

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

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

She knows. 

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

Eventually.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

Upon first instinct, your eyes make a quick scan to locate Jake. He’s walking with Josh and Malachi, reading from the graduation program and seemingly paying no attention to you. So be it, then. 

“Y-yeah, sure!” The excitement in your voice is feigned, and you’re not even sure why you said yes. It’s not what you wanted to say, not what you want to do. But Sam’s excitement is very much real, and the gesture to lock his arm with yours as you make your exit from the arena a bit quicker is indicative that you’re now fully committed.

Arm in arm, you walk past a somewhat confused couple that you rode with initially. “I’ll uh, I’ll meet you guys there,” you say to them as Sam drags you along. Nat nods her head as she continues down the stairs with Danny.

Sam, acting as though he’s been here dozens of times, takes you through an alternate route, away from the mass of the crowd. A bit of a back way, of sorts, walking you through the areas behind the stands in lieu of through them. And he’s smiling the whole time, too. Like the most giddy, excitable child about to embark on a wondrous vacation. Before you know it, you’ve surpassed the crowd of people and made it to one of the parking lots, Sam’s vintage Bug now in clear sight. Certainly hard to miss such a vibrant orange amongst a sea of neutral colored vehicles. You’ve hardly gotten the chance to throw your pleather coat on before he’s prancing around to the drivers side and not wasting a single second to hop in. 

“I presume you’ll tell me where we’re going soon,” You say, situating yourself in the passenger seat while he takes a moment to let the engine warm. 

He chuckles with a mysterious undertone, stretching his seatbelt over his lap. “You’ll see when we get there!” Seatbelts secured, the engine thrums a deep grumble as he backs out of the parking spot.

Old as his Bug is, his radio is still in working condition, quite unlike your Firebird that’s about thirty years newer than his cruiser. He scans the stations for a second until you hear a few recognizable chords, and a very distinct voice belonging to none other than Ann Wilson. “Ah, a classic,” Sam says, turning the volume up a few notches, Alone echoing off of every window and leather seat. “These women are badass.”

Sam starts bobbing his head in beat with the drum, as though it’s a full on rock anthem instead of the heartbreak ballad you know it to be. His voice, hit in pitch and a little more than rough, slips into the chorus: “I never really cared until I met you!” 

He certainly doesn’t hold back, even tossing in a dramatic air-drum hit on the dashboard for good measure. You try to keep a straight face, really – you try. But the sight of him getting incredibly theatrical with the song that has no business being funny is just too much. A giggle slips out before you can stop it, and even you find yourself falling victim to the catchy lick of the song. 

“And now it chills me to the bone – how do I get you alone?” The two of you, singing in perfectly off-key unison. He glances at you and smirks as the final chorus finishes out, both of you still singing your hearts out like you mean each and every word. And maybe you do. Maybe he does. 

Underneath the laughter and tone-deaf singing, the lyrics somehow begin hitting a little too close. That ache Ann is singing of – wanting someone who just feels out of reach. Yeah. That gets shoved down real fast. 

The song fades to its ending, and Sam’s fingers twist the volume knob to the left, turning it down to a near mute. The static noises being the only thing left that can still be heard, along with the rumbling tires against the paved city roads. 

“I heard about the modeling offer,” Sam admits with quite the grin stretching his mustache. Still looking at the road, his head is just slightly cocked towards you, awaiting your response as he’s ready to give you his attention on the matter. Already, a drastic difference in the way Jake has treated the situation. Not a smile one on his lips when you’d discussed it. He acted repulsed by the idea, implied that you lack the strength to be able to handle such a thing. But Sam…

“Not too sure about it yet,” you say, staring down into your lap as your mind flashes images of Jake from this morning, when you’d had a very similar conversation that went to absolute shit. 

Those images begin to fade, though, the second that Sam chimes in with his opinion. And, again – a drastic difference from his older brother. “Well, I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” he boasts, his heartfelt smile widening all the more, his eyes lit up as they move back and forth from you and the road. “Look at you, y/n. You’re just as pretty as any model I’ve ever seen. Prettier, even.”

When he reaches the four way stop, waiting for the two cars that were there first to take their turns, his warm hand reaches for your thigh, holding you just above the knee. Fingers wrapped tight around you, thumb rubbing small circles over your tights. 

Sam hasn’t touched you like this in….well, it’s been a very long time. And as innocent of a gesture as it is, you can’t deny the rush of heat burning your chest, filling your lungs at the contact. And right now, though you’ll never admit it outloud, you can’t deny it to yourself that you want more. 

It feels nice. Really nice. And his compliment certainly helped. Something Jake can’t seem to do. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that it just might be a really good thing for you, that it could help you. Instead, he thinks you’re too weak to handle such a thing. Well, you may just have to prove him wrong. And you may need Sam to help you do that. 

Though Sam was not garnering much attention from you last night at the party, you do remember overhearing a few conversations between him and a couple of guests he was taking photos of for Josh’s guest book. Apparently, from what you could gather, Sam offered to take the photos with his new Polaroid for the purpose of testing it out. He’d been finding himself deep within the photography realm as of late, and wanted the opportunity to hone in his skills a bit. 

And, though you’ve blocked a lot of this night out of your mind, the night you found yourself tangled up with him in his sheets, your memory is clear enough to recall a collection of cameras sitting neatly on top of his dresser. Some new, some old. Dozens of them.

“Sammy, would you want to help me with something?” You ask, your own hand instinctively finding the top of his, still draped over your leg. The movement didn’t even require a thought – you just did it. It was a natural compulsion – you’re not even sure why it happened. 

But it did. And Sam, given his cherry red cheeks and a grin that reaches his bright eyes, he certainly likes it. 

“Anything for you,” he answers through his smile, voice sweet and soft as silk. 

“I need to build a portfolio for the agency. Just a collection of photos to show my skill, or whatever.” It feels odd to even speak about these things, as if the contract has already been accepted. Of course, it very much has not been. You’ve not called Sylvia back to confirm or deny, and you haven’t even made up your mind whether you will or won’t. She did, however, advise that you go ahead and gather some photos to submit. Just so they have something, should you decide to go ahead with it. Doing so doesn’t exactly promise anything. So, what’s the harm in it? And, what’s the harm in enlisting Sam for a little help? Afterall, it’d be helping him, too. His drive is awfully attractive to you. 

He pats your thigh before he answers your question, breathing a sweet giggle as he pulls his Bug into a parking lot. You’d been so caught up in the conversation, in his hand warming your leg, that you hadn’t been paying any mind to where you were going, to where you are right now. You’ve driven past it a couple of times, always felt a sense of pride in the city for housing such a place. All About Animals, a rescue, shelter, and adoption agency for homeless animals. 

You did notice something in the back seat earlier, though you’ve not really looked until now; a pink collar with a silver charm dangling from the clasp, a matching pink leash curled around it, and a white harness with pink polka-dots. That’s right. Sam told you last week that he was on the hunt for a puppy. 

Oh my goodness. 

“I would be honored to take photos of you, y/n,” Sam says as he tosses the gear in park, jiggling the key a bit until it comes out of the ignition. But you’re a bit too distracted to talk about that any longer.

“Sam! Are we picking up your puppy?” Your voice blurts out in a beam of pure excitement, ignoring his offer to help entirely as you’re pulling your seatbelt off and opening the door, all in one eager go. 

He does the same, an ecstatic leap from the driver's side, far too distracted to bother with locking up the Bug before taking impatient strides toward the glass doors. “Yep!”

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“Well hi there, Samuel!” Her eyes crinkle with the smile she offers him. She gives her auburn-dyed curls a quick fluff with one hand, the strands springing up against her forehead like they’ve done this a hundred times before. With the same hand, she reaches into the front pocket of her cotton denims – the kind with the elastic waistband – and pulls out a baby pink hanky. She blows her nose into it with a loud honk, folds it neatly, and tucks it right back where it came from like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The smile on your lips is derived from a memory, to a time when you’d visit Texas, playing by yourself in the humid afternoon air, your grandma doing practically the exact same thing as she enjoyed her porch swing. The Summer air would often make her sneeze, and boy would she let one fly. Rather dramatically so. 

The old hanky, the loud nose blowing and sneezing. A few silly things that you’ll always remember, and with a strange fondness that feels altogether nostalgic and melancholic. 

“S’it that day already?” Shesteps around the corner, arms open wide for Sam who walks right into her embrace without hesitation. It’s a sweet sight – she doesn’t even clear his shoulder, her short frame swallowed by the hug. 

“Sure is! Can you believe it?” Sam replies, his voice high and bright. Their hug lingers a beat or two longer than you’d expect, held together by something deeper than a simple greeting of an acquaintance. When she pulls back, one arm still looped around Sam’s waist, her gaze shifts to you. Her warm face, softening even more when Sam gestures toward you with a gentle sweep of his hand.

“Helen, I’d like you to meet y/n,” he introduces. His smile is soft, his eyes finding yours with an aura of tenderness that makes you smile. “She’s here for a little moral support.”

“Hello, sweetheart!” Helen beams, already closing the distance between you. Before you can even react, she’s in your space, arms wrapping around you in a hug so tender and warm. Her head just grazes your chin, and her embrace carries a kind of sincerity that makes your throat tighten just a little bit. You haven’t known her for more than a minute, but something about her makes you feel chosen. Seen. Like she’s picked you to care about, and that’s that.

“Pretty as a picture,” she murmurs, tapping your cheekbone with a cold, wrinkled finger, so gentle that you hardly feel it. She smells like sweetened black coffee and a particular kind of mint – Mentos, you’d bet money on it – the scent so distinct it wraps around you. You imagine she’s the type to keep sleeves of them tucked in her purse, always ready to press one into someone’s palm with a wink and a pat on the hand.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say, polite on instinct. 

But her dark blue eyes widen behind those oversized square frames, her hand waving in front of her face like she’s shooing away a pesky fly. “No, no, baby girl,” she says, her voice like sugared honey. “Just call me Helen.” 

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Helen amiably leads you and Sam toward the back of the building, down a long, echoey corridor lined with kennels full of dogs of all sorts. The two of them, engaging in small talk as though they go way back as old pals, while you tow behind them, only hearing every few words or so. These precious dogs are yanking at the strings of your heart. Their sweet faces watching you, tails wagging as you walk by. Each one, with their names written in dry erase on the glass they’re imprisoned behind. You’d thought about adopting one when you first moved here, but the right time just hasn’t presented itself yet. And with your moms health, the right time may never come. At least, not until she…

Helen lets out a cheer that would rival a younger crowd, throwing her hands in the air in a display of triumph when she and Sam near a little room at the very end of the hallway. She opens the door just a hair, and before she can open it all the way, out comes the most excited little creature. A beautiful pitbull with a brindle coat. Not quite a puppy, though not entirely full grown. And, this sweet baby runs straight to Sam.

“Rosie!” He exclaims, dropping to his knees with a thud to the ceramic flooring. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around his new baby, pulling her close. Unable to stop yourself, you crouch down beside him, drawn in like gravity to the soft, wriggling mass of love in his arms. She’s beautiful – eyes warm and liquid with trust, tail thumping against the floor like it’s a drum. Her mouth splits into the closest thing a dog has to a grin, and then her tongue is everywhere, a flurry of ecstatic licks painting Sam’s cheeks.

“This is – ,” Sam starts, but he doesn’t stand a chance. His words dissolve into helpless laughter as she climbs further into his lap, tail wagging so hard her whole body wobbles with it. He tips backward with a huff of breath, arms flailing slightly before steadying her again, caught entirely in the whirlwind of affection.

“Rosie?” you echo, trying to help him find his words. The second her name leaves your lips, her attention snaps to you – ears perked, tail wagging even faster. Then she launches herself into your arms like a missile of pure love, tongue darting for your nose, your chin, your forehead. Her paws scramble up your shoulders as she presses into you, her own clumsy version of a hug. You laugh – loud, unfiltered, and real. The kind of laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep and good, the kind only a dog can summon.

“Rose Bud Kiszka,” Sam announces through a grin so wide it’s nearly a laugh itself, his chest still heaving from joy. “Rosie for short.”

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Dribbles of drool through heavy, happy pants drip against your tights, but you couldn’t be bothered to care even if you tried. Rosie has kept close to you, perched on your lap during the drive back to the apartment. Her hot breath has completely fogged up the icey glass of the passengers window while she watches the city pass by. 

She’s about the happiest dog you’ve ever encountered – she’s more than ready to go to her new home. And it’ll be the most loving home she’s ever known. 

When Sam was filling out her adoption forms at the shelter, Helen told you all about Rosie’s story. Rescued from the streets, about two months ago. She somehow managed to find her own way to the shelter, stood outside in the pouring rain one day and barked like her life depended on it, until she caught Helen’s attention. 

She didn’t go into too much detail, but from the sounds of it, Rosie had some signs that she’d come from an abusive home. Perhaps escaped one. You didn’t ask any questions – you knew your heart couldn’t handle knowing much more. All you needed to know was that Helen had spent the last few months taking care of Rosie, getting her back to health, loving her when she’d never known love before. Helen also told you that, when Sam came by last week, he and Rosie had a bond so strong and instantaneous. She and Sam both knew right away that Rosie was the dog for him. She only needed a few more shots before she was ready. And today, she was ready. Ready to come home. 

Rosie has come such a long way, all thanks to the big heart that Helen possesses. It just makes you wonder how many babies just like Rosie that Helen has saved. People like her deserve all the goodness and love this world has to offer. 

“Helen is absolutely precious,” you tell Sam as you reminisce on meeting such a wonderful woman, reaching a hand up to scratch behind Rosie’s ears. She leans into the touch, resting her head against your hand, her tail thumping in her own beat against your lap. 

Sam glances at you from the driver's seat, one hand steady on the wheel while the other reaches for Rosie’s back, offering her even more scratches.“Isn’t she?” He agrees, a lingering smile as he watches the road. “She was my grandma's best friend for years. She’s known us our whole lives.” 

He takes one final turn down the road toward the apartments, his hand sliding over the leather in a single woosh as it spins back around. “Helen would give us these weird, chewy mints every time we’d see her,” he giggles, eyebrows scrunched as he remembers. “The twins loved ‘em, but I was more of the chocolate kind of kid. Didn’t care much for minty candy.” 

I knew it.

He’s now pulling into the parking lot, taking his designated space right in front of the building. And, right behind Jake’s Rover. The vision of The Black Pearl alone has your chest tightening, your face burning red hot despite the cool air coming in from Sam’s now open door. 

“You girls ready to go inside?” He asks, giddy as can be while he rushes over to your side. And sweet Rosie – her ears fell the second he left the car, but as he’s opening the passengers door for the both of you, her ears have perked right back up, her tail thumping away as her brand new dad is back in her line of sight once more. She loves him so much already. It’s enough to make you almost forget about Jake for the moment. Almost. 

The lapse doesn’t last long. Rosie leaps from your lap, your fingers wrapped tightly around her pink leash in case she tries to bolt. She doesn’t, of course. She pounces Sam instantly, hugging his hips, gentle barks and happy whines coated with excitement to see him once again. 

It takes you a moment to realize that a claw on her back foot dug into your skin when she bolted from the car, snagging your tights and effectively ripping a large hole right down the middle of your thigh. The cold breeze on your exposed skin takes your attention away from the leash for a split second, your grip on it letting up just a bit. But, that’s all it takes. The leash slips from your hand quick, the nylon slipping through your palm, nearly burning the skin. And before you can even try to catch it to stop her, you realize she’s now seeking the affections of Jake, whom you had no idea was already out here, eager to meet his new dog-niece. 

Rosie, treating Jake the very same as Sam – he bends down to her level, letting her kiss and hug him all she wants. He greets her, using her full name, both hands offering rubs and scratches all down her back and up to her ears. “She’s quite a hoot, Samuel,” he snickers, kissing her right back through her displays of love. “She’ll be a wonderful addition to the family. Won’t ‘cha, girl?” 

Until now, you’d thought it’d be a cold day in hell before you’d hear Jake use a baby voice. It should not be affecting you in the ways that it is – tormentingly domestic, agonizingly gentle. 

Though, why should you be surprised? You’ve seen this man’s heart more times than you can keep track of – of course he’s warmhearted with animals. How could you expect any less from the man that played you a beautiful, enchanting rendition of a heartfelt love song in the privacy of his own room? 

All at once, you’re wishing this whole scenario could’ve played out just a little different. As in, you wish it were you and the other Kiszka out here that had gone to pick up this sweet angel. Terrible as it sounds. But, an even worse thing to feel. It’s a feeling you’ll just have to get used to, because it won’t be waning anytime soon. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

Jake’s coos and kisses have you battling the glowing neon L-word flickering in your mind – louder, brighter, more blinding than the bulbs on Josh’s marquee from last night. More powerful than the sign displayed against The Fox Theatre. 

You don’t think Jake has looked at you yet. And if he has, it was for a fleeting second. The dog seems to have his undivided interest, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be, in truth. But, of course, that isn’t quite the case for you. And it doesn’t help at all that he looks damn good. 

Baggy khakis, a white, torn up t-shirt under the black corduroy jacket you’ve seen him wear a lot recently. It’s not nearly heavy enough for the brutal cold, and the ‘scarf’ he has tied around his neck is closer to the likes of a thin bandana, with a single coin on a silver chain hanging below it. He must be cold – the temperature is several degrees below freezing. But, in typical Jake fashion, his winter ‘coats’ are usually reduced to some cool button down-shacket type of outerwear. Not that you’ll complain, of course. It certainly makes you giggle to think about, though. 

The bitter air is far more unforgiving outside of the car, and the wind has only picked up since you left the animal shelter. The rip in your tights – though they weren’t that warm to begin with – is making every inch of your skin ice cold, even beneath your layers up top. 

Your first instinct is to run inside, not expose yourself to the burning chill much longer. Let these two brave the cold if they so choose – doesn’t mean you have to. But as you turn to shut the car door, preparing your trek inside the warm apartment, you notice a set of eyes behind a familiar pair of shades looking up. At you. The sunlight is catching just right against their black tint. And because of that, you can see his orbs perfectly as they fall upon you. But not just you, on the rip in your tights. 

A flame – practically enough to warm you, despite the cruel nip in the air – ignites beneath your chest, warming your cheeks on an instant. And that very flame, fanned by the memory of the night prior, when Jake’s hands saw the demise of another pair of tights. 

His brows, muddled and flustered, are drawn in the middle. And his lips are held in a tight, fine line as he’s staring directly at the damage done to the garment. The damage caused by the dog. 

But Jake may be thinking the worst of the worst right now. Something along the same vein as the happenings of last night. And considering you’ve been with Sam for the better part of two hours now…

But why should he care? It was his choice to call it quits this morning, right? So, the anger seeping through his features right now is not warranted. Yeah, you could explain that Rosie is the reason your tights are ripped. (And if Jake had any sense right now, he’d realize that she was just in your lap, and that she is the most probable cause for this.) 

But, what’s the point in trying to explain? You know you’d fall victim to over explaining, all for the purpose of ensuring that he feels better about it. 

Well, you don’t owe him that. Let him think what he wants. If that’s what he’s thinking.

And if it is, the mere thought of it is giving you a strange feeling of power over him, an upper hand of sorts. A bit of confidence, even. Confidence to do something you may not have done otherwise. Something that’ll bathe his fury in even more fire when you do. 

Fuck it. 

“I think she’ll fit in beautifully,” you say, kneeling down right beside Jake. It’s unmistakable, the extra threads that tear in your tights when you lean down. Too much tension in the fabric, and you know Jake heard them rip further. 

Your face, close to his, though you’re not looking at him. Only paying attention to Rosie, who’s turned her attention toward you a little. Her fur under your touch is so soft – you can only assume she’d just gotten a fresh groom and bath before her departure from the shelter. Given the sweet scent of coconut emanating from her, you’d say that’s a plausible assumption. 

You’re doing your very best to focus on Rosie, and not Jake. But as it stands, his scent is overpowering the coconut – sandalwood, musk. Jake. 

He's looking at you – that much you can decipher from the image your peripheral is offering. You’re trying to play it off as though you’re only down here for Rosie. But, the choice to do this has suddenly become one of regret. After this morning, doing this is not only cruel to him; it’s cruel to you. 

And now, you’re feeling like an utter fool. Going with Sam in the first place was perhaps not the best move – it’s one that you’re certain Jake isn’t exactly crazy about. And why’d you go with Sam in the first place? 

Fuck. 

Jake is silent now, and his lack of response – of any words to you at all – makes you want to sprint toward the apartment. Get out of this situation altogether. Where you should’ve been this whole time. Had you just gone up there like you’d meant to the second you stepped out of the Bug, this situation would’ve been avoided altogether. You can only imagine what he’s thinking now. 

And imagining is all you can handle at the moment; you don’t want to know what’s running through his mind right now. What ran through his mind when he discovered that you’d gone with Sam to pick up his dog. Doesn’t get more couple than that. And the goddamn rip in your tights, to make it all so much worse. Completely out of context, but you know how it looks. 

And, to make it all so, so much worse, you’ve asked Sam to take photos of you. Photos for the job that Jake is adamantly against you partaking in. 

Fucking hell, y/n. What are you doing?

You wish to god that you knew. 

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The party today is far more mild than last nights. A small lunch of chicken salad croissants prepared by Lori, and the drinks are reduced to a much calmer mimosa bar. The entire kitchen counter, dedicated to creating any guests’ brunch cocktail of choice. You’d gone your whole life believing there was only one way to create a mimos – a simple concaction of champagne and orange juice and viola. However, the Kiszka’s have yet again challenged what you’ve known of the world. 

There’s orange juice. But there’s also grapefruit juice, (a classic Josh choice) pineapple, guava, pomegranate, tangerine. All set up in chilled, tall glasses, with their names written on the front. And, tons of bowls of endless frozen fruit options. Just about any variation your own mind could possibly come up with is feasible, thanks to this insane mimosa display. Just one more thing that reminds you of where you came from, and that you’re most certainly not from here. Oklahoma just wasn’t like this. Not your area of Oklahoma, at least.

Your mixture of choice was champagne, pomegranate juice and frozen blueberries, and it’s perhaps the most delicious drink you’ve ever sipped on. Tart, sweet, and the Faire La Fête is a beautiful choice for the base. Not that you’re a connoisseur by any stretch of the definition, but you’ve certainly learned a lot about this sort of thing in the past few months. 

Some of the decor is still up from the night before, most notably the marquee and the banner you and Josh had created for Jake. The guest books are now in each of the twin’s rooms, and the space isn’t nearly as packed as it was last night. A more intimate gathering, the room filled only with a few of the most important people in the lives of the two you’re celebrating. And you just happen to be one of them. And no matter what has happened – or is happening – with you and the long-haired twin, you’re flattered to be considered a part of this group. 

Speaking of the twins — they’ve been each other's main company since you’ve been here. Keeping to themselves in the kitchen, talking and laughing the loudest you’ve ever heard from these two. More cackling than anything – wheezing and snorting with every other word. The smile on your lips at their repartee is straight from your heart. 

“Where’d you two run off to?” Nat asks, plopping herself down on the couch beside you, the bounce of the cushion threatening the mimosa in your hand to become part of your ensemble. “And how did that get there?” She questions, looking directly at the blatant rip across your thigh as she takes a bite of her sandwich. You’ve tried to cover it as best you can — crossing the other leg over it when you’re sitting down, stretching the polyester fabric of your sweater as far as it’ll go before it rips. Of course, you can’t escape it. 

The knowing look in Nat’s golden eyes is indicative that she’s thinking something similar to what Jake probably assumes as well. “It was the dog, Natalia. She snagged them when she got out of the car.” You take a sip of the tangy, fizzy liquid held in your hand, feeling it come back up your nose when Nat nudges you so hard you nearly drop the glass. 

“Nat! I’m serious!” You say, a whispered yell so as to avoid anyone hearing the conversation. She gives out an amused little laugh, full of disbelief and perhaps a little judgement. She shovels in the last bite of her chicken salad sandwich, scooching over just a bit closer to you to make room for Danny’s mom. 

“I hope the sandwiches were up to par,” Lori says, Nat wholeheartedly agreeing with a mouth full of the food in question. Nodding her head, croissant crumbs falling from her smiling, chewing mouth. Lori chuckles and shakes her head amusingly, patting Nat on the shoulder like she’s seen her this way a hundred times or more. “What about you, y/n? Did you like ‘em too?”

A cold, tense chill stiffens your spine, your posture straightening the instant she asks you. 

If you’re honest, you didn’t intentionally avoid the food. You’re just…not hungry. So, eating a sandwich didn’t even cross your mind. The drink felt like plenty. Hunger hasn’t called yet, so you haven’t felt the need. 

Nat’s thoughts may as well be amplified through an intercom, with speakers in every corner of the living room – you know what she’s thinking, her carefree eyes hardening as she now realizes that you haven’t eaten yet. You just hope to god that she doesn’t verbalize her thoughts, embarrass you in front of everyone. In front of Danny’s mom, who's as unsuspecting as she could possibly be. 

The truth of it is, you didn’t mean to not eat. Not for the reasons running amuck in Natalia’s mind, you’re sure. It was as simple as a lack of hunger. That’s all. But of course, a lovely response of someone being privy of your complex relationship with food, is they assume the worst. Always.

And this very moment is why you don’t enjoy people knowing. Why you’ve opted to hide it, even from those you deem closest to you. Because, no matter what, they’ll look at the illness before they look at you. 

You look to Lori, whose eyes are wide and eager to hear your thoughts on the food she’d prepared. A pleasant mom smile, warm and inviting on her thin, lightly glossed lips. “I haven’t had the chance to dig into them yet,” you explain, avoiding Nat’s glare as much as you can. Though, it’s hard, given she’s right in the middle of you and Lori. “But I’ll get one before I leave! They look delicious.” 

“Yep, she sure will,” Nat butts in, just as Lori was taking a breath to speak to you. A snarky smile on Nat’s face, and a tension very much present in her jaw as she looks at you. Her eyes, speaking all the words she wants to say, but (hopefully) knows she shouldn’t. Not here, at least. 

“I’ll make sure she gets a couple,” she says, now looking at Lori who, still, is completely oblivious. “Actually, I’ll just go put a few in a ziplock for her.”

“Wonderful idea, Natalia!” Lori commends, placing her hand on Nat’s leg just as she’s about to stand from the couch. Instead, Lori stands. “No, no, sweetheart. Let me do it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wagner,” you say as she heads to the kitchen, assuring you with a smile that it’s no problem.

“They’re good, y/n.” You hear Nat’s voice from over your shoulder, her cool hand now resting on your knee. When you look back at her, that tension she’d held before has softened, a familiar hint of concern in her irises. “You really should try them. Please.”

“I will, Nat.” 

You’re not angry with her. You can’t be. You know she cares. But, dammit. Why do things always come back to this? Conversations with her anymore almost always end up going somewhere deeper, somewhere that you wish you could go one day without discussing. 

Jesus – you have to feel it all the fucking time. It’d just be nice to live like normal for once, pretend it’s not there. Even if it’s just for a little while. Not every single thing in your life needs to revolve around it. But when it’s a near constant topic of conversation, it certainly feels like it’s the only thing about you that matters.

At least she cares. And at this point in your life, that’s all you can ask for.

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“You’ve always talked about it,” you hear Josh say before he takes the last, generous swig of his grapefruit mimosa. “And I’ll be honest — I’m puzzled that you’ve not done it yet.”

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they aren’t exactly keeping their voices down. And, you’re only a few short feet away from them, rinsing out your champagne flute in the sink while they talk. 

“I guess I knew that living here was always temporary, and I wanted to wait until I moved somewhere more…” Though you’re not looking directly at him, your eyes solely on the task of rinsing the dish soap from the glass, you can see his hands grabbing at the air, as though he’s searching for the right word to take hold of. “...more permanent, I suppose”

Permanent. That word. It stings. Like fucking hell. 

“I get that,” Josh says, understanding. Though you can sense a melancholic lilt in his tone. It hits you – something you hadn’t truly considered until now. Jake and Josh aren’t just brothers. They’re twins. They’ve never lived a single day without the other by their side. They’ve always been each other’s anchor, each other’s constant – understanding one another in a way no one else ever could. They don’t just share a bond. They share DNA.

This whole thing…London – it’s probably a thousand times harder on Josh than anyone else. You’ve been so lost in your own sadness over it that you hadn’t even considered how his twin brother may be feeling. 

“Will your driver's license work over there to operate one?”

What?

“Yeah, for the first twelve months. But I’ll have to register it under my London address before I can purchase a motorcycle anyways, so I’d just as soon renew it once I get there.” 

Motorcycle? 

Your grip on the glass loosens the second you hear that word, and it comes crashing into the black, steel sink. Naturally, of course, it shatters upon impact. The noise echoes throughout the whole damn apartment, drawing everyone's attention straight to you. 

Even Rosie, who’s been calm and sweet as can be since the moment she walked into her new home, is startled and begins barking, loudly. Sam kneels to the floor, rubbing her chest and talking to her to calm her frazzled nerves. Your cheeks are suddenly burning with the blood that’s rushed to them. 

“You alright over there, girl?” Nat asks from her place on the couch, sinked into the cushion between Danny and his mom, his dad on the other side of Danny. All of them, each set of concerned eyes, looking at you as though you’d just, well, broken glass. 

“I’m, uh – I’m good,” you say, unable to keep from glancing to your right, noting a set of twins who are looking right at you. Their faces, the very same expression – concern laced in each set of brown eyes. 

You begin to feel warm water trickle down your left hand, reaching your wrist. There’s a paper towel on the counter to your right, so you grab it real fast to dry your skin. Only, when you do, you realize rather quickly that it isn’t water.

“Shit,” Jake rasps, wooden chair legs screeching against the linoleum floor. He’s beside you within a matter of seconds, taking the paper towel from your hand and pressing it against the opened gash on the outside of your palm, right below your pinky. How did you not notice the blood in the sink, on the counter, the droplets on the floor? And how did you not feel the glass slicing into you?

Of course, you feel the sting now. Now that you’ve realized what’s happened. It happened so quickly – your brain couldn’t register it until your eyes saw it. 

But what’s more tangible than the sharp pain on the surface of your skin, is the feeling of him pressed against you, treating your wound as though it’s the most crucial thing he needs to be doing at the given moment. 

He’s holding your wounded hand so tight, with both of his. Holding the dampened cloth against you, soaking up the blood. And his body, nestled right against yours. His scent, intoxicating. 

“Are you alright, doll?” 

No. Not now.

You blink a few times, attempting to ground yourself in this reality and not in another one. One where Jake is more to you than a fleeting experience, more than a goddamn chapter. 

Something as simple as taking care of your cut is rendering you almost speechless, nearly in a trance. His touch does that, though. You know that, and surely he knows that. “Y-yeah, didn’t even feel it,” you say, trying your damnedest to avoid his piercing eyes right now. Though try as you might, his gaze is impossible to ignore. Always. And this time, it's weighted with worry. Worry for you. 

Still looking at you, carrying your gaze as he holds your bleeding hand within his, he speaks to the room. “Can someone go grab the first-aid kit?”

“On it,” Josh responds, immediately following Jake’s request and jogging toward the bathroom down the hall.

Jake’s eyes then follow a path down to your hand, now trembling as the pain has begun to increase just a bit. You look as he carefully lifts away the towel, and for a cut to bleed so much, it’s certainly rather small. “I suppose stitches won’t be necessary,” he says, low and under his breath. More husky than before, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. A careful, mysterious smile on his lips. “Maybe just a little scar to tell the tale.” 

You’ve not even noticed that Josh is now standing beside you, digging through the first-aid kit for the proper items. Jake’s thumb brushing over the blade of your hand, the careful knit in his brow as he examines you — the rest of the world is suddenly not nearly as important. 

Jake holds his other hand out, to which Josh then places a tiny tube of Neosporin ointment in his opened palm. He squeezes a small amount on the cut, the initial sting jolting your body a bit. “Sorry, y/n,” he whispers, surely noting your involuntary reaction. 

The tip of his finger rubs it in just a bit, then he reaches for the open band-aid next to the sink that Josh prepared for him. He places it over the cut, his touch gentle and light as a feather as he smooths it over your skin. “That feel okay, doll?”

Fuck. The ache between your thighs, a reminder of last night and this morning, is growing all the more as your legs threaten to squeeze together. 

“Y-yes, it’s fine,” you stutter, snapping yourself out of this when you notice Nat walking up to you from your peripheral. 

“Damn, y/n,” she says, leaning over the kitchen peninsula to take a gander at the situation. “That could’ve been bad, dude.” There’s still a decent amount of blood in the sink, and a few drops along the counter. Luckily, the finish is a dark, almost black granite, and the sink is black. So, staining won’t be an issue. Still, the mess makes it look much worse than it actually was.

“Undoubtedly,” Jake agrees, quiet and deep. “It’s a wonder she didn’t slice clear to the bone.”

He wets another paper towel and uses it to clean the rest of the blood that had trickled down your wrist, his other hand holding your arm close to his chest as he ensures he’s gotten it all. The towel, cold and wet against your skin, sends a flood of goosebumps up the expanse of your arm.

“It’s okay, Jake. I got it from here,” you say, your voice breaking as you speak each word, feeling yourself crumbling away even further as he doesn’t follow your command. 

You don’t dare stop him physically, however. Your body simply won’t let you. You’re drawn to him, captivated. He’s magnetic, pulling you in, keeping you where he wants you. Where you want you. 

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

“It’s all gone, I believe,” he says, entirely disregarding what you’d said. Ignoring you, holding true to this calling he feels to take care of you. 

Suddenly, the air flickering with a sense of deja vu, this moment begins to feel familiar. A forgotten memory — you know this. But how?

“We’ve been here before, haven't we?” His words, whispered, meant only for your ears. It’s as though he can hear what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Perhaps he is feeling it, too. 

That’s right. 

The night your mom was taken by ambulance to the emergency room, when you became so overwhelmed that you slammed your left hand on the counter in a rage-filled moment. 

He held ice on your hand that night as you spoke with the nurse about your moms condition. He stayed there with you, refused to leave you there alone, stranded when you didn’t have your car. He tended to your left hand that night, the very same hand that he’s caring for now. 

And now that you’re remembering, the cut is practically in the same spot that met the counter at the hospital. The same hand, the same place on your hand. And Jake. There to help you heal when you didn’t expect him to. He remembers. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, quietly and carrying through a sigh of your breath. And fight it as you might, your lips tug into a smile that, as your eyes meet his, he mimics. 

Though, as the moment lingers, your smile begins to falter when you remember the conversation from this morning. The things that were said, the emotions that weighed down the room, heavy. 

“I guess this is over.”

Those words, coming straight from his lips. He’s chosen to end this…thing between you. His choice, right?

Oddly enough, it feels as though you were the one who truly made the choice. He just verbalized it – made it real by speaking it into the universe. So, it’s over. 

And this moment – Jake taking care of you, holding you, not leaving your side until he’s sure you’re okay – shouldn’t be happening. Because all it’s doing is adding yet another reason for it to hurt when he’s gone. 

And you can’t allow the pain to fester even more. It’s already an open, bleeding wound. One that can’t be fixed with a paper towel and a band-aid. The blood runs a little deeper – it’s thicker. No physical wound could ever compare.

You feel your smile fade, the muscles in your face beginning to droop. Your eyes flick down to where your bodies connect – his hand still gripped around your wrist. 

And the second you look back up to him, you notice that his smile has fallen, too. Without so much as a word – in pure silence – he lets go, as though he’s realized, too, that this shouldn’t be happening. 

His eyes, a silent apology before he looks away and begins carefully removing the shattered remains of the glass from the sink. Each piece clinks softly against the stainless steel, delicate and deliberate, as though he knows one wrong movement might break something else – something already hanging by a thread.

You watch him work, the muscles tightening in his jaw, his expression entirely unreadable as he picks up the mess. The silence between you is loud. Uncomfortably so. You want to say something, anything. But, what’s left to say when goodbye has already been spoken?

So instead, you take a step back. Then another. Distance growing in small steps, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Just as you step out of the kitchen completely, now in the living room beside Sam and Nat, you glance back once more.

He’s still there. Still carefully collecting the broken pieces. And maybe, in some way, you both are.

Trying to clean up what’s already been shattered. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I know there are still a few weeks until Christmas,” Josh declares from the top of the stairs, beginning his descent down to the living room with a couple of gift bags dangling from each hand. “But I felt that right now was as good a time as any to bestow upon you all, my precious loved ones, your Christmas gifts from me.” 

He makes a slow, melodramatic trek down the stairs with the gifts. And as you glance around the room, everyone appears to be just as perplexed as you. 

What does this man have up his sleeve?  

One thing about Josh – he’s unpredictable. In all the best ways.

“I’ve recently found myself a new hobby. Once our lovely film came to an exuberant end, I decided I needed something to keep my hands busy until film school begins in August.”

Gift bags in hand as he takes the final step into the living room, he makes it to you first. “To y/n,” he says, grinning.

You blink in surprise, caught off guard in the best way, and take the gift. Inside the gift bag is something wrapped in crinkly black tissue. You glance up at him as you peel it open, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Inside is a black frame holding a perfectly stitched replica of The Shining’s iconic carpet — the bold hexagon pattern in orange, red, and brown. And right in the center, redrum is spelled out in bold, crimson thread, delicate drops of blood stitched just beneath. Your mouth opens in a startled laugh — part affection, part amazement. It’s creepy. It’s clever. It’s so you. 

But what really gets you is the thought of Josh sitting somewhere, hands steady, taking the time it requires to create something as detailed and intricate as this. The hours this must have taken, just for you. And not just you — it’s clear he’s done something like this for everyone. You feel warmth blooming deep within your chest at the thought. 

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, brushing your thumb gently across the top of the frame. “And I love that you made it.” You glance up at him, his smile soft and full. “It’s just incredible. It seriously looks —,”

“Expertly done?” Josh interrupts, resting a hand dramatically on his popped hip.

A bubble of laughter erupts from your throat. “You just took the words straight from my mouth,” you say through a Josh-induced giggle, to which he flicks his wrist mid air. A physical display of this ‘I know’ moment. 

Still holding the frame in your lap, you look back down at it. The details. You’re still in awe over them. 

And the care. The willingness to do something like this, for you. You don’t say anything right away, but the emotions are there. Sitting heavy against your ribs. 

You’ll treasure this forever. That much is certain. 

“Nat,” Josh says, offering hers with a sly wink. “You’re next, my dear.” From the bag, she pulls out a frame wrapped in baby pink tissue. 

Ripping it away, she reveals a pale-orange frame surrounding a stitched stack of books. Each spine, stitched in gold lettering against the dark blue, yellow, pink, and purple books, are just a few of her favorite authors; Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Cherríe Moraga, and Alice Walker. 

Never one to cry at the drop of a hat. And yet, you see her struggling to fight back a few tears. A losing battle, of course. One slips away from her eye before she can stop it. Her hand quickly brushes it away, though it’s too late – she’s been caught. 

“You mean to tell me,” Josh says, crouching down to her level as she’s sitting on the couch. “That I made the Natalia Delores León – my fiery Aries – cry?” He knows damn well that his mocking could very well lead to some trouble for him in the near future. 

But, alas – she lets him have this moment. For now. 

“It was one tear, Joshua.” She pats the curls on top of his head, very much aware of the fact that he doesn’t typically love when people touch his hair. He quickly stands, a giant and satisfied smile on his lips, fluffing his hair back in place. “Don’t expect it to happen ever again,” she tosses back with a wicked, sass-filled grin. 

Josh wheezes a chuckle as he moves on to Sam, who’s now sitting right beside you on the couch. The second he took his seat, Jake – situated on his typical choice of the Nova lounge – shifted his eyes away from you, and hasn’t bothered to look at you since. Immediately after he took care of your hand, things went right back to the way they’ve been all day. 

Avoidance, tension. Silence. 

Sam didn’t even bat an eye at your injury, only picking on you for being so clumsy. And that’s fine.

But Jake…his tender care made you feel safe. And you just didn’t feel that with Sam. In fact, you’ve yet to feel it with him. But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore. 

“Samuel,” Josh announces as he hands his little brother his own gift. Rosie, sitting between Sam’s legs, becomes quite excited. Her tail thumps the floor, mouth open in a panting smile, sweetly as Josh for some attention.

He kneels down and gives her some love without question, kissing her nose and rubbing her chest while Sam opens his own gift. 

His is a shot of his orange Bug, recreated in thread like a photo. Beside it, a tiny Polaroid camera that almost exactly replicates the one he used at the party last night. Sam beams with a big smile, a gentle giggle. “Ah, thank you, brother!”

Josh then jogs to the kitchen, catching Danny just as he’s finishing off the last bit of the champagne. He’s never cared to drink in front of his parents, so he opted to wait until they left to indulge a little. But, waiting that long meant he didn’t get more than a few swigs before it was all gone. 

Josh sets his gift on the counter, making a horrible (what you can only assume) lightsaber noise as he steps away. “Daniel, I hope the force is strong with this one.”

“Cheesy, Josh,” Danny laughs as he digs into his bag, unveiling his gift high in the air so that you all can see from the living room.

As suspected: the Star Wars logo stitched just like the opening crawl of each movie, complete with tiny X-wings and a stitched lightsaber hilt in the corner. 

“This is sick!” Danny boasts, staring at his gift like it’s the most incredible piece of artwork he’s ever seen. “Damn, dude. You didn’t a good fucking job.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Josh responds in a knowing tone, prancing on back to the living room to Malachi, standing with this shoulder leaned against the entertainment center. 

“My love, my finance,” Josh says, leaning up on his tiptoes to plant a sweet kiss to Chi’s cheek. “Due to recent events,” he continues, his left hand flying up in the air, displaying the stunning ring he was given the night before. “Yours will be given to you at a later date. I'd like to tweak a few things before I give you the final product.” 

And then, Josh turns to Jake, the only one remaining. There’s a beat of silence as he hands the bag to his twin. 

The last gift, wrapped in navy tissue paper, speckled with silver stars. Jake unfolds it carefully, and finds a dark frame, one that mirrors yours. He rests it on his lap, but from where you’re sitting, the angle keeps you from seeing exactly what it is.

Whatever it is, though, Jake doesn’t speak at first. He just takes a breath. Lets it settle for a moment.

“Taurus,” he mutters eventually, his voice quiet as he runs a finger over the stitching. “It’s the Taurus constellation, right?” He looks up at Josh, standing beside the chair. The words sound more like a confirmation than a question. Josh nods once, smiling without a word.

Jake blinks down at the gift for a moment, lips parting with a smile. He laughs, quiet and breathy. More like a huff – soft and knowing. Not the kind of laugh that comes from humor, but from something warmer. Something that lives closer to the heart.

He holds it up to share with the rest of you.

The Taurus constellation, stitched in silver thread across a dark indigo canvas. Just below it: JMK and JTK, stitched in the very same thread. And, beneath that, a gentle phrase that ties it all together. 

So you always know where to look when you want to find your way home.

Jake blinks fast and rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. He sets the frame gently on the chair and pulls Josh into a hug. Tight, unhurried, deeply felt.

No one says a word. And no one needs to.

This moment is reserved for Jake and Josh – twins who have never gone a day apart since the minute they were born.

The room holds its breath with them, a quiet reverence, save for the sniffles echoing in the air. 

No one is ready for Jake to leave. No one. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake disappeared shortly after Josh handed out his gifts. Your best guess was he just went to work — perhaps he got a phone call from a tenant that he needed to take care of, didn’t bother to let anyone know before he left. 

You’d spent the rest of your time trying not to think about his absence. Because, whether anyone likes it or not, an absent Jake will be the new reality. Soon, at that. 

But his separation was still noticed. Especially by you, as you found yourself glancing all around the visual spots of the apartment more than once during the movie, hoping he’d come back, from wherever it was that he disappeared to. 

He didn’t. Everyone that was left — you, Sam, Nat, Danny, Josh, Chi — watched the entirety of It’s a Wonderful Life without a single trace of Jake. All two hours and ten minutes of it. (A Josh pick, naturally.)

Nat, true to form, was asleep within the first few minutes of the movie. Snoring before the first scene came to an end, snuggled up with her head in Danny’s lap while he played with her hair. 

Sam sat next to you the whole time. And every so often, he’d scoot just a little closer. Enough that the two of you were wrapped up in a full-blown cuddle by the end of the movie. You wanted it to feel wrong – it didn’t. But while it didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t exactly feel right, either. 

You certainly indulged in it, though. Because it did feel nice. He kept you warm, and his scent of herbal greens and spicy citrus was rather calming. It wasn’t wrong, it wasn't right. But it was nice. And you’d be dishonest if you said you didn’t enjoy it. But it wasn’t what you truly wanted.

Cuddled with Sam, while your eyes wandered the room for Jake — seeking him. Wishing he were close to you. But he never showed up. And at some point, you finally just gave up on him. You decided that if he were planning to join everyone again, he’d have already done it. No one else seemed phased by it, so you chose to let it go. 

The winter sun sets earlier, so it’s almost completely dark outside during the early evening hour, just a little past six. Way past time for you to be home, though. 

You’ve just gotten off the phone with your mom to let her know you’ll be on your way in just a few minutes. She sounded okay on the other end, just tired. A little winded, yet no more than usual. But you knew it was time to get back to her. 

Danny was charged with the task of waking up Natalia — she’d insisted she be the one to take you home, so you turned down Sam when he offered. But you know just as well as anyone else that waking Natalia is no easy feat. And tonight has proven to be the impossible dream. She’s still sound asleep, stirring only enough to huff and gruff when Danny tries to get her up. “It’s practically useless at this point,” he says, relinquishing all hope when she begins snoring again. 

“The offer still stands, y/n,” you hear Sam say from the kitchen, where he’s just fed Rosie her first dinner in her new home. She’s behind the kitchen peninsula, so you can’t see her. But you can certainly hear her chomping away at her kibble. A good sign that she’s eating so well, though you never had any doubt. She’s perfectly comfortable already. 

You take a final glance around the room, peeking down the hallway towards Jake’s room in one last, aching pursuit of him. Hoping against all hope that he’ll somehow appear from the woodwork and he will offer to take you. And if he did, you know it’d be the final time. But in your final search, you come to terms with the fact that he’s nowhere to be found. And he probably wants it that way. 

So, you agree to let Sam take you. A bit hesitant, of course. And it’s not his fault that you are. If it weren’t for Jake, you know you'd be more than thrilled to be with Sam. You just can’t get Jake out of your goddamn mind. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve said your goodbyes to all those awake and accounted for. You and Sam have just made it outside, and if you thought it was cold before, it’s at least thirty degrees colder now. Has to be. And, the further you make it in the parking lot, you see a few flakes of snow spitting from the sky. As you look up, you realize the sky is glittering with icy precipitation. 

It’s beautiful. It’s not quite enough to cover the ground – it’s just enough to leave a thin layer of powdered ice against the black pavement.

You blink away a couple of flakes when they land in your eyelashes, the cold air bitter, yet still refreshing against your skin. Like it’s reawakening your senses, sprinkling your face with chilly whispered kisses. 

The moon, though covered by heavy clouds that carry snow, is still as bright as if it were shining in the sky all on its own. You follow the trail of its gleam, all the way down to the parking lot you’re standing in, stopping just above a billow of smoke coming from behind Jake’s Rover. You take a few more steps, Sam oblivious as he follows behind, until the sight of him stops you. 

Jake.

He’s leaned against his The Black Pearl, one hand buried in the pocket of his black jeans, the other lifted to his mouth, a red ember flickering between his fingers. Smoke coils from his lips, catching the moon’s silver light and drifting into the cold, still air.

He’s doing the same as you just were – staring off into the vast sky, blinking away soft snowflakes when they drift across his eyes. 

You didn’t even know he smoked. Not once have you tasted it on his lips, or smelled it on his skin. This is either something new, or something he’s able to hide quite well. Sam seems entirely unphased by it, which would indicate that this certainly isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

Whatever the case, there’s something so peaceful about it, so alluring. The smell of cigarette smoke has never been your favorite. Yet as you watch him quietly blow the smoke from his lips, the wind gently wafting it your way, it’s not nearly as bothersome as it would normally be. You quite enjoy it, in truth. 

It’s only when he looks at you that you realize you’re just standing here, staring at him. And all at once, you’re humiliated, your feet shuffling clumsily toward Sam’s Bug that, of course, is right behind the back of Jake’s Rover, facing him head on.

His piercing eyes, glowing against the pale light of the moon, watch you with pure intent as you reach Sam’s car, tracking your every awkward step. 

Sam follows close behind you, silent, not bothering to open the car door for you. Not like Jake would have. Something he’s always done. But right now, he’s just watching. 

The moment you slip into the passenger seat and yank the door closed, Jake flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot without looking away from you. 

Sam says something – a question? – but your head may as well be underwater. You can’t make out his words, his voice a mere vibration in the air. Absently, you mutter a distracted “yes,” eyes still locked with Jake, heart beating against your ribs. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands.

And then you feel it – Sam’s finger, warm and gentle, carefully pulling your chin toward him.

Before a single coherent thought can form, before you can even catch your breath, Sam’s lips press against yours. Soft, uncertain, but real. Real enough to shatter the last bit of remaining sense within you. For a quiet moment, the kiss deepens. Against all odds, against all reason, you find yourself leaning into it. Your eyes flutter closed, lips dancing with his in the silence. 

But just before you’ve reached a point when coming back will no longer be an open, your eyes fly open, the kiss breaking, heart stuttering in your chest. 

As Sam’s hand still holds your cheek, you look forward again, not even offering Sam as much as an acknowledgement. 

And he’s gone. Jake is gone. 

The spot where he stood, leaning against the back of his Rover, is empty. Fuck.

And all at once, you begin to remember the question that Sam had asked, when you were so entranced by Jake. Much too lost in his eyes to accept that he wasn’t the one to your left, asking if he could kiss you.

You said yes. Sam asked if he could kiss you, and you said yes. And it happened right in front of Jake, right before his own eyes.

And now he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Goddammit. 

“That was wonderful, y/n,” Sam says, drawing your eyes back to him. The sweetest smile on his lips, dark brown eyes drinking you in. It hurts your heart because you just can’t reciprocate, no matter how much you wish you could.

It’s just not the time.

“Y-yeah, um –,” you stutter, voice cracked and wet with tears that you refuse to let fall. “S-sorry I just…” You glance forward one more time, the spot he once stood still empty. Only an extinguished cigarette butt remains where his boots were. “I really need to get home.”

“No problem,” he winks, completely inattentive to your current state of mind it would seem. 

The engine starts with a lazy flick of his wrist, sputtering and rattling almost as much as your Firebird does upon starting it. You sit here, body stiff, your insides hollow. Your hands are clutching the seatbelt across your chest like it’s your life support.

You can’t look at Sam. Not to any fault of his own, you just can’t. He doesn’t seem to catch on, anyways. 

Your throat tightens around the apology you silently toss into the air, hoping the universe will deliver it to Jake. 

Sam hums to the radio as he pulls onto the road, blissful and unaware of the earthquake happening within you. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the tears you feel you could cry at any second. 

You said yes to Sam. And Jake saw. How do you come back from that? Can you?

Does it even matter? He’s leaving. Even if you could fix it, he won’t even be here long enough to see it fixed. 

Maybe this was the closure you both needed. The kind that cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 10th:

Three days until he leaves.

He’s called three times since this morning.

You just can’t bring yourself to answer him, to face him after yesterday morning. And, after what happened last night. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed. You don’t even know where to begin, how to explain and articulate something so convoluted in your own mind. 

Yeah, this hurts like fucking hell. But talking to him will surely hurt much worse. What is there to say, anyway? It’s done. And that’s what he wanted. 

But god, you miss him. You miss his voice. Everything in you wants to answer right now as he’s calling for the sixth time. But you don’t let yourself. Answering him won’t do anything but cause you (and him) more pain.

The call, just the same as all the others, goes to your voicemail. Unanswered. 

But now, in lieu of calling, he’s now restored to texting you again. 

Jake: Can we please just talk?

You can’t imagine what else there is to talk about – it’s already done. He made that choice. You kissed his brother. There’s nothing left to say. It’s over, just like he wanted.

You: There’s nothing to talk about.

Yes there is. There’s plenty to talk about. 

You just don’t fucking know how to talk about it. 

Avoiding it, ignoring it, seems like the best thing. For both of you.

Your heart thumps, racing in your chest as your phone vibrates in your palm again. You stare at the incoming call, his name in big letters on your screen. And you let it ring. Unanswered, again. 

Jake: Please, y/n. I just want to talk to you.

You: I can’t talk right now. I’m sorry.

Sorry I won’t speak to you, sorry that I kissed your fucking brother in front of you.

Jake: Ok.

Ok. 

There’s no response you feel you need to make to that, and before you could even try to come up with one, he’s put his Do Not Disturb on. 

So, there’s no point. Perhaps he’ll leave you be. Because that’s the best thing. For both of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d never experienced a Trader Joe’s until you came to Michigan. Walmart was pretty much it where you’re from. Even then, Walmart trips were reserved only for your dads paycheck weeks. The Dollar Tree down the road from your house was the grocery spot you most frequented. 

But, as you quickly discovered when you moved here, Trader Joe’s is truly what grocery shopping dreams are made of. It feels as though you’re walking into the friendliest neighborhood market each time you walk inside. And, your personal favorite touch, the chalkboards at the front with cute little illustrations to promote the best products and deals of the week. 

So, needless to say, you stop by the one on East Stadium Boulevard just about any chance you can get. 

Today, the purpose of the trip is to get some chicken broth for your mom. 

It’s about all she can manage to eat at the moment. Solid foods choke her more often than not. With as bad as her breathing has gotten – and it’s bad – she can’t find the energy to properly chew or swallow any food. Even something as soft as mashed potatoes is too much for her. She isn’t getting nearly enough nutrition right now, being only able to handle drinks. She refused smoothies when you’d mentioned those to her, knowing that you could blend up plenty of protein in one for her. But, she was adamantly against it. You questioned her opposition, of course. To which she only told you that she ‘didn’t like ‘em’ in the sharpest, most abrasive tone she could muster.

Okay. Got it. 

So, chicken broth was the next idea you’d had. And, instead of asking her if she'd be okay with it, you’d decided it’d be best to just give it to her, and not ask her beforehand. 

An ironic truth you’ve learned lately is that, even though it’s called the Dollar Tree, items at Trader Joe’s are actually much cheaper. For instance, the chicken broth you’ve chosen to purchase is $1.99 per box. That’s four cups of chicken broth for two bucks. The Dollar Tree back home would’ve charged you at least double, if not triple that. 

You’ve loaded your basket with four boxes of the stuff, feeling quite assured in the fact that this new diet won’t cost you an arm and a leg. Hell, you could easily switch to this diet, too. Not too much, but it’s enough. The thought then crosses your mind that’d only be fair to eat what she is able to eat, too. It certainly wouldn’t be right to eat the food that she wants to eat, but can’t. So, before you make it out of the aisle, you quickly turn on your heel back toward the shelf you’d picked these boxes up from. And, grabbing two more so there’s plenty for the both of you. 

I Wanna Be Your Lover fades out over the speakers, allowing for the next tune to lead in as you approach the check out. Only two cashiers are working right now, both with lines at least three people deep. No matter, though. You’re not exactly in any hurry to leave. The Trader Joe’s atmosphere offers you a bit of peace, and you’ll take as much of that as you can. Even if it means waiting in line to buy your six boxes of chicken broth. 

But, that peace is quickly dismissed as you begin to note the song becoming increasingly louder through the store’s sound system. A couple of chords in, and you feel a stark sinking feeling in your tummy. 

A delicate, melancholic piano melody. Spacious, unhurried. A quiet contemplation within each note. A subtle, gentle tap of a drum, accompanying Billy Joel’s smooth, tender voice. Knowing, heartfelt advice in the lyric. 

And, hearing it at a volume that suddenly feels much too loud, you’re remembering the last time you heard this song. Where you were, who you were with, where you were going…

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right

As a warm, lone tear begins its trial down your cheek, you find a new sense of urgency to get out of here. To your relief, you’re the next customer in line. With a ridiculous haste, you place your six boxes of chicken broth on the counter for the clerk to scan. 

An older lady, perhaps close to your moms age. Years and years of a rough life written across her face in deeply set wrinkles. Hooded eyelids, colored with a chalky blue shadow reaching to her thin, greying brows. She smells like cigarette smoke and White Diamonds. 

She greets you with a kind grin, displaying her yellowed teeth under her red painted, cracked lips. You offer her a smile back, though it isn’t a genuine one. And, based on the fall of her features, she can tell something is wrong. “Doing alright, sweetheart?” 

Something about her. Her appearance, her voice. She reminds you of your mom. Well, who she used to be. Who you thought she was. How do you explain that to a complete stranger? 

Yeah, I’m great. This song is just triggering as fuck, and you happen to remind me of my dying mother who’s refusing to take care of herself. 

“Doing just fine,” you fib, forcing a smile to stretch your Burt’s Bees coated lips. She taps the touch screen on the register a few times before reading you your grand total of $12.66.

She places the boxes of broth in a brown paper bag while you slide your debit card through the machine, trying not to pay attention to the fact that she’s now singing along to the blessed song. 

And you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Her cracking voice, almost grating in contrast to the soft tone of Billy Joel. Grating, yet soothing in some odd way. Still, you’re just ready to leave. Get your boxed chicken broth home, hope that your mom will be willing to try it. 

The cashier – Gertrude, according to her red name badge clipped to her black Trader Joe’s t-shirt – rips off the receipt from the printer, silently confirming that you’re okay with her placing it in the paper bag. When you nod your head, she does just that. 

With a sweet smile and her wish for you to have a great rest of your day, you bid her the same and head towards the automatic glass doors. Brown paper bag in one hand, full with the boxes of chicken broth, the other hand fishing for your keys from your crossbody sitting against your upper torso. 

Reaching your Firebird feels like sweet relief. Chipped red paint and all – at least you know this thing is a piece of shit. No surprises, no unexpected breakdowns. 

Everything with this car is expected. So, because of that, you can rely on it to be a pretty consistent part of your life. Consistently breaking down, consistently failing you – at least you know it’s coming. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

‘It’s time to start making plans, y/n.’

That single sentence has played like a cracked record in your head since the moment you heard Doctor Roth utter the words. And, knowing there’s nothing more you can do for her, that you should only worry about keeping her comfortable…

You’re grieving her. And she’s not even gone yet. Though, grieving this woman already feels strange. A grievance that you feel shouldn’t weigh so heavily atop your shoulders. But, aside from her reluctance to help you help her, you don’t understand why you feel that way. 

No matter the reason, you’re still doing everything you can think of. Right now, that means serving her warm chicken broth in a coffee mug. Because that is the only way she’ll ingest it. You’ll certainly not argue it. As long as she’s eating it, you couldn’t care less how she wants to do it. 

You’d prepared yourself for much more of an argument when you came home with the Trader Joe’s purchase today. Fully expected her to go off on you about the proposal of trying chicken broth, in a similar manner that she had with the smoothie idea. 

But, you’ve grown accustomed to her unpredictability as of late. So, while her willingness to try it didn’t entirely surprise you, you’d still prepared yourself for a fight about it. 

She’s sipping on the warm liquid gingerly, cupping the red mug with Stillwell Memorial Hospital printed in white lettering. The hospital she used to frequent when you lived in Cherry Tree.

You’d spent a lot of time there before the move – that was the place she received her initial diagnosis. 

She’s owned that mug for years. Longer than you’ve been alive. Just one of those things – a bookshelf, a wall clock, a blanket – that’s always been around. Something you never put much thought into, something that’s just a part of your life. 

That mug is certainly one of those things. But for some reason, as you’re watching her dry, cracked lips sip the warm broth from the brim, a mundane mug that your eyes have landed on thousands of times before, you’re thinking much more about it than you ever have. It could be the hospital logo, it could be that this particular mug has never been used for anything aside from a morning cup of coffee, that it’s now being used as the sole reason your mom is getting any nutrition at the moment. 

Who would’ve known that such a simple item would curate such a convoluted, complex array of emotions. 

Perhaps it isn’t the mug that’s doing it – perhaps circumstances of your life, especially in this stage, have forced you to think more and more about things that have not yet required such deep amounts of thought. 

 A careful thank you crosses her lips as she motions for you to come gather the now empty mug. Your feet, tucked under your thighs, are now planted on the carpet, grounding you enough to stand. It takes your body a little longer than a second to get it – the couch cushions are becoming more like quick sand everyday. So worn down, so saggy from over a decade of use. Your body always sinks into them as though they could swallow you whole. 

Bracing the palms of your hands on either side of your body, you're at last able to lift yourself from the crater you’ve left in the soft cushion. 

But the moment you begin to stand, the room starts a slow, lazy spin. Tilting, though your head remains steady. A sudden rush of dizziness hits you like a thousand pound weight. Lightheaded, queasy. Your fingers and toes, tingly and almost numb. The walls around you caving in, turning black.

Your body then shifts right back down to the couch, your knees too weak to support your weight all of a sudden. Consciousness on the brink of fading, your moms voice like a distant echo as she asks you if you’re okay. An inkling tells you to raise your knees to your chest and place your head between them, quick as your body is able to. 

And the moment you do, the feeling in your fingers begins to come back, your toes no longer tingling, blood rushing back to your head. 

It all happened so fast, yet it felt like you were in a slow motion film. 

“...y/n, are you okay?” 

Her voice is suddenly much more clear, though you can’t answer her just yet. Not with words, at least. 

A lazy thumbs up with your right hand will have to suffice for the moment. You’re not ready to lift your head just  yet, afraid the sudden rush of nausea will overcome you. 

This has happened before. Though, it hasn’t happened in a long time. 

As your senses are finally coming back to normal, enough that you feel you can safely lift your head, you’re very clearly recalling a few moments all too familiar to this one. To this feeling that you haven’t experienced since you lived in Oklahoma.

Low blood sugar. 

Very low blood sugar. Low enough that your body, your brain is entirely deprived of energy. 

Textbook hypoglycemic spell. 

The first time this happened to you, you were only a few days into your sixteenth year. It happened at school. You didn’t know what to do when the room began spinning, so you ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. Only, you didn’t make it. You only made it as far as the glass case holding all the sports trophies and medals. A few steps from the bathroom. 

The principal woke you up while the nurse was taking your vitals, right there in the middle of the hallway. At least a dozen or so of your classmates had gathered around to catch a glimpse of the goth girl that had fainted. 

Your dad was there within minutes of you coming to, and while you were still foggy and too unstable to walk, he carried you out of the school and drove you to the hospital. To Stillwell, the very same one your moms mug came from. 

“Lack of fuel,” the emergency nurse had said, as you lay flat on the hospital bed, being pricked and prodded by her needle in a mad hunt for a vein. ‘Has she been eating enough?’ 

She was talking to your dad, even though you were right there. It was like you were in no condition to answer questions about your own body. But, at the time, you probably weren’t. 

You needed fluids, bad. And she just couldn’t find your fucking vein. 

Your dad didn’t know how to answer that question. In truth, he didn’t know that you hadn’t been eating. Not yet.

He knew you began to skip breakfast when you were eleven because you wanted to get to school ‘early to do some reading.’ He knew you’d take a lunchbox to school everyday when you started middle school, but he didn’t know that you’d just toss its contents in the trash the moment you’d get there. He knew you’d take your dinner to your bedroom to work on homework in highschool, but he didn’t know that you’d dump your plate outside the window by your bed. The skunks and opossums had quite the dinner every night thanks to you. And thanks to them, no evidence that you’d done such a thing. 

He did know that you’d been losing weight, but he had no reason to think you were lying about it being due to the increased activity during P.E. The weight loss didn’t truly become noticeable until your sophomore year of highschool. And it was enough that even you were beginning to see the difference. 

Your mom had noticed the weight loss, too. But she never said much. Nothing at all if your memory serves your right. It was like she was jealous of the attention you were getting from your dad at that time, like she held some vendetta over you because of it. 

Well, that only became worse when the nurse told your dad that there were signs you hadn’t been eating, that you’d have to undergo quite the recovery plan if you didn’t start eating. And given how weak your vitals truly were, that recovery plan could have included a stay at a treatment facility in Tulsa over an hour away. By yourself. For at least a month. Perhaps longer.

That was something you were not too keen on doing. 

The emergency room nurse strongly recommended therapy, but that was something your family wasn’t able to afford at the time. So, your dad opted to spend hours upon hours with you to help you recover, and to avoid the program in Tulsa. He wanted you to heal, but he didn’t want you going away anymore than you wanted to. 

But, your mom. 

Your parents had always argued, but this time in your life would serve as the worst of their fights. All because of you. 

She didn’t take your condition seriously at first. She’d tell your dad, after he’d just spent an entire day at the library doing research, that these conditions weren’t real. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” you heard her yell one day, both of them behind their bedroom door, trying to keep you from hearing. But, they were so loud, and the walls of your home in Cherry Tree were thinner than notebook paper. “Teen girls are just vain, Jeff. I went through it, we all go through it. She’ll be fine. You’re making a big fuss over nothing.”

At the time, though it pains you to admit this now, you agreed with her. 

And you only did so because you didn’t want to be treated like there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want to believe that there was, and your dad’s daily harping on the matter frustrated you to no end. You wanted the situation to just disappear, for everyone to agree that it was only a phase and you were just being a vain teenager. 

You knew the truth, though. 

Vanity wasn’t even on your mind when you’d stopped eating. Not initially, at least.

Your parents hated each other. Each day saw a massive fight. Some of them would result in whatever items were close by being chucked across the living room. Some of them would end with one of them – sometimes both of them – leaving the house in a fit of pure rage. 

It went on for years. And there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had spent the last ten years longing for your family to come together like they had when you spent Christmas in the hospital, with a collapsed lung from the bitter outside conditions. 

You didn’t do that on purpose, of course. But you realized that, if your parents would come together and stop fighting for anything, it’d be because of your health. 

It wasn’t even that you wanted their attention – which you did. You just wanted them to stop fighting. And if your health got bad enough, they’d have no choice but to become a unit once more, for the sake of their ill daughter who needed them. (Who needed them when she was well, too.) 

They just didn’t seem to care unless something was very wrong. 

Your body was changing. Your mature hormones began developing at a rate you couldn't prepare for. You didn’t like it – you didn’t like the new things about your body that made you feel and look different. And you didn’t like the way food made you feel. You discovered that at the tender age of eleven.

All of those things could very well contribute to a rough relationship with food for anyone. And for you, they were the perfect storm to create a terrible habit. 

But what really did it, what set your mind to skip a meal a day, two meals a day, three meals a day – it was your parents. 

You couldn’t control them. You couldn’t control their ceaseless fighting, their refusal to be a team for you, their only child. Their child who was dealing with the worst of the worst from her peers, who was being bullied on a near day-to-day basis over the way she looked, over her differences that kids her age didn’t understand. Your dad tried to be there for you, but your mom took him away everytime. 

You knew the way to get them to notice you — make yourself sick. Just like the time your lung collapsed.

Only, you couldn’t replicate that. Not safely, at least. You didn’t want anything that drastic, only something that would get them to look at you again. You needed them, and there wasn’t a single effort you’d made to get them back that had worked. 

Until you fainted at school. When you fainted due to a lack of fuel. 

You’d let things progress a little further than you had intended, and there was no turning back once you’d reached that point. It’d been years of restricting, and it had finally gotten to that point. 

The illness became a sense of consistency for you – it gave you a means of control when every part of your life outside of it was out of your control. 

And from then on, everytime chaos had taken the lead in your life, when things began to unravel even the slightest, your old friend would return just in time, when you needed to feel in charge. In charge of something. 

In reality, you’ve just been relapsing over and over again throughout the course of the last decade or so. And in truth, you’re not certain you’ve ever fully healed enough to consider these moments true relapses – these are just the moments when it’s worse. 

Right now, this stage in your life just happens to be one of those moments. And at this point, giving this long-time friend attention when it shows up at your doorstep is as innate as breathing. You know you’re welcoming danger with open arms, but it doesn’t feel like you’re doing anything more than inviting an old friend back to your home. 

Your dad did everything he could to help, though his knowledge was rather limited. And you fought the hell out of him over it. 

You were getting the affection from him that you wanted, so you knew that healing would take it away again. He and your mom were still fighting, of course. But you were at least in your dads line of sight again. 

And your mom…

She hated it. And you never knew why she hated it. 

Could a mother truly be jealous over her daughter's father giving her attention? Surely not, right? 

That question wasn’t on your mind back then, but it’s certainly crossed it a time or two since he left. That, and so many more questions. Ones that you fear will never be answered. 

There finally came a point when your mom did start to take your illness seriously, though her way of doing so was an attempt to convince your dad to send you to Tulsa. ‘There’s nothing else we can do with’er,’ she’d said. ‘She’s better off somewhere else.’

Did she want to get rid of you?

That was when you decided to straighten up. You did not want to leave, and you knew how your mom worked – she had plenty of sway over your dad, and you knew that he’d eventually give in if she’d tried hard enough. 

You started eating again, but you didn’t let yourself indulge. You carefully watched everything you ate. So, you were eating, but you weren’t eating the things that would make you gain weight. 

It wasn’t enough. Not enough protein to sustain you for an entire day. But, it was enough to get your mom to change her mind about Tulsa. 

And, just as you’d suspected, the moment they thought you were “healed,” you stopped existing in their world again. 

This all happened again when you were nineteen. 

Another trip to the hospital, just like the one when you were sixteen. You’d fainted during your shift at the diner, and your manager immediately took you to the hospital in Stillwell. 

And that time was much, much worse. 

That was when you were told that you’d done irreversible damage to your body, that carrying children in the future would most likely be impossible. At the time, you didn’t care too much about it. Hell, you were nineteen. Kids were the last thing on your mind at that time. What you cared about was getting through school, and getting the hell out of Cherry Tree. 

Tulsa was brought up again during that emergency room visit, and you vowed to turn things around quick to avoid it again.

And it wasn’t long after that that your dad left. 

Is that why he…? 

“Y/n,” your mom says, nudging your arm with her clammy hand. “What are you doing? Are you oka –,” 

“I’m fine,” you snap through a cracked voice, feeling okay enough to lift your head from between your knees. “S-sorry, just got a little dizzy.” 

She’s looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, eyes held wide open, lips parted before she speaks again. “That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?” 

You’re an adult now. A full fledged, grown woman capable of making her own choices. Capable of taking care of her dying mother. Yet, you’re still afraid she’ll try and send you off to Tulsa again. You know better – she wouldn’t want her sole caregiver gone right now.

Still yet, you’ll give into the instinct to pretend like nothing is wrong. “Nope, it hasn’t.” Though you don’t truly possess enough strength to comfortably stand right now, you’re pushing yourself to do it, anyways. The dizziness is still present, though it’s much better than it was moments ago. 

Steading yourself on your feet, mentally pleading with your knees to not buckle beneath you, you take the empty mug from your moms hand. Just like you tried to do before all of this happened. “I’m fine, though. I think I just need to get some rest.”

An elongated, disbelieving ‘oooookay,’ is your mothers response as you head to the kitchen with the dirty mug. Running some water in it, you set it in the sink to let it soak for a bit before you wash it, bracing yourself with both hands against the counter to offset your Jell-o legs. 

You know you need to eat. You know you do. Because as much as you hate the feeling of being full, you hate this feeling just as much. Maybe even a little more. 

Chicken broth in a mug. Just like your mom.

That’ll do.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 11th:

Two days until he leaves.

I shouldn’t have come here, you ponder as the cashier rings up your purchase, holding your breath when he tells you the price.

“That’ll be $272.62 with tax,” he says, deadpanned in expression as he carefully folds it into the box with the list of tips on caring for leather. 

Jesus Christ. 

Letting out all the breath you’d been holding, your arms and your brain have a major disconnect as you absently reach for your debit card. No reservations about the price are strong enough to stop you from swiping the plastic through the taunting machine. The only reason you’re able to afford this right now is because your moms disability check hit the account a day early. 

Bills aren’t due for another week, and you’ll have already received your paycheck from the library by them…So, it feels a bit more justified given the circumstances. It certainly doesn’t make it okay that you’re using disability money for this — it’s pretty shitty of you, actually. You find you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel nearly every month to make ends meet as it is. You’ve been able to get by thus far, but that’s only because extra spending has been at a very low minimum. But, fuck. You have to buy this. It’s too perfect not to. It just screamed his name the second your eyes caught it hanging with the replica collection. 

And if you’re to be completely honest, it’s kind of the reason you wanted to come in here anyway. It was advertised on their Instagram page, a limited edition piece that won’t be coming back in stock after the new year. You just wanted to see it in person, get a look at it beyond the lens of a screen. 

The intent wasn’t to buy it.

Wasn’t. 

But as soon as you saw it, you knew you had to get it for him. How and when you’ll give it to him…that’s another issue entirely. 

In truth, none of those things really matter. There’s nothing to say you have to give it to him. Maybe you can keep it for yourself. True, you have no real use for it. There’s no guitar in your life that requires it. But, it is sentimental to you for a multitude of reasons. And not all of them surround Jake. (Only most of them.) 

The dinging approval from the machine brings you back to earth, and to the realization that you did, in fact, spend almost three hundred dollars on someone you may never see again after the next few weeks. Or you spent it on you, for a nostalgic buy that will only serve to break your heart every time you see it. 

Still, either story isn’t exactly justifiable. And no justification will help alleviate this overbearing, sinking feeling that you’ve basically ensured the account will be drained for the next week.

Since you knew he just had to have it, a better option would’ve been to just send him the fucking link to it and let him buy it if he wants it. He has the kind of money for these things, not you. 

But you didn’t want to do that. The nagging voice in your head convinced you that it’d be nice to surprise him with it. (And another voice in your head, the more unrealistic one, said that such a gift might convince him to stay here with you. Stupid. Hoping against hope when it’s way too far fetched to even obtain that hope.)

“I’ve put the receipt into the box should you need to return it,” the greasy haired, unenthused hippie-wannabe says, sliding the white paper box across the glass counter top to you. “This is a limited item, so the return window is only two weeks after purchase. Warranty is good for two years.” His eyes are focused on something behind the counter that you can’t see, and if you had to guess, you’d say it's probably a script of some sort. The same spiel he gives to every customer. No one is more special than the other. You get it. Been there before. Cherry Tree Grocery made you memorize a mandatory monologue, along with a bullshit sales pitch for a credit card with scam-worthy interest rates. 

“Thanks and have a guitartastic day,” he finishes, failing at concealing the announce in his voice. Can’t blame him, though. Guitartastic? Yeah, you’d be a little more than peeved if you had to deliver that line with every customer.

“Yeah, you too,” you respond in a subdued voice, lifting the box from the counter, fishing your keys out of your crossbody with one hand as you’re making steady strides to the exit doors of Detroit Guitar. 

Return it. He said you have two weeks to return it. Maybe you can just do that after a day or so. Just keep it for a little while, let it serve as a symbol of what could’ve been a wonderfully thoughtful gift to someone you care (cared?) enough for to spend money on that you don’t possess. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You spent how much?”

“About two hundred seventy…and some change,” you admit to a very baffled Nat. You had to talk to someone about this impulse purchase during your drive home, and who better than her than confess such a thing to? The silent drive, thanks to the busted radio, would only make you question your choice even further.  Of course, her reaction is just as you’d expected. Shocked, inquisitive. A tad on the judgemental side. Her lack of restraint when it comes to voicing her thoughts should be studied, dear lord. 

“I admittedly know nothing about the world of guitar straps,” she wittingly comments. “But isn't that a bit much for a piece of faux leather that holds a guitar to you?”

“Nat, it’s an exact replica of one of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s favorites. When I say exact, I mean I would fully believe that this was actually his if I didn’t know any better,” you explain to her, and to yourself. You’re still trying to justify the purchase to yourself, too. But, you are right – it’s a true match in style to one he used often, one that has gone down in rock and roll history as iconic, and nothing less. Stark black, patterned with a flow of white music notes, hand stitched. It’s a classic piece in its own right, certainly one that any fan of his would instantly recognize. 

It’ll look so beautiful attached to Jake’s SG. A stunning complement to the dark red hue of the body. That, in truth, was all you could think of when you made the trip to shop – the image of Jake’s guitar donned with such an important piece in the vast chronicle of the blues. The point is, you know he’ll love it. You know he will. And that alone is plenty of justification. 

At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself. 

“And it is not faux leather, Natalia. It’s one hundred percent real. Just –,” you sigh, fighting the internal battle of whether this was a completely outlandish choice or not. And her judgey tone is certainly not helping with that. “I need you to trust that I wouldn’t just buy this for no reason. It has meaning, Natalia. There’s a lot of significance wrapped up in this –,” 

You stop talking when you hear her scoff on the other end, feeling just a bit offended with the display. “What was that about, Natalia?”

“Why on earth are you getting so defensive about this?” She irately asks, with every right, too. 

You’re feeling far more confrontational than normal, probably due to the fact that you’re plagued with guilt over the whole ordeal. The money you spent on this should be spent elsewhere. It’s just not financially responsible. But, goddamnit – you want him to have this. 

“Listen,” she persists, her tone shifting to a calmer one. “All I’m worried about is the fact that you two are basically no contact at this point. It’s a great gift, y/n. But are you okay with giving him something that special when you’re not going to date him? I assume that’s the plan, anyway.” 

Well. She’s right about that. A pretty solid point, actually. Sure, you were certainly thinking everything she’s saying, but hearing it out loud makes it all the more palpable in your mind. You’re undoubtedly not going to ‘date’ him. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. Wasn’t to begin with, not ever. 

“I know,” you concede, a heavy, defeated sigh accompanying your words. The Firebird screeches to a quick stop at the red light that you almost ran through, your frustrations making it difficult to keep your mind on the fact that you’re driving. Everything in your backseat – canvas bag full of books, laptop, the guitar strap – all plummeted to the floorboard. Yet another grievance rattle your nerves to the nth degree.

“I’ll return it,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve got two weeks to take it back. I’ll just do that.”

You knew you’d come to regret this. It wasn’t wise; What if your mom finds out that you used her disability money – the money you need for rent – on something like this? You have always been the responsible one, and that doesn’t stop when it comes to money. The shit you learned after you dad left about saving each and every penny you had…feels like it’s all gone out the window. And for what? The guy who’ll just become part of your past in the very near future? 

If there were ever a moment you felt utterly stupid, right now would be that moment. 

“Just do what you think is best, y/n,” she advises, her voice more gentle than it was before. “I won’t judge you either way – I just want you to be okay with whatever decision you make and not regret it.” 

And therein lies the problem. 

What you want to do and what you know is best are on opposing sides. You want to give it to him, show him that you thought of him when you saw it. Give him a little something to make him think of you when he’s gone. (And, maybe, give him something that’d make him want to stay.)

But you know the best idea would be to take it back to the shop, receive a full refund, forget about it altogether. 

Your heart and your head – the two just never seem to see eye to eye. Do you follow the emotional urge or the logical move? 

Either way, you can’t be sure that you’ll be much better off if you’d choose to go one way or the other. Who would’ve thought that a simple (though, not really simple at all) gift could stir such a massive whirlwind of emotions? 

You barely hear Nat mutter something on her end of the call, but her voice is now drowned out by the deep, uneven thrumming of your Firebird’s ancient engine that’s now sputtering and threatening to stall after slamming on your brakes the way you did. You ask her to repeat what she’d said, but you’re still unable to make out any intelligible words. 

“I can’t hear you, Nat,” you say, raising your own voice now to compete with the intrusive noise as you’re finally turning on the street of your apartment. “My stupid car is screaming at me so I need you to talk a little louder.” 

Through shuffling and static on the other end, you can faintly make out Danny’s name. She’s probably insisting you let him take a look at your car again, but as the engine grows even louder, you decide it’s no use.

“I’ll just have to call you back,” you finally say, defeated, ending the call with a sharp press of your thumb. You toss your phone in the passenger seat, landing with a hard thud against the cracked and stained vinyl seat.

Pulling into the lot outside of your building, you shift the damn thing in park and kill the engine with a rough twist of your key. The Firebird sputters one last time before it falls silent. But the silence only makes the chaos in your mind scream even louder.

You sit there a moment, hands still gripping the wheel, forehead pressed into the worn leather. The harsh scent of overheated metal and old dust infiltrates your nose, threatening a sneeze at any moment.

The guitar strap lies on the floorboard behind you, almost hidden beneath your spilled books and laptop,

Maybe you’ll return it tomorrow.

Maybe you won’t.

Right now, you’re too tired to decide what the fuck you’re going to do.

Right now, all you can do is sit here, broken in more ways than one, wishing the world (and your heart) would just, for once, make things simple.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re not surprised it didn’t wake her. She sleeps about as soundly as any person could these days. And, with the humming noise that accompanies her oxygen machine, she hardly hears a thing outside of her room. 

Still, you checked on her first thing. Sometimes, if she’s startled awake, her coughing fits become so bad that it takes hours for her body to calm down. So, when you hear the intrusion again, it pisses you off for her sake. (And yours – if she can’t sleep, you don’t sleep.) 

Whomever it is isn’t frantically knocking, though you’re inclined to believe that whatever the reasoning for such a visit is of some importance, given it’s well past midnight. 

Your first thought is Nat, but that thought quickly dissipates when you realize she hasn’t sent you a text warning her impending arrival. She would never just show up unannounced. And if she did, the knocks on the door would be far less spaced out, because something would be very wrong.

That leaves only two options – a burglar, or the man whom you’ve been avoiding for two days now. 

At this point, you think you’d prefer the burglar to the latter. 

A third knock against the door sets your heating anger to a near boil. 

With quiet defiance, you march across the living room and unlock the door, swinging it open to reveal what you already knew.

It’s no burglar. Not one after anything materialistic, at least. This one is after your heart. And, he may as well head to the next door, because there’s not much left of yours to steal. 

“It’s late, Jake.” 

“I know that.” 

If he told you that he’s just ran a marathon, you’d have no problem believing it. Wouldn’t question such a thing based on the looks of him. 

His hair, a low, messy bun against the nape of his neck. Tendrils of hair have fallen out of the bun, framing his blushed and sweaty face, sticking to the skin. His breaths are nearly heaving, nostrils flaring with each quick bit of air he sucks in. 

You’re reluctant to invite him in, but the cold burst of air blowing through the open door calls for it. Which, again, forces you to wonder why he’s so sweaty, why the sleeves of his black Jimi Hendrix hoodie are pulled up to his elbows. 

You remember this hoodie rather well. You’ve seen it before, and though it’s been a long time since then, the image of it will forever remain seared in your memory. 

All black, with a black-and-white photo of Hendrix performing at Woodstock across his chest. The photo is a bit weathered, its corners soft and faded. You can only imagine he’s had it for years. 

You love it. Truly.

With no words, only the motion of your hands, you offer to let him come inside. He does so in a sluggish manner, turning to close the door behind him. 

Letting him inside is as far as you’ll go, though. You don’t offer your couch to him, don’t ask if he’d like to go to your room to talk. Standing, awkwardly, taking up the space in the middle of the living room will just have to fucking do. Whatever he has to say to you, whatever compelled him to show up unannounced after midnight, he can take care of right here. 

“What do you want, Jake?”

The question, more like an assertion – you can’t think of any valid reason he’d show up here like this. 

“You’re really okay with letting me leave like this, huh?”

“Yes.” 

Your arms become crossed over your chest, a bold stance of resistance. You’re mad. And you don’t even know why you’re mad. You are the one who kissed his brother. You have been ignoring him since. 

In some way, you feel that leaving things like this will make it easier when he’s gone. Mending things will only make his absence hurt much worse. At least this way, you’ll be too angry to miss him.

He watches your every move, studying you, reading you. He knows what you’re feeling, and he knows you’re full of shit when you say you’re fine with things ending this way. But what choice has he left you with?

Your arms across your body – they’re more of a comforting embrace. You feel your walls breaking above an already faulty foundation. You’re just trying to keep yourself stable at this point.

“No you’re not, y/n. And this avoidance game won’t make this any better.” 

“Avoidance, Jake? Shall I remind you of your own avoidance tactics? How you just led me on and didn’t think to clue me in on this little detail of your life? Knowing that I’ve already been down this path before?”

“This wasn’t some cruel design, y/n. I never wanted to end up here, with you looking at me like this.” 

 “You’re the one who’s okay with leaving in the first place, Jake. So, I’m okay if we leave things just like this.”

Again, a fucking lie. A lie to protect the remaining tattered shreds left of your heart. You can’t even discern whether or not it’s working. 

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to coming with me. Think about it, y/n. All of the things you love, the birthplace of the works you’ve spent your whole life with. The history, y/n. These are the things you care about, not some egotistic modeling gig. That’s not you, y/n.”  

He takes one step closer to you, the muscles in his jaw clenching and tightening, nostrils flaring with every deep breath from his chest.

“Oxford is you; literature is you. Why are you rejecting who you are?”  

He’s not wrong. In truth, just about everything he’s saying is right. 

It makes sense. All of it. 

But your reluctance hasn’t waned. And you’ll be goddamned if you could understand why. Spite is truly the only thing you can think of. Because if you’re honest with him and yourself, going to London feels like the moment your whole life has been leading up to.

And it makes you think…is Jake the light you’re meant to follow? Like a moth uses the moon wayfind – 

Your mom. She’s awake. 

And she’s coughing. 

Suddenly, a reason bigger than you – you can’t leave her. She’ll die without you. She has no one else in this world to take care of her. You’re it. 

Your mom. She is the reason.

“That, Jake.” For a moment, you uncross your arms, ridding yourself of the tiny bit of security you found in them, pointing your finger towards her closed bedroom door. “That is why I can’t go. And it’s selfish of you to think I could just leave her for you.”

“Selfish, y/n? I’m standing here, pleading with you to live the life that you want to live, to not forget who you are, and that makes me selfish?”

“I can’t leave her, Jake. You know that.” 

You stand firm, crossing your arms once more and willing your voice not to crack or falter in anyway. 

“But you’re willing to leave her for L.A.? If she really is the only reason you won’t consider London, what makes L.A. so different, hm?”  

Your breath catches, body stiffening as you soak in his words, his incredibly valid point. There’s no answer. No reasonable one. He’s right, again. 

L.A. truly isn’t any different. It may be across the country instead of the world, but does distance actually matter? You weren’t even thinking of your mom when you said you were going to pursue L.A. She didn’t cross your fucking mind once. 

Why are you okay with that, and not London? 

The only difference – Jake. And your goddamn pride that you refuse to let go of. And as it stands, you’re not sure there’s any turning back from it. 

There’s silence for a moment. You don’t know what to say, how to argue something utterly inarguable. 

His eyes watch you, reading the thoughts behind your own until he finally speaks again. “Why are you so sure about going after something you’ve never given a fuck about, but adamantly refuse to go with me in pursuit of something you love?”   

“It’s just –,” you try, scrambling through the thoughts in your brain to come up with something to say that’ll make any sort of sense. “It’s different, Jake. It’s just different.”

Different? 

Is it, though? Jesus – if you don’t believe it, how is he supposed to?

“She’s doing this on purpose, y/n.”

Excuse me?

“And you know that. She’s letting herself stay this way so you won’t live your own life. And it’s working.” 

Your pulse begins surging, your insides twisting in knots as a storm of pure anger begins to brew beneath your ribs. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How dare he accuse your mom of something so…so fucking vile. 

And so completely wrong.

“That is not true, Jake!” You want to yell, to scream at the top of your lungs. But you can’t. You don’t want her to have to hear any of this.“She would never do something like that. You can’t say that – you don’t know what she’s been through.”

The way he’s looking at you, as if he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t know. He isn’t the one that’s responsible for keeping her alive. He doesn’t live with her, he doesn’t have to witness her death playing out before his own two eyes. 

The coughs don’t last long, thank goodness. You were terrified that she’d cough herself into a spell that she wouldn’t be able to get out of without you. 

“You’re taking care of her and not yourself, y/n. And she won’t let you take care of yourself. She doesn’t want me to do it, either. It’s dangerous for you to keep taking care of her. She wants you to be unhappy, she doesn’t want you to heal. Everyone else can see that, y/n. Why are you so blind to it?”

“Jake – ,”

No. He doesn’t get to say shit like that to you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not his fucking place. 

“You’re asking me to uproot my life and move to a different country, Jake.” Your arm snaps towards your left, as if  pointing in the direction of London. The joints in your elbow pop as you do, your finger staying in the London direction as you continue pressing your point.

“That is the difference. And it’s obvious that I wasn’t on your mind when you made this decision. You were fine with leaving me. So just leave.” That finger, pointing towards your make believe London, is now pointing ahead of you. At the door. 

“This decision, y/n, I didn’t –,” he begins, voice suddenly much softer than before. A frustrated palm begins rubbing at his forehead, his eyes hidden behind their lids for a brief moment as he finds his wording. “I didn’t just choose to move across the world overnight. I was accepted to Oxford long before this semester even began. Before I ever knew you, y/n. I’m not fine with leaving you, that is why I’m begging you to consider following your true path.” 

He pauses with a heavy breath, hands tucking the loose strands of hair behind his ears. 

You feel the lump in your throat begin to tighten, your eyes blurring behind a new wetness. You can’t help but wonder how things have gone so wrong. So fucking wrong. 

What are you doing?

“I know you applied to Oxford,” he says, and your heart begins to thump hard beneath your chest. Pounding in your ears, rattling your bones. “And I know you wouldn’t have done that if this wasn’t laying on your heart.”  

You feel like a child that’s been caught in a lie – embarrassed, cheeks burning, heart exposed. He knows. 

He’s already seen that wall crumble before you even realized it had fallen.

“H-how do you –,” you stutter out through a cracked, timid voice. But he’s ready to answer you before you can even finish your question. 

You already know the answer. 

“Movack.”

Yep.

“He was elated that you applied. And that tells me that you’ve already considered this option.”  

Words fail you.

You stand here, lips parted, yet nothing dares to rise past your tongue. 

“Listen…,” he whispers, his eyes not breaking from yours. “Whether you chose to come to London or not, I can’t leave with this weight between us. If this is where it ends, then we need to let it end with grace, with us seeing each other clearly. Please, y/n. I’m begging you. I can’t bear to leave you like this. I can’t bear this.”

He steps forward slowly, fingers twitching at his sides as though he’s aching to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, as though he’s memorizing every curve and contour of your face. 

Your lip begins to tremble, quivering as you hold his heavy gaze. There’s a long beat of silence, lingering.

He then exhales, sharp and exhausted, running a hand down his face before letting it fall limp to his side.

“And if this is the last time I see you, then I need you to know – you’ve broken me, y/n. You shattered something in me, you’ve changed me.” A bitter laugh escapes him, hardly more than a breath. “God, I needed it. I wish I – I just wish I could put it into words, but my heart is speaking a language my lips don’t know how to translate. I just –,”

He stops, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as though he’s breathing away any tears that may threaten to fall. And then, he says it. The words you can’t bear to hear. 

The ones that will make this hurt all the more.

“I love you, y/n.”

No. Please, no.

Warm, full tears spill down your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. So many tears. Too many to count.

You swallow the sob building in your throat, composing yourself before you can truly let this sink in. 

You softly shake your head in blindsided silence, as if that could somehow undo what’s just been spoken.

But it won’t. You know that. 

And now, there’s only one thing left to say. Because you can’t let him see that you feel it, too.

You already feel too much. And you have for a long fucking time.

It has to end here.

 “You need to go Jake.”

“What? Y/n listen to me –,”

“You need to go.”

It’s unmistakable, the tears in his eyes as he silently turns away, giving you what you want. What you’ve wanted this whole time – for him to just leave. 

There’s no reason to watch him walk away. No reason to let yourself experience the pain of seeing him leave your apartment. For the last time. 

No. You can’t do it. You won’t. 

You let your eyes wander to your feet as you shut the door, fighting the burning desire to slam it. If you didn’t live in a complex, you most certainly would have. 

Shut, deadbolt locked – it’s done. 

The building is so quiet, so still – you can hear The Black Pearl’s engine start up all the way from the second floor. You know the sound, tangible even from a distance. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. It’s familiar. Heartbreakingly so. 

The only thing left to do — now that he’s gone — is go to bed. Sleep. Forget about all of this, of Jake. 

A faint tapping stops you before you can take more than one step. A stuttering flutter, just above you. And when you look in the direction of the strange noise, your eyes land upon a creature, wings of silken pale green floating against the overhead light. Hovering just beneath the plastic dome of the fixture, entirely lost within the soft glow it emanates like an invisible tether. 

If it stays in here, it’ll surely die. And you can’t let that happen to such an eye-catching moth. You’ve never seen one this beautiful, this noble. 

Quiet as you can, you turn to unlock and crack open the door, ensuring you're prepared to set this lovely thing free, once and for all. 

“Wrong light, little guy. Let’s get you back outside where you’re safe,” you whisper, gently reaching your hands above your head, cupping it safely between your palms. 

“You don’t belong here.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 12th:

One day until he leaves.

You haven’t heard from him today.

Not once. 

And it’s a relief. 

At least, it’s supposed to be. 

It’s not, though. 

You thought you wanted him to leave you alone. And perhaps you did when you told him as much. But now, your body is feeling ten times heavier with a burdening guilt. Guilt over letting him leave like this. He’d asked you over and over if you were truly okay with letting it end this way, letting him go to London without a proper goodbye, without anything but the nudge of a cold shoulder. 

And you said yes. 

But that’s not the truth.

You’ve become so accustomed to lying in order to protect your heart, that you’re starting question what the fuck is even real anymore. 

You’re tired of not knowing – you’re tired of lying. 

You’ve let yourself rot in bed for the better part of the day, save for your early shift at the library. Stocking books, updating records, listening to the echoing tick of the giant wall clock…it took your mind off of things at the time. 

But now, you’re on hour four of lying in bed, staring at your phone, ‘watching TikToks,’ but only truly looking at the top of the screen. Watching, waiting to see his name appear. 

And it doesn’t. You fear his time of trying to reach you has worn out – that clocked has reached its final tick. And you should be happy about it. 

So, why aren’t you? Why are you stuck here, sprawled out on your mattress – the same position you’ve been in for over four hours now – waiting for a single name to pop up on the screen of your phone? 

It’s ridiculous, truly. And it’s a waste of your goddamn time. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now, in lieu of awaiting a message that won’t be coming, one that shouldn’t be coming. 

Dinner’s easy these days – chicken broth, water, tea if your mom is feeling up to it. She’s resting in her own bed now, Western film playing on her TV, probably dozing in and out of sleep. 

So, given the earlier ending to each night as of late, there actually isn’t anything else for you to do. Apartment is clean as a whistle, dishes washed and put away. Maybe it’d be best if you let yourself drift to sleep, too. What else is there to do? Keep your eyes glued to a screen for something that won’t happen? 

Sleep. You just want to sleep. 

You click the message icon, just in case you happen to miss something. Of course, there’s nothing. Nothing new, nothing from him. So, with a deep breath in your nose and out of your parted lips, you lock your phone and sit on the dark wood table beside your bed. 

And that’s where it’ll stay for the rest of the night. No more waiting, no more wishing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 13th:

The last day.

This morning, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest that you’ve never felt before. Weighing on you, crushing your ribs, your heart pounding beneath the pressure. Your body, covered in a layer of cold sweat the second you opened your eyes.

You knew why.

It felt as though you’d finally come to terms with it all – your guiding light, your navigational compass, he’s leaving. And suddenly, you realized just how lost you’ll be without him. 

Everything came to a crushing realization, all at once.

You drove at least fifteen miles over the limit the whole way. Speeding up when lights turned yellow, passing and weaving through traffic when they slowed you down. You’ve wasted so much goddamn time. You couldn’t let yourself waste one more fucking second. 

He came to you when your foolish self dismissed him each time he tried to reach out, when he begged for you to not let him leave without mending things. You wouldn’t fucking listen. Even when he drove over twenty minutes in the middle of the night, showing up for you. 

So, it’s only right that you offer him the same. Give both of you the chance to see him off properly. You let your hurt feelings get in the way of so much. And right now, all you can think is how fucking stupid you’ve been. He tried, and you shut him out. And the result? You didn’t end up hurting any less, like you thought you would. 

No, you’re hurting so much worse. And it’s your fault this time. Not his. He tried, and you didn’t 

You barely hit the brakes when you shove the gear in park, viciously jolting yourself forward when the car screeches to a quick halt. Not the best move for your aged Firebird, but you’ll worry about that later. 

You don’t even bother turning the thing off. There’s no time for that. 

The door to their apartment feels daunting as you run towards it, pounding the wood with your closed fist when you’re close enough to make contact. After a few seconds of nothing, you knock again. 

Finally, the knob begins to turn from the other side. You’re ready to leap into his arms the moment he opens the door, to hold him, kiss him. Give yourself one last chance to experience what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms, to taste him one more time, seal it in your memory where it can always stay with you.

But when the door opens, it’s not Jake behind the frame. It’s Josh. And if you were paying close enough attention — which you’re not— you’d notice the redness around Josh’s eyes and cheeks, his freshly wet eyelashes. 

Paying no mind, you push your way inside, ready to run to his room, where you’re sure he is. But you don’t make it far. You’re stopped by Josh’s gentle touch, his grounding hand placed on your shoulder. He doesn’t use force, yet it stops you just as abruptly as if he were. 

“Please, Josh. I know he doesn’t want to see me but I need to tell him that –,”

“Y/n. Stop.” You don’t heed him. 

It’s obvious that Jake is upset with you — he has every reason to be. But you have to do this. You can’t let him go this way, without him hearing the truth written on your laden heart. This is the ending. That is a lucid fact. But, you can’t let it end before you say what you need to say. Your heart won’t beat the same ever again if you don’t. 

“No, Josh. I need to tell him that I lo –,”

“Y/n!” 

His voice is jarring, enough to silence you and keep you from taking another step towards the hallway. And his eyes, just as staggering as his voice – they’re telling you something you’ve a feeling you really don’t want to hear from his lips. 

“Listen to me,” he pleads, closing the space between you. “He’s –” He sniffles, his eyes now heavy with new tears. “He’s not here, love.”

“W-what?” Your heart is racing, cold sweat collecting on your skin. Your throat tightens, it’s so hard to swallow. 

No. No. 

“That’s impossible, Josh! His flight isn’t until –,”

He stops you with another squeeze of your shoulder, tears now running down his cheeks, pooling around his dark moustache. “He was able to get an earlier flight, y/n. I just got back from the airport.”

No.

“His plane just left, darling. He’s gone.”

You’re too late. 

There’s nothing to say, so the tears will say it all for you. Quiet tears, no sobbing. Just quiet, regretful tears. There for you when you’re hurting. Always there. A warm, gentle comfort to accompany your pain. 

Always there. 

He didn’t say goodbye. And it’s your fault that he didn’t. 

Fuck, he tried. You wouldn’t hear it. Didn’t give him the chance to. And you let him leave without telling him how you truly feel. When you decided to get your head out of your ass, it was too goddamn late. 

You know the pain of someone leaving without saying goodbye, without you getting the chance to say the things that’d gone unspoken for so long. Leaving a hole in your heart, open and void. And when he wanted to give you that much, you closed yourself off. It’s your fault. 

And now, he’s gone. It’s the end of the chapter. The page, officially turned. He’ll never speak to you again. You may never see him again.

Josh sniffles again as he wraps both arms around your shoulders, pulling as close to his body as he can. His embrace, so warm against your trembling form. A comfort, though one all too familiar to the one you’re longing for right now. And because of that, it’s only making this pain hurt worse. 

Much, much worse. 

“I know, y/n. I’m gonna miss him, too.”

You were too late.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i know. i'm sad, too. we've still got a long ways to go, loves. don't be afraid to let me know what you think! anon or not, i love hearing from you.🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍 you all are truly the best.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?) sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy

[limerlove]

ray, your writing is so amazing 🤍

lowkey, i need a “i love you x i loved you” angst with abby and reader ‼️😔👀

❝ BET YOU WANNA LOVE ME NOW ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

tags: eighteen+,wc 2k, heavy angst, tw panic attack.

a/n: more than happy to fulfill this request for you, em. thank you for helping me even further bringing it to life. i love when our brains mesh. it's a beautiful and lovely thing. ily, mwah mwah ♡

daily click | palestine masterpost

Three months, shot after shot, week after week, you call. The dial tone you’re met with again. The hint is there for you to take but you steer clear from it, hoping to wipe out instead. She never blocks you, a glimmer of hope you call it. It’s the only sliver of silver lining you hold onto. Your friends take away your phone after the fourth call, trying to protect you from the inevitable hurt. 

You’ve hit rock bottom, the tequila burning through the remnants left of your senses. Stumbling in your boots before you find an edge of a curb to nestle on, the now empty body of the tequila bottle you’d emptied kisses the concrete. 

Everything reminds you of her. The soft laugh she would sing after a silly joke, the way she would hold you at night when you cried, singing her favorite song of the week when the two of you would get ready in the morning together. Just like tonight, Abby would be the one to hold you, dance with you, twirl you around the dance floor and now some other girl tries and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

It’s a traitorous reminder someone else can and maybe, tragically, there’s another already filling your shoes with her. It’s the rude awakening you were in for, but you need it. You stop calling. Woefully, you let Dina and Ellie take you home, making sure you shower, hydrate, and slip into some clean clothes until sleep overtakes you. 

You throw yourself into work, it makes things easier. The only time you think of her is at night. When you’re entirely too lonely, somber floods your soul with the emptiness of your home. The absence of her presence rips you to pieces but it’s better than drunk dialing her into an abyss. 

Though she’s never said anything since, she’s probably glad you’ve stopped calling, the sobbing voicemails with soft cries of her name — would be too much for anyone to stomach yet you’ve subjected her to it. 

Cruelty. What you know best, right? 

You try not to think of it, leave it behind. Out of sight out of mind or something like that? Three more months go by and you’re on your first date. It’s going well enough, the conversation is good. She’s beautiful. Her brown eyes remind you of the honey you drip into your tea, soft caramel skin, the freckles dotting her face, and her smile? It grabs a hold of you. 

Maybe this could be good. This could be something. 

The way she tosses her hair, offers you to try a bite of her omelet, she asks questions about yourself and appears like she wants to know you. You’re enjoying yourself for the first time. The promise of your aching heart healing and the hope of something new makes you elated. Starting to believe it for just a moment, but then it comes crashing down on you like a tsunami wave. 

It’s far from town, tucked in the outskirts of town, you’d suspected to not see anyone here but you see her. She’s sitting outside on the patio, just like you, she’s working. The laptop in front of Abby has her full attention. Her veiny hands run through her golden hair for a moment before she’s taking a sip of her coffee, you presume it to be black. No sugar or cream, the one she normally takes the steamy beverage. As if she knows you’re watching, she slips the suit jacket off, left with only a white button up paired with a gray vest to match her slacks. She pushes her glass up as it glides over the bump in her nose. 

Abby looks like she gets a full night of rest at night. No dark circles are to be found as she’s put together like always. You try to focus on your date. Replies fall from your lips when necessary, you engage, compliment, smile insincerely, but more than anything you feel the bile swarming up your throat. It leaves with no other option than to choke. 

Baby blues shine at the waitress as she comes to check up on her — her smile gleaming with joy, the final knife to your throat reels you into turmoil. It slices you open in the middle of night, now you feel the trickles of blood leaking out from your heart. The wound is out of reach and only one healer can be found. How pitiful the one who can save you would rather never touch you again? 

Painfully, it’s almost as if she feels your distress. She finds you staring, jaw clenched as you look past the woman seated in front of you. An aching chest burns for her, the perplexed quirk of eyebrows and the slight tilt of her head tells you she’s just now seeing you. Meanwhile, for the past hour you’d been practically sweating. Not that the beam of sun left you much of an option. 

“Are you alright, love?” Her accent cuts through like knives, it feels loud. Too much? Too little? You’re not sure what but it’s simply not her. 

“M’good, promise. Let me just freshen up, yeah?” You need to breathe because it feels like you can’t. The weight on your chest feels unbearable as you attempt to catch your breath. Practically making a dash for the bathroom. 

You’re thankful for the singular bathroom as you lay against the cool, tiled wall. Your fingertips reach for the groves, in an attempt to calm yourself before a full meltdown overtakes. Just a flash of her blues sends you into your own, your mind latching onto every kiss, every moment of comfort, the hours you spent buried between her thighs. 

It reminds you of the feeling you’ll never find again. They’ll never be anyone like her again and it all was fucked up to the heavens to reap on, because you couldn’t have a little bit of faith. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, it leaves you reckless. It can’t be her? 

“I-, uh, occupied?” You muster, as you clutch onto the chain resting on your collarbones. “Hey, it’s me.” 

Your heart falls into your stomach, beat erratic at her voice. She’s speaking to you, just you. The familiarity of her soothes you more than expected. “Are you alright? You just ran off, and I just, I know how you get.” 

But you’re quiet, silent tears fall down the apple of your cheeks cascading further as they slip off your jaw. The blossoming feeling of her floods through like a never ending crashing wave. You’ve tried so hard not to venture into it, but she’s here. All it takes is one look in your eyes, she knows something is wrong. How do you move on from that? How can anyone? 

It’s a question you ask yourself, daily, but having it right in front of you is more unimaginably difficult to face. 

“Can I come in?” Abby asks and you let out a gentle okay. 

She’s here, in all her six foot glory, but the look in her eyes tells a different story. Distant, walled — just like when you had met her. Old habits die hard and all the two of you did was revert. She slowly walks towards you, until she’s in front of you, holding her arms behind her back. 

“How bad is it?” Abby inquires. 

“S-seven.” 

“Sit down, alright?” Gently, she offers her hand making you sit as you hiccup, your hyperventilating. Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she runs it under cool water before placing it against your neck, and then gently on your forehead. 

Abby wipes away your tears, whispering sweet words to comfort you. It’s been her specialty. No one could calm you down like her. There’s a center to her, pulling your wreckage into her tranquil sense of being. You wonder how long it took for her to have it again, she broke for you when you couldn’t even bend. 

She gave you everything yet you couldn’t give her an ounce of what she wanted. Yet, her innocent hands clean off your hands, as if it isn’t her own blood she’s ridding you of. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this. I’m fine.” 

“I know. I certainly don’t have to anymore. Do I? You’ve made that clear.” There’s a bite to her tone, but she still helps you. “Stop complaining and grip onto my hand.” 

You pause before obeying her command. Making sure not to intertwine, only holding and she applies tight pressure with the contact. 

“You’re clearly not fine.” Abby bitterly laughs. “I see nothing has changed.” She whispers so quietly to herself you almost don’t catch it. 

Her eyes catch your own and it feels the same as it did before. The words you could never tell her, the reason she left — they crave to come tumbling out. You focus on her strong hands, the veins popping out, how well fitted the vest is on her chest. She’s holding off on full compression, only if you need it. 

“What?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t, not when you’re like this.” 

“Just say it.” You spat. 

“You’re still afraid of me, of us, not that there is much left to be afraid of.” Abby sighs, biting her lip. Cursing at the gods above for making her fall for someone like you. You couldn’t give her what she needed and she moved on. 

They couldn’t even try for you, Abby reminds herself. 

“It’s okay. I just expected more from you when I shouldn’t have.” There’s no malice when she speaks, only laced with regret. Abby’s words wake turmoil within your heart, pulling at a thread until you’ve come undone. Then there’s her touch, the compression in your hand, the coolness of the handkerchief, it centers you. It’s chaotic, reckless and everything in between. 

It’s always been you. Not centered enough to hold her down or yourself, to anything. 

“I-I wanted to give more I just—” You try to explain, but they die. Just as they always have. 

“You can’t.” The minutes spent in silence the two of you looking in each other’s eyes as Abby allows herself to cling onto you. For just a moment, in the women’s singular bathroom, she allows herself to get some type of remembrance. 

She’s calm as she wipes away your tears, your breathing evening out, the grip on her hands loosens. The two of you lost in a moment, unresolved feelings come up bubbling. Abby lets you cradle her face in your pressing grip, it feels like acid on her skin but a familiar warmth floods in her heart. 

Unexpectedly, you’re leaning into her in the evanescence of her care. The possibility of finality leaves you clinging onto straws. Abby thinks you did, but part of her, maybe leans in a little bit too. Is it pity? Closure? A craving? 

Your lips gently mold to hers, she tastes the salty tears left on your lips and the raspberry balm you must have put on. It’s everything to you yet she’s not sure what it means. You’re trying to cling onto her, yet she pulls away far too quickly for your liking. 

“Please, don’t do this.” Abby picks herself off the floor. “You should go back to your date.” 

“But I—” The words die, again. 

“What? You can’t fucking tell me and you’ve never been able to. I deserve better than this, better than you.” 

“You’re selfish, god, why’d you kiss me?” 

“Because I wanted to?” 

“Yeah, exactly. Because you want to. Have you ever thought about what I want?” Abby pushes, shaking her head, seriously inquiring you to think about someone else besides yourself. “Did you think about me when you were drunk calling me every weekend, pleading to get back together while I was at home crying every night? Do you think hearing you heartbroken made me feel good?” 

Aggravatedly, she huffs. “That’s the problem. You always think of yourself and I’m just collateral damage. Couldn’t bother to give me what I wanted when we both knew you felt it. Just like keeping me in the dark for fun, huh?” 

Abby adjusts her tie, reaching for the door as she hears you. She does a double-take, not believing what she’s heard. Now? 

“What did you just say?” 

“I love you, Abby. Please.” Don’t go. 

She smirks manically, it’s too bittersweet. You couldn’t be bothered to give her what she craved but now one taste from her lips sends you into overdrive? 

Fuck you, is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue. 

“And I loved you.” Abby tuts, her jaw clenches, hands tightly clenching against the other, knuckles blown white in her misery. “I’ll still care about you. I always will but I could never love you. Not when I was pleading for something and you could only offer me nothing in return.” 

“Abs—” 

“No.” You’re shocked by her dismissal of you. “I never deserved this. I want someone who will love me and not be afraid of it. Who won’t treat me like shit when I’m begging for a lifeline. Hopefully, you can give that to the next one but it just won’t be me.” She leaves swiftly. All you're left with is the scent of mahogany and her handkerchief. 

thanks for reading! mwah!

[yyprompts]

PLEASE make a list of 100 rare words. PLEASE. 🥹

Usually I'd say no, but I'll do it this once...

I'll make a list of 50 and post another 50 tomorrow, then link the other one back here. 🤍

50 Rare Words in English Language.

.Luminiferous (adj.) - Creating, transmitting light.

Ailurophobia (n.) - An irrational fear of cats.

Heliolatry (n.) - Religious worship or reverence of the sun.

Selcouth (adj.) - Strange, rare, and marvelous simultaneously.

Unipara (n.) - A woman who gave birth to one child.

Snowball (v.) - To increase quickly in size, intensity, or importance.

Assail (v.) - To attack someone violently, heavily criticize someone.

Accountrement (n.) - Items of dress, equipment, or other items used, worn, or held for a particular activity.

Atelier (n.) - A workshop or studio, usually one utilized by an artist or designer.

Coruscate (v.) - Giving off or projecting light in bright flashes or rays.

Empyrean (adj.) - Relating to heaven or the sky.

Sumptuous (adj.) - Very rich, luxurious, or detailed in a way that appears expensive.

Desolation (n.) - A complete state of emptiness or destruction

Pastiche (v.) To imitate the style of another artist or piece of art.

Laconic (adj.) - A person, speech, or writing style that utilizes little words.

Snuggery (n.) - A cozy place such as a bedroom or den.

Vagrant (n.) - A bird straying or forced off it's usual migratory route.

Imperil (v.) - To put at risk or endanger.

Cabotage (n.) - The transportation of goods or passengers between two areas within the same nation.

Penitentiary (n.) - A prison intended for people convicted of serious offenses.

Imago (n.) - The unconscious idealized mental image of someone, usually a parent, which influences the person carrying it.

Hallux (n.) - Your big toe.

Ragamuffin (n.) - A person, usually a child, in ragged or unclean clothing.

Xanthopsia (n.) - A color vision deficiency causing predominantly yellow vision because of the yellowing of the optical media of the eye.

Derecho (n.) - A line of intense, widespread, rapid windstorms or thunderstorms that travels a great distance and is primarily characterized by it's damaging winds.

Nemophilist (n.) - A lover of the forest.

Woolgathering (n.) - Indulgence in aimless thoughts or dreamy imagining.

Patella (n.) - Synonym for kneecap.

Polydipsia (n.) - Excessive thirst.

Ligature (n.) - Any material tied around a blood vessel to prevent further bleeding.

Natter (v.) - To talk casually, usually about unimportant things.

Henpeck (v.) - A woman continuously criticizes and orders her husband/male partner around.

Sedulous (adj.) - A person or action that shows dedication and/or deligence.

Ultracareful (adj.) - Extremely careful.

Crapulence (n.) - A terrible sick feeling someone gets after drinking too much, or a stomachache from overeating.

Trigger-happy (adj.) - Ready to react violently, especially by shooting, to any provocation.

Rutilant (adj.) - Glowing or glittering with red or gold light.

White-hot (adj.) - Hot enough to radiate white light and heat.

Hodiernal (adj.) - Of this day, relating to the present day

Mondegreen (n.) - The mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase that gives it new meaning.

Yclept (adj.) - By the name of, having the name of.

Farrago (n.) - A confusing mixture.

Turophile (n.) - A lover of cheese.

Glabella (n.) - The part of the forehead above and between the eyebrows.

Zetetic (adj.) - Proceeding by inquiry, investigating.

Corrugate (v.) - Contract or cause to contract into wrinkles or folds.

Striate (v.) - To mark with long, thin parallel streaks (striae).

Variegated (adj.) - Displaying different colors, especially in patches or streaks.

Splodge (n.) - A large blob or smear of something, synonym for splotch.

Nacre (n.) - Synonym for mother-of-pearl, a smooth irredescent substance forming on the inside of mollusks.