#the first touch by fiona apple

[ej-mars]

Fiona Apple / The First Taste

[spotl3ssmind]

tidal

[lzrusrising]

drops these 91w coded lyrics and runs

[c0ffinshit]

Simon (John Q.) SFW AND NSFW Headcanons

a/n: i knew yall would like that so here are so hcs that i had that i can now share with the world

warnings: controversial, mentions of pussy eating, me speaking my truth

SFW:

okay, first off, this man claims to HATE modern music but… he has a soft spot for Fiona Apple

listen, this man is madddd and if he were a woman he would be a mean butch lesbian

he always drives you everywhere

even when you’re like “babe i can drive its fine” he’s like “no, i’ll drive”

he tells people his favorite movie is something film bro-y like fight club, but his favorite movie is something like little shop of horrors or when harry met sally

sorry im projecting

honestly, he is bad about talking about his emotions like homie doesn't have the words for it so he just gets angry

BUT he learns a lot from you about that

actually, you learn a lot from him too

he talks so highly of you, even before dating

like always talks about how he can hardly have a good and controlled day without you

if you two are a long distance away, he'll always call you and talk about your day

but even then, you two will stay on the phone for hours, just talking about whatever and how much you miss each other

always tries to be a sweet boyfriend and make you breakfast

expect he will burn it and the kitchen will be on fire

i will say this: simon is a sensitive boy, esp with people's emotions like if you're sad and crying about something you called 'stupid' he'll still hold you and tell you how not stupid it is

he HATES when you're upset, esp if he can't do anything to help you

he'll just sadly watch you til you feel better

and when you do, he'll get you your favorite blanket and stuffed animals and kiss you like the good bf. HE. IS.

sorry, my daddy issues are on full display *sobs*

definitely doesn't like it when you call him babygirl or pookie

even as a joke

the man doesn't get that

my man has an old soul IM SO FR

like he doesn’t really like modern TV or music

movies… that a different story

HE FUCKING LOVES MOVIES.

especially if it is like a movie musical or high fantasy (like lotr or hobbit)

maybe a comedy but like a comedy from like the '60s that is probably super offensive now

nfsw under the cut

NSFW:

first off, do i agree with the top allegations for simon? kinda.

listen listen, i only say kinda because of the fact that this man has angry ISSUES

like if you are being a brat, this man doesn’t hold back definitely into spanking for this reason

OKAY I HAVE A THING… when you two do it together, he is very… parental (if that makes sense)

like yes he is daddy we know but like he is the type to whisper “this is for your own good” as he spanks you

two words: BODY. WORSHIP.

this man will kiss and touch your body like it's your last day on earth

AUGH AND AND the look he gives you when he’s inside you FUCKKKKKKK

the look is filled with so much love and gratitude for you okay like this needs to be stated at all but like 8 inches

the type of 8 inches that hits against your cervix in the right way

AND ANOTHER THING when you two first get together, his libido is very low

which also means he is very easy to take care of

soooooo if you wanted to just do a blowjob, you hypothetically could

but then, like three or four months into dating, HORN DOG.

you're surpised when he isn't pressing against your while cuddling

but if anything, you’ll be the one getting head, not him

THIS MAN IS PUSSY WHIPPED.

like he will grab your thighs and pull you closer while eating you out he lovesssss hearing your moans when you're under him UGH

dude but like on the rare time like he will bottom, its lowkey kinda…

JOHN Q IS A SWITCH AND I WILL CONTINUE TO SPEAK MY TRUTH

this mfer groans like no tomorrow when he does bottom

soft,,,, begg…ing

like “you’re so good.” and then under his breath its “please keep going.”

also that boy has a praise kink with hints of degradation

am i saying that because i wrote a whole fic about it? yes. fuck yes.

im chewing at the bars of my enclosure

he gets so blushy when you look at him with your fuck-me eyes

COMMUNICATE WITH THAT BOY.

tell him what you want

tell him where you want it

tell him about your fantasies of him

he loves hearing your voice, especially when you talk in a soft and seductive voice

listen, the only reason i kinda don’t agree with the top allegations is because i believe JOHN Q IS A SERVICE TOP.

i've made my point very clear about that throughout this section

[abbotjack]

If Robby and Jack had a sex playlist, what songs do you think would be on there? And who would be most likely to take you in the bathroom while at work?

jack’s playlist is all brooding grunge and controlled destruction. he touches like he’s trying to remember what softness feels like. he fucks like he thinks you're not going to stay.

robby’s? smooth. curated. intentionally devastating. think al green, foreigner, bryan adams. slow hands. warm mouth. praise in your ear like it’s second nature.

i hope you have as much fun with this as i did 🖤

content/warning : NSFW. sexual content (descriptive but not explicit). public sex. emotionally intimate sex. suggestive dialogue. praise kink. grief/comfort themes. light dom/sub energy (hand placement, control). slow, intentional pacing. mention of trauma. emotionally repressed men losing control. 18+ MDNI!!

word count : 1,611

🎸 Jack – Combat-Bred Grunge Heat, Wrapped in Denial and Softness He Won’t Name: (link)

Jack made a playlist because you told him he needed one. He gave you that look—eyebrow raised, half a scoff—but later, when you weren’t around, he opened his music app and typed “bedroom” into the search bar like he wasn’t about to overthink every damn song on it.

What’s on it? Stuff from his twenties. Stuff that gets under his skin. Stuff he’d never admit turns him on—but it does. No title. No cover art. Just ten songs that sound exactly like the way he touches you when it’s quiet.

1. “3 Libras” – A Perfect Circle This one plays when he’s slow—when he’s pressing you into the mattress like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your ribs. His mouth is at your throat, his hands steady.

When he says “I got you,” it’s not because you asked—it’s because he needed to hear it out loud.

2. “Hurt” – Johnny Cash (NIN cover) You don’t fuck to this song. You end up fucking to it. After a bad shift. After a code. After he tells you “I’m fine” with that look that means don’t ask.

Then he’s in you—fully clothed, jaw clenched, forehead to yours—and you know this isn’t about pleasure. It’s about surviving something.

3. “Outshined” – Soundgarden When he fucks you against the wall, he doesn’t speak. Just lifts you like it’s instinct. His dog tags hit your collarbone.

The song’s loud, but he’s louder—grunting into your shoulder like it’s the only way he knows how to ask you to stay.

4. “Shadow on the Sun” – Audioslave He’s riding that high from the trauma bay. Blood on his sleeves. No time to decompress.

And you—waiting in the stairwell, looking at him like you already know.

His mouth is on you before the first verse ends. You don’t even make it out of the hallway.

5. “Nutshell” – Alice in Chains He joins you in the shower without a word. His hands are gentle.

Forehead pressed to your shoulder blade.

It’s not about sex—until it is.

He makes love to you like grief is still living in his ribs.

6. “Love Ridden” – Fiona Apple You called him out earlier—said he shuts down when you try to talk about feelings. He didn’t respond.

Then he played this. Pushed your hair back. Stripped you bare like he needed to know what it felt like to be understood without saying anything at all.

He comes too fast. Says your name like a confession.

7. “Blue” – A Perfect Circle (Yes, again, but hear me out) Not rough, but unrelenting. His fingers are between your legs while you’re still in your scrubs. The door is locked. The blinds are pulled.

“Tell me when.”

You can’t. He already knows.

8. “Colorblind” – Counting Crows He doesn’t mean to cry. It’s barely anything—a tremble in his exhale when your hands slip under his shirt. He says “You’re good to me” like it’s a warning.

Then he fucks you like it’s the last time—and maybe it is.

9. “The Chain” – Fleetwood Mac He tears your shirt in half.

You laugh.

He doesn’t.

You ride him to this. His hand at your throat, the other gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him here.

10. “Simple Man” – Lynyrd Skynyrd This one plays low. Real low.

You’re still catching your breath, legs tangled with his under the covers. The lamp’s off. Just streetlight slipping through the blinds. He brushes your hair off your forehead. His hand never leaves your thigh.

“You okay?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod. He kisses your temple like he’s trying to memorize you this way.

Like he thinks he won’t always get to.

♡ ୨୧ Will he take you in the bathroom at work? : ✅ Absolutely.

Without hesitation. But only when he’s sure you want it just as badly. He keeps it professional—up until the moment it stops being professional.

You brush past him during a shift, fingers grazing his, and he looks up at you like you just started something you better be ready to finish.

He waits. Watches. Doesn't pounce.

But when you corner him in the hallway between consults, lips parted like you're about to say something you shouldn’t? That’s it. He grabs your wrist, pulls you into the nearest staff bathroom, and locks the door behind you.

📻 Robby – Soft-edged Dilf Who Says He’s Not Into This Song and Then Destroys You to It (link)

Robby’s playlist has existed for years. It’s got a stupid name like “🌙 late” or “bed (clean ver)” but the songs are insane. You don’t know whether to laugh or moan when they come on—and sometimes it’s both.

His taste is classic. Romantic. The kind of man who puts Marvin Gaye and Springsteen in the same playlist and makes both feel filthy. And yeah, the songs are upbeat—but that just means the sex is good, unrushed, and flirty as hell.

1. “Let’s Stay Together” – Al Green The bassline’s still rolling when he pulls you into his lap—steady hands, mouth at your neck, one palm already sliding beneath your shirt.

He fucks you like the groove: slow, deep, deliberate.

Every roll of his hips syncs with the beat.

“I’m so in love with you…” plays in the background—and he doesn’t say it. But he doesn't have to.

2. “Sara Smile” – Hall & Oates You laugh into his mouth when it starts playing—“You put this on?” He doesn’t answer. Just lifts your shirt and kisses every inch of skin he reveals.

He’s gentle with you here. Kisses your thighs before he touches you.

Tells you how good you look spread out for him.

3. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” – Foreigner You’re on top, and his hands are braced at your hips, holding you in place as you move.

His eyes are soft, jaw tight, chest rising with every breath.

The synth swells behind you and so does everything else—his pace, your moans, the tension building in your thighs.

By the time the chorus comes in, he’s gripping you tighter.

You finish before him. He’s proud of that.

4. “Woman” – John Lennon You called him soft. Teased him.

Now your chest is flush to the mattress and his hand is at the back of your neck—not cruel, just firm.

The lyrics echo like a challenge: “I love you… now and forever.” And he proves it with every slow, deep thrust.

When you come, he doesn’t stop moving—just kisses your shoulder and keeps whispering, “Still think I’m soft?”

5. “Drive” – The Cars The mood shifts. It’s dark. Intimate.

You’re half beneath him, half wrapped in a blanket, his fingers between your thighs while your eyes start to flutter shut.

The synth is warm, steady. The lyrics ask: “Who's gonna drive you home tonight?”

He already did.

And now he’s driving you straight to the edge

6. “The Way You Make Me Feel” – Michael Jackson You’re teasing him—swaying your hips in the kitchen, batting your lashes.

He gives you one look, pushes you against the counter, and kisses you like you asked for it.

He’s all rhythm. Tight grip on your waist. Thrusts in time with the beat. You come mid-song, laughing and moaning at once. He bites back a smile.

“Told you not to start.”

7. “Babe” – Styx You’re riding him slow, hair in your face, hands pressed to his chest.

The lyrics are soft and sentimental—but his grip is anything but. He cups your ass, tilts your hips, groans into your neck when you roll just right.

When the song swells, so do you—tight around him, gasping.

He holds you there until you stop shaking.

8. “Let’s Make a Night to Remember” – Bryan Adams This is the one he plays on purpose.

The lights are low. You’re already in his shirt.

He kisses your shoulder. Your spine. Your thighs.

And when he slides into you, it’s all hands and warmth and rhythm. You don’t come once. You come until he can’t hold back anymore.

9. “Sledgehammer” – Peter Gabriel This one hits different.

You’d been mouthing off all day—teasing, taunting. Now you’re bent over the couch, one knee up, dress rucked around your waist.

The drums hit with each thrust.

His grip doesn’t loosen. Your voice breaks. He doesn’t stop until you’re wrecked and smiling, legs trembling.

He smacks your ass once, then kisses it.

“Still smug?” he murmurs.

10. “Wonderful Tonight” – Eric Clapton It’s the song that plays while you’re brushing your teeth in his t-shirt, and he’s watching from the doorway like you just knocked the air out of him.

When you climb into bed, he doesn’t say anything. Just reaches for you—pulls you close, settles you against his chest like it’s second nature.

You kiss him slow. He flips you onto your back.

No rush. No games. Just skin to skin, fingers laced with yours, the kind of sex that makes you feel known.

“Look at me,” he whispers when you start to come apart.

And you do. Because how could you not?

♡ ୨୧ Will he take you in the bathroom at work? : ✅ Yes. But only if you really push him.

Robby’s the kind of man who follows the rules—until you give him a reason not to. He’ll resist at first. Say something like “Not here,” even as his eyes drop to your mouth.

But if you back him into that on-call room, hands in his coat, voice low in his ear?

He’s locking the door before he finishes his sentence.

[formiito]

Hello! May I request some pre-relationship/crush headcanons with Kunikida, Atsushi and (ADA) Dazai (all separate) with a reader from the port mafia? How would they realise they are in love? How would they handle it etc etc. I love love love crush headcanons with all my heart<33

heart to heart — crush hcs!!

author's note: i'm an idiot who wrote this fic almost exclusively in hours 2-4 am. my eyes are in pure suffering. an unhealthy amount of fiona apple and unreleased lana del rey songs went into writing this. idk how to write headcannons so this ended up kind of like a fic with bullet points lmao 

— KUNIKIDA

• Working with the Port Mafia is something he is (unfortunately) no longer a stranger to. Still, an extended mission was a bit too risky for his tastes. But everyone said that he was fine, so he should be, right? If only he knew what novel sort of trouble he would face once he took the job.

• For the mission, he was partnered with you. You must've been of a different unit, because he is sure he has never seen you in person before. Except for being mentioned in passing by Dazai in his inane conversations, there was little he knew of you.

• At first, he was skeptical. Not sure whether he could truly trust a person with your affiliations to not double cross him in some way. However, you proved yourself capable soon enough. You worked with decisive efficiency, and even with his rather ridiculously timed schedules, you seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

• Needless to say, you two got to know each other fairly well over the course of a month. By now, you were acquainted atleast a little of his likes and dislikes. The late night sessions to plan out the routes and inspect the case files over and over; your friendship sprawls over late cups of coffee, the impatient scratching of pen on paper, and the files scattered on the table while you both worked.

• This was still professional; he'd reason with himself. So what if he's had a few drinks with you once in a while? So what if you've been spending a little too much time at his home lately?

• Dazai’s endless teasing on the matter did not help. At all. As he grows more and more defensive, he wonders if he has grown a little too attached to his new partner.

• Kunikida isn't an idiot. Even he can see how much you've made an impression on his life. He simply isn't ready to admit that this could possibly be romantic in nature. After all, you fit none of the ideals he's decided for his supposed future partner. In some form of pointed irony, the pages of the notebook that carry said ideals are also filled with the random, little things he's noticed you need; chapstick, switchblades, pens— all for them to be ready when you inevitably reach for them.

• Nor can he help stealing a little glance when said chapstick swipes so elegantly along your lips.

• Absolute gentleman, with or without a crush. Opens the car door for you on the other side, makes sure you have your seatbelt on, makes sure to watch your back while you both do field work. It’s just a nice thing to do, he reasons, but feels your touch like it was branded into his skin where your hand accidentally brushed on his elbow.

• The weeks that follow after are drawn out, confusing. As time goes on, he cannot help but read into your every action, taking note of all the little details that outline you as a person; from your tastes to little quirks. While you seem blissfully unconcerned, he could not help but feel the weight of the tension between your conversations. It is not these emotions that scare him, but their intensity. His hands tremble as they once again bandage your wounds from the day’s work, mouth dry as he looks at the gashes you think nothing of—and he wonders since when he started caring so much.

• Kunikida may be a man of his ideals, but he can be honest with himself when he needs to be. And whether he says it aloud or not, he’s already known the effect you have on him. He's known it for a long time.

• When he inevitably confesses to you, there is nothing special about it. It's another evening at his house discussing work, and when you both take a break from investigation, he brings it up to you. He isn't expecting the sentiment to be reciprocated. In fact, he is not sure he even wants that to happen. He says it to be honest. With himself and with you. You deserve to know. And perhaps if he said it out loud, the feelings would subside, even for a little while; with a definite answer, he’d have a reason to put out the growing ember.

• Nothing could've prepared him for the shock of learning that this troublesome feeling could possibly be mutual. And nothing could have prepared him for the coy kiss on his reddened cheek after.

— ATSUSHI

• someone help this poor guy

• no, he's really hopeless with it, but let me explain

• When he was asked to collaborate with the Port Mafia once more, he expected to be paired with Akutagawa once more. You were a pleasant change of pace. At first, he was only met with your suspicion; something that drove an initial rift between the two of you. You weren't sure whether you could truly trust this weretiger you've heard so much about to hold up his end of the deal, and neither could he rely on this complete stranger who regards him so frigidly. However, you both were indebted to your respective organisations—it had to be worked out.

• Your staunch independence, and the confident countenance that carried with it an understated superiority, no doubt the effect of years of experience; at first it irked him. It made him taste a little of the helplessness that trailed him like a shadow all those years ago. He attempted to chase away the feeling; biting back at your subtle digs at his skill and experience, trying to keep up with you as best as he could. You matched each other surprisingly well when you both were at your most competitive; the combination of your finesse and his strength was lethal in the most satisfying of ways.

• Over the weeks, you both get to know each other a little better. The small talks on the way to station were something that he was, despite knowing better, looking forward to. He always seemed more affected by your banter than you were by any retort he could possibly throw at you; and when the sly curve of your lip made him feel the strangest sensation of a sort of rush in his veins, he made no notice of it.

• After that morning, this strange feeling had been growing worse. Steadily through the days, but even so he could point out that the emotion that seemed to sit just beneath his chest was unfamiliar. Sometimes he had to force himself to look away from you just to get it to stop and actually be able to hear what you were saying over the erratic beat of his heart. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but him, and despite the constant teasing and prodding by Dazai on what’s got him so nervous, he still assumed it was merely admiration. Perhaps he was simply in awe of your abilities. For weren't you so impressive when you dispatch your targets so effortlessly, or when you execute such flawless plans with an ease in your mien that makes it look oh so simple?

• But then that begs the question as to why he still stares in a daze when you're doing nothing, just catching your breath in the wall crack you had pulled him into to throw off the people chasing you both; his back hitting the wall and you the only separation between him and whoever was at your tails, stalking the alleyway outside. Breaths held, not making a sound; if you both got caught, this was over, and you both understood the stakes better than anyone. He definitely knew just what was waiting for the both of you out there, and that just made the situation far more frustrating, because then why is he so absorbed in how pretty your jelly-like gaze is, or how cool you looked back there when you silently felled that patrol guard? He feels like his brain has melted. Or atleast the still working part of it, because it's not even the first time you've had that effect on him.

• Your hand tentatively shifts, and for a moment he snaps out of the daze. There is abject fear in his eyes, because what the fuck are you doing when the both of you are one slip up away from messing up this mission you both worked so hard on? Yet your fingers, trembling with the rush of adrenaline and the fear of death, wipe the blood on his cheek, observing a rather deep cut inflicted by the serrated edge of a dagger. He could take a hit, but for some reason worry seemed to claw at your mind relentlessly until you could make sure he was okay.

• Perhaps he'd stopped functioning right there and then, because when the footsteps receded and the coast was finally clear, he could barely hear you say that it was safe to come out. Instead, his first move is to hold his heart and take a deep fucking breath. Not just to calm him down from being chased like that—for he's already been chased so many times—but to stop thinking about that brief, soft touch that reasonably, should not even affect him.

• At this point, he's kind of convinced he's going crazy. And like so many problems in his life, there's only one other person to hear it. Coincidentally also the worst person to go to for that kind of counsel.

• Dazai.

• Bastard laughed for fifteen whole minutes before explaining in broken wheezes what Atsushi was possibly afflicted with. Then immediately began sighing and bemoaning about having to help his coworker with silly love problems once he finally stopped cackling like a witch.

• After this… enlightening conversation, Atsushi promptly decides that he's never going to be able to look the man in the eye ever again.

• Now, he's got a whole slew of new problems going on. This mission, you, the fact that he just embarrassed himself in front of his coworker, and that he had no idea how to even face you after this realization.

• Naturally, he wants to avoid this situation. Atsushi doesn't even consider telling you. He wants to, so badly. His throat feels tight when you look at him so sharply, and he can't help but feel that if he sticks around you for too long, you'll look straight through him and somehow find out. But he has every reason to think this won't work out. Every reason why it won't work out. It wasn't the time for love, not even in the small moments of respite between the constant violence you two had to deal with.

• This distance he's been keeping from you…there is no doubt that you feel it too. He can see as much. The disappointment in your gaze when he keeps on pushing you away; it hurts. And he knows with the way your hands are curled in fists now that you're at your breaking point.

• But instead of the argument he thought this would inevitably lead to, you simply pull him into a corner. In the most sincere tone he's ever heard you speak in, you ask him if you did something wrong. Between your deliberate words, your hands on the collar of his shirt that hold him in place with nothing but gentle firmness, and the emotions that he tried so hard to stifle for the past few weeks; he confesses. Leaves nothing unspoken, even if he consciously knows that this is a bad idea. Knows he shouldn't hand you that kind of power over his heart.

• Yet he doesn't regret it a single bit when he feels your hands leave his shirt collar and wrap around his shoulders, your silent answer that kills the bitter uncertainty left in his heart and replaces it with relief.

— DAZAI

• Your history with the brunet was brief, but not something he has ever forgotten. He’s not quick to forget faces in any case, but yours remained in his memory still.

• You both worked together fairly often some three or four years back, the timeline is blurry in his mind now—in those days, your presence seemed like it would be a permanent fixture in his life. Something to count upon. Perhaps he had hoped for the fact, until an year after when he finally decided to leave this life in the dust, and you with it.

• At the time, Dazai had dismissed those feelings as puppy love; the sort of infatuation that comes with simply being of that age where every emotion feels so amplified in intensity. You were one of his first friends, it was only natural to want to cling on, wasn't it? Only with time it became easier to ignore the hold your presence had on him, his mind too consumed with the ongoing chaos in his life to think about that craving he had during initial weeks of your separation— thumb trembling over the call button.

• A few years after, seeing your face stirs nothing in Dazai. A feeble sense of regret is all that remains, and within a few seconds even that dies off. You've changed, definitely; rough-hewn edges from mafia life, knife-hand no longer trembling when it goes for the kill. Decisive, swift movements, a certain confidence in your words that comes from experience. How the glimmer that used to be in your eyes has long since been clouded over. In a way, it makes him feel closer to you, that your soul is being slowly chipped away, just like his.

• Initially, you regarded him like any other professional acquaintance. Not daring to breathe a word of the past, even when you wanted to demand an explanation out of him so desperately. Anything to make the memories of your shared past more bearable. You know better than to give into those whims. If only for the sake of your mission, the past had to be put aside. Between the both of you, there seemed to be a mutual, unspoken understanding for the need to let go. Your slates are cleaned, and you both once again end up in the same place you started; Yokohama’s shipping docks.

• Over the weeks, being around you feels easier. You both work well into the nights, but it's a little more bearable around your company. The banter is easy between the both of you. Lips curved into a cheshire grin at his antics, you always seemed to be more amused with his actions than annoyed.

• Even now when he decides that diving head first into the sea would've made for a perfectly delightful method of suicide, a knowing sigh leaves your lips, painstakingly pulling him out of the fishnets with a firm grip on his beige coatsleeve. Of course, the effort is in vain when you lose your footing and end up falling into the water with him too. Splash!

• Somehow, even when he's walking home, sopping wet in the winter breeze, he feels strangely warm as you chide him, observing how your lips twitch as if to hide a smile.

• It’s your fault, really. Perhaps if you both didn't fit together so well, if it wasn't so effortless to be around you, he might have avoided feeling the same way around you again. It's not lost upon Dazai, how comfortable he's getting with your presence, especially when he knows it's a temporary one. A fact that he is compelled to face again and again everytime you both end up in the field.

• The danger they were facing were still very much real. Despite how confident you seem to be in your ability, your tight shoulders and shaky breaths betray you in the heat of the moment. Through your hesitation to follow through his plans, you still trust him at his word. He can't help but wonder why.

• Your actions hold a certain carefulness—he doesn't want to call it care, for when it comes to you, he finds it hard to tell what you're thinking—that he doesn't understand. As you wrap the gauze around the wound on his arm from a bullet graze, fingers touching his skin with a kind of gentleness he's only ever known from you… Dazai wonders when you'll finally tell him what you're really after.

• The brief thought occurs to him, no doubt, that maybe you do these things simply because you want to. That perhaps you still care too much, like you did all those years ago. But he knows better than to count on something as fickle as the kindness of people’s hearts. He was never that naive.

• Even so, as the long days and even longer nights pass by, he can't help but once again start feeling as he used to in the distant past, only that this time he has no excuse for it.

• Dazai doesn't blush and his heart doesn't race when he sees you. Instead, it's something far more sickening and confusing. With you, it's easier to drop the delicate layers of pretense that seem to obscure his true thoughts and emotions like delicate gauze. There is a sort of ease of being around you, a sense of belonging. In the delicate moments of the late night hours with you, humanity doesn't simply feel like a cloth to wear to hide the rotten core within. You touch him like you know him, even when he knows that the blood staining his hands is far darker than yours.

• You don't even have an inkling of how he feels, and Dazai believes that it's for the best. He’ll tell you in the future, if he can grow to trust you. He wants to say it when he can be sure of it, in a more peaceful time. Even if he doesn't want you to slip through his fingers again like he did in the past, he wants to wait.

• But right now, all he can see is your bloodied fingertips trembling in the aftermath of the day’s chaos, barely having escaped with your lives. In the silent night, neither of you mention how he holds your hand silently on the walk home, bandaged fingers holding yours with deliberate care.

[nicotinebliss]

ᯓ★ WICKED HARMONY ★ᯓ

"She’s the dark rockstar the world fears - you're the soft guitarist she’d burn it all down to protect."

rockstar emily prentiss

innocent guitarist female reader

headcanons

NAVIGATION

The Setup:

You’re a rising star in the indie scene—sweet, soft-spoken, known for haunting melodies and shy interviews where you giggle through compliments and constantly thank your fans.

Emily Prentiss, by contrast, is the dark rock icon. She's been in the industry for over a decade, all smoky eyes, husky voice, tattoos, and dry sarcasm. Her lyrics are sharp, sultry, and unapologetically emotional. Think Joan Jett energy with Fiona Apple depth.

You’re booked as her opener for a major tour. You nearly faint at the news. She doesn’t even do openers… but she personally asked for you.

Backstage Vibes:

Emily sees you the first time in rehearsal, clutching your guitar and tuning it like it’s sacred. You barely make eye contact. She leans on a doorway, arms crossed, amused.

“You’re smaller than I thought,” she drawls. You squeak out something polite and blush so deeply that she has to bite back a grin.

She starts showing up to your soundchecks. At first you think it’s coincidence - then you catch her in the wings, always watching.

On-Stage Chemistry:

The first time she invites you to duet with her during her set, you nearly drop your pick. It's a slow, sultry cover of “Wicked Game.” You sing harmony, voice trembling slightly. She leans in close, sings right into your mic. The crowd loses it.

After that, it becomes a thing. Every show, a different duet. The audience ships you hard. Fan edits, reaction videos, headlines like “Goth Rockstar and Her Angelic Protégé?”

She teases you after every show - calls you “songbird” or “my little dove.” You always hide behind your hands.

Off-Stage Dynamic:

Emily is a walking contradiction - gruff but deeply attentive. She leaves protein bars by your amp, tucks a note in your guitar case before big gigs (“Don’t be cute, be legendary.”)

She’s fiercely protective. The second someone tries to get too handsy at a meet-and-greet, she’s between you and them like a wall. “She’s not for you.”

You bring out a softness in her that freaks her out a little. She’ll smoke a cigarette outside your dressing room, pacing, talking herself out of knocking. You always open the door anyway.

Music as Love Language:

You start writing songs with her in mind. Soft, yearning ballads that your fans assume are about a lost crush. Emily knows they’re about her.

One night, you leave your notebook open by accident. She finds a verse: “She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but still, I’d drown in her voice again.”

That night she kisses you for the first time - slow, possessive, with the kind of need that’s been simmering under every glance.

Contrast in Public vs Private:

Publicly, she’s cool, composed, always giving cryptic answers when asked about her love life. Privately, she’s wrapped around you, brushing your hair back while you play for her in bed, head on her chest.

You get flustered by media attention; she shields you from it. Emily knows how brutal the industry can be, and she’s determined to keep you from getting chewed up.

The fans adore you both. The internet dubs you “Dark Star and Daylight” and Emily saves the fan art she secretly loves on her phone.

And the Sex?

She’s experienced, dominant, filthy in the most loving way and you’re absolutely not as innocent as you look, which delights her.

The first time is slow and worshipful. She peels your clothes off like unwrapping something delicate. She asks before every touch.

You try to be quiet; she coaxes moans out of you like it’s a symphony. “Let me hear my girl,” she murmurs, mouth on your neck.

[lucysgraybird]

meet the readers: honey!reader

on the arm of: clark kent (smallville), william h bonney (billy the kid)

what is she wearing? an old t-shirt worn ragged, either once her father's or owned since high school, jean shorts that are similarly toeing the end of their lives, thrifted maxi skirts and loose dresses when it's just too hot to justify anything touching her legs, minty chapstick that just appeared on her room one day, a braid edged in a bow of string, heavy work jeans to help on the farm, a single silver cross in the hollow of her throat

what is she listening to? plastic jesus by tia blake, i know the end by phoebe bridgers, castle on a hill by ed sheeran, sullen girl by fiona apple, solid liquid gas by eartheater, ptolemaea by ethel cain, the bug catcher by haley heynderickx

✴︎ who was raised small-town religious and still is, but in her own special way - god is now a friend to talk to rather than a deity to be feared.

✴︎ who falls into a summer fling that quickly turns to be more with the boy with sparkling eyes giving her parents a hand on their farm over the summer.

✴︎ who rambles through the graveyards and the more desolate parts of her once-great midwestern industry town, sometimes on the arm of her sweet boyfriend who's happy to be with her, no matter where it happens to be.

✴︎ who is more likely to have bugs crawling over her hands than kittens cradled in them, who wanders the gravel roads leading up to the farm after storms to pluck lost worms out of harm's way.

✴︎ who is trying to learn that while home may be people, not place, it's okay to miss the places too - even if other people tell you you shouldn't

✴︎ whose first kiss was shy and quick, proceeding her prompt disappearance into her room for several hours while she tried to parse the way her stomach fluttered at the feeling of his lips over hers.

✴︎ who isn't necessarily sure she knows what love is, certainly not romantically, but knows that being curled under his arm feels safe and certain and that might just be enough for her.

[gretavanmoon]

Jake x female (AU)

17.4k words

"Criminal" by Fiona Apple spawned this entire idea, heavily inspired

+ Hey y'all... so I'm gonna be honest with you, I have no idea what this is, but Ms. Apple made my mind start wandering... This is not your typical fanfic story, so if you're looking for a quick fix, this probably ain't it LOL. Also, I realized that I was sick and tired of writing in the "fan fiction y/n pov", so this is written entirely in third person. Sorry, not sorry. But I think it works lol. This story contains heavy, adult themes, so proceed with caution

Thank you to @gretavangroupie & @jakeyt for reading <3

Warnings: 18+! Fluff, Crying, Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drinking, Drug Use and Addiction, Heavy Self-Deprecation, Self-Hate, Mental Anguish, Mention of Sin, Death of a Child, Questionable Circumstances, Mention of Priests & God, Religion and Religious Practices, Living in Squalor, Mention of Police and Raids, Mention of Drowning, Heavy Feelings of Guilt & Grief, Overall Sadness, Self-Reflection, Self-Realization

Smut: Fluff, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (F! Receiving)

† † †

‘Not you, you’re too obvious,’ she thought to herself, disapproving of the first holy and sacred building she came in contact with. ‘Or you… you look like you’re full of a bunch of liars who only pretend to love their Savior…’ she said to the next. 

Snow covered the soaking wet concrete like cinnamon sprinkled on ice cream, sticking and existing alone for only a millisecond before melding into its sisters and brothers, becoming one with the stark white sheet of frozen sidewalk. The wind howled as it rushed past the outside walls of the skyscrapers, screaming a song that, this time of year, fell on deaf ears. 

She pulled her coat more tightly around her as she navigated the streets in search of the perfect one, the one that seemed like it wouldn’t spontaneously incinerate her once she stepped through its sacred doors. Hell, it’d been nearly fifteen years since she’d stepped foot in a church, anyway. 

‘Look at me, being judgmental of churches. Seems to fit the bill.’

That’s what she expected when she finally were to find one- to burn. All the sin that surrounded her presented itself on a silver platter to anyone she met. She was a dark person, full of ill-will and wicked ways, but she was happy with herself. She indulged in her own horrid habits, letting them lead her life down roads that she enjoyed traversing. The more despicable, the better. She thrived on it. Ate bad decisions for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And if it weren’t for her ethereally gorgeous exterior, you’d think she was a demon reincarnated, destined to walk the earth and ruin more than just the lives of those she came in contact with. 

Each church she passed seemed more decadent than the last, the front steps all adorned with statues of saints and angels, and windows full of colorful glass that made her feel as though all the color had been drained from her world, only to fill them. None of them felt right, none of them felt… welcoming enough. She was taking a risk walking into a church at all, let alone one that she felt comfortable and invited into. It had to be the perfect one.

The blisteringly cold wind was whipping her hair in front of her face as she trudged down the snow-covered paths of the city, taking her breath away with each and every inhale. But she sucked it in, letting it freeze her lungs as extra punishment for her latest sin. She laughed at it, daring it to pierce her even harder as her lungs filled with it, feeling like heavy stones in her chest. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ she asked the wind, pulling a silver tin and lighter from the deep depths of her shoulder bag. 

She removed one cigarette and turned her back to the wind, cupping her hand over the end to light a cherry. She puffed and took an even deeper inhale, letting the sweet tobacco ignite her senses. She closed her eyes as she faced the harsh wind again, exhaling the smoke as she laughed through the uncomfortable pain she felt in her lungs. 

‘That’s what I thought…’ she cursed the wind again, and continued to strut down the streets, hoping that her search would soon be over.

Trouble seemed to follow her, or moreso, chase after her. Though she would run, it would always catch up with her, enveloping her in every sense of the word. Trouble found her so often that she began to turn around and chase it back, catching up with it and eagerly living in her own world of wrongdoing and chaos as if it were no sweat off her back. She let the bitterness be her guide, and guide her, it did.

It’d always been that way; she was destined to be the dark cloud that hung over even the most joyous of times. She’d learned that as a young child, finding herself alone and fending for herself at an age too young to even note. She grew up fast, learning that the wicked ways of the world were always going to be her solace, and searching for any kind of happiness would end up being her downfall. It always was, and always would be.

She defended herself, made her own money, lived alone and never let anyone take advantage of her and her decisions. She’d thumbed her way across state lines, shacked up with too many men to count, robbed them of every bill in their wallets, and made her way on to the next without even blinking an eye. It was her way of life, and she fed off of the negativity that people spat her way. It fueled her. It gave her a reason to bitch… to hate. To ward off any good soul that would ever make its way into her life. 

That was, until she met Jake. 

Jake, the warm hand that helped her to her feet when she’d fallen down drunk at a bar one night after too many tequila shots on a pool bet. The sweet gentleman who insisted that he drive her home that night, knowing that she shouldn’t take a cab. The genuine soul who helped her into her sorry excuse for an apartment and covered her with a blanket, making sure she had a trash can and water by her side. Jake, the man who made her feel like less of a woman that night as he forced her into basic human safety. 

The man who, since that next morning, has never left the confines of her bed. 

Like a leech that sucked at every last drop of blood in her body, he made his way into her life, intertwining himself with her body in ways that she had never experienced before. He fucked her like a man starved, like a ravenous body whose only source of sustenance was her… mind, body, and soul. 

And she let him. 

She let him sleep in her bed. She let his tongue reach into the furthest depths of her body, bringing her to the brinks of Nirvana again and again and again. She let him make her breakfast. She let him spill his coffee as she straddled him at the kitchen table, fucking him into an oblivion before the sun even bothered to rise. 

She let him talk to her nicely, let him buy things for her, let him soothe her to sleep… she let him stay with her more than he stayed at his own home. Let him make her laugh for the first time in years.

She didn’t know why he stuck around, she chalked it up to him falling in lust with her body… an addiction to her that he couldn’t stave off. She gave him next to nothing in return. Nothing of substance, at least. She brought nearly nothing to the table, and the frail sticks that built the foundation of what some would call a relationship were coated in kerosene, ready to be ignited and burned down at a second’s notice, had she felt it right. 

She didn’t care if he stayed or left. She didn’t care if one day he up and disappeared, it wouldn’t make a difference. Everyone else always left her, what would make him any different? Nothing about her screamed forever, except for the dirty and rotten lifestyle that she had become accustomed to. 

So she lied to him. She pushed him away every chance that she got. She let other men into her life, knowing that the one waiting for her at home would just disappear sooner or later, anyway. She sucked men in dirty bar bathrooms for a buck, thinking absolutely nothing about going back home to her sweet, precious, innocent Jake. She took advantage of him, and reeled in the fact that living it up while she could actually felt good. Because sooner or later, the goodness would fall away, and she’d be left with nothing but her dreadful life once again.

But what was worse than her letting him be the sole purpose of her sexual life source, was that she let him tell her he loved her.

It was a sin greater than anything he’d ever known, a mistake so grave that with those three words, he’d admitted himself into an impossibility he wasn’t even familiar with. That he should run away from, and fast.

‘Take that back,’ she said, her voice groggy and pained as his words hit her in the chest. ‘You take that back right now, Jacob…’

‘I can’t, it’s the truth… I–I don’t want to ever know a life without you in it, baby. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted–’

‘You know that’s not the truth, you’re not blind. You aren’t a dumb man. You know I’m nothing. Take it back right now, or I’ll–

She dropped the dying plant that she held in her hands, satisfied with her inability to keep anything alive in her own home. Fucking figures, nothing ever thrived here, anyway. One less thing to take care of. 

‘No, see… that’s where you’re wrong. You’re everything…’

‘I’m not. I’m worth nothing… my soul is sold, my life is decided…’ she explained, panicked with the way he was showing her such softness. Always, so understanding. ‘I give nothing to you, and I never will. I’m worthless, you’ve got to understand that.’

‘You’re worth everything, baby… just be with me, stay with me, please… Tell me you love me back…’

She walked to him, placing her cold hand on the center of his chest as she glared up at him with blazing eyes. Her lips were coated with a thick red lipstick, matching exactly to the icy blood racing through her veins.

‘I don’t know how to love, Jacob. I never learned, I’ve never been shown… I don’t—I don’t know how.’

‘Don’t you feel it, though?’ he cried, pleading. He fell straight to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around her legs. ‘You’ve got to feel it, too. God, you make love to me every night…you–’

‘I fuck you, Jacob. There’s a difference.’

He swallowed down his tears as he peered up at her, his knees caked with the dirt from the dead plant. He slowly stood back up, hot tears stinging his eyes. 

‘So none of it is real, then? Everything I feel when I’m with you, after all this time together… you feel nothing for me?’

He really did look pitiful, standing there with pointless tears in his eyes. If she thought about it really hard, really really hard, she might could have dug down deep into the trenches of her psyche to pinch at the trimmings of a tiny emotion that may seem like love… fuck, she had become a little dependent on him for some things in her life. 

But was it love? No. No, love is supposed to make you want to scream from the rooftops, make you want to settle down, start a family, the whole nine. But she felt none of that. All she felt was the satisfaction that she had constant rather fucking good dick in her life and someone to share a lighter with.

Love. The word was repulsive. Making people become their most vulnerable, most distracted versions of themselves. She didn’t have time for that. She had to focus in on herself, and keep it that way. If she didn’t, she feared that she’d lose herself forever. She’d never given another human so much as a second glance in the way of heartfelt emotions, let alone told a man that she loved him. 

‘Jake, do you not understand that the sooner you distance yourself from me, the sooner you’ll be on your way to finding someone who can reciprocate this…love?’ she asked him, her teeth gritted and her arms crossed in disgust. Though her sexual passion for him had been at an all-time high as of late, and she had been planning on asking him to fuck her over the arm of the couch tonight, now, she found his display of vulnerability a bit off-putting. 

‘You’re fucking impossible, babe. I swear to god…’ Jake’s expression turned from pleading to pissed off in a hurry, as he rushed around the room picking up his dirty laundry from random places across the floor. She watched as he angrily ripped a backpack from the closet and began stuffing his belongings into it, sniffing away his agitated tears and rubbing at his dripping nose. 

‘Impossible. I gave myself to you, gave everything to you… I try my best to make you happy, care for you, everything a man would do for the woman he loves. It’s been six fucking months… all this time and you tell me you feel nothing for me…? All this time, I’ve just been a roommate who you fuck…’

She could feel the negative energy flowing off of him, brushing past her and latching onto her skin in a way that felt unfamiliar. It danced around her like a cold breeze in the dead of winter, making her sorry excuse for a heart feel like it had lost its heading. Normally, she’d ravish in his cross attitude and use it to her advantage, but… something about this felt off. It felt serious. 

She watched his figure glide toward her as he threw the backpack over his shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on hers as he approached her. He took her chin between his fingers, lifting her head back so she was forced to stare back at him. The fire in his touch nearly burned her skin to the bone while the blacks of his eyes stared into her more deeply than they ever had before.

‘You may think I’m crazy for loving you, and fuck, maybe I am. But no one has ever promised that life happens just the way we want. I’ve sacrificed a lot for you, changed my whole world around to fit into yours. Now it’s time for you to grow up, get that fucking cursed head of yours on straight, and realize that no one is ever going to care for you the way I do. No one will, ever. I just need you stop being so fucking hard headed, and realize what’s in front of you before you let this hell you live in consume you.’ 

She was left stunned. Speechless, but not caught off guard. She knew this day would come. She knew his emotions would boil down to this. And though the wall she surrounded herself with was ten feet high and built of concrete, the look in Jake’s eyes and the determination in his voice created a crack. Nothing more than a fissure that had the potential to grow, but she’d be damned if she let it crumble. 

She replied with a few blinks and a deep breath, staving off the faintest feeling of tears fighting their way to the forefront. He was breaking her down, but she couldn’t let him know that. 

His top lip snarled. ‘I knew you’d have nothing to say.’

And he wasn’t lying. He knew his confessions would be met with resilience as her inability to let him in stood unmoving. The fortress she’d built up around herself was stronger than he’d realized. He just thought… maybe… if he let his truth show in its entirety, if he laid himself at her feet and let the words of adoration fly freely that she’d show some type of reciprocation.

But she didn’t. She never has. And, maybe she never will. 

She felt his shoulder bump into hers as he brushed past her, huffing through an unbelieving laugh as he made his way to the door. 

‘I’m leaving. Giving you a few days to come to your senses, or maybe not. I’ll be back to say goodbye. Get my shit. And when I do you can tell me to go, or you can ask me to stay. Whatever you decide, I’ll do.’

His hand rested on the doorknob as he looked back at her, taking her in one final time before she heard the mechanism turn. She held true, not willing to allow him to see her expression show even the least amount of emotion. He didn’t speak another word as she watched his back step through the door, slamming it hard behind him as silence began to take up shelter in her home.  

And then, like a gunshot to the chest, she felt her ribs begin to shudder, and her limbs begin to lose their function. Her head spun, her stomach churned. Dizziness filled her head and she lost all ability to form a thought. What had she done?

She felt the tears spring to her eyes finally, warm and stinging as she couldn’t even believe they were there. A man, making her…cry? It couldn’t be… this doesn’t happen. Ever. 

But fight as she may, she couldn’t stop them. In fact, the more she tried to suppress them, the more heavily they fell. And not only was it tears, the grief that suddenly struck her was felt through the entirety of her body, shaking and crashing through her so fiercely that she fell to her knees, realizing that she was now kneeling in the dirt that Jake had just been in. The mess that she created. 

She gripped herself in grief, curling into a ball on the floor, uncaring that the soil was now covering her stark white blouse. The blouse that Jake had bought her on his birthday this year, insisting that his best gift would be to see her in it, with no other shred of clothing on underneath. 

She lied there confused and uncertain why it felt like the world had just ended, when all that had happened was another man had decided to exit her life, just like always. It felt like a shot through her heart, a physical pain she’d never endured before, at the loss of him. 

Hours, she layed on the cold hardwood, letting the grief consume her while trying her damndest to stifle it off. It wracked through her in heavy sobs, moments of clarity completely overtaken by bouts of harsh, mind-numbing pain. She should have chased after him, she should have yelled and screamed his name…

She argued with the fact that what she was feeling was real, but still so distant from her normal emotions when she’d be deserted. She was used to this. It’s part of her norm, but why does this time feel so different?

He said he’d be back…there’s still time to…

Jake had shown her more mercy than any man– any human– had shown her in her entire life. He’d loved her through all her faults, cared for her when she had no idea how to care for herself. But she’s nothing more than the mirror image of this dirt on the floor– why did he care?

She rolled over to her back, staring at the last bit of sunlight shining a stream of light across the ceiling. She watched as the dust floated through it, illuminating the streaks of dirt that sullied the corners of her home. Tobacco stained the walls that were once white, making them appear more brown and blotchy than bright and clean. Her furniture was broken and stained, and her old records lay in disarray across her tabletops. 

She took a breath as she finally felt the tears start to dry, turning on her side to take a closer look at her floors. Dusty and unclean, just like her walls. Her rugs were caked with dirt from shoes that were never kicked off at the door. Scuffs painted the once beautifully shined hardwood, and she noticed that the place reeked of uncleanliness. 

She rolled over and got up on all fours, feeling as though her body had been hit by a freight train. Her chest shuddered again as she fought off another sob, brought on by catching sight of Jake’s still half-full coffee cup resting on the table. “Half a teaspoon of sugar, nothing else. I don’t like anything in my life being too sweet,” she whispered out loud, reciting his daily mantra as she would pour their cups from the carafe. 

Just then, her eyes shot open, a realization hitting her almost as hard as the sound of Jake slamming the door earlier. 

Never once did Jake try to clean the floors. Never once did he try and dust the corners, or fix the furniture. He was happy just existing in her home, just the way that it was. “Too sweet”, she repeated as she sat back on her heels, wiping the cold tears from her cheeks. Of course… 

Just like her. 

He liked bitterness. He liked sharpness, and rigidity. He enjoyed the grittiness and sometimes even sourness of her world. Why else would he have stayed? He didn’t prefer the cream and the sugar and flavors, just black. With one-half teaspoon of sugar. Just like his coffee in the morning, he loved her just the way she was, took her in without really trying to change her. 

He lived in her unclean house, resided in her hollow excuse for a home. Slept in her sheets that could have used some bleach, all the while knowing that if he tried to fix it, if he tried to change anything about her home, it wouldn’t be hers anymore. It wasn’t his place, it wasn’t his to fix. Sure, he would have done so if she’d asked. But he knew damn good and well to not overstep when it came to any kind of argument with her. He’d always lose. 

Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, the same bricks and heavy stone that built up the walls she’d enclosed herself in. All of them, tumbling down and crashing around her as she finally realized that she’d chased away the only good thing that had ever happened to her, watching him turn his back on their life together with a scowl on his face and distaste on his tongue.

But he’s coming back… 

But coming back to what? The same old shit? The same old miserable person who shamed him for showing her his deepest form of intimacy? Or on an even more basic scale, showed her compassion?

She rolled to sit on her ass, hugging her knees in around herself as she tried to catch her breath. The sun was setting now as a darkness began to fill the room, the absence of sunlight breaking her heart even further. Normally she thrived in the darkness, but right then, it felt like it was going to consume her. 

Dirty dishes sat in the sink. Mail sat piled up on the counter, unread and forgotten. Piles of laundry took up every corner, and her pantry shelves sat empty. “What the fuck is wrong with me…” she whispered again to no one in particular. She turned and crawled over to her couch, leaning her back against it as she reached for her pack of cigarettes. She lit one up, letting her head rest back onto the cushions as the smoke drifted up from her lips. The first few stars were beginning to poke their way into the night sky, but the light pollution from the city only let six or eight make their debut. 

So she focused in on one, staring at it until her eyes went dry and the ash of her cigarette fell onto the couch, burning yet another hole in the soft, brown leather. She destroyed everything she touched. Jake would be smart to stay far away from her, never looking back as he went on with his life in the way that he wanted to live it. 

But she knew that he would come back. And he would come back expecting change. Making decisions for other people wasn’t something she was ever a fan of, but the hole in her heart felt as though it was only growing bigger and bigger with every breath she took without Jake by her side. 

And for the first time in her life, she tamped out her cigarette, and stood up to clean her home.

—--

Finally, she stumbled upon it. It wasn’t oversized or grandiose… There weren’t fifty steps that led up to its giant iron front doors, and the stained glass that made up the windows looked as though they were built for function, not vanity. No statues lined the front walls, and the bells that tolled from its steeple sounded cheerful and gracious, instead of ominous and foreboding. 

The perfect church.

Her feet didn’t stumble as she climbed the steps, and her hand didn’t burn as she pushed the heavy door open, like she thought it would. The temperature inside was a stark difference from the icy wind that cut through her outdoors, and the sweet smell of incense and burning wick caught her senses right off the bat. She slowly stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the new light. 

It was radiant, glowing and warm as her feet carried her further inside, completely enveloping her in an otherwise peaceful embrace. Though she still felt as though she could run away if she needed to, something held her there, caught in the trance of the sun casting rainbow rays across the old wooden pews. A few bodies scattered here and there littered them, every one of them knelt and unmoving as they likely had come here for the same reason she had. Repentance. 

Her line of sight finally caught the very front of the church and fixed in on the Crucifix hanging above a large, wooden table. ‘Strange…’ she thought to herself, still not calling herself educated or open-minded enough to want to understand the symbology of everything that had to do with a church. 

Flickering candles lined the walls, and she finally caught sight of more statues, giant bouquets of flowers, and even lavish chandeliers hanging from the tall and towering ceilings, all of it making her feel like she was two feet tall. 

‘Maybe this was a bad idea…’ her conscience tried to tell her. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be in a place like this, after all…’

Her heart started beating heavily in her chest as the dominating ceilings began to feel like they were swallowing her up, and the candles felt as though they were going to ignite, setting the entire place on fire had she let out the breath she’d been holding. She turned on her heels and began making a mad dash for the doors, instantly regretting even walking through them, at all. 

“Miss?” she heard a man’s voice. “Can I help you?”

She turned to find an older man dressed in all black, walking toward her just as she reached for the door handle. “Are you lost, my child?”

Her hand gently gripped the handle as she stopped, finally letting out the choppy breath she’d been harboring until she could let the bitter cold rip her lungs to shreds again. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she looked at him, knowing that he was just the person she had come here to find. 

“I–uh, I was just wondering if…” She stumbled over her words, because in all reality, she hadn’t even rehearsed them. Something in her didn’t even think she’d make it this far into the outskirts of the city, let alone come face to face with a Priest. 

He lowered his head and looked above his glasses as if it would help him understand her better, his expression full of anticipation. Soft anticipation. 

She cleared her throat, finding herself. “I was just wondering if you would allow me to… to take part in uhm, confession…?”

“Confession? Are you saved, child?” he asked, his voice simply curious. 

“No, sir. I just would like to… I’m seeking a bit of forgiveness, and this is the first place I thought of to… to find it?” she asked again, wringing her hands together. 

He studied her for a few beats, a slight smirk finding his lips as he held his hand out. “Of course, Miss. I’d be happy to assist you, in the confessional, just over here…” he motioned to the side of the grand room toward an old wooden structure that seemed to jut out from the wall it was against. It had two doors, both standing wide open as if they were inviting her inside. 

“Just there?” she reiterated, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy. 

“Mm,” he responded with a smile. “You go on inside, I’ll be right in behind you,” he said, taking a few steps in the opposite direction. “Oh, would you prefer face to face, or with the barrier?”

“Uh, I’m not sure—” she remarked, unsure of if she had even seen a confessional besides in the old movies. “Barrier, I suppose.”

“No problem,” he replied, turning once again to rush out of her sight. 

She took a deep breath as she slowly moved toward the small structure, her heart pounding in her ears even more loudly now as she approached it. She didn’t feel threatened by it, per se, but she rather felt that the vulnerability she was about to propose to a perfect stranger would backfire, making her finally come face to face with all the demons that have inhabited her all her life. She was on the brink of letting them consume her, but everytime her mind would teeter on the edge, all she could see was Jake’s face as he left her apartment that day, wrecked and disappointed.

She stepped into the tiny dark space, finding there to be a wooden chair inside, covered in an old rust-colored cushion. A few candles hung on the walls, along with books, pamphlets and bibles tucked away underneath the chair. The barrier that was between the Priest and where she was to sit was like a thin wire lattice, adorned with symmetric designs that reminded her of something she’d seen in a movie once. She slowly took a seat, closing the small door behind her. 

Her eyes watered as she became anxious again, waiting for the Priest to enter on the other side. Her leg bounced up and down as her body heat adjusted from the cold. ‘This is a good idea… this is going to be just fine…’ she thought to herself as she took deep and heavy breaths in and out through her nose. Nothing about this was going to be easy.

Just then, she heard the squeak of the opposite door swinging open, followed by the sound of the Priest entering, clearing his throat. 

“Welcome,” he said, rather cheerfully. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I’ve not seen your face before, and if I have, please forgive me,” he went on. “When was your last confession?”

All she could see was the silhouette of his face, and the outline of the glasses still sitting low on his nose. She could hear the pages of a book rustling in his lap. 

“Um, this–this is the first time,” she admitted, pleased that she was able to be honest. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Well, in that case, the Lord is pleased that you’ve found us here, today. Please, underneath your chair is a guidebook. It will help walk us through the steps.”

She wearily reached below her and pulled out the stack of pamphlets and books, fiddling through them as she looked for what he asked. She dropped a few as they skittered from her hands, all of the wording on the front of them suddenly turning into another language entirely. Her vision started to blur as she felt restless, suddenly anxious as she flipped through the unfamiliar pages. 

“Did you find it?” she hears him ask. 

“No, there are a lot of them…” she responded, still searching. 

“It’s there, a small yellow one…” he said as she continued to juggle the papers.

“Ugh,” she grunted, obviously becoming aggravated.

“You know what? Don’t bother. I’ll walk you through it, sound good?” the Priest said.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied with a little bit of annoyance in her voice, tossing the papers back up underneath the seat. 

“OK, so you say, ‘Bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.’”

She stayed silent as she recited the words in her head, feeling as though the entire experience was beginning to shoot straight downhill. This isn’t anything like she imagined. 

Nevertheless, she recited the words back, earning a quick clap from the Priest. “Great,” he said, cheerfully again. “Now, tell me, have you examined your conscience in preparation for your confession?”

A million scenarios began to float through her mind, all of them running into one another as she basically lived the same horrible life, every single day. The only thing that breaks them up is Jake; her memories with him are more extravagant now, since she has learned what life feels like without him. 

“Uh, no? Not really?” she replied, crossing her legs as she tried to get comfortable in the old chair. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Have you stopped to think about what has brought you here today… there has to be a reason that you were feeling as though you needed to get something off your chest, hm?” the Priest replied.

“I mean I didn’t kill anybody in cold blood, if that’s what you’re wanting to know,” she replied sharply.

The Priest let out a bellowed laugh, surely surprised by her words. “Well, I would hope not. This is the time when you confess your sins to the Lord, honestly, and truthfully. Remember, I’m only a vessel to God. Confessing to me and confessing to Him are two very different things.”

“Then why do people come to you?” she asked. “What’s the point if they can just talk to God?”

“That’s an excellent question, child. And, you have a very valid point. I could go on and on about this history of why it is done this way, but that’s not why we’re here today,” he went on. “You can talk to the Lord anytime you please. But it is through my priesthood that I am able to act in persona Christi, or “in place of Christ”, and give you a real experience of confessing your sins to the most high. It’s really just… accountability.”

“Sounds more like you learning all about my business then judging me for it,” she spat back, crossing her arms. “If I went home, and said my confessions out loud, it’d still be an experience, wouldn’t it?” She noted his silence. “But… I’d just have one less person judging me for it.”

There’s a long pause as she awaits an answer from him, but instead she’s met with the sound of a long sigh. 

“What drove you through those doors, child?” He finally asks, a bit of grit to his voice.

She huffed a breath, leaning forward onto her elbows. “I told you, I’m seeking forgiveness. And I’m going to be up front with you, Father, I don’t believe in God.”

She half expected him to tell her to leave, for him to stand up and place blasphemy to her name, banishing her through the doors, and telling her never to return. But he didn’t. 

“All of God’s children are on their own journeys to putting their lives in His hands… and you coming in here today shows that though you might not have fulfilled your journey to acceptance, you’ve at least made the first step.”

“No no, see, I’m not sure you understand me, Father,” she interrupted, her voice growing hasty. “I don’t believe, I have never believed, and I don’t plan on ever being faithful to your God. I would like to make that clear…”

“I see…” he growled, obviously still puzzled why she is there, at all.

“But… the wrong I’ve done in my life… I need to confess it, own up to it. I have no one else to go to. I—I don’t have any family, or any friends who I can get this all out to. And fuck, Lord knows I don’t have enough money to go see a shrink,” she stopped herself. “Shit, sorry, for…sorry.”

“Go on,” she saw the shadow of his hand waving through the metal barrier. 

She sighed. “I guess I just… need to relinquish myself from all the choices I’ve made to become the person that I am. I need to change, I have to change, or else I might lose everything…” she stumbled over the last word, still feeling very conflicted about this whole situation. But she had to do it. Had to do it for him.

“Everything?” the Priest presses after he notices her silence. 

She licked her lips, the faint taste of tobacco still stuck to them. The flavor made her fiend for another. 

“Him,” she replied uneasily. “I could lose him.”

“Your… friend? A significant other?”

“The latter, I guess.” She wanted to stand up and pace the small space, but there was hardly enough room for her to stand up all the way. The walls felt as though they were closing in again, but on the other hand, this Priest was surprisingly easy to talk to. 

“Ah,” he replied, and she saw him adjust his glasses and the book on his lap. “You feel as though you need to make some changes in your life to… meet up to the standards of being with this man? Is that what I’m reading?”

Wow. Well…

“Yes, yeah that’s about the sum of it.” She grit her teeth as the image of Jake’s face thrummed through her mind again. Fuck, she could use a cigarette. 

“Tell me child, what kind of person do you see yourself as?” he asked. 

Her lips pursed hard, and she nearly bit a hole through them. This man had no idea how hard this was. “A bad one. Shitty. Fucked up beyond all repair…”

Her throat felt hollow as the words spilled off her tongue, brash and self-deprecating, just like she always was to herself. But for some reason, admitting it to someone else made it feel all the more harsh. 

“Not one of God’s children is beyond repair, Miss…” he said quietly, letting the words sink through the heavy air. 

“Well, God might have met his match,” she said, kicking back and crossing her legs again. Every bone in her body was begging her to disagree with her conscience, but some force deep inside her decided to stay, though her hands were burning to rush for the doorknob. 

“There is always time…”

“Yeah but what if there’s not, huh? What if he never comes back… and I just stay the way that I am, or I go back to my old ways, and chase him off again? Huh?” Her words travel a mile a minute. “What if I can’t live up to what he wants me to be?”

There was another pause as a short sob found her chest, catching in the back of her throat. Admitting everything out loud had started to weigh on her. She was going to have to dig deep to find the rest. 

“Ma’am, may I call you Ma’am…?” the Priest asked, and she noticed his body language change. 

“Sure. S’fine,” she replied, not really caring to share her name. 

“I know that you said that you don’t have any faith in the Lord, and that you have no interest in getting to know Him. But tell me this, even though you seem to have struggled through your time here on earth, do you still have faith in yourself?”

She paused, feeling his words hit her in the chest. She hadn’t ever thought of that, really. Always avoiding self-reflection for the simple sake of not wanting to hold herself accountable for anything. Or rather, not wanting to face it.

“I suppose, a little. Guess I have to have some, or else I wouldn’t have made it this far in my life. I should’ve been dead a long time ago, Father,” she said quietly, sucking her tongue into the side of her mouth. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s very much so.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, by which way?” he pressed.

She took a sharp breath. “Drugs. Alcohol, bad decisions… the whole nine. Hell, half my life I don’t remember on account of being too fucked up to remember my own name. I’ve kinda moved past that time in my life as of late, though. Cleaned up enough to hold my own, be my own provider,” she said honestly and truthfully, feeling a twinge of pride for herself. “Childhood was ruined from the time I was old enough to walk, I never stood a chance. Let black clouds follow me around. Hell, I invited them along, most of the time. Hardly remember my parents ever being around. Had to succumb to survival at a real, real early age, if you catch my drift,” she went on, her hand habitually reaching into her over-stuffed bag to grip her pack of cigarettes. 

“I see,” he replied. “It seems as though you were dealt an unfair hand from the get go.” 

“Mhmm,” she hummed, pulling a smoke from the pack and placing it between her lips. “I–I stole a lot, took more from people than I care to admit. That’s something that weighs pretty heavy on me,” she admitted with her glare hitting the floor. 

“We ask your forgiveness, Lord,” the Priest muttered, taking in a shaky breath. “God… is all-forgiving, child. Don’t forget that. But to clear one’s conscience, you must first and foremost have the intention of never going back on the promise you make to God, and, to yourself, to never repeat these sins. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” she said. “I–I’m ready for my slate to be clean.”

“And clean it shall be,” he agrees. “If I may, Ma’am, I feel as though you’re withholding something, is there a certain subject you’re avoiding? Something else you’d like to disclose?”

The way that the Priest read her like a book had her dumbfounded. She even wondered, for a split second, if he had once studied psychology. Or hell, maybe it was a class he had to take to become a Priest. Shit, she didn’t know. 

But he had broken her, unwilling to let her deceive him much further. Obviously she had felt comfortable enough to let her heart travel from inside her chest to making its debut on her sleeve, as she sat in disbelief that the Priest had noticed that she was, indeed, holding her gravest secret hostage. 

A secret that, until this moment, she had never even fathomed speaking aloud. A memory that kept her up at night, haunted her daydreams, poisoned her nightmares and hurt her soul to its absolute core. It was a decision that she made that altered the course of her life, set her sails to a heading that she never saw herself sailing to. It possessed the back corners of her mind, cursed every word that fell from her lips, and enveloped her body with so much guilt, some days she wasn’t sure she deserved to be on this earth. 

The sole reason she never let anyone get close to her, for fear of putting her ill-will directly onto them, solely by way of association. 

“Might be,” she clipped, tossing the tiny red lighter over and over in her hand as the devil on her shoulder begged her to light it. Her hands began to shake and tremble with nerves, the need for nicotine overtaking her entire being as she felt her lungs begin to burn. Finally she succumbed, igniting the lighter to life as she brought it to the end of her cigarette. “Mind if I smoke in here?” she muttered before letting it light all the way. 

She heard the Priest snicker to himself. “We don’t have smoke alarms… I’ll light some incense later,” he replied. 

She laughed through her nose. “Really?”

“If it will help you through this, then I won’t tell anyone. There are some things in life that just… are.”

She hastily smiled as she took her first long, drawn out puff. “You smoke sometimes too, don’t you Father?” she asked, watching as the small room filled with the effects of her cheap smokes. 

“I haven’t been a shepherd of the Lord my whole life,” he admitted with a little lilt to his voice. “I was a teenager in the 1960’s.”

“Ahh,” she replied, “so you’ve lived a little?” Suddenly she felt as though she wasn’t sitting here in a holy and blessed building where people come to take in the body and blood of Christ, but instead, she’s sitting at a barstool, having a drink and a smoke and sharing wisdom with an old-timer. 

“I have,” he says confidently. “Sinned through my fair share of years. Was married, and divorced. Wasn’t even called to Priesthood until I turned 40. Tell me, have you ever heard the term Come to Jesus moment?”

“Yeah, I have. That what happened to you?”

“Sure was. Nearly died in a diving accident. I was drowning. Water was filling my lungs. Until I looked up to the surface, saw a light more pristine and more beautiful than I had ever experienced, and God spoke to me.”

“He spoke to you…”

“He did. As clear as day, I heard His voice in my mind. Told me to swim up. That I wasn’t finished, yet. I had a mission on earth that I had to fulfill. I was always a spiritual person, but it was that day that I became a devout, religious man of God. A shepherd of His Word amongst men. And I have never looked back,” he explained with energy in his tone. 

“Wow…” she said, so taken by his story that she forgot about the cigarette burning in her hand. She tapped the ashes into a small metal box she kept in the front zipper of her bag. “So, just like that, you decided you’d never be the same again?”

“Just like that.”

“That must have been powerful,” she agreed, running her hand along her thigh. 

“More powerful than you could ever imagine, Ma’am,” he said with a quiet whisper. “Think about it, a man who’s life was consumed with normalcy, and driven into heartache from a divorce. I thrived on sex, and partook in activities every man of my age did. I got to experience it– I got to live. Not many men of my profession get to say that. And trust me, it took some convincing of those above me. But, I think that is why I am able to do what I do so well, I’m able to connect with God’s children, because I too, have lived a lot of the same life.”

She sat stunned, suddenly wishing that she could look him in the eye as he admitted such sensitive information to her. Was this the normal exchange of a Confession? She wasn’t sure, but, as the minutes ticked, her chest began to feel lighter and lighter. 

“I think that is a very valid conclusion to make, Father,” she said honestly. “You’ve never been tempted to go back? Realized you made a mistake?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. 

“Temptation is the work of the Devil. And I am only human. Being tempted with lust for anything in life is part of the human experience, and God wrote that into our souls when he created us. But the other gift He gave us was free will, and the ability to overcome such temptation, should we so choose it. God wants us to live, of course, but only if it is through a life that mirrors Him, and the life of His son, Jesus.”

She smirked through an exhale. “Sounds like you needed to hit this cigarette just as badly as I did.” 

He laughed. “I appreciate the offer, child, but I believe that would go against too many rules.”

She genuinely smiled to herself, realizing that talking to him might have been one of the better decisions she’s made, as of late. The weights were being lifted off her shoulders, the heaviness was dissolving in her chest. Her place sitting in this Holy Barstool was becoming quite comfortable. 

She felt all the air leave her lungs as she let herself decide. Finally, she felt ready to disclose her deepest, darkest secret. 

“So you are right, Father, I am holding something else back,” she said, tamping the cigarette out. She wouldn’t realize it until later, but the Priest knew that if he opened up just a bit more than normal about his own life, then it might help her to feel more comfortable disclosing hers. And he was right. 

“Please, child, let your burden be free…”

She swallowed, feeling the taste of bile rising in her throat as she tried her best to swallow down her nerves again. 

“I was twenty-one, somewhere on the road between here and Texas. I was… caught up with some guy I had no business bein’ with, sharing his bed and his lifestyle. Half-alive, if you know what I mean. I don’t– my memory is fuzzy, of everything that led up to then. I was constantly high, living off of scraps and booze.” She shuddered at the memory, feeling the cold of the air outside beginning to creep in again. 

“Well, turned out that man had a wife. And that wife was caught up in the same shit that we were. It was… it was a fucked up situation. She came back one day, didn’t give half a damn that I was even there. Never even threw a fit, never yelled, never argued about it. There were people in and out of that house all the time. But, she didn’t come back alone. She came back with… with a ten month old baby. Baby boy…” She suddenly felt a cold rush of tears puddling in the corners of her eyes. Her jaw clenched, and her fingers went numb.

“It was their son. And the Mom, she… she was just as hooked on the shit as the rest of us were,” she said. She began to cry, letting the frozen tears coat her cheeks, allowing them to fall freely. Her voice shook, and her chest heaved as she not only recounted the memory, but she admitted it. 

“That baby was barely surviving. I remember trying to console him… it was none of my business but… you know. Sometimes his parents were too far gone to even–” she could hardly finish. “I can still hear his cries. I can still remember how it felt to hold him, trying to find whatever I could to feed him. Fuck…”

“Let it go, child. Keep letting it out…” the Priest encouraged with a softness. 

She took a deep breath, her eyes blurry with tears and regret. Her chest felt so heavy she could hardly breathe. 

“That baby was–was me, Father. Just born twenty-one years later. Born into the same hellhole that I had been, and already fighting for his life. I knew how that baby felt, I knew exactly how he–” Her sentence clipped again as she wiped her tears, getting herself together, somewhat. 

“I remember that day, it was hot as Hell outside. There were people in that house, just–people, strangers, everywhere. All there for the same fucked-up reasons. And that baby, he was hungry, cryin’. We’d uh… we’d caught word that there were eyes on the house, and that there could be a raid soon, so everyone was scrambling. I had become that baby’s caretaker, I was the only one with enough sense to take care of him, using my pennies to buy him diapers, whatever I could. And believe me, I was in no shape to be doing even that. But… I knew I was going to have to run soon. If there was going to be a raid, I knew I had to get gone. It was that, or go to prison. I– I had to make a decision that night, to leave. Leave that baby there, with them…” 

Her throat was tight, and her limbs had gone numb. The headache that had begun to consume her was blinding, but she accepted the pain as punishment, just like always. 

“I uhm, I made it out. The raid actually did go down. But I heard… But I heard that baby didn’t make it. He didn’t– he didn’t survive, and I did. I did! I should have taken him with me… I should have gone to the police, told someone about him, but… I was too selfish. I was too sick in my own head…” 

The tears were pouring from her nose and eyes, and though she was doing all she could to keep them at bay, she welcomed them, feeling some sort of strange semblance of… peace? No, peace was not the word. There was no word to describe this type of emotion. 

“The decisions we make can alter the course of our lives, no matter how positive or negative they may be…” the Priest lamented, his voice heavy with empathy. 

“Yeah,” she agreed sarcastically. “And my conscience has been nothing but a weapon to myself, ever since. I–I have never forgiven myself for that. I’m not sure that I ever will.”

“And you may not,” the Priest agreed. “Sins like that are ones that are particularly grueling to overcome.”

“I’ll say,” she gritted, wiping her nose with her sleeve. 

“You’ve taken the first step though, haven’t you?”

“What, telling you?”

“Yes, admitting to yourself that you made a grave mistake, even though the fate of that child was out of your hands, essentially,” he replied. 

“Yeah, but– I could have done more, I could have helped him–”

“And how do you know what you would have done would have helped?”

“Anything would have been better than what he got,” she cried, her voice hollow. “Anything.”

“I don’t disagree with you, child. Carrying this burden on your shoulders has probably been the hardest thing in your life.” 

“It was, it is. But–after that, I got clean. I checked myself into rehab. Never touched the shit again. Though I still have my vices, and I still make decisions that aren’t much better… that part of my life is over.”

“That was step two,” he said. 

“I guess so,” she agreed. “Still doesn’t help the hole in my heart. The guilt.”

“My child, you may carry this guilt with you for the rest of your life. I’m sure there is not much anyone can say to take that away. Your life is your own, and though you made a decision all those years ago, that fate does not lie in your hands. That child had parents with a responsibility. They failed him. They failed him so much more seriously than you did,” he went on. “The fact that you had a conscience, have a conscience about it tells me that you are much bigger of a person than you give yourself credit for.”

“But I’ve let that decision guide my life, I’ve let it consume my every move…”

“And where has it gotten you? You’re still blessed with the gift of life, yes?”

“Yes, but–”

“Then now, starting to-day, turn it around. Start living your life for you, instead of against you. Let yourself lean away from the guilt instead of into it. Let yourself feel happiness, let yourself be loved, even if it is in a different image of God than what the true believers do. Live your life in honor of that sweet baby boy, and not in vain of him.”

His words struck her silent again as she felt the fingers of grief tapping on her ribcage, tickling at the deepest depths of her mind and soul, letting her know that yes, maybe peace is possible. Maybe forgiveness is attainable. Maybe absolution is within reach. 

“Sometimes life is dark. Sometimes life is bright. Sometimes it’s cloudy and muffled and confusing, and other times it’s so desolate that we don’t know where to go. What to do with it.” His words still felt weighted as he spoke without expecting much of an answer… almost like he was reveling in her heartache, too. “But it is up to us as humans to live and serve to the utmost degree. Life is a gift.”

“That it is,” she said solemnly. 

“The Lord pulled me from that dark place, Ma’am, that much I can tell you to be truth. Whether or not you accept Him into your life is your prerogative. But there are other passageways, other paths you can follow to find yourself again. Your true self, the one that apparently someone has fallen in love with.”

Her eyes cast downward onto the worn wood of the floor, scuffed and beaten from years of tired souls visiting this same seat, laying everything out on the line for this stranger. 

“I don’t know why he loves me,” she whispered. 

Her heart felt like a fluttering mess, dancing in her chest at the just thought of Jake. But it was quickly extinguished as she remembered how she treated him, how her heart didn’t know how to reciprocate. Shattering itself into a thousand pieces, beating only to keep her alive. It knew how to do that much, at least. But anything more, anything greater than herself was out of the question. 

“Does anyone really know why they love something? Truly?” he pressed. 

“Not sure what you mean…”

“We can come up with a thousand reasons that may aid in the description of how we love things and people, measurable to certain degrees. But there is no one true word to describe why we love these things. It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries, an emotion that God gifted us that is so strong, it can overcome anything that stands in its way. Might you agree?”

She nodded, letting his words sink in again. “I could agree with that, though I’m not sure I’ve ever felt it.”

“You loved that baby boy, that much, I am sure of,” the Priest went on. “You exemplified more compassion for that child that you didn’t even know than his own parents did. And you still blame yourself for everything that happened to him. That, my dear, is love.”

She blinked a few times, glancing at his silhouette on the other side of the screen. It could be true, she supposed, that that deep and grating feeling she felt each and every time she thought of that baby could be… love, though in her mind, it was always masked by feelings of grief. 

“And this man in your life that you say you don’t understand his compassion toward you… Could you place him in the same category as you are, with that child?” he pressed. “Though you never knew that child aside from those few short days with him, could this man not share those same binding emotions?”

She sat silent. 

“Love doesn’t disguise itself, Ma’am. It is, and has always been, one of the most pertinent and obvious phenomena since the dawn of time. We can’t explain it, we can’t harness it… sometimes it slips through our fingers before we even have a chance to recognize it. But you my dear, seem to have recognized it. Or else, you wouldn’t be here, hmm?”

“He deserves someone so much better than me… he deserves the entire world…” 

“Then give it to him! Give him your world! Pick yourself up, dust off everything that keeps you from feeling happiness, and throw it to the wayside. Give him you, dear. Truly, that’s all a good man wants… is to be loved in return. Respected. Respected by a good woman who respects herself.”

She bites her lips together again, reciting his words over and over in her head. Give him your world…

“We could all go to be with God tomorrow, child. Waste your time no longer, allow yourself to surrender to a life you deserve… Do you believe you deserve him, and his love for you?”

She swallowed down another sob, suddenly feeling as though she could relinquish herself, and give everything to Jake, if it meant that the next time he stepped into her home, he promised to never leave. “I think I could get to that point, yes. I–He is the best thing that’s ever happened to me… He’s brilliant, caring, a provider… He’s strong and his compass never strays. He makes me laugh, god, he makes me laugh. The good kind where you have tears running down your face and you’re gasping for air. He… challenges me. He shows me empathy when I don’t deserve it. Hell, I never deserve it,” she pauses. “I can’t imagine my life without him beside me, and I don’t ever want to have a dream that he isn’t in. He’s shown me more passion than any man I’ve ever known… selfless, in every sense of the word. He’s all I’ve ever known of…love.”

Ah, there it was. 

Finally, the word graced her lips like a welcome taste of sweet sugar, biting only a little bit, but that was solely out of shock. Love… love… suddenly it didn’t seem like such a burden. It didn’t feel like poison in her mouth or fire burning her tongue. It felt like a thousand soft hands and the warmth of a coffee on a cold morning. It felt like a comforting embrace, a reassuring hand holding hers. Finally, her walls of stone had begun to crumble, all at the hands of imagining a life without her lover. 

“Then go to him, tell him.”

“How–how can I explain myself? How can I make sure I’ve covered all my ground and that I don’t miss a thing?” she asked, a little bit panicked. 

“Write him a letter. Go home, sit down, and write it all out. That way you can cover all your bases, without the urgency of telling him face to face. And be there… when he is ready to discuss it all. If this man is able to pull you from your own depths of despair, then he deserves an explanation from your heart. A true one.”

She nodded again, actually considering that writing Jake a letter could be manageable. She knew he would be back soon, and she knew that as soon as he stepped through the door, he would be expecting something.

Suddenly she wanted to run. And this time, not away, but to. 

“Am I redeemed, Father?” she asked with a bit of urgency in her tone. 

“Are you leaving God’s house with self-absolution, child? Are you truly sorry for your sins?”

“Yes. Yes, I am truly sorry. I will change, I will. I have to…” she barked genuinely, standing to collect her things. 

“Then through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace, child. Love, and serve.”

“Thank you, thank you, Father…” she plead with sincerity, feeling a fierceness in her chest that she’d never felt before. 

“Go home, and pick up a pencil! Don’t stray away from it, embrace it!” she heard his voice as she stood to exit the confessional. She stepped out and let her eyes adjust back to the vibrant rainbow light that was reflecting off the white walls, and took a second to catch her breath. She heard and felt the Priest emerge behind her, and she turned to face him again. 

“I feel like I could hug you, but, that might be a little…” she laughed awkwardly. 

Instead, he held out his hand, wrinkly yet firm for her to shake. “Time is of the essence, child,” he directed, looking down his nose again through his thin wire glasses. “Go, seek your peace.”

She gave him a genuine smile and released his handshake, rushing toward the doors with one thing in mind- absolution, and the feeling of Jake’s lips finally returning to hers. 

—--

“What’s this?” Jake asked as he let her heavy front door fall closed gently behind him. They were the first words that escaped his lips when he finally pushed his way through her front door that next morning, his hair still damp from the icy rain outside.

His eyes trained and his finger pointed to the envelope and letter placed meticulously on the floor in front of him, before he glanced back up to her, sitting sweetly on her newly-vacuumed couch. 

“It’s for you,” she muttered, clearing her throat of its nerves. “It’s… everything…” 

Jake’s brow furrowed as he hung his soaking wet coat on the back of a chair and bent down, taking the stark white paper in his hands.

“To: The one I’ve sinned against…” he read quietly. “Is this from you?” 

“It is,” she shuddered through a breath, standing up to meet him. “It’s everything I needed to say, everything that I needed to admit to… everything is, there…” 

His hollow eyes fluttered up to meet hers, now full of a little more life than they had just a few days ago. She looked rested, she looked alert. Even more so, she looked peaceful. 

“Just read it, Jake, and… then you can decide. If you want to put your coat back on, or leave it hanging there,” she said, resting her hand on the center of his chest again, gently scratching her fingernails into the fabric of his shirt. “Either way, whatever you decide, I will be okay with. But, please, just don’t let my demons scare you away. I learned a lot since you’ve been gone… and I think… I think I’m ready to change. Hang it all up, y’know.”

She heard a forced breath flow through Jake’s nose as she watched his nostrils flare, and he gripped the note in his hand even more tightly. 

She sauntered off to another part of the house to give him privacy to read, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t hear the sound of his arms slipping back through his coat, and the door slamming behind him, yet again. 

—--

It’s twenty minutes or more before she hears him shuffling into the bedroom, his fingertips knocking lightly on the doorframe. Her chest bursts with emotion as she raises her head from it’s place in her hands, downtrodden and sick with worry that he was going to see himself out in her absence. 

But to her surprise, his presence is suddenly breaking its way into her room, bright yet brooding as she feels his energy close to her again. 

“Can I come in?” he asks through a whisper. 

“Sure, yeah,” she replies, moving a pillow from beside her so that he can sit. 

He inhales a deep breath as he looks around her room, a room that is covered so heavily in everything her… her posters, her music, her photos… the burnt-orange scarf that lived over the lamp in the corner, dulling the bright light she just couldn’t handle. Her multitude of candles burned, along with the scent of dragon’s blood incense that she kept at an almost constant. He breathed it in, taking note of the flashbacks that littered his mind of all the fornication that has happened on this bed, all the love that he thought they were making. Enveloped by it all, all so effortlessly and authentically her. 

He sat down beside her, feeling the tensity of the air between them. 

“I read it all,” he breathed. “Every sentence. Twice.” 

“You read it twice? Jake, that had to of been fifteen pages of me just–”

“I don’t care. I wanted to absorb it all. I wanted to remember each sentence,” he cut her off. 

The two of them sat in silence for a minute or two before Jake found the courage to speak. 

“You’ve really been through it, haven’t you?” he asked, wringing his hands together between his knees. 

Her eyes cast down to the floor as she blinked. “Yeah, you could say that.” At the last second, she decided to add into the letter every instance in her life that she didn’t disclose with the Priest… instances in which she thought she could use some type of punishment. She gave details, she admitted everything. She left nothing to question, and wrote her letter in such a way that Jake could find no excuses for her. 

“Everything in there was true, everything was honest?” he asked, turning to her again. 

She exhaled, terrified of what was to come next, shaking with fear that he may see her as even less than he did before. “Yes. All of it. Cross my heart…” 

It was quiet again for a beat before she turned, taking his hands in hers. “Jake, I know that I am no cup of tea. I’m not a ray of sunshine, and I’m damn sure not wife material. I don’t know how to be an adult, and I bring more sadness to any situation than I can ever bring happiness. I’m messy, I’m stoic, and I can’t cook for shit… But, you– you have uncovered a side of me that I had no idea existed. You took me and shook me out, caring for the parts of me that needed to die a long, long time ago. I still don’t know why, and for the life of me, I don’t know how, but you found the good in me… You found it before anybody else on this earth did. Before even I did, and for me to treat you the way that I did, the way that I have… you don’t deserve that. I should be thanking you, I should be bowing at your feet for even having considered that I could be someone that you share yourself with…” Her words were traveling faster than she could think them, and now, as she stared into his deep honey brown eyes, she almost regretted writing the letter. She could have just said it all herself. 

“You’ve instilled something in me, recharged a battery that I didn’t know was dead. I still don’t know why but you raised me from whatever ashes I was in, and you knocked enough sense into me to make me stand up for myself, for us…”

She watched as his hands began to hold hers back, his hardened expression slowly softening.

“Us…” he muttered questioningly, his voice sounding like it was a hundred miles away. 

She was surprised. “If… if you still wanna consider me…as such…” she complied, hoping that she wasn’t chasing him away again. 

He let go of her hands as he stood from the bed, running his fingers through his long, tangled hair. She watched as he paced, his sock-covered feet slowly stepping across her wood floors. 

“You know I should just turn around and walk right out of here…” he finally said, his voice raised. “I should just say fuck it, after the way you treated me…”

“You should…and, if you do, I don’t blame you, Jake—“

“I didn’t deserve that shit, I deserved better than that…” His eyes pierced at her from their corners, sending a cold chill down her spine. He was growling, his chest heaving as his demeanor turned darker than she’d ever seen it before. “I deserve someone who is going to make me whole…”

She nodded, those same tears she let fall in the confessional yesterday finding her eyes again. “You do, you do…”

His jaw clenched as she saw his fists ball up at his sides, and she knew that whatever emotion he was feeling was either going to overtake him, or he would push it away. There was going to be no in between. Her chest tightened with anxiousness. 

Suddenly his body was slowly lurching over hers, his wide shoulders closing in around her. His face became impossibly close, his breathing heavy and slow. His entire aura felt wicked, so unlike his normal sticky-sweet self. His eyes were hooded…dark and heavy as he forced her body backward without even touching her. A polar-opposite magnet, invisibly charged and making every muscle in her body succumb to the way his energy was bending her. 

“Tell me you will never hurt me again… tell me you want me for everything I have to give you…” he muttered, trying his best to convince her. 

“I—I’m ready to change, Jake… I know I have to if I want to keep you..”

“Keep me,” he repeated through a whisper, his mouth so close to hers now. She felt his fists rest on either side of her on the mattress, his body weight still towering over her. 

“Yes,” she nodded, her neck lurching up to meet his gaze. “I want you, I’ve always wanted you… I was just—“

“Foolish. Selfish, afraid to love me back,” he tested, his tone dropping down a notch into the voice he used when she’d tempt him in nothing but her nightgown. 

“All those things, yes…” she agreed, feeling herself becoming breathless. “But I’m turning over a new leaf, I don’t want you… to leave me again.”

It wasn’t often that he was the one to get her flustered; normally she held the reigns in every aspect of their sex life. But on occasion, and very rarely, she would allow him to show a little dominance. It was just her expertise, being in charge and making sure she got what she wanted, every single time. Did he love every second of it? Fuck yeah, but sometimes, he prayed for the day when she would allow him to turn her into a panting mess, speechless and tangled in the sheets. 

She felt him lurch toward her again, just the sound of her words making him soften, wanting her even more. 

His jaw stiffened. “You really hurt me, baby. Tellin’ me you never loved me, never cared for me the way I do for you…” Jake went on, finally letting his nose drift across her cheek. Just the simple touch had her muscles tensing and her breathing hitched… even through the somewhat heavy conversation, she still felt the draw to him. “Shot through my heart…”

Her hand finally reached up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him just a little closer. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry,” she huffed. She could go another million years without hearing him say that she was the reason he was feeling pain. Three days ago, she wouldn’t have cared. 

But now…

“The last thing I wanna do is hurt you,” she admitted. “Ever again, I swear it.”

“Mmm…” Jake growled, bringing his knee up to rest on the mattress between her legs. “I like hearing you talk to me like this…makes me feel like you might actually like me after all.” His knee pressed further as he lurched again, landing directly on her core. 

‘God,’ she thought to herself, ‘if he only knew…’

His hands finally raised up and landed on her thighs, his palms working with his fingertips to massage her muscle. She could smell his cologne as his proximity grew closer, the scent of it making her head spin with familiarity. Fuck, he is hers. No one else’s… She could barely fathom the thought of another woman breathing him in, touching him, feeling his mouth traveling all over her body…

“I do actually like you, asshole. I like you a lot, don’t make me—“

“Ohhhhh I’m gonna make you say it, baby. You can count on that,” Jake jested, his lips finally landing on her ear. 

She couldn’t even stop it, the tiniest whimper left her lips as she finally felt him make contact. Barely even touched, and she felt as though she could already fall apart at the seams. Her belly was already a fiery mess of intense yearning for him, wanting him more now than ever. She’d never admit it to him, but he was the best fuck she had ever had. Ever. Her stone walls kept her from showing him that, though, never once letting him think he had her wrapped. 

But fuck, his hands… his mouth…

Suddenly her back was on the bed, rushed and forced as Jake’s haughty exterior began to shine through. 

“Make that noise for me again,” he ordered, his hand finally trailing up underneath her shirt, tickling away at her skin. 

Her eyes rolled just a tad as she was not used to being on this side of things, but… give and take; she had to relearn it all. A new mindset was necessary, if it meant keeping Jake all to herself, and never letting him slip through her fingers again. 

“Ahhh, ssss,” she gasped as Jake maneuvered himself to lap away at her stomach and sides. His tongue was as hot as flames, licking her skin and turning her on even more. 

His teeth raked along the hem of her sweatpants as her hands wrapped up in his hair, more or less guiding his movements. 

“Fuckin’ control freak,” he said. “Are you ever just gonna let me take care of you?” 

She pulled on his strands extra hard, reminding him that she is still in there somewhere, deep down. “Don’t make me regret my decision to let my guard down, now, Jacob,” she warned, earning a chuckle from him. 

He stepped back from the bed and slipped his fingertips in her waistline, arching an eyebrow as he bit his lips between his teeth. 

She nodded, giving him the go ahead. He removed her sweats and her underwear slowly, taking in the sight of her naked lower half. For some reason she felt exposed, but in a good way, almost as if she was finally finding the courage to not only bear her body to him, but her soul, too. 

Already mourning the loss of his mouth on her, her body began writhing for his touch again all on its own. Truly, she’d never felt at ease enough to let herself react this way, completely and totally on instinct. 

“You really are fuckin’ beautiful, baby…” he said matter-of-factly. She was used to his praises, but she never took them to heart. She always just thought he was rambling, filling the empty spaces between her moans with any words he could find. “So pretty…”

“Thank you, Jake,” she whispered as his hands found her hips, slowly pulling her down to the edge of the bed. For some reason, she finally heard- and took notice of- the sincerity in his voice. Finally, she believed his compliments to be true. 

He knelt down, and pulled his brown locks into a messy knot at the base of his neck, the visual already making her want to scream. Her legs parted on their own, her body already relishing in the fact that he is still here, he’s here for her. 

“Never get tired of this sight,” he grumbled as he licked his thumb, instantly connecting it to her heat. He began immediate circles, slow and calculated, directly onto her clit. 

Her head flew back into the mess of comforter, her body already stiffening as she felt a singular intense ripple of pleasure roll through her. 

“…Or that sight…” he went on, removing his thumb to be replaced with his tongue. 

“Goddamnit, Ja—“ she breathed, her hands finding his hair, pulling his mouth even further onto her. 

“Taste so damn good baby… so sweet…” he cooed as his tongue gently drifted over her most sensitive spots, each one more euphoric than the last. “Don’t know why, though… as bitter as you always fuckin’ are…”

His words shocked her; he’s never been this vocal during anything intimate, let alone this snarky. 

Her head raised to meet his eyes. “It’s just the way that I am, Jake. Sweetness has never been my forte,” she breathed. He reached up and grabbed her hands, interlocking his fingers with hers. 

“I like you bad, I like you bitter…” he agreed, pressing his face into her, sucking harshly at her as he meticulously rolled and flicked his tongue. 

She was right. Just like his coffee. 

“You’re fuckin’ devious, baby. You terrify me,” he went on, stopping for a breath as her stomach began caving in on itself, the pleasure nearly blinding her. She let go of his hair and covered her mouth, stopping the cries that were daring to fall from her lips as she held on for dear life, ravishing in every single second of this. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way… love you just like this…”

“I could afford to treat you a little better though, don’t you think?” she managed. 

She felt his lips purse up into a half-grin as he paused his movements for a split second before nodding. “Mhm, maybe a little…”

“You deserve…fuck…you deserve to be treated right. And I was always too swept up in my own battle with life to live with you in yours…”

“That’s all I ever wanted, babe…” he hummed as he continued on, his hands now massaging at her ass and hips, guiding her in the right directions as she gasped for every breath she took. “Let go for me…?”

As much as she wanted to let herself fall apart at his mercy, as close as she was to leaping off the edge, she stopped herself, pushing away her ravenous thoughts and reshifting them to focus on him. After all she had put him through, after all this time of not showing him the affection that he deserved, now is the time. She owes him the world. 

She pushed his face away, sitting herself up and stripping her t-shirt over her head. He stood back with a questioning look, the shine of her wetness still coating his face in the dim red-orange light. She gripped his belt buckle, undoing it harshly as he stood there landlocked between the bed and the dresser. “Wha—what are you doing, baby?” he asked, his hands flying up to his sides as he let her work his belt. 

“This is about you…it’s my turn to take care of you…in all the ways you always wanted me to…” she replied, pulling the denim of his pants down over his hips. 

“But I told you I wanted to take care of y—“

“You do. You always do,” she replied, next ripping his still-damp t-shirt over his head. She gripped onto his waist, pulling him down onto the mattress beside her. She took note of the grin that was fighting its way to his lips. “But right now, I want you to tell me what you’ve always wanted from me…tell me what you want me to do, what you want to feel…”

She watched as his facial expression switched from confusion to pure awe as she straddled his waist, both of them fully unclothed, now as she balanced her hands on his chest. ‘God, he is so fucking beautiful…’ she thought to herself. How she could ever deny him total happiness is a sin in itself, a sin that now, she is ready to repent for.

“Go ahead, don’t be shy,” she said, starting to roll her hips a little over his growing length. 

“Uh, well um…” he licked his lips and opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. 

She leaned down and placed her lips to his neck, working her tongue up to his ear. She felt his hips buck up into her at the contact. “Tell me, baby. I wanna love you right…”

His hands gripped her hips again as she could tell he was becoming hungry for her. 

She felt his right hand come up and grip into her hair, pulling her face to the side to whisper into her ear. “I want you to get yourself wet on me,” he growled. 

Fuck. Exactly what she wanted to hear. 

“I can do that,” she agreed, maneuvering herself to sit on top of him, grinding him against her folds. She felt his tip brush over her, her clit already overstimulated from his mouth on her, earlier. She swayed her hips, letting him travel through her without entering her at all. 

“Like that?” she asked, feeling herself dripping all over him. 

His eyes squeezed shut as he bit his bottom lip in. “Mmmh, yeah, just like that,” he said, his jaw clenching over and over. 

She remained this way for another minute or so, listening to the sounds of their bodies meshing together through short breaths and hollow groans. 

“What next, baby… what else?” she pressed. She glanced down at him noticing his brow furrowed in, scowling hard as he watched where their bodies made contact. So incredibly feral for her, and her for him… she wondered why she had wasted so much time relishing in herself, rather than him. 

He shook his head, finally making eye contact. “Nothing… nothing else… just want you to be here with me. No bells and whistles,” he panted, his hips still jutting as she continued to grind. “Just you…”

“I’m here, baby…” she agreed, letting her forehead fall onto his. His hand came up to brush the hair sticking to her forehead back so he could see her eyes. Her body felt like it was floating ten feet above the bed, so high on everything that was him, intoxicated by his presence alone. 

She reached down between them and gripped him in her hand, giving him a few slow and languid strokes. His body reacted in the best way, jerking and thrusting into her hand as he let the most beautiful and pitiful cries fall from his lips. It spurred her on, watching him already falling apart for her. 

“Please, baby…” he begged, his voice full of a lustful tenor that she memorized and shelved as quickly as she could. “Fuck, please…” 

Without a second thought, she lined herself up, letting her wetness cover his tip. She couldn’t lie, her body was vibrating with anticipation; something about this whole exchange already felt different. Lighter and heavier at the same time, feathers mixed with cannonballs. As she sank down on him all the way to the hilt, a switch flipped inside her brain, making her feel as though her body would not survive another second without him, her soul incomplete without him being the other half of her. 

“Motherfucker, baby….shhhhhhit…” Jake growled, steadying himself deep inside her for a few seconds as he took in the sensation. His chopped exhale ended with a harsh blow of his breath, his movements and his sounds muffled in her mind as she became dizzier and dizzier from the pure pleasure. It took her all of ten seconds to gather herself, remembering that sex requires movement, though she would be perfectly content just letting him rest inside her for the rest of eternity. 

She finally lifted up on her hands and began rocking back and forth on him, taking in every sight and sound that came along with it all. Her fingernails dug into his chest as she swirled her hips, alternating between slow grinds and harsh thrusts, all of it sending Jake into another world entirely. 

She’d never felt a pleasure this intense before, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that each and every time with Jake was different. Never once did they fuck in the same way. He kept her guessing, always on her toes in his choices, even though she was the one who normally ran the show. Now, thinking back, it was endearing. Whether or not she knew that he was trying to be suspenseful, or that he really was just a natural in bed didn’t matter— she knew now that all the times she left another man’s bedroom while Jake was waiting for her at home was all for nothing. 

No one would ever compare to him. No one had ever even come close. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” he asked, licking his lips as his hands began to control her rolling hips. 

“Nothing,” she breathed. “Just… I don’t think you understand how sorry I am, for everything. All the times I stepped out on you…and…you’re still here, you’re—“ She could hardly finish her sentence. “I wanna cry just thinking about it. I was awful to you, and you’re perfect. You’re—“

Like he could hear her thoughts, and just as she was about to let another wave of satisfaction roll through her, he brought his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her gently to meet his lips. He kissed her hard, rolling his tongue against hers as his fingers wrapped themselves in her hair. Sometimes, when he kissed her, she would feel a pang of something deep in her gut, a feeling that was fleeting before it left her altogether. She could never harness it, and had no idea what it was… but she chased it, becoming addicted to the hunt of finding it again. 

But this time, it came, and it stayed. That wrenching feeling that she felt so often with him, taking up shop in her subconscious for more than those normal three seconds. 

It felt like a surge of electricity, a sensation that she’d never be able to duplicate with any substance on earth. His lips glided and his hands squeezed, making her feel safer than she ever had. Her brain became fuzzy with want… something stronger than want… stronger than need. 

Suddenly, the frayed string that held her to Jake felt like coiled wire, strong enough to span mountains, and tough enough to withstand any weather it may encounter. No longer did her mind feel the need to stray as he fucked back into her, no longer did she feel the need to push him away when he’d express himself to her. She wanted to feel it… know it, lock it up inside herself and throw away the key. 

She wanted all of him, every last atom and cell. She wanted to belong to him. She wanted to reciprocate. 

“I almost left you, so many times…” he breathed, pulling back and landing his head down on the pillow. “Almost said fuck it, she doesn’t need me, she doesn’t want me… something inside me told me to stay. As idiotic as that sounds.”

“You were idiotic. Completely stupid for staying with me,” she said through a grin. 

“I never asked you to be mine, though. I had no way of justifying the fact that I couldn’t blame you for stepping out. You weren’t really mine, anyway,” he argued, and he was right. Though they spent nearly every waking moment together for those six months, they never made anything official. They never made any promises. 

“I was always fucking yours, Jake,” she gritted, pulling off of him to lie down on her back. Her hands dug into his sides and pulled him to lie on top of her. 

His knee kicked her legs apart and he wasted no time in entering her again, unwilling to separate for more than a second. He pressed particularly harshly into her, jutting himself so far in that she felt a slight pain. “How can I believe you, now? How can I know this is for real?” 

She cried out at the mix of pain and pleasure, her mind blurred at the feeling of him so deep inside her. She needed more. “Agh, fuck, please keep going,” she begged, her eyes knit shut. “You’ve just gotta trust me, baby. Trust me…” she breathed, letting her eyes clear and stare deeply back into his, letting him know she was serious. “Everything is gonna change, now. M’not fucking this up…”

“Tell me you swear,” he begged as his thrusts became more pointed, eliciting repetitive high-pitched squeals from her. He stretched her as far as she could go, the sounds of their bodies slapping together reverberating off the walls and shaking the bedframe. “I’m not gonna waste any more of my time if you truly don’t want me here…”

Her hands reached behind her and gripped the sheets as she held on for dear life, letting Jake take her, have her, wholly and completely. 

“I fucking swear,” she promised, grabbing his jaw and lips in her hand, squeezing. “Just you… me and you…” She pulled him down to kiss her again, still craving that guttural feeling. And thankfully, it found her again. 

She basked in it as her release came full force at her- bright white and vibrating every inch of her body. She cried out as she let it overcome her, letting herself feel everything for the very first time. 

Jake wasn’t far behind her. “Fuck, god, fuck…” he groaned, gasping and clenching through his own climax as the ripples flowed through both of them like harsh storm winds. His arms had enveloped her, his head rested on her shoulder and buried into her neck as they both tried catching their breath, a warmth already shrouding them in the sweetest protection they could ever imagine. 

They both laid just like that for as long as the day let them, exhausted and content with the fact that they had found their way around their biggest roadblock, yet. 

Courage found her like a magnet to metal as she felt a surge of confidence overtake her. “Jake, baby, did we just make love?” 

He lifted his head from her shoulder, letting the prettiest laugh escape from his chest. “Uh, you tell me…”

She took a breath. “I don’t know… I’ve never— But that felt…”

“Fucking perfect?”

“Yeah… more than perfect…” she admitted honestly, unable to find the words to describe what she was feeling. 

The chemicals in her brain had finally mixed in a way that didn’t feel like poison. The switch that flipped had decided to stay on, not even giving her a choice in the matter to decide to turn it back off. The emotion that was taking up space within her felt more addictive than any substance she’d ever done— love, finally, her new drug of choice. 

It just took an admission for the ages to a stranger of a Priest for her to feel it. 

“Then maybe we did…” Jake agreed, rolling off of her. “Time will tell.”

She propped up on her elbow to look at him as he lied there beside her, hot and exhausted as he finally found his breath. 

“Can you teach me how to love, Jake?” she asked, feeling small. 

He gave her a look that melted her all over again as he picked up her hand, bringing each of her fingers to his lips and kissing them one by one. 

“That’s not something that’s taught, baby. But I think you’re selling yourself short…”

“Really?”

“Mhm. You’re the most intensely vivacious and unapologetic woman I have ever met in my life. You take no shit, and you’re smarter than you think. Your perception of the world is unlike anybody else’s, like I’d kill to see the world through your eyes, sometimes. You’re passionate as fuck, just not in the ways that most people think is conventional. You always stick up for the little guy, defend people who can’t defend themselves. You’re hot-blooded and confident, sexy as fuck… you could be a millionaire on OnlyFans in like a week, tops…”

“Shut the fuck up,” she laughed, brushing her hand across his chest. 

“M’serious,” he went on. “You think you’re this downtrodden and forlorn soul destined for the pits of hell, putting up walls and shutting people out, but. I think you just do that because you know your worth, even if you think that worth is less than dirt. You know that your spirit isn’t just for everybody… but damned if I’m not glad you’ve agreed to share it with me.”

Her eyes glared back into his as she fought to understand how, and why Jake is still here, still hanging on, still being the best. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” she questioned with a whisper. 

“I dunno, baby. Guess we gotta keep proving we deserve each other. You’ve toughened me up more than you realize. Made me want to cut my own bullshit and get real,” Jake said. “Taught me that I have to stand up for what I want.”

“I taught you that?”

“In a roundabout way, yeah,” he said, rubbing his fingers over his mustache. “I wanted you, I wanted you so badly that I stuck around until you decided you wanted me back, yeah?” he smiled. 

“Yeah… I suppose you did.”

“I have a question, though… you said that what made all this happen is that you went to… a Church? What in god’s name made you do that?”

She laughed at the irony of his sentence. “I guess exactly that.” She got up and sat cross-legged on the bed, hugging a pillow into her chest. “I think… I think humans can only survive so long without feeling a way they know they should feel. I knew deep down that I had sins to own up to, and one capital sin, at that. I couldn’t talk to just anyone about that, ya know? Didn’t want to admit all that to you, just yet. So I thought, hey, maybe God would like to hear from me? It couldn’t hurt my case, only help it, I guess. Who better to confess everything I had bottled up inside me, than to “the only one who can truly forgive me”?” She placed air quotes around the words, repeating back what society had taught her. She bit her lip in, thinking back on the whole experience. “I guess in the end just saying all those things out loud to someone who wouldn’t pass judgment onto me was exactly what I needed. Just to admit them to myself. I was about to crack…”

He nodded, placing his arm behind his head. “I can definitely understand that.”

“I hope it worked… I swear on my life I already feel a little more whole, a little less worthless,” she admitted. 

Jake’s thumb reached to brush across her lips. “You were never fucking worthless, baby. Never. You were worth everything in the world, are worth it.”

She shook her head as she looked away, the image of that baby’s face still so prevalent in her mind. He haunted her every second, and though she was coming to realize that that whole ordeal all those years ago may not have been entirely her fault, it was still going to resonate with her for the rest of her life. No amount of admittance or repenting was ever going to take that away. 

“You know, that baby that I mentioned in the letter… the one that I took care of before everything went to hell…?” she asked, her voice quiet. 

“Yeah, your capital sin…”

She took a breath. “You know his name was Jacob…”

Jake’s eyes grew ten times in size, his jaw falling slack in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding you. Hell of a coincidence, huh?”

“Wow, I’ll fuckin’ say… I–I am so sorry that happened, baby,” Jake relented as he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Truly, I know you wish that things would have gone differently. I’m sure you think about him every day.” 

“Every second.”

Jake took in a breath. “Is there anywhere we can… go visit him? So you can talk to him?”

She softened at his sweet suggestion, gently shaking her head side to side. “No. I wouldn’t even know where to look… where they even buried him. I was hundreds of miles away from here…”

“Well maybe we can look him up. That should be public record, yeah?”

She considered it, while also considering Jake’s selfless proposal. “Maybe so… yeah, that might actually be nice.”

Jake leaned forward and placed a kiss to her knee. “We’ll find him. I promise.”

“You can forgive me, Jake?”

“As long as you stop condemning yourself. Right this minute. We’re gonna work on this together, you have got to realize your self-worth, baby.”

“You’ll be here to help me realize it?”

“Every second of the way,” he promised. 

She rolled to sit on top of him again, his hands landing on her thighs. She admired the way his hair flowed in messy strands over her pillow, the way his skin still glistened with sweat. In that second, she knew she had never seen anything more beautiful. More striking, and more positively hers. 

“I’m ready to love you, Jake. I swear to god I’m going to spend every second making you the happiest man on earth, making up for lost time. Proving to you I’m sorry, that you’re worth it all…” she promised, tears threatening her again with the overload of new emotions. But she welcomed them. 

“Don’t cry, gorgeous. S’all gonna be okay…”

——

“Are you sure you want me to come with you? I mean… this feels a little bit strange,” Jake perked as he tossed his cigarette butt into the sand-filled ashtray on the street. 

She took Jake’s hand as she pulled him up the steps of the Church, the sun already brightly shining as it hit high-noon. The church bells of the city all tolled, signaling the new hour, and letting her know that Father James would be pacing around the pews, refilling bulletins and straightening hymnals. 

“Yes, come on… I really want you to meet him,” she urged, pulling his hand even harder. 

“Baby, I don’t go to Church anymore, I don’t believe in this kind of stuff…” he argued. 

“Neither do I. But that’s not to say that it doesn’t exist, hm?” she pressed, arching her eyebrows as they landed on the top step. “Just because we don’t choose to believe and be faithful doesn’t mean we can’t find comfort in some of the things it has to offer…I wouldn’t be where I am if I hadn’t come in here that day and talked to Father James… confessed everything to him… Took all his advice…”

“I know, I know, but… what if he tries to— I dunno. Convert us, or whatever?” 

She laughed out loud. “He’s not gonna do that, Jake. I promise. We just enjoy talking with one another. He’s a wise man, normal. Just like you and me. He’s been at the bottom, too. I promise, you won’t regret walking in here…”

“Fuck, okay. Just for you.”

She blossomed as she realized she’d talked him into it, her face blushing with satisfaction. “I love you, Jake… you know that, right?”

His long exhale drifted away with the Spring breeze as he realized he’d literally do anything for her. Anything in the world. “Yeah, baby. I know that.”

“Good.” 

She pushed open the heavy double doors and made her way inside, her hand acknowledging the holy water that sat beside the entrance, but knowing her place enough to not touch it. The devil still sat on her shoulder, though these days, she’d learned to keep that son of a bitch in check. 

Jake watched as she glided inside, her fingers still wrapped with his. As his eyes adjusted from the sunlight, he took notice of the bright hues of light washed across the room, the sun casting vibrant beams and dim shadows on everything that it touched. 

“Father James! Hello!” Jake heard her voice as they approached an elderly man clothed in all black. 

“Welcome, welcome!” he heard him say. 

“Father, I want you to meet someone… this is—“

“Jacob.” 

The Priest extended his hand to Jake, giving him a smile that felt more genuine than he ever could have imagined. He took his hand in his grasp, knowing that he owed this man the grandest of thank you’s, for helping his love to find her way. 

“Of course, son. I’ve heard so much about you…”

“All good things, I hope?” Jake laughed awkwardly. 

The Priest looked directly at her with endearment painted on his features, his eyes thinning to slits as he smiled from ear to hear. 

“Wonderful things.”

Taglist: @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj @dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @gretavangroupie @moonlightisdancing @jakeyt @joshym

[lovedbysolaris]

Unsigned Feelings.

Isabela Merced x Reader

Summary: You were hired to help her write an album not fall for her. Ghostwriting kept you safe. Until her. Isabela Merced sees through the walls you built with every lyric. What starts as late-night writing sessions turns into something you can’t name—until it hurts not to. But your past doesn’t stay buried. And when secrets surface and pressure builds, you're left with one choice: walk away like you always do... or stay and fight for the one thing you never let yourself want.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Honestly I dont think so- oh! Anxiety lol.

I aso have a soundtrack for chapters. yes. im smooth like that.

"Criminal" – Fiona Apple

"Say It Right" – Nelly Furtado

"Dreams" – Fleetwood Mac

"False Confidence" – Noah Kahan

"Eventually" – Tame Impala

I said I was gonna post some of her. You're welcome.

----------------------------------------------------------

You wake up before the sun, same as always. There’s a certain kind of silence before the world starts making noise again—before traffic hums, neighbors argue through walls, and someone’s kid starts kicking a soccer ball against the hallway. That silence? It’s yours. Sacred. Like the half-second before a song drops.

The alarm never goes off. You beat it. 4:42 AM. Muscle memory guides your hand across the nightstand to silence the buzzing it never gets to complete. The bedroom is dim, painted in navy shadows. A single strand of light from the streetlamp slips through the blinds, cutting across the floor like a sword. You sit up and roll your shoulders. Your body creaks like it’s lived more than twenty-two years.

First thought? Coffee. Second? What day is it. Third? You should probably take Hades out before he pisses on your new rug again.

The apartment’s not big, but it’s clean. Minimalist, but lived in. One wall is all windows. A worn leather couch. A record player on a reclaimed wood shelf. A giant canvas with muted reds and golds leans half-finished against the wall—one of the rare times you tried painting your feelings and just ended up angry at the brush. There’s a guitar case leaning under the window you haven’t opened in months.

The Spotify speaker starts playing without asking. You set it up that way. Shuffle playlist: Wake the Hell Up. First song? "Criminal" by Fiona Apple. Then maybe Mac Miller. You never know.

You stretch, your Greek mythology sleeve flexing with the movement—Achilles' heel bleeding into Hermes' wings, Medusa's eyes threading up to your shoulder. It took four years and more pain than you'd admit out loud, but it's your story. Or the parts you let people see.

Your hair is still flattened on one side as you tug on a pair of boxers and gray sweats. Sports bra. Loose tank. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror: tired eyes, messy mullet, and that treble clef behind your ear that only shows when your hair is up.

You touch it sometimes without thinking. A melody without a home.

Hades scratches the door. You open it before he can bark. He’s big—obsidian-black doberman, ears cropped, eyes smarter than most people. You swear he’s part therapist. He waits while you leash him, nudging your thigh with his head like he already knows you didn’t sleep well.

Out on the pavement, it’s still dark. You jog beside him, earbuds in, letting Nelly Furtado’s "Say It Right" set the tempo. A mile. Two. You don’t track distance anymore—you track how many songs it takes to get your head quiet.

Back home, it’s protein shake, then a hot shower. The steam makes your hidden tattoos sting a little—the one on your ribs you got the night your mom stopped calling, and the one on your thigh you’ve never shown anyone, not even your ex. It’s a line from a Sappho poem, but no one would guess from how often you wear jeans.

You dress in something loose but intentional: dark jeans, open flannel, boots. A single gold chain. The class ring catches in the mirror, the way the sapphire shines against your skin. You hate it and love it. 2021. A year you earned but barely survived.

You check your email. Nothing exciting. An old professor inviting you to a Zoom panel. A royalty statement from the poetry book you ghostwrote last fall. A Spotify payment from some girl in Brooklyn who sang your lyrics like she wrote them herself.

Then your phone rings.

Unknown number, LA area code.

You hesitate, thumb hovering. Then:

“Yeah?”

They say your entire name.

You lean on the counter. “Depends who’s asking.”

“This is Vanessa. I’m calling on behalf of Isabela Merced. She’s looking for a writing partner for her next album—someone to help shape the narrative. We heard about your work through a mutual contact.”

You blink. “Merced as in...?”

“Yes. That Isabela.”

A pause. Hades lets out a low growl, like even he doesn’t trust what’s coming.

Vanessa continues, professional and clipped. “She’s been writing on her own, but she’s hit a wall. She’s asking for someone who doesn’t treat her like a product. You come highly recommended. She’s read your ghost work.”

You cross your arms. “Okay. But why me?”

There’s a pause. Then:

“She liked your writing. Said it felt... honest.”

A beat. That word doesn’t sit easily on your shoulders.

“She wants to meet. She’s in town for a few weeks. Can you be at Hollow Sun Cafe by four?”

You glance at the clock. 9:23 AM.

“I’ll be there.”

As the call ends, you stare out the window. You weren’t supposed to fall into music again. You were supposed to write from the shadows. But now?

Now the light’s creeping in.

You stand in front of your closet like it’s the final boss.

The first thing you pull out is your favorite fit: oversized graphic tee—vintage Nirvana print, cracked like it’s been through hell—cargo pants with a dozen pockets you don’t use, and the Jordan 3 Retros you waited four months to cop. You toss on your fitted Rangers cap and gold jewelry: a class ring with your birthstone, chain glinting low on your collarbone, watch she saved up for before she passed.

You look good.

But then you remember—it’s your first impression. And not at a cipher or a bar. This is business. Big business.

You sigh, swap the tee for a fitted cream shirt that still matches the Retros. Swap cargos for black jeans. Keep the jewelry—your mom would’ve cursed you if you didn’t. The cap stays. That’s non-negotiable.

As you check the mirror, something settles in your stomach. You’re not nervous. But you’re not ready either. You haven’t written for anyone big since… since before. Since the funeral.

Your mom was the only one who ever heard your demos and cried like they meant something. The only one who called your voice a gift instead of a gimmick. She would’ve told you to go, to stand tall. But still—this feels like a quiet war inside your chest, and no one else will understand why.

Hades nudges your leg. You ruffle his ears.

“Let’s go, monster.”

Your 2014 Nissan Altima waits in the lot like an old friend. Dusty, sure, but she runs smooth. You crank the ignition and let the playlist roll. Noah Kahan’s "False Confidence" plays. It’s too on the nose.

You cruise through your part of Dallas—old neighborhoods trying to be new. Coffee shops with unfinished murals. Cracked sidewalks and boutique gyms. It’s home in a strange, half-gentrified kind of way.

You swing by your sister’s apartment. Michelle answers in a hoodie and socks, her curls tied up, mug in hand.

“You’re late.”

You smirk. “You’re dramatic.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles when she sees Hades. He darts in like he owns the place.

“You look nice,” she says, half surprised.

“Big meeting.”

“Someone cute?”

“Professional.”

Michelle raises a brow. “You didn’t say no.”

You toss her his blanket. “Be nice to him. He’s in a judgmental mood.”

“He gets that from you.”

You head back out before the conversation can get too real.

Hollow Sun Cafe is tucked behind a row of glass buildings in Uptown, Dallas. Big steel door, exposed brick, subtle signage like they know you should already know where to go.

Inside, it smells like incense and ambition. A wall of platinum records. A quiet receptionist who buzzes you in without looking up.

You step into the studio lounge. Vanessa, you assume, is sitting by the console in a navy blazer, tablet in hand. She doesn’t smile.

Then—Isabela.

She’s smaller than you expected. Compact, radiant. Wearing a hoodie like she’s hiding, but her face is pure sun. Hair up. No makeup. And yet, there’s something about her that stings your vision like you looked straight at a star.

She glances up at you. Stops mid-sentence.

Her eyes catch yours and still there. Not because you’re famous. Not because you said anything clever. Just… your eyes. You know the look. You’ve gotten it before. Gray eyes. That shade that looks like a storm’s thinking.

Vanessa speaks first. Introducing you.

Isabela’s voice is softer than you thought. “You don’t look like a ghostwriter.”

You grin. “Good. Ghosts don’t pay rent.”

A pause. A small smile from her.

Vanessa sets the contract on the table. “This is standard. NDA. Creative credit waiver. Scope of work. We’re looking for eight tracks, possibly more if the chemistry’s right.”

Chemistry.

You meet Isabela’s eyes again. She’s watching you like she already wrote a song about this moment.

Vanessa talks on, but the room’s gotten smaller. Isabela’s knee bounces. Your fingers tap a rhythm against your ring.

You sign the contract without a word.

Let the music speak first.

Vanessa’s phone buzzed once. She didn’t even flinch. Buzzed again. This time she sighed.

"I'm sorry, this is- it's about a venue drop." She stood, pressing her palms into the edge of the booth as if grounding herself. “Just talk music. I’ll be five, ten minutes, max.”

You give her a small nod, watching her sleek black heels disappear around the corner of the dimly lit lounge. The booth you're in has navy cushions and gold-rimmed coasters. A candle flickers lazily between you and Isabela. Her silhouette glows like it belongs in a painting- chin in her hand, fingers half-hiding her lips, eyes unreadable.

Your throat feels a little tight. Not the kind of tight that makes you choke, just the kind that makes you remember you’re alive. And maybe a little bit nervous.

You tap the table twice and say, “Henny and Coke.”

Isabela raises a brow. “That bad already?”

You flash her a deadpan stare. “Look, either I drink or I start pacing, and this booth doesn’t come with a panic room.”

She lets out a small chuckle—genuine, even a little surprised. It’s the kind of laugh that doesn't get recorded often.

A server appears. Young, maybe college-aged. Way too invested in the moment.

You nod at him. “Make it two.”

You don’t even look at him.

He glances awkwardly between you both, clearly waiting for some sort of confirmation from the actress-slash-pop-sensation. But she shrugs.

“Guess we’re drinking then.”

He scurries off.

“She likes control,” you note, mostly to yourself.

Isabela tilts her head. “Who?”

“Vanessa.”

She leans back a little, tracing the rim of her water glass with her finger. “She has to. It’s the job.”

“And what’s your job?” you ask.

“To let her.”

You pause at that. You weren't ready for her to match your depth that quickly.

The drinks come. You clink yours to hers without fanfare. No toast, no bullshit. Just the universal language of cheers to existing.

It’s quiet again for a second. The kind of quiet that isn’t uncomfortable. Just hanging there, like an unopened letter.

“So,” you say finally, “concepts.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. Her eyes flicker- not to you, but somewhere far off.

“Don’t tell me I lost you already,” you say. “That’d be a new record.”

She blinks, coming back. “Sorry. You didn’t.”

“Then what was that look?”

She shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Everything I write lately feels like a goodbye letter. I want this album to be about… something more.”

You nod slowly, leaning forward a bit. “What kind of more?”

Isabela crosses one leg over the other. “Heartbreak, sure. That’s the easy part. But also… recovery. Growth. The loneliness that comes after healing. The way love shifts when you’re alone long enough to love yourself. That kind of more.”

You take a slow sip, letting her words settle. There’s something heavy behind them. Not rehearsed. Not press-junket deep. Actual gravity.

“That’s a lot,” you say finally. “But I think we can find the skeleton.”

She raises a brow. “Skeleton?”

“Yeah. Every album has one. A spine. Even the messy ones. We just gotta figure out where the bones are.”

She smirks, genuinely entertained. “Okay, that’s… poetic. In a vaguely forensic way.”

You shrug. “I’ve been worse.”

A few more beats pass. Your anxiety’s softened, replaced by a slow curiosity. There’s something familiar about this moment, even if you’ve never lived it before. Maybe it’s the candlelight. Maybe it’s the way her hair falls just a little into her eyes. Maybe it’s the way you’ve both been trying not to look too long.

“Your tattoos,” she says suddenly.

You stiffen a little, but not enough for her to notice.

“What about them?”

She gestures vaguely. “They’re… detailed. Mythology?”

You nod. “Greek. My whole arm’s a sleeve of gods nobody prays to anymore.”

“Why?”

You swirl the drink once. “Because stories outlive people.”

That answer hangs heavy. She watches you differently now—like she’s tracing lines that haven’t been written yet.

“And the one behind your ear?”

You hesitate. “Treble clef. For my mom.”

That one comes out quieter.

Isabela sits forward, resting her chin on her fist again. “She the reason you got into music?”

“More like the only one who didn’t laugh when I said I could do it.”

Her voice softens. “She passed?”

You nod. “Couple years ago.”

There’s no pity in her face. Just understanding. That’s worse, somehow.

“Sorry,” she says.

You don’t say it’s okay. It isn’t.

She shifts gears, maybe sensing the heat under your collar. “So… ghostwriter who doesn’t ghost. What’s your story?”

You grin. “That was awful.”

She smiles. “I try.”

You rest your glass down. “My story’s not really out there.”

“I noticed. I googled you.”

“Stalker vibes.”

She shrugs. “Curious vibes.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Let’s see. Raised in Dallas. Little sister. Doberman named Hades. Used to write songs under a fake alias online until one of them blew up. Got offered a label deal, turned it down. Started ghostwriting. Pay’s good. Fame’s not.”

“That’s a tagline.”

“You’re welcome to use it. Just credit me.”

She grins. “What was the alias?”

You pause. “Nice try.”

Her eyes glint. “So you’re still lowkey?”

“Like, embarrassingly lowkey. I’m probably in more playlists than pictures.”

“I like that,” she says. “Keeps you human.”

You tilt your head. “And you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Over-exposed. Managed since I was fifteen. Told to smile even when I hated what I was singing. Everyone assumes they know me. They don’t.”

“That’s gotta suck.”

“Yeah,” she says. “It does.”

You both sit with that for a moment. Two people on opposite sides of a camera flash. One hiding. One trapped.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been sitting like this—talking like this—until Vanessa’s heels click back into earshot.

She slides into the booth with a sigh and a power-suit apology. “Crisis averted.”

Isabela leans back like nothing happened. You sit up straighter, reaching into your bag for your notebook.

Vanessa claps her hands once. “Alright, let’s get back to work.”

But when you glance at Isabela again, something’s changed. Just a flicker. The way she looks at you now—it’s like she’s storing your face in a song.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to disappear.

[lovelynicho]

"In the blue of my oblivion"

*the title is a reference to Sullen girl by Fiona Apple

Pairing: bf!Nicholas x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warning: heavy topics, mention of rape and trauma, read to own responsibility! ; not proofread

Wc: idk, my longest fic yet

Notes: I know this is a heavy topic but in my opinion this should be talked about as things like this happen to more people than some would think, way too many people; if you go through a hard time it's okay to talk about it, to ask for help, never forget that! ; english is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes

Masterlist

Sometimes you still wonder how did you end up with Nicholas. Despite his intimidating, at times even scary appearance, he truly is the kindest soul you've ever met. It is beyond you how someone like him, who always catches everyone's attention, noticed you, who likes to stay in the shadows of others.

But what matters is that he noticed you, and liked you ever since he laid his eyes on you. Asked you out on a date, and then another one, and another one.... And now he's officially your boyfriend. And you love him oh so much. You feel like in him you found your soulmate.

There is just one thing you're worried about ever since he took you out on the first date. And that is physical affection. More like how you don't like it. Or to phrase it better: you can't really take it. One thing you always noticed in relationships is that physical touch is something that everyone needs and the fact that you're usually reluctant about it caused serious arguments in multiple of your past relationships, eventually leading the to their end.

At first you weren't sure if you should let Nicholas know about this worry of yours, but as you guys went on more and more dates you realised that it's not something that you can keep as a secret forever. So you told him. And he said he understood. You just didn't tell him everything.

Either way your relationship was going great, you have been together for two months now, and through this time Nicholas had been so great, always asking if he can touch you before hugging you or anything else. He really did look out for you.

Today seemed to be rough though. Nicholas slept over at your place for the first time. Two months is a long time but for you it's especially hard to let people close, both physically and emotionally, so this was a big step for you.

In the morning you woke up before Nicholas and you decided to make breakfast for both of you. Something easy without much trouble. As you were in the process of making the food once you just felt two hands gently reaching under your shirt to touch your sides. And just as a reflex you instantly let everything go from your hands, closed your eyes, gritting your teeth, you pushed the hands away as strong and fast as you possibly could.

"Relax baby, it's just me" you did relax as soon as you heard Nico's voice from behind you. Opening your eyes you turned to him seeing he put both his hands in the air like you were threatening to shoot him. "Who did you even expect it to be?" He asked with a little smirk hiding in his voice as he put his hands down.

"I mean.... I don't know" you answered honestly. Because when this happens, when you push away anyone who's touching you at certain places you genuinely don't know who you tough was touching you when you push their hands away "you never know" you muttered as you turned back to the food you were preparing.

"It's been a while since we're together and I always wanted to ask...." he seemed to hesitate a little bit, like he was afraid of the question. Or maybe he was actually afraid of the answer, that it will be what he thought it was. "Why do you not like touches? I mean in some cases it's understandable, nobody likes if someone touches them without permission but.... Not even hugs or anything. Why....?"

You sensed that this was the part when he expected your answer. So you turned to him again, so you can be face to face with him. His eyes seemed a little worried, scared of what will come next. You were scared too, you hadn't shared this part of you with many people, only your closest friends knew the truth. You have never told this to any of those you were in a relationship with before. Because you were afraid that this could be a reason for them to leave. That's why you're afraid to tell it to Nicholas. But you can't deny an answer now. Not when he's looking at you with eyes that could make the strongest hearts melt.

"It's not easy to explain, you know" he looked at you, clearly not satisfied with something this short for an answer. "I was really young.... And someone touched me at certain places in certain ways. Someone I thought I could trust" you kept staring at the ground while you said these words. They came harder than you thought they would, it was like something wanted to keep them inside. You felt something hard on your chest, suddenly breathing became harder and you fought tears back as some memories from that time came back.

After a little silence you looked up at Nicholas. The way he hadn't say anything scared you a little. "I'm so sorry" he whispered as he looked at you absolutely broken.

"Why are you sorry? It's not like it's your fault"

"I'm sorry for dragging this out of you" he answered "you're clearly uncomfortable with it and I didn't want to make you feel like you have to tell me"

"No it's okay" you said with a small smile creeping on your lips "I trust you"

"Can I hug you?" You nod as an answer and he hugged you so tightly like he was afraid that something might rio you out of his arms. "I won't force you to tell me more.... But if you want to talk about it, you always can talk to me, okay?"

"Okay." You muttered into his chest. You were so happy he didn't leave you for this, that he didn't look at you differently now. "But honestly, I just want all those memories to turn into oblivion"

And you let all the tears that you were holding back flood from your eyes. Years of your silence coming out of you now in the forms of salty water sliding down your cheeks.

But in Nicholas' arms you felt safe.

[sagesturns]

☆ INTRODUCING CHERRY.ᐟREADER

⟢ best paired with stray!matt ⟢ masterlist: here

⍟ cherry gloss ✩ ripped tights . 19. lace trim on old tank tops. disposable camera in her back pocket. cherry pits in the sink. red ink in the margins. books with dog-eared grief. hair that smells like bonfires. bare feet on hardwood. late-night diner booths.

⍟ mazzy star through tangled headphones . fiona apple on tired mornings . cigarettes after sex when she’s aching . hole when she’s had enough . the cranberries in the bath . phoebe bridgers while folding laundry . clairo when it’s quiet and safe.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who lights incense before bed, even when the windows are open and the wind keeps blowing it out — says it makes the room feel less empty.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who wears chipped rings on all her fingers, one of them from a thrift store, one of them her dad’s. She never says which is which, but touches one more when she’s nervous.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who learned how to walk on eggshells before she learned how to ride a bike. Still flinches at loud voices, even when they aren’t meant for her.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who keeps a cracked Walkman under her bed and an old record pinned to her wall — the same one her dad bought her when she was nine. She listened to it every day after he died, until the tape started warping. Now it just sits there, warped and loved.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who started making her own lunches at thirteen. Showed up to class half-awake, half-wrecked, but the teachers never noticed — not in a town like this. Everyone was cracked. Her breaks just weren’t loud.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who doesn't cry often, but when she does, it's in the shower, knees to her chest, water too hot, like she's trying to scald the ache out of her ribs.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who says she’s “fine” like it’s a full sentence. Like it doesn’t leave a thousand others unspoken.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who believes in signs too much — a certain song on shuffle, a red cardinal, a line from a movie she barely remembers. Says she doesn’t, but keeps a journal full of them anyway.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who writes people letters she never sends. Keeps them in a box under her bed next to old guitar picks, broken lighters, and her dad’s obituary folded six times over.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who says love doesn’t scare her — but pulls away when hands linger too long, like she’s afraid to be known in a way that might stay.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who doesn’t remember the last time she felt light — but still wears glitter on her cheeks like she might be able to fake it.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who once believed people didn’t leave unless you gave them a reason. Now she just believes they leave.

✩ CHERRY.ᐟREADER … who, on the first page of every new journal, writes the same line: “this time I’ll be softer”. But by the last page, the words are jagged, crossed out, rewritten. The softness never really stayed.

a/n: i haven’t seen anyone do this exact take on the AU yet, but i know ✩CHERRY!READER is super popular— and there are so many of you writing her beautifully that i couldn’t possibly list everyone. if you’ve done something similar and i didn’t tag or mention you, please please let me know! i’d love to give credit and check your work out too. i just needed to throw all my thoughts in one place before they completely disappeared from my brain :).

Send in asks about them, I’d love to answer and figure out more about them myself too!

and credit @darksturnz for the layout inspo!

[gimmeyourlovepls]

Jealousy

summary: you and the other Baudelaire siblings are on the Queequeg, and seeing Fiona all touchy feely with Klaus makes your blood boil. So, you write your feelings out, but you didn't know that he would read them.

a/n: hi! Was rewatching asoue and the ideas just exploded. Side note, normally you, the reader, at least in this one-shot, are very clingy to Klaus, always hugging him and holding his hand. Anyway, read!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You sat on a chair, staring at Klaus and that girl that is currently too close to him. You wanted to push her away so badly, to hold Klaus and drag him away, but you weren't his girlfriend, and you probably never would be with the way he's falling for literally every girl who's not you, starting with Isadora and now Fiona. Getting up, you walked to the chambers that Fiona gave you to sleep and found your journal, right on top of your bed.

Before Uncle Monty's horrible death, you and him got pretty close and you told him about your love for writing, so he gave you one of his empty journals and told you to write every once in a while and come show him. You never got to show him a single one.

Picking up the pen that you always put on the notebook, you started to write angrily, your hand moving so fast the ink becam sligthly smudged.

Why is Klaus touching her so much, being touched by her so much? I should be the one clinging to him, okaying and helping him with his ideas, touching his arm, smiling at him, kissing him. The idea of Fiona and him makes me sick. Why should she and her stupid submarine come and steal Klaus away? But, if he really likes her, I'll go along, I'll smile when they say they're dating, giggle at every time she makes him flustered, and I'll cry at there wedding, although the tears will not be ones of joy. When they have their first kid, I'll hold them happily, smiling at how they have his eyes, his beautiful, shining, kind, intelligent eyes that I could lose myself in, and I have. And I'll cry myself to sleep every night, alone because I can't imagine myself with anyone else but him.

You finished writing, pen ink slightly staining your palms and fingertips. Reading over what you just wrote, a sense of dread and disgust filled you. How could you write this about another person? Without another thought, you ripped the page out, crumpling it and throwing it somewhere it would not be seen for hopefully a long time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Frowning, you were lost in your own mind, drowning in your thoughts as Violet talked about something to do with the machinery. "...what do you think, Y/N?" You look up, confused. "O-oh, yeah, sure!" She looked at you with a stange look. "I just asked you if you'd eat glue with apples? What's wrong Y/N?" Sighing, you sat up straight. "Nothing, just... do you think that Klaus likes Fiona?"

You saw the gears turning in her head before she smiled, and you immediatley regreted your question as she started speaking. "You like Klaus!" The way you looked away from her said everything she needed to know. "Y/N, you should tell him!" "Do you see the way he smiles around her? I don't stand a chance!" You frowned, thinking about Klaus and Fiona. Violet smiled kindly, taking your hands in hers. "I'm gonna be honest with you, my brother is not always the brightest when it comes to love. I think he'll accept you."

"Accept you for what?" You looked up quickly, and saw Klaus holding a book and a... crumpled piece of paper? Thankfully, Fiona wasn't around him for once. "Y/N has something she wants so ask you." You gave Violet a glare, but she just smirked and waited for you to speak. "I u-um, wanted to ask you... where Sunny is! Yeah, I n-need to see Sunny..." Klaus gave you a funny look, a look in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher, and said, "She's just in the kitchen, helping out." Getting up quickly, you gave Klaus a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, and walked to the kitchen, still pondering what Violet said. You always gave him a hug or kiss on the cheek, but that one was different. You tried to convey all your feelings in it, even though he wouldn't be able to tell.

Taste testing Sunny's food will make you feel better.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A whole bunch of stuff had happened in a suprisingly short amount of time, and long story short, you were about to escape Count Olaf for the umptenth time in the Queequeg with Sunny, Klaus and Violet, and Fiona was leaving to follow her brother, which was the hook-handed man who was an associate of Count Olaf. All the information was making your head spin, but you didn't need to focus on that right now.

Klaus was trying to convice Fiona to stay, and you honestly were not as happy as you thought she would be at her leave. As he grabbed her arm, she leaned in for a kiss, which you could see from a mile away, but what you weren't expecting, was for Klaus to turn his face, so it was only a kiss on the cheek. Fiona left, Klaus having a solemn look on his face.

As Violet powered on the submarine and you were putting down Sunny, Klaus took your arm and dragged you to an empty room. You looked up at him in confusion, gasping softly as he pushed you down on a chair in the room, and as you stared at his face, you still couldn't tell what he was feeling.

He took out a piece of paper, it slightly crumpled, but you could still see the writing, and as you squinted slightly, you realized it was yours. Oh crap.

"Y/N, do you know what this is?" He said, holding it in front of you. "A-a piece of paper?" You muttered soflty, not wanting to actually say what it was, even though you knew exactly what it was, and who wrote it. "Don't play dumb with me Y/N." Under his glare, your head fell down as you looked at a "very" interesting stain on the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for anyone to see it, especially not you... I just wrote it while I was angry, it doesn't mean anything!" You rushed to explain yourself, still scared to look him in the eye.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you worked up the courage to look up at him. He was... smiling? Suddenly, laughter bubbled out of his chest, and he was giggling. Ok, what the hell?

"D-do you seriously think I would ditch you for a lady I just met?" He chuckled. "...maybe." He pulled you up into a hug. "Y/N, I have known you for almost my whole life. I could never. ...and I might have a slight crush on you as well." You grinned, blushing. Maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

a/n: when i tell u i hate this so much. ill just post it.

[glvlvukcan]

My Poems

The first two are from what I call stolen first lines collection. You recognize the first

An Exception

You told me then

that you preferred handsome men

but for me

you would make an exception

And you would say that

you who exuded sex

like some haunted perfume

You who knew I’d come panting

like a dog with a telephone

at the merest whisper

of your call

How was I know

that the shadows behind your eyes

plumbed only shallow depths.

And that, which I took for self possession

was self-absorption

as you studied the surface details

I burned for you then

and I burn for you now

crumbling to dust

like the pages of some ancient manuscript.

For when I said, marry me

you laughed.

CARELESS

I was careless with a delicate man

I dropped him

a hint

About what she was doing.

But he didn’t want to know

for he preferred

to live the lie.

Until the day

she dropped him

and he shattered

like Cinderella’s glass slipper

No ball

No balls

SENSELESS

To see through the blindness of hate

deaf to those who call you back

God-like you are still

though age and infirmity

has dulled the fire

the burning to destroy

the monuments

built to honor you

Will they crumble

when you’re gone?

Or will they rise

in different form

Gathering together

the ravens

death’s bards

to echo your name

so it will never die

We, shall have to see.

While you

blind still

deaf-becoming

tasting ashes

smelling fear

lose that touch

that once made you

human.

First poem is a line from Leonard Cohen

Second poem is a line from Fiona Apple

[olenvasynyt]

Hi!! I was wondering what kind of music do the van bros listen to?

Alrighty I thought long and hard on this. You have no idea what you're actually asking for because I am crazy when it comes to music. I listen to too much music. (I'm also just crazy in general). I am going to throw a few bonus people in just cause it's relevant.

Eris...oh god this is so hard because I feel like he's not very outward on his music taste but he. Loves. Disco. ABBA and Boney M are probably his favorites but he also loves synth pop like Eurythmics and A-Ha. You guys can hate on me and disagree but come on. Look up Eurythmics' album Touch and come back to me.

Raivis. He would be so weird and pretentious I just know it. He would probably love goth music like Sisters of Mercy and Bauhaus. Keep it classic and overbearingly gloomy.

Elmar. Ughhhhh he would be pretentious too and probably have the worst music taste out of all the brothers (imo). He'll probably listen to classic rock that every white upper-middle class person knows and vaguely listens to: The Police, Rolling Stones, Rush, Styx...I'm being such a hater lmao I'm sorry but he's one of the people who's like "ugh the music today is so awful I miss the classics!" and listens to the worst type of classics 😂

Galeti is a club rat who is in his Brat era. He listens to a range of stuff including music for the girls and the gays (Chappell Roan, Addison Rae, Sabrina Carpenter, Charlie XCX ofc, Magdalena Bay, etc). He also loves the good ole techno, electronic, and phonk music, and can get into 00s music remixed, european techno, rave, etc. Anything you can snort a line to dance to. Look up SPFDJ and Sara Landry, I feel like they would be his girlsssss (because they’re my girls and I’m self-inserting for almost all of these answers)

Aatos is a stomp and holler guy. Gregory Alan Isakov, The Oh Hellos, Of Monsters and Men, Hozier, etc. The soft stuff you would listen to if you want to get emo while hiking in a park or something.

Jora is a basic bitch who secretly loves Taylro Swift and Sabrina Carpenter but is ashamed of it because Elmar makes fun of him, so he sticks with the basic rock or something. I feel like he loves podcasts too.

Lady of Autumn would loveeeee the very terrible and wonderful soft rock 70s - 80s hits such as Barry Manilow, Barbra Streisand, Lional Richie, Roberta Flack, Andy Gibb, etc. It's such a vibe and idk I feel like it's perfect for the moms who reminisce the old lovers they miss when they were younger 😂😭😭😭

I feel like Lucien listens to everything, and I mean everything. He's got 10 different languages on one playlist: he'll flip between bollywood, early 00's American rock, hardcore russian metal, indie, stomp and holler (he would love mumford and sons because Tamlin got him into it), hip hop, Caribbean, disco, european club music (he would LOVEEEEE Eurovision and yes that is self-insert because same). He loves obscure music, popular music, soundtracks etc etc etc. He's not really trying to find something new, but he's just naturally an explorer so he really loves everything.

When he meets Jesminda in this modern AU where human music exists, she would ask him what kind of music he listens to and for some reason he blanks. He's like "uhhhh I listen to everything" (and it's true but that's a very basic non-answer). She says "okay dumbass what's your favorite artist? 🤨" and he is still stumped and he blurts out the first thing he can think of which is the music he listens to with his mom:

"Barry Manilow."

Jesminda laughs so fucking hard lmao and he has to explain and eventually they'll listen to one of his playlists and do a Spotify Blend or something but that gets me to:

Jesminda's music taste would be 2000’s music including but not limited to Amy Winehouse, Fiona Apple, Shakira, Black Eyed Peas, Mariah Carey.  She also has an obsession with Back Street Boys.

[writeastormsblog]

Show Me My Silver Lining (TFTBL Rhys/Fiona Fanfiction) - Chapter 5

SUMMARY: A fan-written continuation of the lives of the Atlas CEO and Pandoran Vault Hunter. Canon-aligned with TFTBL, but not with game 3. What happened after the vault? How does the beloved duo continue growing together? Rhyiona ship including slow burn, fluff, and banter. Enjoy!

(art made by using Canva)

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CHAPTER FIVE: Fishy Ideas

Fiona slowly began to stir awake. With her eyes still closed, she nestled into her pillow and snuggled her blanket, feeling comfy just where she was. Then she noticed a quiet humming to her right and opened her eyes. The humming belonged to the table aquarium, and beneath her head was a couch pillow. She was on one of Rhys’s office couches, not at home on her bed, and she wasn’t cozied under her blanket; she was under his jacket. Soft and warm, it smelled like him. Fiona breathed it in, wanting to stay under it longer. She froze. Wait, no– she didn't want to stay in it. She didn’t want that– no way. That’s– that’s weird. Fiona quickly sat up and threw the thing aside as if she touched fire. Why the heck did she even take a moment to smell his jacket? Ugh– Seriously, Fiona, you creep–!

Through the crevices of the closed blinds, some afternoon light poured in, but the room was mostly dark. Did Rhys close the blinds to help her sleep in? Wait, how did Rhys get her to the couch? He surely wasn’t strong enough to carry her. She probably was really out cold and he managed to drag her to the couch. He had to have woken up before her at some point to detangle himself from– from–!! Oh no. No way. Fiona’s face suddenly felt really hot as memories flooded through her mind: She held him. Or he held her, and she let him? No, but she went to wrap her arms around him first, and then he just wrapped his arms around her back? Um, wait a minute– Fiona placed a hand atop her head and cringed. Yep, there were strands of hair stiffly clumped together, dried from Rhys’s drool. Aw, c’mon! Would it kill you to keep your mouth shut, Rhys?

Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to make sense of it all. Okay, so Rhys was upset from the nightmares. He just needed to be comforted, so she sorta decided to with her arms. But that wasn’t necessary. She was listening. They were talking, and connecting, and that could’ve been it. That should’ve been it. But then… “I had to see you again,” replayed in Fiona’s mind. Something about how he said it made her melt inside. It made her want to throw her arms around him, to get closer. She had buried her face in his neck, not just because she wanted to, but feeling she needed to. Something in her body screamed at her to be with his. Fiona couldn’t stop replaying the intimate sensations of their arms wound around one another, her nose nestled near his Adam's apple, and his hand, firm but gentle, holding the back of her head. Mercilessly, her imagination took it a bit further. Her fingers trailing his jawline, his hands cradling her face. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, breath on breath. His mouth and her mouth. Their lips parting, so soft and hungry to savor one anoth–

Fiona bolted to her feet, horrified. Why did she just imagine that? Why did she just– she pictured them kissing. She pictured them kissing, even though it didn’t happen! There was no need for her mind to conjure such a scene. Did she… want that? Um, no! Why would she? She’s Fiona, he’s Rhys, he was interested in someone, and she’s not her, and she didn’t want to be her, and it was all good. It was good! Great even; she was glad to not be whoever the someone else was. It was great. Great, amazing, awesome– to not be whoever Rhys was talking about because Fiona would never want to be. Fiona was delirious; that had to be it. She was delirious, and those were just awful, intrusive thoughts. Awful. Just bad and weird to the max. Not warm, or safe and inviting, or painfully desirable that it drove her crazy that it wasn’t real– that it would never be real– bad, bad, bad. It was just bad. Bad and weird.

Fiona scrambled to check the time. She needed to look at something, anything else, besides her roaring headspace. Her eyes widened as she focused on a clock’s “12:30PM.” She really slept in. And if that wasn’t already blatant, her stomach growling was. Fiona spotted her hat on the table, planned to put it on and rush out to find food. But as she picked up her hat, she met a sticky note underneath. The note stuck to a plastic card on the table, and it read, “Hey, at meetings for the day, but I’ll see you later. Thanks again for helping me stay up. Got the information planned. Please go eat, y’know food’s on me. -Rhys”

Fiona scoffed and shook her head. She wore her hat, tugging it down to conceal her eyes as if she needed to hide her uneasiness from someone else. Fiona quickly turned away from the card. She had money. She’d pay for herself. She didn’t need to hold onto another thing of Rhys’s. She had to get out of his office fast. The furniture wasn’t comfy; it was clutter. The room was small rather than spacious, the air too shallow and hard to breathe in, and nothing was cool about the space because it was his space, and she didn’t want his space to be her space. Nope!

When the double doors whirred open, Fiona booked it to the elevator and hastily pushed the button. She tapped her foot and fidgeted with her jacket sleeves. How many stops did the thing have to make before reaching the top floor? Ugh, people were probably getting on and off. Stupid business hours. 

With the ding of the elevator, Fiona’s eyes widened as she met a familiar face. The bright round eyes that peered up at her belonged only to the cutest robot ever in existence. 

“Fiona?” Gortys gasped. “What are you doing here? Oh, I’m so happy to see you!”

Fiona smiled. Her shoulders loosened up as she faced the cheery, childlike enthusiasm from her dear friend. “Hello, Gortys! I’m happy to see you, too.” Putting her hand on the door frame, Fiona prevented the elevator from shutting. “I’m, uh, visiting Rhys I guess. But right now, I was looking to get some food. Did you want to get off this floor?”

“Oh, cool! Rhys is busy right now, so I was just coming up here to make sure his fish weren’t lonely, but you’re here! I’d like to spend time with you.”

Fiona quirked a brow, stepping in. Maybe Gortys could take her mind off things. “You’re welcome to come with,” she decided. “But you sure the fish won’t mind?”

“I’ll make it up to them later. Besides, the new picture books I ordered didn’t arrive yet,” Gortys explained. Then, in more of a hushed tone, “Don’t tell Rhys, but I don’t think they find his tech magazines interesting to look at. I don’t think fish care about devices and fancy weaponry.”

Fiona chuckled, pressing for the first floor. “Secret’s safe with me.” Fiona fondly rested a hand on Gortys’s head, and in turn, Gortys gleefully hugged her legs.

To Fiona’s relief, the bustling crowd of Atlas employees were too busy focused on their own conversations, or scrambling to wherever their next tasks were, that she and Gortys slipped out practically unnoticed. Once they stepped outside into the fresh air, Fiona stretched and squinted from the brightly lit pavement. “Whew. Nice, sunny day. So, you wouldn’t happen to know any good places for lunch, would you?”

 Gortys shrugged. “Nope. I don’t eat anything but electricity.”

“Hmm,” Fiona frowned.

“Oh! Rhys always ordered takeout from this one sandwich place–”

“Yeahhh, I don’t really want to order from there.” Fiona started walking away, trying to shake a weird rush of embarrassment at the thought of entering another place associated with him. “Let’s just explore the nearest shopping district and see what happens.”

“Okay! There’s a stop nearby for transportation.” Gortys chirped, wheeling alongside her. “But Fiona, is it okay if I ask you something?”

“Hm? Yeah, I’m listening,” Fiona said without slowing her pace.

“Well, uhhh. What happened to your face?” Gortys innocently asked.

Fiona gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I like purple. It’s a nice color, but I think you went a little heavy on the eye shadow. And I don’t wear makeup, but I think it’s supposed to be above your eye and not below it.”

Fiona’s hand flew to her bruise, wincing a bit. Right. Just great. That explained why her face kind of hurt when she talked. “Ah, this. This is, um–”

“But hey, experimenting with art is cool!” Gortys continued. “I was never impressed by the asymmetrical attire Rhys likes, but I think you could pull off an asymmetrical make-up look if you really wanted to. Maybe continue playing around with this one.”

Fiona nodded, looking away. “Thanks. I’ll definitely, uh, work on it.” Fiona clenched her fists. “And now that you mentioned how Rhys likes asymmetry, I just might give him this look next.”

“Oh, that’s a fun idea!”

…

After spending the entire afternoon with the bubbliest Gortys, retrieving her suitcase, and checking in her hotel room, Fiona bathed in the biggest bubble bath and rested on an actual mattress for a few hours. It improved her mood by a million percent. The strange awkwardness and being consumed by frantic thoughts felt like a weird distant episode, making the moment she woke seem totally separate from the rest of day. Any weird thoughts from before was probably nothing to really worry about. Fiona was sure that she just needed to spend some time outside, that she fed herself properly and rested, then those intrusive thoughts wouldn’t have shaken her like they did. In fact, she felt sure enough to even text Rhys that she was picking up takeout before meeting in his office.

“Hey nerd, I’m back,” Fiona announced. She smoothly walked in, wearing a new pair of dark navy pants, black ankle boots, and a cold-shoulder black top. And of course she completed the outfit with a new matching black hat with navy trim.

“Hey– Oh, wow.” Rhys looked up from his desk and did a double take, staring at her. “Woah. I, uh,” Rhys cleared his throat with a smile. “I like the outfit.”

“Me too,” Fiona said, grinning. “I went shopping with Gortys today. I figured I could splurge a little. Anyways, come over here and eat before the fish get your dinner instead.”

“Pff. That would be a little cannibalistic for them, wouldn’t it? Would fish really eat shrimp fried rice?” He pondered outloud as he seated himself across from her.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “I don’t think shrimp are fish, Rhys.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re close enough. They breathe the same.”

“That’s like saying us eating chicken is cannibalistic because chickens breathe air and humans breathe air.”

“I… Yeah, good point.” Rhys shrugged.

As they ate, they went back and forth about other silly arguments, comfortably exchanging their banter. Silly stuff like how Rhys thought ice cream shouldn’t only be appreciated when it’s hot out, since cold weather makes everything outside a refrigerator and so the sweet treat wouldn’t melt as fast. Fiona snorted, retorting with the aspect of having a brain freeze on top of being cold all over, and then backtracked as she mockingly recalled how Rhys didn’t seem to have a brain. Fiona smirked as Rhys pouted. Things were definitely feeling normal again.

“Oh, by the way,” Rhys said. “I left you a card on the table. I meant to cover food.”

Fiona waved him off. “Eh, it’s fine.” He raised a brow at her. “What? I’ve got money, Rhys.”

“Yeah,” he tilted his head at her. “But I wanted to at least cover you for helping me.”

“It’s fine, Rhys. Really,” Fiona shrugged. “Although, if you’ve got any pain medicine in here I’d take it.”

Rhys frowned, eying her face. “Right. For the bruise.” He went to rummage his desk drawer.  “Is it, um, hurting pretty bad?”

“It’s a minor pain. Nothing extreme like what Pandora could do. I applied ice on it earlier and it’s already a lot fainter than when I woke up.”

A brief silence, other than the sound of Rhys shuffling paper and staplers in his drawer. He sighed as he finally found the pill bottle. “Still, though. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Rhys, seriously. Your punches are really weak,” Fiona teasingly reassured as she took the medicine. “If a kitten punched me, I’d be in a lot more pain right now.”

Rhys scoffed, but couldn’t contain a smile. “A kitten? I’m sure that kittens from Pandora are as brutal as skags, so I’ll take it.”

“Nope, just gentle kittens.”

“Gentle as a Rakk Hive, y’mean?”

“Sure, if Rakk Hives had super soft and gentle paws.” Fiona grinned.

Rhys smirked with a sudden confidence glinting in his eyes. “Tell you what,” he slowly said. “I think we should arm wrestle.”

Fiona’s brows raised. “You want to go against me?” She snickered. “I’m sorry– Do you remember that I was the one who gave you a boost back in the old Atlas facility, and you couldn’t even pull me up the platform?”

Rhys shrugged, still wearing an arrogant grin. “It’s fine if you’re afraid of losing.”

“Yeah, I’m terrified like that bandit was when you gave him a big ol’ hug from behind. Sasha told me all about that.”

“That’s in the past. Now’s not then.” 

Fiona tilted her head at him. “You seriously want to do this?”

He began moving their leftovers aside.

“Rhys. Those poor fish will get severe second-hand embarrassment.”

“Mhm, from when you lose.”

Fiona let out a laugh, then joined him on the floor to be leveled with the low table. “If we’re doing this, you're using your human arm.”

“Obviously.” 

Rhys shrugged off his jacket, and Fiona blinked for a moment. Huh. He wasn’t extremely muscular or anything, but he had a little more muscle toned in his arm than she expected. Her eyes traced the tattooed navy swirl peeking out from the rolled up sleeve of his shirt, briefly wondering the remaining shape of it that trailed across his chest and emerged again at his collarbone. She quickly tore her gaze away, slightly annoyed at herself. “So, what do I get for winning?”

“As far as I know, you haven’t won yet.”

“Yet.”

“Okay, if you win,” Rhys paused, thinking. “Hmm… How about this: Loser has to tell one of their most embarrassing moments they’ve ever been in.”

“Oooh, I bet you have a lot of those.” Fiona grinned excitedly. “Alright. I’m game.”

Elbows propped on the glass, the fish scattered to shelter in their caves and driftwood log as Rhys gently took Fiona’s hand in his. Her pulse slightly raced at his touch, but her eyes didn’t leave his. She was determined to be victorious. “In three… Two… One– go!”

Instantaneously, their hands tightened with grip. Fiona frowned, their arms shaking as they pushed against one another. “What the…?” How wasn’t Rhys down immediately?

A wide grin spread across his face. “I’ve been working out with Vaughn,” he said, voice strained. “Been trying to get in shape!”

Fiona let out a laugh as she slightly started to push his arm down. “You’re surprising, not losing right away. I’ll give you that much.” She shook her head. “But there’s no way I’m letting you win.”

“You won’t be ‘letting’ me. I see hard earned victory in my future!” Rhys huffed, pushing his arm back up.

“Hah, yeah right!” Fiona bared her teeth. “After this, you’ll be sobbing to your gym bro-bro-bro about how much you’re embarrassing yourself right now.” 

“Nope! If anyone will be sobbing, it’ll be you!”

Fiona’s shoulders tensed, and to her surprise, her arm began to go down. “How are you doing this?” She strained to ask, but both went silent as they focused to bring the other down. Fiona briefly recovered, pushing Rhys’s arm down, then Rhys recovered, pushing her arm down further and further. Tiredness gnawed at her. She closed her eyes tight, still holding on.

Rhys smirked when she was finally inches away from hitting the table. “Any last words?”

“Ugh–! I’ll always run faster than you!” Fiona squeaked, giving in. The back of her hand thudded the table. A loud, losing thud. The fish darted at the impact. Fiona leaned back, staring at him in disbelief.

“Haha, yes!” Rhys pumped a fist in the air. “Who’s got two thumbs and proved he was stronger than Fiona? This guy!”

Even though she lost, Fiona couldn’t stop herself from smiling. He was such a dork, even when he was trying to rub it in, and she was honestly more impressed than she was annoyed. “If you really think you’re as strong as me, then I challenge you to tag along the next vault hunting trip. I’d like to see you try to keep up on uphill, rocky terrain.”

Rhys smiled, shaking his head. “I’ll definitely need to continue working out to commit to that extreme. I’m, uh, kinda out of breath from just arm wrestling. Also, I think you cut off some blood circulation. You’ve got a serious Pandoran death grip.”

Fiona gave a small chuckle, massaging her own hand. “Still though, you did a good job. Really, Rhys. I know you wouldn’t have been able to do that when we first met.”

Rhys puffed out his chest a little. He mock-arrogantly flexed his arm and Fiona snorted, chucking a couch pillow at him. “Forget I said anything. You’re so dumb.”

“And you’re so gonna treat me to story time.” He comfortably hugged the pillow to his chest, letting his long legs lay out in front of him. “Tell me one of your most embarrassing moments ever.”

Fiona cocked her head to the side, sighing. “Hmm… Well, once upon a time, I was about to get away with this huge vault-key-con. You see, there were these lame corporate stooges who–”

“C’monnn– you know I meant a moment I didn’t already know.”

“Oh, did I? I’m sorry, Rhys, I don’t believe that was part of the deal.”

“And I said one of your most embarrassing moments, not mine.”

“Um, it was embarrassing for me. The moment you fell to your knees, wailing at August, I was dealt severe second-hand embarrassment.”

“Fionaa.” Rhys mustered a big pout, and Fiona laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, okay, fine. But after this, not another word will be said about it. If I hear you even try to tease me tonight, you’ll be chugging coffee on your own.”

…

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writer's notes: I thought about making fiona spend more of the chapter panicking but then i was just like eh time for more scenes with her and rhys just cause im feeling it. i'm stressed out this week so I gave fiona an earlier break from spiraling just so i could indulge in more cute n fun scenes of the duo. dw, ofc she will have to fully face her feelings eventually >:) ps y'know that shrimp fried rice meme?

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BONUS SCENE:

While window shopping, Gortys was asking Fiona what food was like, how chewing felt, and Fiona explained how textures differed depending on what food it was. Gortys listened in amazement as Fiona listed some different foods she liked, and one happened to be on a restaurant flyer they were walking past.

"Woah!!" Gortys stared at the flyer. "You're telling me a shrimp fried this rice???"