#and that motherfucker stings like a little bitch

[shotmrmiller]

The thought of toxic Dom!Simon not being exclusive with you is actually tilting me so I’m gonna write about it. 

–

As per usual, you’re draped over Johnny’s legs on the couch, listening to him talk his nonsense when he brings up Ghost. 

“...yeah and Ghost, lass, I’m tellin’ ye, he has got to be hurtin’ the lasses he takes to his quarters. He had this new medic in there screaming and…” but his voice fades, your heartbeat thundering in your ears drowning him out. 

He had another woman in his bed. Bastard. 

Your eyes sting as your blood boils. Jaw aching from how hard you’re clenching it. 

Stupid fucking asshole.

Of course, you hadn’t brought it up. Not like you could, with how he had stuffed your mouth with his cum— but that’s beside the point. Here you had thought it was a given. But no, that motherfucker wastes no time in fucking other bitches while he has you constantly checking your phone hoping he sends a text. 

Practically begging for his attention and he’s too busy getting his dick wet. 

And there’s no one to blame but yourself. You’re the one who chose to put your feelings into this. He, at no point in time, strung you along. Congratulations, you played yourself. But that doesn’t mean you’re gonna sit there and take it. If he gets to fuck other people, then so do you. 

Johhny’s yelp snaps you out of your own furious inner ramblings. 

“Hen, ouch! Mind the claws, eh?” 

You unclench your hand— you hadn’t realized you were digging your nails into his skin. 

“Ye a’right there? Yer face is bright red,” he remarks and you put your clammy hands onto your cheeks in an attempt to calm down. 

“Yeah, I’m alright, Johnny boy.” 

Releasing a tense breath, you turn to him with a toothy smile. 

“Hey, didn’t you have a single friend I could meet? I haven’t gotten laid in—” and Johnny cuts you off with a swipe of his hand.

“Och! Naw! I dinnae care to know ‘bout yer flings. Cease yer yappin’.” 

You arch one eyebrow at him and tartly say, “Oh, but I gotta sit here and listen to yours? How does that make sense?” 

“I’m the older brother, hen. Do as yer told,” and he yelps again when you pinch his thigh at that. He’s rubbing the spot and you try to not feel guilty at the fact that you might’ve pinched a little too hard— you’re still frothing at the mouth over that asshole.

“So?” you ask again, “Any cute friends?” and he rubs at the scar on his chin before nodding. 

“I do. Name’s Gaz. Er, Kyle. He’s been wantin’ to meet ye, actually. I talk about ye all the time and he’s gotten curious. Can give ye his number if ye want. And I dinnae wanna hear ‘bout anythin’ that happens, ye hear me?” 

He pulls out his phone and sends you Kyle’s contact. You text him immediately and he responds within minutes.

Johnny snaps his fingers to get your attention and you look up from your phone.

“Snap at me again and I’m biting your fingers off,” you snarl.

“Ye could try, hen. I’ll be back, gonna go get the food we ordered,” and you nod but then Johnny taps your head with his finger.

“And be nice to Gaz. He’s a good lad.” 

Rolling your eyes, you say, “Yes, da. I understand,” and he leaves.

The conversation between you and Kyle is light-hearted small talk until he sends a picture of himself wearing aviators— and you can see Ghost’s form in the background. Your rage comes back in full force.

You open snapchat and click on a filter that gives you cat ears and a collar with a bell— taking a photo of yourself holding up two fingers on Johnny’s couch, then press send.

Your phone vibrates and quickly look to see what Kyle said but it’s not him. It’s an unknown number.

You send pictures of yourself to all of Johnny’s friends?

His fucking nerve. The audacity. You grind your teeth and hold back the urge to throw your phone against the wall. 

Your nails clack angrily on your phone screen as you reply.

Worry about yourself and that little medic of yours.

A couple of minutes pass with no response until you get a phone call from the unknown number.

You answer the call with a sharp “What.” 

“That’s what this is about, pet? Ya mad at me so you throwin’ a tantrum?” he tauntingly chuckles. 

You might burst a vessel from the indignation of it all, so you do the only thing you can do. Hang up and block him.

Asshole.

You can’t wait to fuck Kyle and send Ghost the sex tape.

jokes on you, though cuz Ghost just gon show up at Johnny's flat sporting big dark hickeys on his neck lmao i hate him

@luminousbeings-crudematter

[piningforstan]

I just recently found your page and love your work!!

can you write an angsty Stan fic where reader and Stan are still dancing around their feelings and reader finally gets the courage to confess to Stan but maybe overhears a conversation with him and Ford out of context saying he won’t date them and r is crushed? Then cue r trying to move on and jealous!Stan and then they get together somehow?

Thank you!!💕

I ended up placing this fic when Stan and Ford are still in high school before their falling out. I apologize if the timeline with Carla isn’t canon, I just wanted to include her. Also, reader is mentioned as a female a few times but this can easily be read as gender neutral.

I hope you like it!

You loved alcohol as much as you loved getting bamboo shoots shoved under your nail beds. But Carla “Hotpants” McCorkle had just broken up with Stan, and it was your duty as his best friend to support him. And if that meant drinking cheap beer on the beach with his brother, then so be it.

“I thought she was the one,” Stan grumbled. He crunched his empty beer can, belched, then reached for another.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about every girl. Even that one you saw in a dream.”

You knew because you kept a detailed record of Stan’s revolving door of women, each declaration of love another stake in your heart. Secretly, you were pleased that Carla ended things with Stan. You could never date him in fear of ruining your friendship, but that didn’t mean you liked to see him with other girls. Especially not stuck-up bitches like Carla.

“I just dunno what she sees in this new guy.”

“He doesn’t litter?” Ford answered. He nudged the growing pile of discarded cans with his foot. Stan’s brother never drank, but he certainly lamented about how much the two of you did.

Stan continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “So what he can play guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Can you?”

“No.” Stan angrily kicked up sand. “But I would learn if I thought I had a chance of winning her back.”

“You don’t need her,” you told him. The beer in you warmed you from the inside out, initiating the familiar tingling sensation in your legs that happened when you drank. “You’re Stan motherfucking Pines.”

Stan grinned at you. “You’re right. I don’t need her.” After slurping down the rest of his beer, Stan grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to — Stan happened to be very affectionate, even worse when he was drunk — but it still sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“I got the only girl I need right here,” Stan said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

Your insides turned molten. Of course, you loved when Stan called you “his girl” but the sting of the words were especially painful in the wake of his breakup. You would never actually be his girl in the way that it mattered.

You could never jeopardize your friendship with Stan, or Ford. You had been inseparable since you were children, when Stan received a particularly nasty note about you in class and instead of passing it on promptly ate it. You took a likening to him immediately. And, since Stan was never without his brother for very long, Ford became the reasonable cornerstone of your friendship.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that you realized you saw Stan as much more of a friend. To be specific, when he successfully grew out his mullet and you fawned over it instead of throwing up in your mouth. On anyone else you might’ve. But it weirdly fit Stan, who you’d watched go from a weird, skinned-knee little boy to a weird, broad-shouldered man with dark curls that you desperately wanted to run your hands through.

Ford shattered the moment. “Why don’t you guys just date then?”

You’d both been asked the question before. It was expected, when a boy and girl were friends. Parents, nosy teachers, old ladies peering at you from wiry glasses. Usually the two of you fielded the question with various degrees of hilarity — “he gave me an STD” or “that’s my sister!” — but tonight it felt profoundly different.

Perhaps it was because you were so close, physically. Or perhaps because you had confided in Ford the secret crush you harbored on his brother. You trusted him not to tell but to hear it now, spelled out in the air, made you stiffen.

“She knows all my disgusting habits,” Stan finally said to break the silence, “I couldn’t trick her into it.”

He grinned at you in your peripheral, a certain softness in the corners of his mouth that weren’t usually there. You rallied your best grin back,

“Yeah, it would be weird. Right?” You chuckled nervously.

Stan, with unprecedented exuberance, nodded in agreement. “S’weird. I’ve seen you in your retainer. Could never fool around with you after that.”

Ouch. You pretended it didn’t feel like a blow to the stomach. “And you smoke too much. It would be like kissing an exhaust pipe.”

“See? It could never work.” Stan tore another beer off the plastic rings, drained it, then announced he was going on a walk. You watched his retreating form until you were sure that he could no longer hear you.

You whipped around. “Ford! What was that?”

“I’m sick of you two dancing around the subject. If you just dated I wouldn’t have to sit out here every few months when you inevitably get dumped because you’re with the wrong person.”

You groaned and slid down in the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands. You actually liked the smoke that clung to Stan’s clothes, the deft flick of his thumb striking up the lighter. Why did you tell him you didn’t?

You’re a coward, your inner voice accused. You panicked. It wasn’t like you could exactly agree with Ford, especially not after what Stan said about your retainer. Did he mean that?

If he did, that was worse than anything else. Not only did he not harbor a secret attraction, but he was repulsed at the idea of you together.

Stan stumbled back down the beach a few minutes later, to your chagrin. It was much easier not to think of him when he wasn’t in front of you; even like this, swaying on his feet and looking slightly green.

“Stan, are you —?”

He lurched and fell face forward into the sand.

Ford glared at you like it was your fault. “This is the last time.”

“Sure. Just get his other side.”

“Thank you again, hun.” Caryn Pines smiled sweetly at you. The small kitchen smelled profusely of her perfume and cigarette smoke, wrapping around you like an embrace.

“Yeah, of course. No big deal.”

Caryn looked at you strangely, in that way that adults did sometimes. “You’re always takin’ care of my Stanley. I know he ‘ppreciates it, even if he doesn’t say it.”

“I couldn’t leave him on the beach.” You took a bite of the babka that Stan’s Ma put out, chewing thoughtfully. “Again.”

Caryn always tried to feed you when you came over, no matter how fleeting of a visit. You had seen her sneak the food out of packages and container and pass it off as her own, but you didn’t care. It encompassed her parenting abilities — well-meaning but slightly manufactured, a desire to be the mother that she wanted to be but not exactly the drive to put in the work.

Either way, you knew she loved you like her own.

“Ya know, I see the way he looks at you. And you look at him. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure it out,” Caryn said.

Your face warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s crazy ‘bout you. I know my Stanley.”

“But what if…what if we broke-up ? I can’t lose him in my life.” Tears strained your voice. Here you were, admitting your feelings to another Pines family member except for the one who actually needed to hear it.

Caryn clicked her tongue and edged around the island, pulling you into a hug. “But what if it’s great? What if it’s everything you imagined?”

“Maybe,” you said, muffled in her side.

Caryn gave you a final squeeze. “I could only pray for someone like you for my son. Say, you don’t happen to have a sibling for Ford, do ya?”

You shook your head. Caryn made a gesture like too bad then fiddled with the coffee machine.

“Here.” Caryn shoved a steaming mug in your direction, then wiped her hands on her dress. “Take this upstairs for me, will ya? I’ve gotta check on Shermie.”

You stood rooted in place for an embarrassing amount of time, mulling over what she had said. What if it was great? Your heart jumped. Maybe she was right. You would tell Stan.

Emboldened, you crept down the hall and past the living room. The TV flickered ghostly blue lights over the couch where Filbrick snored, and you were careful to avoid the creaky stairs. It wasn’t ever said aloud but everyone knew in the house not to disturb Pa after work. He wasn’t abusive, that you could tell, but somewhere on the verge of it.

Stan and Ford’s voice drifted from their shared bedroom — Stan’s gruff, drunken mumbles and Ford’s clever quips lined with affection.

You were going to tell him. You loved him.

A hitch of agitation in Stan’s voice made you pause at the first step, just out of earshot, a silver of light falling across you from the cracked door.

The delirious, bubbly feeling of excitement in your chest fluttered uncertainly.

“Oh, would give it a rest, Sixer?”

“Stan, I just think —”

“You know how I feel about her,” Stan interrupted. From your vantage point you could see him sprawled out on his bed, one hand over his face.

Her? Meaning you?

Your grip tightened on the mug. Here it was, the universe delivering you a sign that Caryn was right. That you were right.

The view didn’t offer any insight on Ford but you could hear his desk chair squeaking as he leaned backwards, contemplative. “And how do you feel about her?”

A beat of silence, the covers rustling as Stan lifted himself onto his elbows. “She’s my best friend.”

“Uh huh.”

“And-And of course I love her.”

“Uh huh.”

“But I could never date her.”

Your blood turned cold. What? Didn’t he just say that he loved you? Whatever brief, sweet bliss you had went plummeting into the ground. You turned away, coffee in hand, unable to listen to more.

Stan stared up at the ceiling, at the water stain that looked like an elephant. Sometimes when he tried to get his feelings out, the words would run circles around and around in his head until he chased them down. It didn’t help that he had drank so much.

Towards the end it wasn’t even really about Carla anymore, but you. You, with your dumb perfect face and laugh. The way that you stuck around despite knowing everything about him, about his family, leaving him feeling raw and infested like an overturned rock.

His stomach churned. Stan waited for the nausea to pass, pinning down his words before eking out, “I would fuck things up with her. It ain’t worth it. Losin’ her. Ya know?”

God he hoped he was making sense. The room was spinning and the elephant was now doing summersaults.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Ford quietly replied. “I know you love her. I’d stop you from fucking up.”

Stan laughed, dry and brittle. “No one can stop me. I’m a one man fuck-up.”

“You’ve never been one man.”

Stan curbed his nausea enough to look at his brother. Really look at him. Any other given day and he might’ve kicked him for saying something like that. His throat bobbed. “Yeah. Yer right.”

A moment passed between them, one of those brotherly, twin moments that he hadn’t felt since they were kids. Ford clapped his hands together.

“My first declaration of not letting you fuck up is to tell her tomorrow how you feel.”

“What? Tomorrow! No way.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. Stan waved a hand and flopped back down onto the bed, resigned. “Fine, fine. Hey, can you tell that elephant to stop moving? He’s bein’ a real dick.”

After that night, you avoided the Pines family like the plague, dodging after-class visits and letting calls go to the answering machine. Your parents asked where your “boyfriend” was, as they lovingly referred to him, but it only felt like salt in the wound. Stan would never be your boyfriend. He said it himself — he could never date you.

You hated the heavy grayness that clung to you, and most importantly, you hated that the one person you wanted to talk to about Stan was…Stan. And you couldn’t. How mortifying it would be to confess something so life altering for him to say that he only saw you as a friend.

Stan left message after message, wondering what he had done and if you could. But you couldn’t bear to see him. You ate lunch in the girl’s bathroom and nearly sprinted to your car after school, peeling out of the lot as soon as the final bell rang. He tried to come by your house, too. Your parents, loyal to you no matter how much they loved Stan, told him you weren’t there.

It was safe to say that, after a month of this, they were relieved when you stepped out of your room in actual clothes. Your mother actually clutched her pearls. “You look amazing. Where are you going? Did you make up with Stanley?”

You ignored that line of inquiry. “I have a date. Not with Stan,” you added, well aware that was the follow up question.

“Oh.” Your mother’s happiness faltered slightly. “Who with?”

“Just someone from school. I’ll make sure they drop me off before curfew.” You pretended to be oblivious to their probing stares, kissing them each on the cheek before striding out the front door to the idled car in the drive.

A dark shape shot out of the driver’s seat and scrambled to open up your door. Eugene glanced nervously at your house as you climbed in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to meet your folks?”

“I’m sure,” you said, monotone.

Eugene had been interested in you for a while now, but you always hedged your answers, not wanting to commit. Last week you finally said yes. You needed to get over Stan — even though the first thing you thought of was how he would laugh at Eugene for opening your door. You could just hear his rasping, seething laugh. Pussy, he would call Eugene, and you would punch him.

Throat thickening with tears, you forced yourself to admire Eugene in the glow of the streetlights that passed by. He was classically handsome. Smart, kind. A musician. Everything that, on paper, would make the perfect boyfriend. It was incredibly sweet that he wanted to meet your parents and open your car door.

Yet all you could think about was Stan: his untamed mullet and cauliflower ears from boxing, the nose slightly too large for his face that was crooked from all the fights he instigated. The braying sound of his laugh and how he thought it was funny to snap your bra strap. The fact that, beneath the jokes and the crude humor, he was soft and compassionate and an excellent artist. He always made you laugh. He was a million things that Eugene would never be.

But Eugene was one thing Stan wasn’t.

Interested in you.

You shoved all of that down by the time Eugene pulled up to your date, flashing him your most winning smile. A drive-in movie seemed innocent enough. You were confident that Eugene wouldn’t try to make any moves, but you still directed him to park near a minivan of children.

“Want to steal some candy from them?” You asked.

Eugene’s expression shifted as if you’d suggested something morally offensive. “What? From the kids?”

“I was just teasing,” you said. You hadn’t been.

Stan would’ve happily jumped at the offer, distracting the family with one of his wild stories while you snuck a pack of candy. The two of you would then share whatever snack and giggle the rest of the movie over your cleverness.

You felt like throwing up. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Stan?

Abruptly you shoved open the door. “I’ll just go get snacks then.”

“Wait!” Eugene’s voice was muffled, you had already shot out of the car and nearly closed the door. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll pay,” Eugene said.

“It’s fine.”

You needed to get out. Needed to get away. Without waiting for any further questions, you slammed the door shut and stalked off towards the concessions. The night air was uncharacteristically cool, brushing over your flushed skin.

“Okay, calm down, you’re okay. You’re on a date with a nice guy,” you coached yourself.

“You’re on a date?”

You wheeled on your heel. Stan stood a few feet away, brow furrowed. His fur-lined jacket bulged with hidden contraband. “Stan?”

“You’re on a date?” He repeated, the timbre of his voice sinking dangerously low.

“Yes.” You raised your chin.

His jaw feathered. “I haven’t spoken to you in, like, a month. You’ve been dodgin’ my calls and avoidin’ me. What’s goin’ on? Now you’re on a date?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you bit back.

“You don’t?” Stan barked out a scathing laugh. “You just stopped talkin’ to me without any s’planation. What am I supposed to think?”

You stepped into line at concessions. “I don’t know, Stan.”

“Talk to me.” Your name on his tongue was a prayer. “Please. I can’t take this.”

A knot formed in your stomach. You ordered for you and Eugene then brushed past Stan, ignoring his protests. He followed you to Eugene’s car. You wretched open the door, intending to fling yourself inside, but Stan stopped it. He leaned down to peer at your date.

“Eugene? Really? This guy?”

Eugene sputtered. You gritted out, “Stan. Go. Away.”

Stan’s dark gaze bounced from you to Eugene, then back to you. The look on his face was unreadable. “Fine.”

The door shut with a resounding thud. It took all of your strength not to watch him walk away. You tore off the top of a box of M&M’s and shoveled the candies into your mouth.

“Was that Stan Pines? I thought you guys were, like, friends,” Eugene finally said.

“Not anymore.” The candies slid down your throat, suddenly dry and pasty.

“Oh.” Eugene pretended to fiddle with the radio, switching through stations. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mercifully, the movie screen flickered to life and saved you from more awkward conversation. You kept putting handfuls of candy in your mouth to keep from talking or interacting with Eugene at all. Frankly, you just wanted this date to end.

Eugene respected your space, too, which only worsened your conflicting emotions of shame and regret. You wished you could apologize to him but you couldn’t form the words.

You were jerked from your self-loathing when a huge shadow played across the screen, disrupting the movie. Yells of outrage sounded from across the grassy knoll, until the dark shape on the screen split apart. The candy in your stomach threatened to come up. The profile was unmistakably Stan’s, confirming your theory when you twisted around to spot him in front of the projector, entangled with Carla McCorkle.

He grabbed her hand, smirking at the enraged onlookers, and ran off.

Carla? Again?

Eugene examined you. “Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes. Please.”

He took you to get Dairy Queen, then dropped you back off at home. The passing shadows in the window told you that your parents had anxiously been awaiting your arrival. Eugene moved to get out, to open your door again, but you laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m really sorry. About tonight,” you choked out.

Eugene smiled sadly. “It’s okay.”

You kissed his cheek and climbed out of the car, up the stairs to your house. Eugene waited until you were safely inside before pulling away.

School sucked. You were forced to see Stan with any number of girls. In fact, it seemed as if he was going out of his way to flaunt them, the lingering touches and kisses. It burned you inside.

He preferred anyone but you.

Another month passed, each day growing more and more unbearable without your best friend, without Ford, the reliable foundation of your friendship. With the end of school approaching, so was college, the awaiting jaws of a monster threatening to swallow you whole. You couldn’t even tell them that you got accepted into your dream school.

When a hand grabbed your arm, the familiar face following, you were struck with a swell of emotions. But it wasn’t Stan. The body was all wrong, the measured expression never once belonging to him but his brother. Ford’s eyes were pleading. “We need to talk.”

“Stan can’t know about this,” you said after consideration. Ford nodded.

He brought you into a deserted classroom. You lingered near the door, not sure what to say after all of this time.

“Stan is falling apart,” Ford said without preamble. “I don’t know what happened, but neither of you can continue like this.” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. “I can’t.”

You inhaled. It wasn’t fair to drag Ford into this, but it was hard not to. You could never make him side against Stan. “I just…I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

You turned your face from him, ashamed. “I heard him. That night after we brought Stan home from the beach. He said…he said he could never date me.”

Ford’s face shutters closed. “Is that all you heard?”

“I didn’t need to stick around to hear about how abhorrent the thought of dating me is,” you replied, tone bitter.

Ford flipped open his messenger bag and rifled through it, muttering something that sounded a lot like “two idiots” before finding what he needed. He handed you a folded flyer. “Stan is throwing a party here this weekend.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“You should go.”

You glanced at the paper. The address stated a beach not far from your usual haunt, promising alcohol and a good time. Leave it to Stan to make invitations to a party like this, complete with crude renditions of women in bikinis. You clutched the paper. “I’ll think about it.”

Ford was halfway out the door when he stopped. “He really misses you.”

The words resonated with you the rest of the day. Sometime between meeting with Ford and that weekend, you decided you would go. Eugene told you he couldn’t go, he had to study, so you informed your parents you were going out and that was that. They let you without complaint, probably because you had been moping around the house the last two months.

Tonight you donned your best dress, black and sparkling and totally inappropriate for a beach party but when you bought it, at the mall with the twins, Stan hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you. There had been no reason to wear it until now and you secretly hoped he had forgotten about it so you could shock him all over again.

By the time you arrived, sweat had gathered at the base of your neck and dampened your hair. You regretted wearing the dress upon seeing the other girls in their bikinis and hotpants, and made a beeline for the keg to soothe your nerves.

The beer was sticky and warm. You sipped it, wishing that instead of being here with people you didn’t know (or care about) you were with Stan and Ford on lawn chairs. The usual. Instead you gazed out upon the rest of the party and found Ford, trapping someone into listening to his theories most likely, and Stan presiding over a beer pong games.

Almost as if your gaze was a beacon, Stan looked up immediately as you spotted him. A cord of familiarity, of affection, tied you together and you could feel its tug behind your navel.

Stan stormed over to you, kicking up sand in his wake. “What are you doing here?”

“Ford invited me.”

“He did?” Stan searched for his brother, who had conveniently found somewhere else to be. “Why are you here?”

“I got invited, remember?”

“Where’s Eugene? Is he here, too?”

“No.” You didn’t feel like giving him an explanation, didn’t need to. You especially didn’t want to tell Stan that it was because you were still in love with him.

His dark eyes hardened. “Where is he?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Stan’s mouth moved as if he was biting back a retort, debating whether to say it. He raked a hand through his hair. He spit. “It doesn’t.”

You spent the rest of the party drifting from place to place, never lingering long. The bonfire funneled smoke into the air, as inconsistent and tangible as you, a ghost on the outskirts. You’re not sure why you came, why Ford invited, why you were still here. The beer had given you a nice buzz, a certain looseness in your limbs, and you decided that was enough. You started up the sandy dunes, shoes in hand, when you heard the sand behind you being displaced by footsteps.

Stan followed you, silhouetted by the fire in an orange haze. “What do you want?”

“I’m walking you home.”

“No. You’re not.” You marched off.

He trailed behind. You thought that he might get bored or fed up and leave you alone but he persisted. Only once you hit the sidewalk did you furiously spin around. “What do you want?”

“I ain’t lettin’ you walk home by yourself,” he replied.

“I walked here by myself. I’m fine.”

Stan took a few steps toward you. “Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s your party, you shouldn’t leave,” you replied.

“Exactly. My party. I can do what I want.” Stan drew to his full height, shoulders back, reminding you that without his rounded posture he cut an intimidating figure. But it wasn’t intimidation he sought, but protection — protection of you.

Your back molars gritted together. “Fine.”

It actually felt nice, relieving, actually, to walk side by side with him. He maintained a step or two behind you, undoubtedly sensing your anger, but you didn’t correct him. You stayed like that, your strange, wordless dance all the way to your house. When Stan moved as if to follow you inside, what he would’ve done before, you barred him from the door.

“You shouldn’t,” you told him softly.

His brow furrowed and Stan shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The porch awning cast him half in shadows. “What did I do? I know you’re punishin’ me but what I can’t figure out is why.”

“I’m not…I’m not punishing you.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Then what? Is it your new boyfriend?”

“Who, Eugene?” You shook your head. “No, this isn’t because of him. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No.”

“What ‘bout yer date?”

“It was just one time. And it was a mistake,” you admitted.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Stan’s infuriatingly handsome features were set in determination. You wanted to go to him, bury yourself in his chest and let him envelope you. But that same feeling twisted, grew sharp teeth that latched on and refused to let go.

“Why? What do you care?” You fired back. “You’ve been so busy with your tongue down every girl’s throat that I’m surprised you even noticed I wasn’t around.”

Something shifted in Stan, a spark igniting into an inferno. “You’ve been avoidin’ me and ignorin’ my calls, refusin’ to speak to me without telling me why. I don’t get it. If you’re so against me, then why do you care what I do?”

You hissed back, “I don’t. But it’s hard to miss when you’re dry humping your flavor of the week in front of the whole school.”

“How do you think I felt when I saw you with Eugene?”

You paused, his words soaking into your skin. The fist of anger in your stomach loosened at the pain in those words, if only slightly. “I didn’t know you were going to be there, Stan. And I didn’t think it would matter even if you were. You could never date me.”

“What?” Stan’s entire body stiffened.

“You said it yourself,” you said. You were loathed to say the words aloud, which made you cry, which only made you angry to be crying. “You could never date me.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“I heard you,” you said. You explained to him how you had overheard the conversation between him and Ford that night. He listened the entire time, quiet and unmoving.

Stan rubbed a hand over his face. “You didn’t stick around to find out why?”

“Sorry if I didn’t want to hear how repulsive and horrible I was,” you snapped.

“I told Ford that I couldn’t date you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. The last few months have been hell, doll. Going without you every day has been…unbearable.” Stan brushed his knuckles over your cheek, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Please don’t make me go through that again.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Stan. I only did it because I couldn’t stand to be around you if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Same way?” Stan’s mouth morphed into a tired, wistful smile. “I’ve loved you since that first day in class. Since you saw them passin’ that note and instead of bein’ upset you raised your chin.”

You faltered. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you.” Such a simple, genuine statement.

“Stan, I love you too. I’m so sorry —”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you how I feel. I’m an idiot.”

You touched his arm. “No, you’re not. Well, you are, but not because of that. I was scared too. And I hurt you.”

“I’m tough.” Stan lifted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. In his face you saw a whole lifetime of memories, of laughter. “But you gotta promise me not to ignore me again. Messed me up so bad that Ford said he saw me stare at a wall for two days straight without sayin’ a word.”

“You? Not talking?”

“I know.” Stan shuddered. His composure softened a bit, examining you as if seeing you for the first time. “When I told you that you were my girl, I meant it. You’re the only girl for me.”

In way of reply, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pressed your lips to his.

You had kissed before, in middle school, just to get the first one over with. It had been brief and awkward, his front tooth clashing off yours. This kiss maintained the same level of comfort, of familiarity and safety, but charged with a current of passion. He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it again, pulling you into him in a frenzied manner.

Stan’s tongue ran over the seam of your lips, parting them so that he could slip inside, invited by your breath of surprise. You melted into him. Everything about him, this moment, felt right. Perfect. His hands in your hair and roving over the form-fitting dress you had worn for him, sighing and muttering praises on your flushed skin.

You didn’t stop until the porchlight flickered on and the front door ensnared you in its beam. Stan still held you to him, lips bruised, frozen. Your mother took one look at you entangled together on the porch and then sighed in relief.

“Well, finally.”

[sunrisesfromthewest]

Playing Hard To Get Pt 2

Summary: The aftermath of the club left you bruised, agitated and with a little more pocket change. Although you didn't get exempt from completing your report......you're not exactly by yourself when everyone excepts you and Armando leaves to go home.

Warnings: Guns | Rated R Words | N-word used | Suggestive language and actions

Previous Part: Pt 1

Thanks for the Armando pictures @yeahnohoneybye 💓💓

Watching multiple women walk out the back had everyone on their toes as they didn’t see you among them, but hearing one of the dancers say something along the lines of how BP was about to go crazy had Armando alarmed.

Beckoning one of the women over he sees her glance at her friend with a smirk before walking towards him with a sway.

Acting as if he was interested, he lets her dance a bit before questioning her about all the girls coming from the back.

“You see that pretty thang from earlier perform.”

Humming he waits for her next reply, hands practically itching to push her off of him.

“BP likes to get a taste from newcomers but don't worry about that baby we can have our own fun as well."

Before he had time to even react to her words, gunshots go off causing the whole club to erupt in chaos. Pushing the girl away he quickly pulls out his gun from underneath his shirt and head towards the dressing room.

“What the hell was that!” Rafe yells over the still loud music and screams of the once vibrant club patrons.

"Sounds like it came from the back room!" Armando responded.

Shooting a few bodyguards, he hops onto the stage and runs towards the direction that you exited through a few moments earlier.

Gun drawn he walks through the short hallway, senses heightened from the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"You one brave Bitch to think you could just pull a gun on me!" Big Papa shouts, keeping a tight hold on your bruising wrist as he fights against you.

Turning the corner, Armando entered the room just as the suspects manages to backhand and disarm you. Falling back into the wall vanity, you groan at the stinging sensation from the impact.

"Don't you make a fucking move!" Armando ordered, shifting his gaze between you and the suspect.

"OH, I see now your ass five-o!" he growled, keeping your gun trained on you as the other entrance opens to reveal the squad entering with their guns aimed at the man.

"Put the gun down, you don't want to add more to your charges or worse leave out of here in a damn body bag!" Mike insisted, moving forward a few steps.

Reaching out a hand behind your back, you pat the hard surface in search of a weapon to defend yourself.

"Nah y'all pigs done came in and fuck up my joint and you think a nigga leaving here in handcuffs......fuck that shit!" Raged BP as he tightens his grip on the weapon.

"Shit! This nigga finna crash out, we need to do something now!" Marcus yelled keeping his gun on the suspect.

Making eye contact with Armando, you see him widen his eyes and mouth no as you grab your discarded purse.

"I'LL SHOW YOU A FUCKING CRASH OU-" before he could finish you hit his wrist hard with your purse and slam your heels into his groin area.

Dropping the gun, he falls to his knees clutching his private, while cursing you out with a high pitch voice.

Lunging forward you grab your gun and press it against his sweating forehead, "WHO'S THE MOTHERFUCKING BITCH NOW HUH!"

Shifting your agitated eyes up you see all the men staring with a pain-stricken expression.

"Damn Y/N I ain't think you was gonna do all that!" Armando gulped, slipping handcuffs around the groaning suspects wrists.

"What I have to work with what I got and plus he fucked up my weave!" you explained, removing your gun from BPs head to put on your silk robe.

Arriving at the precinct, you sit down in your chair and place your sparkling heeled feet on top of your desk. While setting your small tote in your lap to double check that no money didn’t fall out after using it as a weapon.

"Y/N I can't let you keep that." Rita stated walking over to you to collect the money for evidence.

"Come on Rita, the man messed up my hair and I'll consider this as compensation y'all know my beautician isn't cheap!"

Laughing Kelly steps in,“Hey! Y/N put that work in on that pole, she deserves every penny!"

Muttering thank you; you continue to count your money while smacking Rafe's hand away as he tries to steal a bill and pointing your heeled feet at Dorn's approaching form.

"Aye I'm just coming to collect that twenty you owe me.”

Smacking your lips you remove your feet from the desk and scoot forward to hand him his change, "Y'all bet not start that 'You owe' me mess, at least wait till I get my hair done."

"Only thing I want is you, baby."

Turning your chair in Armandos direction you give him a small glare as you watch him cross his arms while leaning against his desk with a smirk.

"Like I said tell that to your little work girlfriend."

"And Like I told you......I just did."

Moving away from his desk, he walks over to stand in front of your sitting form causing you to peer up at him with raised brows. Placing his hand on your arm rest he cages you in and leans his lips towards your left ear.

"Second warning, princess."

Shifting away from his warm looming figure, you gaze into his brown eyes and briefly peer down at his dangling chain.

"Those warnings don't mean nothing to me." you commented, leaning back some more to catch his reaction.

Blinking down at you Armando traces his eyes down your face, "You’ll learn after you receive your third one." he replied in a low tone, before standing back upright and walking back to his desk.

Shivering from his words , you glanced around to see the team gazing between you and Armando awkwardly.

"I thought we was still at the strip club for a second." Marcus mutters as he and Mike heads to the breakroom.

Right when you turn to your desk to start your report, you feel a bill being snatched from the stack in your hand and seeing a familiar tattooed form dash by had you growling out their name.

"Rafe! You luck my feet hurt to damn much to chase after you!" You shouted, quickly sticking your money into your bag and placing it into your drawer.

As time passes by you continue to fill out the information from tonight's case with tired eyes, everyone had already finished theirs and left......well except for Armando who was currently typing away on his computer.

Yawning you get up to walk towards the breakroom, bare aching feet being soothed by the cold tiles of the precinct floors.

Entering the room, you make a beeline straight towards the coffee machine and after pressing a few buttons you hop onto the counter beside it as the machine works it magic.

Closing your eyes you release a content sigh from the smell of the beverage beginning to waft through the air but while you take in this peaceful moment you failed to notice Armando's approaching figure.

Feeling hands brush against your thighs had you jumping and shooting your eyes open, only to relax a bit when you see Armando standing in front of you.

Running his hands down your exposed shimmering legs, he pushes them apart to stand in between them.

"Why you keep fighting against this?"

"Against what?" you asked stopping the movement of his tan hands, already feeling yourself becoming hot just from his simple touch.

“The possibility of us.” Armando answered, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter while keeping a soft grip on the back of your knees.

"I already told you before I'm not interested."

"You're saying one thing, but your body says another, mami." he remarked, moving his hand under your robe, and playful pulling at your thong strap.

Rolling your eyes, you try to scoot away from his overwhelming figure but his grip on your hips keeps you in place.

"What are yo-"

"Tell me if you want me to stop." he stated, cutting you off while pressing his front against yours.

"Arma-" before you could utter his name, your mouth drops open as he begins to press firm hot kisses down your exposed neck.

Mind becoming scattered you don't know whether to keep him close or push him away.

"Use your words baby.... let me know if you want me to stop." he muttered pressing his warm lips against your soft ones.

Digging your nails into his firm shoulders,he wraps your thick brown legs around his waist causing you to moan into the kiss.

However, the sensation of his hard covered member grinding against your thin thong had you pushing at his firm chest, "W -wait, Armando!"

Freezing his movements he sucks in a deep breath, staring you down hungrily while waiting for you to speak.

The nerves in your belly were going crazy from the way his intense dilated eyes trail down to your partially opened robe.

Looking back up he sees the dazed look on your face making him gently grab your right hand.

"Don't go quiet on me Y/N," he breathed bringing his lips to your bruised wrist.

"Tell me what's on your mind, baby."

Shaking away the lustful thoughts clouding your brain, you use your other manicured hand to move him back.

"You really wanna know what's on my mind?" you smirked, hopping off the counter and turning your attention to the coffee machine.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't." he taunted, rolling his lower half against your ass,resulting in you gripping the counter to prevent yourself from meeting his movements.

Wrapping his arms around your waist,he gives your flushed brown cheek a kiss and reaches a hand down to play with the strap keeping your robe together.

"Just thinking about how you went all day ignoring me and trying to make me jealous but the minute you seen me twirling on that pole you went back to begging." you commented, fixing you and him a cup of much needed coffee.

"Ain’t nobody was begging sweetheart,I was just simply returning the same energy you been giving to me." he growled ,extending his hand to grab the cup you prepared for him while releasing you from his hold.

"Oh yeah and what was that."

"Teasing me as if you want to take this to the next level but then acting like I'm just a 'colleague'. " Armando explained, keeping his eyes on you while taking a sip of the hot beverage.

"Oh, you're so cute to think that's how I tease." you added, heading back to your desk,no longer interested in drinking your coffee.

Following after you amused, he watches you log out your computer and gather your things.

Causing him to turn his attention to his own desk to complete the same motions.

Missing the sight of you sliding a certain piece of clothing down your glittering legs.

"If what you been showing me this whole time wasn’t your form of teasing then I can’t even imagi-”

Before he could finish, a soft material hits the side of his head making him freeze on the spot as his eyes land on your thong.

" See ya on Monday!" you purred, walking fast to the front of the precinct.

Snatching up the discarded thong and stuffing it into his pocket; he grabs his few belongings and quickly chase after your retreating figure with newfound desire.

"Your gonna learn to stop running from things you start, Y/N!"

Author’s Note🎙️:Hope you guys enjoyed I had to dig deep on Pinterest for that visual of Y/N stripper outfit😭 and I got carried away with typing a Mike Lowrey x reader one-shot😁.

Let me know if I should do one more part to this ⬆️.

Tag-list: @poppetbaby02 @livirosa@dyttomori @cibresworld @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theclownmimi @blackgirlmagicforever @3amvaiya @thesizzler @bitchyglittersuit @leahnicole1219 @babywinter @housewifewithnohusband22 @undevidedattentionsblog @delusionalbutterfly @ky44 @thatwassofetch @pandorafrost @yeahnohoneybye

[wroteclassicaly]

Girl. Gator. Plus size girl. Blurb. Go!

Lol. I just love the way you utilize details and I need this mans hands on me in the worst way rn. Lol. MAYBE somewhere where we could get caught😈

Oooooh, you’re speaking right to my soul 😭

~*~

Warnings: Language, smut, Gator acts like his jerky, bitchy, temper tantrum throwing, misogynistic, toxic self. Body positive, plus size reader with large breasts, hidden hookups, spit, some titty play, vaginal fingering, jealous and possessive Gator, slightly mean reader, degrading kink, praise kink mention, filthy talk, mean Gator, dominant reader/dominant Gator, public smut, getting caught, and NSFW.

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Plus Size Female Reader

Wordcount: 2,043

A/N: Really love working on exploring Gator with a bigger girlie, because in the Midwest, his options would’ve been a lot of big women. Sooooo, yeah. ;) Note that this is not some fluffy Gator. Man is gonna be mean and nasty as hell, so be warned (he’s cornered with his feelings and he doesn’t like that shit)!

~*~

He really cannot fucking believe this. You actually have the nerve to show up where you know that he will be, dressed like this, acting as if you didn’t want him to call you the second that you got back into town (Because WHEN the fuck did you get back? And why didn’t you call him?). A calloused trigger finger massaged off leftover condensation, nothing but mere drops of amber liquid left over in his glass. He feels like a snarling, raging beast, a fucking embarrassment.

And you simply tuck your handbag into your armpit, situating the end of a very tight black dress, one that slices into a cutoff at your cleavage, the swells of your goods leaving little to the imagination. Stupid bitch. Those are his tits. Besides, since when do you care about what you wear out when you rarely come to bars or club joints around town, anyways…? Your makeup is dark, like wafts of smoke, shimmering on your lid, lips lined a deep blood red, something else you never do around him, either.

Okay, so he’s not good enough to try all of your tricks on?

He’s got that familiar clench starting in his toes, licking his muscles with electricity, pushing on his ribcage, digging painfully into his internal organs to do something. You wave at a couple of local girls, but you don’t join them at a table, no. You head directly to some punk faced fuck in tight jeans and cowboy boots, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. Gator’s eyes widen so hard that the muscles protest in stroking stings, his fist clenching over his thigh, knuckles white, taunt flesh wrapped shakily around his glass. He lets it go before it shatters.

A date. A fucking, motherfucking date.

You couldn’t call him, didn’t text him (embarrassing how much he refreshed your thread, honestly), but you bitch about secrecy. And this is what he gets for staying sober from the pussy he could be getting? Nah, he’s not gonna be shown up by some slut that should be grateful he gives her attention at all, and definitely not with this fucking pencil dick of a man, whose joke you’re pathetically giggling at. Abandoning his glass, Gator is walking his way on a sticky bar floor, passing your backside to slam his hands on your table and let out a hysterical chuckle.

“Well, bust my balls. What’s so funny over here, huh?”

Gator takes a mental backflip for points as your eyes widen and you look like you’ve dove into the pools of humiliation. Your date, for lack of better word - he’s trying to figure out what’s going on, but Gator doesn’t let him get in a word. Crowding in front of his space, he’s in your airspace now, reaching down to find your date’s drink, lips wrapping at the bottle’s end as he sips and lets out a snort. “Lightweight.”

“Gator…” You warn, reaching out to attempt to grab his wrist. He shrugs you off, shaking his head as he eyes your ensemble, those fucking tits pressed together and spilling over your cleavage’s hem.

“Look at you, honey. All dressed up, not answering your phone. How long you been back for?”

“I’m busy, back the fuck off —“ He’s suddenly very close to you now, nose nearly brushing, actually letting his personal rules slip, your own emotions becoming discombobulated.

You don’t back away, breathing escalating as his hot breath fans along your painted mouth. He’d like to shut that up, keep you full. And you, you cannot keep your eyes off of his tight black shirt, arms bare and tan from the Midwest summer sun — freckles and moles on display. He’s wearing dark jeans, his normal boots, and thigh holster for show. Fuck, he smells good. He knows it too, as he watches your eyes dart across his wet lips.

He simply smirks, reaches down for your drink this time, and brings it to his lips. Straight whiskey. You were here for a purpose, and it’s up to him to redirect it. You watch in wondrous fascination when he drinks down your remaining liquor in a straight shot, his tongue making a show to lick the rim along the glass, before he lets it settle back onto the cheap bar table coaster. He’s taking that air about, every single inch of him away from you before you can blink, one hand rubbing behind his neck, pulling on his chain that’s tucked beneath his collar, knowing the action specifically drives you crazy, the other hand retrieving his vape.

He blows smoke directly above his head, looking between you and Mr. Clueless Cowboy, laughing lightly. He’s pissing you off. “Hope you folks intend to call a car tonight. I’d hate to have to arrest anyone for driving under the influence.”

And he’s gone. Leaving you practically smoking, aching, hurt, and severely pissed. You grab your purse and excuse yourself to the restroom to get your bearings. You should’ve known, however, the second that the door closes behind you — Gator would be too. He doesn’t approach too fast, doesn’t scare you or grab you, he has his own lines not to cross, to respect.

You’re clenching the sink by the time he’s nearly behind you. You’re tired, pent up, but you still manage to speak. “Don’t. I’m getting sick of you and your games.”

“Is that why you didn’t answer me? Think that’s polite —“

You spin around and level your palms to his chest, shoving him back, hard. “You know, I’m the one that should be embarrassed. Your fucking dad, you being his lackey. I should be the one to be afraid to be seen with you, but I’m not.”

Gator perks at the mention of Roy, of his debt towards him just by being born under his namesake. He feels cornered, losing control. “Watch your mouth. I’m not afraid of anything —“

As if you are ignoring his words, you continue. “I want a real man, not some pussy who is afraid to be seen in public with me. You’re a fucking coward, Tillman. You don’t deserve one single inch of me, and I’ve got plenty to go around, baby.”

Now, Gator can lie and say he is further pissed, that he intends to leave and forget you. But your words, how you stand up to him — his cock kicks, slacks becoming less loose. You’ve got the power and you’re more than ready to use it. Leaving your purse in the sink behind you, you stand a few inches from his airspace, your perfume soaking into his senses, making his jaw unhinged with sinful babble. “I bet you’re fuckin’ wet right now.”

You shrug, crossing your arms to purposely accentuate your chest. “Just because I like looking at you, doesn’t mean that I like listening to your mouth run. Pompous, annoying, disgustingly pathetic. And I can’t stand you.”

His brows press together, his pupils blown so far to hell that he’s seething when the words leave his clenched teeth. “One more word, bitch…”

You lick your mouth and smile lowly, tongue practically caressing the words as they drop off. “Fuck. You.”

What happens next is a dizzying array of blurs. The open pipes and exposed beams - clad ceiling passes in your vision as you meet Gator into a chest crushing embrace, pulling when he pushes, the both of you falling onto a stall with your mouths locked. You’re already working your hands into his belt, a grip hard to maintain with how worked up he is. Gator knows just what to do with you, his own hands immediately ripping the fabric of your dress down to expose your perfect breasts. His mouth waters, his hands paused.

He gives you a look, but you’ve already got his hands closing around your tits, encouraging him to squeeze. His knees knock you into the toilet, his mouth smeared with red kisses. His jaw clenches, nose wrinkles, his eyes glazed over as he lets them roam you, palming you, sampling you. You’re his. He needs more, though, his body rampaged, starved for more you.

You can read those thoughts immediately, the same want, a silent communication. “Put your mouth on me.”

He doesn’t waste a second, head tilting, letting you tug it into shambled strands, his lips close over your bud, tongue lapping around your areola, only to give you what you after you start to beg him for teasing. He isn’t phased that you aren’t jerking him, all that he wants right now is get you off, be with you, be around you. He tries to ignore what that realization means, and luckily, you’re rucking your own dress around your waist, his orbs catching a slinky thong as you work it down your curved hips. He briefly stops what he’s doing, groaning in appreciation as your glistening curls are put on display and your beautiful stomach, with stretch marks that his tongue has traced not enough times yet. He’ll have to fix that.

You’re a little quieter after you’re so naked in front of you, despite having been before. He notices this and abandons his focus on your chest to grab you around the waist. His voice is hoarse, exploding into a molten rasp, coated in the warmth of tension, a vulnerability leaving as he pinches your chin to raise your gaze. “You’re too beautiful for him. Too beautiful for me.”

Your reluctance to accept any compliments, especially his, that is automatically clear when you make your statement. “You could’ve gotten plenty pussy with me gone, Gator.”

He’s never felt more like a piece of shit than in this moment, watching as you truly believe that. He inhales sharply, throat tied to it, escaping words evaporating off his tongue’s tip, shared with you. “I missed you,” It’s actually a freeing statement, one that he feels braver saying, continuing. “And I didn’t screw around on you, y’ know.”

You’re looking at him as if you’re made of glass, irises darting back and forth. He can’t decipher his anticipations, but you save him. “I missed you too. But I had to draw a line, Gator…”

“I know.” He’s resolved to it.

He’s ready to back off, praying it’s not too late. You grasp his wrist, lifting it directly beneath your mouth, and he’s sure he blurts a little in his boxers the moment that your spit settles into his palm. He’s cursing, panting, rocking onto his heels as you lead him between your legs, spreading them, separating two of his fingers, taking them into your warm cunt. His hand tightens on your overflowing waist, fingers instinctively beginning to fuck you, enjoying the devious squelch that echoes. You become more handsy as the minutes pass, eagerly seeking out his chain from his collar to hold onto, rocking against his wrist, bouncing yourself on his fingers — taking what you want.

Gator assists by leaning to lick your nipple into his mouth, letting you hold tightly to his hair, suffocated by your moans and the scent of you. Neither of you hear your date enter the bathroom, not until he’s by the stall and speaking. He doesn’t get the hint, maybe he’ll go away? You don’t want to stop and reject the idea of Gator taking his hand away, leaving his hair, and holding onto his wrist tighter. You give zero fucks if he can hear what you’re doing in here, but he probably thinks Gator makes fun of you —

Your insecurities are tangled into a trap the second that Gator kicks the door open with his boot to give your date an eyeful. Publicly. His eyes widen, posture stiffening, you gasping. Gator adds in a third finger and your legs wobble, making you toss your head back and fuck yourself harder, inner thighs a soaking mess, forgetting everything but the pleasure that you deserve. Your ears are ringing static, a creamy wetness all that can be heard beneath your pleading breaths, uncaring what’s going to happen after, needing to get there NOW.

Gator makes his claim, a lazy little smirk quirking in the corners of his stained mouth. “Be safe on the road, bud.”

[sommerregenjuniluft]

something something day of the week snippet

helo tumblr *wrings hands* i've been a little mia recently especially in tag thingies because we've not been doing too hot mentally but alas here i am :p

@grimsneverendingfuneral tagged me (kissing u) in a mouthwatering rosekiller wip snippet and i saw saints' too so i thought i'd just keep the theme going so have some Ant Pile (btw i'm trying to finish this until my birthday so mid february! fingers crossed you get everything of this soon)

Evan hits him upside the head making Barty growl. “Well, bitch boy, maybe. Since it seems you like to do that so fucking much.” 

“Dickface.”

“Bitch boy.”

“You–” and then Barty’s upper lip pulls back and- oh, fuck no.

“Ay! Don’t fucking bite me again, B,” Evan rears his arm back and out of reach, “I swear to– get the fuck off.”

Barty snarls, teeth bared in a too wide smile, cheeks crinkling with stretched dimples. Evan is only mildly obsessed with them whenever they pop out.

That’s probably the reason Barty gets the opportunity to make a swift grab for his wrists and pin them over his head. They scramble against each other, trying to win the upper hand as their legs wriggle, slip, knees knocking, and then Barty is suddenly perched on his chest, straddling his torso and sinking his teeth into the soft underside of Evan’s forearm.

He cries out through clenched teeth, more startled than hurt, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting like a motherfucker as Barty’s jaw stays clamped shut around Evan’s flesh.

There’s a sucked in breath against Evan’s skin, sounding excited, and there must be some kind of blood flow interruption because his head gets a little dizzy then.

It draws a noise out of him, body involuntarily starting to squirm and eventually prompting Barty to let up.

The first thing Evan feels is relief which is promptly inundated. Another noise punching out of him, a pained hiss when the marked skin starts throbbing. 

Barty above him gives a pleased chuckle, then a wet slurping noise, collecting the spit back up into his mouth. 

Another throb, whole-body, and Evan groans.

Barty adjusts on top and leans down again.

Evan’s eyes fly open, frantically wiggling to get away but Barty’s grip is iron and then there’s something warm-wet. Pleasant.

Evan blinks and tips his head back, something lodging in his throat when he watches Barty lap over the teeth indents with his tongue. Warm and careful, a soothing gesture. 

He doesn’t slobber on it, rather alternating between long swipes with the flat of his tongue and little kitten licks. Until Barty makes a small sound and then his lips come down over the marred skin too.

Soft pressure, damp lips coming down randomly over and over again, here and there and over there, too.

A constant, recurring puff of breaths spilled over Evan’s sensitive skin, much too gentle in the face of the firm way Barty’s hand still holds him down by the wrists.

“B,” Evan chokes out when he feels some of the returning blood rushing south too.

His friend grunts, not really in acknowledgement but more in a dismissive let me cook here way and Evan bites down hard on his lower lip. That doesn’t help him suppress the startled moan though when Barty suddenly sucks the pulsing skin into his mouth.

Adam’s apple bobbing and holding the patch of skin in his mouth, cheeks hollowing and takes everything in Evan not to buck his hips when he feels himself twitch in his pants.

Evan’s voice is so husky he barely recognizes it himself when he strangles out, “Barty, you gotta let go.”

The skin pops out of his mouth with a wet smacking noise and Evan feels positively stupid as he watches Barty’s lips come down for one more gentle kiss like he just can’t help himself.

Barty sits back, still kind of looking at Evan like he wants to eat him, hands sliding off his wrists and Evan barely refrains from whimpering.

“Fuck, I hate you. You’re insane,” he pants, feeling where Barty is hard against his stomach, “Why was that hot?”

“Dunno,” Barty responds, eyes still glazed and staring down at Evan with something akin to awe. “Kinda wanna do that to your neck now.”

i have lost any concept of time and as mentioned been not too active so apologies if youve been tagged in one of these fairly recently lol <3 @stagpdf, @static-radio-ao3, @itsjaywalkers, @rottin6, @veryinnovative, @messrsage, @maliceofminds, @lemndrps, @214lilacsky, @regscupid, @xjustakay, @standardlovers and @kaleidoscopexsighs

[gretavangroupie]

Vigilance (Chapter 5)

Word count: 11.7k

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ as always, drinking, language, fluff, angst, smut, violence.

This story is a very special collaboration with my best pal @gretavanmoon. We have been scheming on this one for a while... If you haven't read her stuff, definitely go check it out. If you have, even better! We are taking this one all the way back to the early days, but we will be going into the present, so hold on tight it will be a bumpy ride. Without further ado...

MAY 2018

Pushing through the crowd was a blur, but you never felt more clear of mind. You see Sam approaching them, the crowd stepping to the sides as the two of you barreled through. By this point, a small crowd of people had gathered around them as well, including your dad and the bartender, but they were no match for you and Sam’s speed. 

You watch as Sam jumped between the three of them, acting as a protective barrier. You took the opportunity. You felt white hot rage and an overwhelming need to protect rise up in your chest and your fists clench in a way you’d never felt before. You squeezed your right hand over the slide and prepared your body for pain. You wanted this to fucking hurt. 

Andy had his back to you, so you grabbed his shoulder to spin him around and face you. Time stood still and flew by you at the same time as you reared back and brought your fist to his face as hard as you could. The blow took him by surprise as his face contorted and twisted, and he hunched down to one side. When he came back up swinging, you were able to dodge his fist, which in his drunken state caused him to stumble. You grabbed him again, and continued to lay into his face before he got his head together to defend himself. You felt a hard left hook fall into the side of your jaw, but you felt no pain. 

“You motherfucker!” You screamed as you felt the taste of blood filling your mouth. Your left hand had a grip on his shirt and your fury returned. Your vision went blurry, and you heard people yelling and shuffling around you. The fight had inched its way to the narrow exit hallway, and funneled out most of the people around you. 

“Are you really gonna put your hands on them in public?! Fuck you!” You heard Sam scream as he pulled her and Elle behind him, leaving only you and Andy in the hallway. The two of you were wailing on one another, sharing blows to the face and ribs. You hear her yelling at the two of you to stop, you could tell her voice cracking  like it does when she starts to cry. You knew Sam was holding the two of them back, as awful as it probably was to watch, everyone knew it needed to happen. 

You went blind with adrenaline. You felt like you were outside of your own body, and you were acting on auto-pilot. You found yourself on the floor, fighting to pin Andy down. Sharp stings of pain poked at your hands whenever they touched the floor, and you remember the glasses and bottles flying off the table. Then you remembered she’d hit her head. 

Andy was extremely strong, and in his alcohol-fueled rage, his strength was probably amplified. Thankfully you’d managed to get a good angle on his left eyebrow, which had begun to leak blood into his eye and blind him slightly. 

All of the sudden you found yourself flying toward the wall behind you, hitting your back with a thud that momentarily knocked the breath out of you. Your vision started to fade a little but you tried your best to get back on your feet. You stood again and used all of your body weight to shove him against the opposite wall. He stumbled sideways and tripped over his own feet, falling to the floor. You jumped on him again, the two of you beginning to tire out and tousle on the floor.

 “…put your fucking hands on her again you son of a bitch…I swear to God…” you pushed out through heaves of exhaustion. He looked you in the eyes as you hovered above him, and you saw something in them that you’ve never seen in another human before. Pure, dark, evil rage. His eyes were black and soulless. Then he did something you didn’t expect-  he smiled at you. 

He fucking wanted this to happen. 

He came here looking for this.

How did he know where we were? How did he find her?

You paused and looked at him with confusion. Suddenly you heard a strange sound, and felt wetness splatter across your face. He had spit on you. 

This action ignited something in you that brought the rage tumbling back into your gut. You felt like you wanted to hurt him. Bad. You continued to lay blows to his stupid snickering face.

The next thing you knew you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your torso tightly, ripping you down the hallway. Danny. You struggled against him and tried your best to wriggle free. “Let me fucking go Danny!” you yelled. You quickly found yourself being thrown out the back door of the bar, and then being held against the wall. You used what body strength you had left to push whoever was holding you to calm your flailing limbs. Your eyes were glossed over, your ears had gone deaf, and you had a pounding in the back of your head. You were having a hard time forming sentences, but words were falling out of your mouth without any real thought behind them. 

You felt a strong hand press to your chest and a face come close to yours. 

“Hey hey hey...calm down…it’s me…I’m right here...look at me asshole, hey!” Familiar hands grabbed your face forcing you to stare into the eyes of your twin, instantly bringing you back down to earth. Damn Josh and his ever-present calming effect.

“Chill the fuck out Jake! Hey! It’s over!” You felt yourself take the first breath you’d taken in a while. It hurt to fill your lungs. Your eyes hurt so bad it was hard to blink. You brought your hands to them to wipe away the blood, and you were met with bright blue flashes of lights. 

“FUCK!” you yelled as you bent down into a squat and held your hands behind your head. You paused there for a minute collecting your thoughts. The pain of your fresh injuries was beginning to set in to your bones.

“Where is she? Where did they go?” you asked no one in particular. You sprang back up to stand. “Where’s Sam?”

“The girls are fine, mom has them safe and going back to the house.” Josh answered. 

“Son of a BITCH!” You turned around and smacked your hands hard against the cool brick wall. Sam was suddenly by your side pacing around. 

“Where’s Andy?” You asked him. 

“Bartender and few guys have him around the front of the building.” He sucked his teeth. “I swear to God I’m going to fucking kill him the next time I see him.” Sam said quietly. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes with shaking hands, lit one, and took a long drag before exhaling. You quickly picked it from between his fingers and repeated his action.

“Shit, man.” Sam said as you handed the cigarette back. You both inspected your hands, cut, bloody, bruised and already swelling over the knuckles. Tiny sparkles of glass litter your palms, blood pouring from the cuts. You flexed your fingers, and pain radiated way up into your forearms. Unfortunately, you knew that exact pain all too well. 

Sam’s eyes look down at your mangled hands, before looking back up to you. A look of concern painted across his face.

“It’s fine. I’ll be alright,” you said trying to reassure not only him, but also yourself.. 

Even in your adrenaline rush, you realized you’d never seen Sam like this. You’ve also never felt a madness like this in your life. Your knees buckled and you fell to the ground and leaned against the wall. A flashlight was in your face within seconds. 

“Care to tell me what the hell happened here kid?” the uniformed cop spat.

——

After talking to the police and telling your side of the story, which in all honesty was blurry after the last memory of Andy thrashing around, you were left behind in the parking lot with Josh, Sam, and Danny. The four of you paced around wordlessly for a minute or two, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline.

Finally Josh flung the heavy metal back door open. “Let’s go the fuck home.”

The bar had emptied, understandably enough. You climbed the steps to the stage and began quickly and haphazardly packing up your gear. Taking special care not to dig the glass shards in further. Your guitar still laid on its face with the neck between two of Danny’s drum stands, strap barely hanging off the hi-hat. You cringed at how you treated your most prized possession in that moment. 

“Hey,” you heard Sam quietly from behind you. You turned and found his face sullen. He tilted his head to motion for you to join him behind a curtain. Once you were tucked away, Sam grabbed your hand and turned it face up. He gently plopped a cold metal object into it. You looked down to find your slide, covered in blood and tiny specks of dirt. You glanced up to Sam and found yourself lost for words. 

“Thought you might want to hide that somewhere safe before anyone found it,” he said quietly. His voice was shaky and his eyes had glossed over. You felt yourself wanting nothing more than the embrace of your baby brother. You wrapped your arms around his bony shoulders, and patted his back. His arms slowly mirrored yours. 

“I’m sorry brother...” was all you could manage through the lump in your throat. And you meant it. You suddenly felt a wave of emotions coming over you. Sorrow, regret, empathy...but most of all guilt. This had turned into such a mess. And it was your fault it had gotten this bad. You should have gone with your gut the very first time you noticed Andy acting the way he did. But you didn’t. And you never really told Sam about your suspicions. You should have tried harder to protect her. Now look what's happened. He hurt her. He hurt Elle. 

Sam’s embrace tightened as he let out a quick huff. 

“Don’t be sorry. If anything I should be thanking you.” You pulled away and grabbed his shoulders to look at him head on. You felt your eyebrows come together in a frown. 

“Dude, why would you thank me? I basically stole your girl. And I lied to you about it. For years. I should’ve been up front with you from the get go. And now look where we are. Fuckin disaster.” Sam stood looking at you wordlessly. 

You stepped back and ran your shaking  fingers through your hair, running over the night’s events in your head. You turned around to go back to packing.

“You know, I think she loves you Jake.” Sam mumbled behind you in an almost whisper. That was enough to stop you in your tracks. You turned back to him. He took a deep breath. “I think she always has– Loved you…I know she loved me too, but not like she does you. Not in the same way. I should’ve seen it from a mile away, but I was being too selfish with her and our friendship.” He rubbed his face. “I didn’t want to…risk losing her as a friend if I ever…told her.” He cleared his throat. “You should’ve seen the look on her face while you two were fighting. Like she couldn’t bear to be there another second but didn’t want to leave you. I saw it in her eyes.” 

You couldn’t give him a response. For the second time tonight, it felt like the blood had been drained from your body. You felt lightheaded at the realization of everything that had happened. The residual rage, the flashbacks of Andy so forcefully putting his hands on them, being grateful the cops were essentially looking the other way. So much worse could have happened.

And Sam. Your youngest sibling. The one that for some reason, you’ve always felt like you had to protect the most. And here you were, breaking his heart too. The guilt was enough to shatter you into a million pieces. 

“Thanks for kicking his ass.” Sam laughed and finally broke you from your mental crisis. He lightly punched your shoulder, which caused you to flinch. Here comes the soreness. 

“Yeah that was pretty badass wasn’t it?” you joked. The two of you returned to the stage to finish loading up. It felt stupid to laugh. All you wanted to do was go to her, and so, you would.

You knew Sam’s suspicion was right. You knew she loved you, and you loved her too. One day you’d tell her how much you love her. How in love you were with her. You’d tell her. Soon.  That thought alone was enough to suppress every bad emotion you’d had tonight. 

HER POV

The quiet ride to the Kiszka’s felt like it took years, even though it was only a ten minute drive. You found yourself in the backseat of Karen’s SUV, cuddled up with Elle while the air blew on your tear-soaked faces. You had your arms wrapped around one another, each trying your best to console the other. You felt so sorry, so responsible for everything that had happened tonight. Fucking Andy. What an asshole. 

You found yourself thinking that anything bad that would ever happen to him, he deserved. You laid your pounding head against the window and watched the passing streetlights while Elle rested her head on your shoulder. Neither of you spoke, but only tried to quiet the sobs that were still attacking your chests. 

You’d been warned about dating a man like Andy. You’d seen the late night TV shows about men who would turn on their partners in the blink of an eye. You’d been told the stories of women who had ignored the signs and ended up much worse off than you were right now. 

‘Man’, Such a powerful word for such a sorry person. He wasn’t a man. He was anything but. He was a chameleon. An actor. And he was good at it. He preyed on you until you fell for him. He displayed all the right actions that a good boyfriend should. He was sweet and caring when he wanted to be. He bought you things, he took you out, showed you off, listened to you, was gentle…but then…suddenly he wasn’t. It was like a switch flipped, and all the good things about him did a 180 and he turned into a monster. The drinking. The flirting with other girls. The secret texts. His unwarranted grabs and pulls on your arms that left bruises…The off-putting things he would say around his friends..the times you felt guilt tripped into sleeping with him…

Fuck him. 

Fuck everything he was and is. 

Tonight, he put his hands on you for the last time.  And you hoped to god he was suffering for it. 

Jake. 

Your sweet Jake. He’d gone to bat for you in the most horribly heroic way he knew how. It turned your stomach thinking back on the image of he and Andy throwing punch after punch to each other’s bodies. You’d never been one for physical violence to prove a point, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thankful someone finally put Andy in his place, even if it had to happen like this. 

The car shifting into park jostled you away from your thoughts. The cab lights came on as Karen came around to open your door. 

“Come on girls, let’s get you inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” she mumbled a few other sweet motherly expressions while she ushered the two of you into the house. 

It felt like hours passed as you and Elle sat on the couch, both sullen and blank. Your grip on the once hot mug, firm and unrelenting. Your eyes scanned the wall in front of you, met with photos of the guys who defended you tonight. Guys who should have never had to do that. You are snapped back to the present as the front door opens. Slowly they begin to file into the silent house. First Sam, then Josh, finally Jake. 

Sam immediately goes to Elle, ushering her upstairs and sending you a sorrowful look. You placed your mug on the coffee table as you heard Jake shut the door. Casting your eyes to the floor you watch his boots step into view in front of you. 

He squats down to meet you at eye level, “Come on. Let’s go home.” he whispers, his hand stained with dried blood resting gently on your knee.

Your eyes meet his, and you are horrified by the state of the man in front of you. His face is bloody and swollen, a blood vessel in his eye burst and the skin around it is already turning a deep purple. You swallow back the sob in your throat as your shaky hand reaches for his cheek.

“Jake I’m so sorry.” you can hardly manage through your tears.

His hand reaches up to grab yours, and you feel the sharp pieces of glass deeply embedded in his hands as he grips your hand tightly in his. 

“No. Don’t apologize. This was not your fault.” he demands.

You blink back the tears to refocus your vision on him as he stands up, pulling you with him.

Interlacing his injured fingers with yours you make your way back to the front door, stepping outside with a shaky breath.

The ride back to his house was quiet, his hand never leaving your thigh. Glancing down at it you caught brief glimpses of the swollen knuckles as the light from streetlights would flash into the cabin. Each glance just as painful as watching it happen in real time. 

As you stepped out of the car you made your way to his front door as he grabbed his guitar case from the backseat. You hear a muffled groan leave his chest as he wrapped his hand around the handle.

He is hurting.

As he approaches the front door you see his brow furrowed clearly choking back the pain he is riddled with. He sets the guitar case down with a sigh of relief as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open. Before he can reach for it, you grab his guitar case and bring it inside with you, unable to bear the thought of him being in pain for a second longer.

You sit on the couch, eyes meeting his, silently asking him to join you. He moves slowly across the room before taking a seat next to you. He lets his head flop back onto the back of the couch letting out an exhausted sigh. “I just wanted you to see me play, for real.” he breathes out. His eyes are shut and his breathing is shallow. He is completely spent.

You feel the crack shoot through your heart, so violently it nearly takes your breath away. “Baby I saw you. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I think that's part of the reason I didn’t even see him come in.” you gush, placing your hand on his forearm. You run your fingers down his arm to his hands, cut and bruised and still glittering with glass. 

“Let me clean you up. Please.” you beg.

He lifts his head from the couch and forces his eyes open, nodding his head slowly. You pull him up and lead him to the bathroom where you place him on the closed toilet seat. You open the bathroom drawers furiously grabbing the items you need and placing them on the countertop. The bathroom lighting was dim, desperately in need of a new lightbulb, but you would have to make do. 

You wet the washcloth in the sink before you begin wiping away the dried blood covering his face and hands. He winces in pain as you drag the cloth over his palms as gently as you can.

The guilt is absolutely eating you alive at this point. How could you let this happen? How could you let him do this to himself? For you?

You swallow back the guilt, trying to remain calm as you reach for the tweezers on the counter. You sit on the edge of the bathtub as you hold his hands in yours. Your eyes flick up to meet his, “This isn’t going to feel good…but I will go as fast as I can.” 

His hands are shaking, worse than you have ever seen, the fatigue in his muscles manifesting. “Baby, try to stay still, just breathe.” you say taking his hand and flipping it over. You realize just how bad it is as you look at the multitude of cuts.

“Oh Jake…” you whisper, a tear slipping down your cheek. You swallow harshly as you bring the small metal tweezers to the first glimmer of glass. You grasp it as gently as you can as his face contorts in pain and a hiss leaves his mouth. 

“I know. I know, I’m so sorry Jake. this is all my fault…I...I–” you stammer through tears.

“It’s okay… just…keep going.” he practically begs through his own shaky breath.

Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven shards of glass lie on the countertop, stained red with blood. 

“That’s it. That’s all of it.” you say, eyes flicking up to his. 

He reaches his hand to cup your cheek, “Thank you.” 

You nod into his hand before standing and reaching over to turn the shower handle. The water begins to heat the bathroom as you look at each other. 

You reach for his shirt to pull it over his head, only to be met with the sight of the dark purple bruise forming on his ribs. You gently pass your fingers over the mark as he bashfully looks to the floor. 

You slowly start to unbuckle his belt, pulling it from the loops and hearing the metal clang onto the tile floor. Your eyes flash up to his asking permission as your fingers toy with the button of his jeans. He nods as you push the button through the hole, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down with the jeans. Your eyes never leaving each other, he kicks his jeans to the floor.

You feel his hands ghost underneath the fabric of your shirt running over the bare skin of your stomach before tugging your own shirt over your head.

He continues to remove your clothes until you are both bare before each other in the dim bathroom lighting. Your fingers hook into his as you step into the spray of the shower. He follows behind you and even in the bad lighting you can see the faint pink water washing down the drain as you let the water hit his skin. Being careful to avoid his tender hands you wash the blood, dirt and alcohol off of his skin. Knowing he is too sore to do it himself, you lather the shampoo into his knotted hair, hoping to comfort him. You scratch your nails over his scalp, earning you a hum of approval from his chest. 

His hands circle your waist as you continue to run your fingers through his hair, rinsing the suds away. When you felt like he was sufficiently cleaned up, you tried to step away to give him a moment of space, but as his hands pulled you into him you knew that was the opposite of what he wanted. He pulled you into his arms before resting his head on your shoulder with a breath of relief before placing a gentle kiss on the wet skin of your bare chest. He just needed to be comforted.

You kiss the top of his head, “Let's go to bed.”

That night as you lie there in his bed, in his t-shirt, his swollen and bruised body wrapped around you, you feel safe. Protected. Loved. You wonder how you would ever love another as much as you loved him. If you would ever. You were going to tell him. Soon. 

JAKE POV

You heard her breathing even out, you could feel her body soften under your arms. You were glad she was here, with you like this. You knew you wouldn’t sleep well tonight, the adrenaline still coursing through you, accompanied by the excruciating pain radiating through your body. 

You’ll give it to Andy, he can fight. He landed a few good blows to your face and ribs and you were feeling it with every breath you took. But you didn’t care about that, not in the slightest, no. What was concerning you was the state of your hands. As far as you knew nothing was broken, fractured for sure, but not broken. Letting her pick the glass out of your hands tonight was one of the most painful processes you’ve undergone in a long time. Begging silently for it to be over, you watched as she removed the shards from your palms as you figured out what you were going to do to bring the swelling down in your hand. Reassuring her throughout that you were okay, when you didn’t fully believe it yourself. 

As the shower water ran pink the sting of the soap on your cuts sliced through you, but how could you focus on that when she was standing in front of you, washing you, caring for you in a way no one else ever had. Taking her time to be as gentle as possible, not a care in the world for herself. You know her head had to hurt. You saw how hard she hit that wall tonight. You wont ever forgive yourself for not stepping in sooner. 

Snapping you from your thoughts, you feel her roll towards you, cuddling into your side as a sigh escapes her lips. You force your eyes open to look at her. The scratchy feeling as your eyelid opened felt like sandpaper. You hoped the blood would dissipate from your eye before your meeting this week, though you had bigger issues to worry about, like how you were going to pitch them the new songs with mangled hands. 

A sigh leaves your chest and you let your eyes close again. You pull her into you and promise yourself that you’ll never let another man lay a finger on her. 

–

A light knock on your door causes your eyes to flutter open. You recognize the knock, it’s Josh. There is light coming in through the blinds so you must have finally fallen asleep after all. You groan as the soreness has finally set in, making it near impossible to sit up. As gently as you can you pull yourself up, trying not to disturb her, fast asleep next to you. You force yourself out of the bed, knowing that Josh wouldn’t wake you for no reason.

You quietly open the door and see him in the hallway leaning against the wall looking at his phone.

“You look like shit.” he quips.

“I feel worse.” you reply.

“Is she…” he asks motioning to the door.

“She’s asleep.”  you reply, walking out to the couch. Josh follows you and sits at the opposite end. “What’s up?”

A few seconds pass before he tosses his cell phone over to you, landing on your leg. You pick it up and look at the screen he has pulled up. You see Andy’s mugshot and scoff.

“Good, fucking bastard.” you say tossing it back to Josh.

“Wait, what were the charges?” you ask.

“Aggravated Battery.” he answers.

“But… I didn’t press charges, neither did she. Elle?” you ask.

“No, get this. This dumbass apparently tried to fight someone else when they took him out front. Right in front of the cops. I guess that's why when you told them what happened they believed you.” he says. 

“No shit. This guy is a piece of work.” you chide.

“How did he know where she was?” Josh asks.

“I have no idea, she said she has no clue either.” you reply.

Josh gets a suspicious look on his face, “Does he….track her? Like her phone?” he asks.

Realization washes over you, “I’m not sure…I will find out as soon as she wakes up.”

You force yourself up off of the couch and wince at the pain. Josh stares at you with pity, “You need to go rest… you need to be healed up in like…a week.”

“I know. I'm pretty sure I fractured something in my hand. Its fucking killing me. But I will figure it out. Don’t worry.” you say, trying to convince him.

He nods in your direction knowing he shouldn’t push, and you walk back to the bedroom to find her still asleep in your bed, a sight you would never grow tired of seeing.

As you slide back into the bed next to her you pull her close to you. You breathe in the scent of her and feel the comforting and familiar feeling rush over your body. She stirs beneath your arms, turning to face you as her eyes gently flutter open.

“Did you leave?” she breathes out.

You nuzzle your face into her neck, “I was talking to Josh in the living room.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice a little scratchy still.

You take a deep breath before you answer, “Andy was arrested last night at the bar.” you say nervously.

Her eyes widened, “Oh.”

You turn further onto your side, trying not to put pressure on your hands before you ask, “Baby, did Andy ever… show up places?”

“What? What do you mean?” she asks.

“Did he ever show up at places you were, unannounced? Like… you didn’t tell him you were there but somehow he just knew?” you ask. Her brow furrows and you can see her replaying moments in her mind. 

“Actually… yes…how do you…” she questions.

You soften your face, “Did he track your location?” you ask.

“What do you mean, like track my phone?” she asks nervously.

“Yeah, I think that is how he is finding you.” you reply.

She furiously turns over and grabs her phone off of the nightstand, handing it to you. You take it in your stiff hands and look at her as it prompts for the password.

“Oh, it's 2-0-1-3.” she says.

“2013, huh?” you question, as you type in the code, unlocking the device.

Your eyes flick to hers and you notice the red in her cheeks. “What happened in 2013, love?” you ask.

She pauses for a moment, “You did.” She smiles bashfully.

You feel your heart swell in your chest at her admission, and you turn to place a soft kiss on her cheek feeling the warmth pooling there. 

Turning your attention back to her phone you find the Find My Friends app and open it. You aren’t shocked when you see his contact information come up on the list of people her location is shared with, in fact you are relieved that you can turn it off immediately. You flip the switch to control his access and delete his name from the list. You show her as her eyes fill with tears.

“Oh my god. I feel so stupid!” she cries. “Why didn’t I know that! Why didn’t I check! It really is all my fault, oh my god!” 

“Oh baby, no! It’s not! I swear it isn’t. You couldn’t have known. Shit I didn’t know until Josh asked me.” you say.

You rub your thumbs over her cheeks drying the tears that managed to slip past her eyes. You pull her into your chest to lay on you as you rest your hands on her back. “I swear this isn’t your fault sugar. I promise nothing like this will ever happen again. I will make sure. I’ve got you.” you say adamantly. You feel her start to calm down as she lies on your chest and you want so badly to tell her how you feel, but you know it's the wrong moment. You want it to be perfect. You’ll make sure it is. 

HER POV

A few long days had passed since the incident in the bar and the guys had more or less moved on, but you hadn’t. You couldn’t shake the uncontrollable guilt coursing through your body. After a day spent at the doctor Jake had discovered that he had fractured part of his hand but it would heal quickly with rest and limited movement. He made sure to take care of it, hoping the doctor was right about that, and that there wouldn’t be any lingering effects. 

On Wednesday afternoon your phone buzzed with a text, springing you from your thoughts.

Jake: Do you want to come over tonight? We are doing a movie night.

You: What movie? 

Jake: I don’t know yet, Sam’s choice tonight. 7:00.

You: See you then.

–

As you put your car in park you notice a few cars you recognize and find yourself excited to see everyone after a few days apart. Just as you go to knock on the door it opens and Sam greets you with a hug. You notice the firmness of his muscles as you hug him back and wonder when that happened.

You step inside Jake and Josh’s rental and see everyone sitting in various places with beer and drinks littering the small coffee table. Elle squeals when she sees you and insists you sit next to her and Sam. You take the open seat next to them as Jake stares you down from the chair next to the couch. You shoot him a playful smirk and he nods his head before getting up to get you a drink. What he returns with, you’re not quite sure but the burn blooming in your chest suggests whiskey.

Sam stands up and walks over to the TV and makes a display of announcing his choice for the movie. “Alright! Now that everyone is here, I will tell you the wonderful cinematic masterpiece I have chosen for this evening…” he says, reaching behind him and pulling out the DVD case that reads “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”.

A collective groan rings out from the guys as they realize that they should have known it's what he would pick. You had lost count of how many times you had seen the movie at this point and you laugh because you should have known too. 

He puts the DVD in the player and returns back to the couch next to you and Elle. “Ahh, just a classic. I love this movie.” he says excitedly.

Josh throws back the rest of his drink and turns to Sam, “It’s a film, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he laughs, just as the opening credits begin to roll.

Somewhere around half way through you got up to use the bathroom feeling fuzzy inside from the drinks you’d been given. You wander down the hall to the bathroom, and your mind flashes to the last time you’d been in here and how bleak everything seemed in that moment. You relieve yourself and wash your hands as you stare at yourself in the mirror, freshening up your hair and taking a deep breath before stepping back out into the hallway only to be greeted by a familiar face. 

“Hey beautiful,” Jake says quietly.

“Mmm, hi…” you reply, walking up to him as he leans against the wall. He places his hands on your hips and spins you to change places, pinning you against the wall. 

“How are you feeling? Your cheeks are pink.” he smirks.

“I don't know what you’re serving but it seems to be working. I should probably stop if I’m gonna drive home.” you giggle.

He stands back, eyes locked on yours as he purses his lips, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you ask, head feeling spacey.

“Don’t go tonight. Stay with me.” he asks, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. 

“You want me to?” you ask.

He leans down and places a soft wet kiss on your throat, “I do.” 

You toss your head back as his lips make contact, a sigh leaving your chest. “I might need more convincing.” you whisper playfully.

His hand makes its way under the hem of your shirt and his calloused thumb rubs a circle on the skin of your hip bone. “Come on, let's go finish this movie.” he says, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to the living room.

He sits next to you on the couch, resting his hand on your thigh as his fingers trace patterns into the skin. You sip the rest of the drink he gave you and you try to focus on the movie instead of the way his fingers feel as they roam your legs. Your heart has slowly begun to pick up its pace as his fingers inch closer and closer to the hem of your shorts. 

You turn your head to whisper into his ear, “Jake…”

He turns to face you, his eyes heavy and dark, “Quiet angel.” he whispers back.

You swallow heavily and return your focus back to the movie but all you can hear is the rapid beating of your heart in your ears. Jake is unrelenting in his teasing and you find yourself counting down the minutes until the movie is over. 

As the credits start to roll everyone begins to stretch and yawn as they stand up. Jake removes his hand from your thigh just as Josh turns the lights back on, causing everyone to squint. Sam and Elle detach themselves from each other and stand to start cleaning up. After a few minutes of everyone saying their goodbyes, the house is left with just you Jake, and Josh. 

Jake shoots Josh a look from the kitchen and Josh understands, “Okay, I am… going to bed, see you two in the morning.” he says, turning off the light and walking down the hallway. You hear his bedroom door shut and you see Jake walking towards you from the kitchen. 

As he approaches he laces his hand with yours, the scabs from his cuts still healing, just a grim reminder of the past week. You bring his hand up to your lips pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles. 

“You tired? You want to go to bed?” he asks.

You nod in response and he leads you down the hallway to his bedroom. Once inside he shuts the door and locks it before taking his shirt off and throwing it in the corner. A silver necklace lays against his bare chest, and the light from the lamp shines off of it, drawing your attention to it. Your eyes travel down to his belt buckle and you bite the inside of your cheek as you take in his perfectly tanned stomach. 

He steps over to you and you place your hands on his stomach sliding them around to his back, feeling every inch of skin under your fingertips, committing the feeling to memory.

“Jake?” you whisper against his chest.

“Mhmm?” he groans, pulling you tightly against him.

You turn your head to look at him, his eyes meeting yours, “Take–” you are cut off by his lips connecting with yours. Soft and plush and wanting. Your hands travel up his back and back around to his front before tangling into the waves of his hair. His tongue pushes into your mouth and begins to swirl with yours as your heart pounds out of your chest. 

You break your mouth away from his, “Jake…” you pant. He presses his lips back to yours, effectively silencing you once again, as his hand comes to rest at the back of your neck and he presses kisses to your lips over and over. 

You place your hand gently on his wrist as you step back again, “Jacob…” you say. He stops and looks back at you, his thumb resting on your cheek. He nods. 

“Take me to bed.” you demand.

You see a spark flash behind his eyes at your words and a smile playing on the corners of his lips. His hands slide down your body stopping at the hem of your shirt before slowly lifting it over your body. Your fingers work quickly to unbutton your shorts before kicking them off your legs. Your hands move to his belt buckle unclasping the metal and pulling the leather from the loops of his jeans. He unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the floor at his feet. 

His eyes flash up to his and you see a hint of concern behind them, “Are you sure?” 

“Very.” you answer, a whisper against his lips.

His lips press to yours, but it's a different kind of kiss, it's deep and passionate, not rushed or frantic. The kind with intention behind it. His fingers unclasp your bra, the straps falling to hang loosely at your shoulders before he slides it off, leaving you bare in front of him. He walks you backwards to his bed until your knees hit the edge, sending you tumbling backwards. 

“Get in the middle, love.” he instructs, nodding his head towards the middle of the bed. You push up off the bed and position yourself in the middle of the bed. You watch as he crawls over top of you, bearing his weight on his hands. 

“Jake, your hand…” you say furrowing your brow.

“No. It’s fine. I… I can’t even feel it right now.” he says, flustered. 

“Are you sure?” you ask nervously.

“Very.” he replies with a smirk, mimicking your response from earlier.

You wrap your arm around his neck and pull him down to meet you, kissing his perfect lips to yours. 

After a few minutes he deteaches his lips from yours, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, and stopping as he reaches your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, before releasing it with a kiss. 

You arch your back at the sensation of his lips traveling down your stomach, reaching the top of your panties. He sits back on his knees before hooking his fingers into the fabric and sliding them down your legs. He tosses them off the bed before pressing a kiss right to the top of your mound.

He returns to hover over top of you, looking into your eyes, “You’re so beautiful.” he whispers against your mouth. 

“Jake… please…” you beg as you push his boxers down his hips.

He kicks them the rest of the way off, revealing his hardened length. You reach between you and grasp it in your hand feeling the veins beneath your fingers as you work it up and down, a hiss leaving his mouth.

His eyes flick up to yours, “Baby, I… I don’t want to fuck you.” he breathes out, causing you to recoil. “Wait, no, that came out wrong. I do, trust me, I do I… just… I want to go slow, and be gentle… I want to love you. I want to make love to you.” 

“So love me then…” you say, pulling him down to meet you. He presses a kiss to your neck as he palms his length, dragging it slowly against your wet core. You have waited so long for this moment, never really knowing if it would ever happen.

He locks eyes with you as he presses the tip to your opening, his mouth falling open into a soft ‘O’ shape at the contact. As he pushes inside of you, he goes slow allowing your body to accommodate his generous size, his eyes squeezing shut as he reaches the hilt. A breath releases from his chest as you tighten around him. “Oh my god…” he pants.

Your fingertips dig into the skin of his sides as you attempt to bring him closer, knowing that even fully seated inside of you, he would never be close enough. The feeling of him inside of you is something like you’d never experienced. The delicious fullness inside of you, hitting every spot just perfectly, is something you hadn’t experienced with Andy, and something you never knew was missing. 

His chest heaves heavily over you as he struggles to keep himself together as you clench around him. “Jake…” you breathe out, eyes fixed on him. 

He begins to slowly pull out of you just to the tip as he pushes back in, a groan leaving both of your mouths. You nod your head to him as he does it, indicating that you’re ready and need more of him. With the acknowledgement he begins to roll his hips into your core reaching the spot inside you so desperately needed him to reach. His hair hangs in his face as he looks down to watch the spot where the two of you have finally come together. 

“Fuck…” he breathes out, panting as he continues to slowly grind into you. 

You wrap your legs around his waist to draw him in closer, using one hand to push the hair out of his face and behind his shoulder. Sweat begins to accumulate on his neck as he works himself in and out of you, dragging both of you closer to your release. 

“Faster Jake…” you beg.

His eyes flick up to yours and he begins to snap his hips quicker into yours, hitting your g spot with each thrust. You toss your head back as you feel the tingle in your stomach beginning to grow.

He brushes the hair out of your face before pressing a kiss to your lips, “You are so gorgeous. I have wanted this for so long.” he says, snapping his hips into you.

“I wanted it too Jake. I’ve only ever wanted you…” you reply.

“Fuck you feel so good. Worth every second I waited for you.” he grunts. 

“Jake I’m…” you try to say you’re close but he cuts you off before you can get the words out.

“I know, baby. I can feel you. Let go for me. I want to feel you all around me. Dreamed of it.” he begs.

He leans over and presses his lips to your tattoo, “Mine, forever.” he breathes, delivering the final thrust that would send you orbiting to the same level as the stars you marked your body with. The stars you are fairly sure he hung himself.

As your release overcame your body, his name fell from your lips. In a moment of euphoric pleasure it was his face that stayed ever present in your mind. You had never felt this type of release before. Andy surely never made you feel this way. You found yourself wondering if Jake was the only one who could. The only one supposed to. As you came back to him, his eyes were filled with adoration. You were everything he had ever dreamed of and you knew exactly how he felt. 

“Jake, I…I love you.” you breathed out. 

He dropped his head between his outstretched arms before looking back up to you with a smile on his lips. 

“Y/N, I love you too.” he whispered.

His hips began to move again, delivering long languid strokes inside of you feeling like pure silk against you. “I love you so much… so fucking much. I have always loved you.” he pants.

He glides his hand down your leg, hooking it under your knee and pressing it up into your chest, granting him deeper access. You’re positive you saw his eyes roll back into his head as a groan left his chest. 

“You are…” he said, shaking his head, “...everything.”

As he began to pick up his pace you felt yourself inching nearer to another orgasm, something you weren't used to. You could tell he was getting close to his own release when his breathing began to get shaky and his thrusts slightly more forceful. 

“God I love you Y/N, I will always love you.” he says, delivering the thrust that tipped him over the edge, letting himself flow into you as you clenched around him, your own orgasm rocking through you for the second time. A grunt left his chest with each spurt into you, his beautiful face contorted in pure bliss as sweat ran down his chest. You had never seen him look so good. 

You pulled him down to rest on top of you as you felt him soften inside of you, neither of you wanting to part from each other. 

You placed a gentle kiss on his head as you ran your fingers through his sweaty hair. “Jake, I’ve never… I’ve never finished like that before.” you confess.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Andy never… made me orgasm that way. Like, from… inside. You’re… the only one. It felt so different. So good.” you admit.

“I don’t know what to say…I’m glad that I can make you feel as good as you make me feel. I will do it as long as you let me.” he says, pressing a kiss to your chest. It's quiet for a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I thought about this a lot.” he says, cheek pressed tightly to your chest.

“About what?” you ask.

“When we were gone, touring…at night I would fall asleep wondering what it would feel like after I finally got to… show you how I felt about you.” he said. You could feel his breath on your chest with each word he spoke.

“And how do you feel?” you ask.

“Better than I could have ever imagined, but I think I know why.”

“Mhmm?” you hum.

He turns his head to look at you, “Because… you love me back.” his big brown eyes blinking slowly at the confession.

“Jake…I have always loved you.” you reply. 

“Why did it take us so long to figure it out?” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

“I think we always knew.” you smile back at him. 

He turns his head back to press a kiss to your chest, before getting up and looking through his dresser. He smiles to himself and throws a t-shirt at you with a smirk. He bends over and grabs your underwear, tossing those up to you next. You know you need to use the bathroom, so you pull the shirt over your head and put your panties back on before excusing yourself. 

As you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror you can't help notice the permanent smile on your face. You feel happy, safe but most of all loved. By the only man you have ever loved, and by some alignment of the stars he loves you back. 

JAKE POV

JUNE 2018

“You ready?” Josh asks as he holds the door open to the building. 

“No, but I will put on a good show.” you say, shaking your head. Today will make or break you. Today you will pitch the idea for the new album. But in order to do that you have to play the executives a few of the songs you have been working on. Normally that would be fine, but the searing pain radiating up your arm from the fracture in your hand has proven to make something so simple, excruciating.

Luckily the bruises had faded and the cuts in your hands had healed. From the outside you looked great, no indications of the altercation remained. Only the swelling in your hand and the pain that coursed through your body with even the most simple of finger movements. 

You swallowed harshly as you stepped into the meeting room, guitar case clutched tightly in the fist of your good hand. As you sat down at the table you spent the next hour discussing the concept you had all thought of, deeply outlining the idea and vision for this album and any that could possibly come after it. How they would all tie together to tell a story and how you planned to do it. 

The response was overwhelmingly positive and the smile plastered to Josh’s face almost made you forget about how any minute you would have to play them a few songs. Pushing the thought to the back of your mind you sat and listened to Josh, Sam and Daniel explain everything and you felt proud that you guys had made it this far. Somehow you were able to make your dream their dream too. 

Lost in your thoughts you hear Daniel clear his throat and it snaps you back to the present. Your manager nodded his head to you signaling that it was time to play and you nodded back as you retrieved your guitar from the case on the floor.

Standing up you situate yourself on the stool they placed for you, and position your hands to begin playing. Luckily you and Josh went over everything last night to get the initial feeling of moving your fingers like this again, out of the way.

As you began to play you nodded to Josh that he could follow your cues and began strumming out the intro. Sam watched as the blood drained from your face with each chord. Each note proved to be more painful than the last. As you finished the song you released the breath you were holding in, in an attempt to keep from wincing, hand shaking in pain.

“Awesome guys, got any more?” one of the men at the head of the table called out.

Josh looked over to you, and you swallowed and nodded with a smile. “Flower?” you mouthed to him.

He nodded and turned back to them, explaining the song a bit to give you time to recover. When he turned back to you to start you began to play. The pain that ripped through your hand radiated all the way up to your shoulder, strong enough to make you sick to your stomach. You knew you needed to focus. You blew out a breath and thought back to when you wrote the riff for this song. You thought of her. You thought of the night you played it for her in your bedroom, just a few days after you wrote it. You hadn’t even shown the guys yet. It felt like something special, just between the two of you. You knew it had to be for her.

The song ended and the executives were beyond thrilled. The meeting went perfectly despite your situation and you were thankful that they didn’t notice. But as you made your way out of the lobby and out into the street you let it go, shoving your guitar case into Sam’s hands and finding yourself crumbling into the bench a few steps away. 

You held your wrist in your good hand and looked down at it, thankful that it helped you through that meeting but praying that it would heal. You knew that if it didn’t, this dream was over. “Fuck!” you screamed a tear escaping from your eye. You released your hand to swipe away the traitorous tear.

Josh approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey. You were good. Great even. I don’t think anyone even noticed. We will take it easy for a few weeks, work on lyrics…give it some time. It won't be like this forever. It’s only temporary.” 

His words always calmed you. He had that effect on people, but especially you. You knew he was right. You had just found yourself in a moment of self pity, kicking yourself for the predicament you were in, but knowing you would do it again if you had to. Anything for her. 

“I know. I just… wish it didn't hurt so fucking bad. That’s all. I’m fine.” you say standing up. “Let’s get out of here.” You take your guitar case back from Sam who gives you a soft smile and you head back to the car knowing full well that you aren't telling the full truth about your hand. 

JULY 2018

Much of the summer had been spent with her, days turning into nights, bleeding into the next day until almost every day was spent together in some way. That’s just how it was, and that's how you wanted it. Days felt more full with her in it. You knew she was safe if she was with you. Eventually you both stopped worrying if Andy would show his face. She was healing from that bad relationship with all the love and support you and the guys could offer. You made sure to show her what real love looked like, just as often as you could. 

Really there was no comparison to her. No one who ever came before her even measured up. She was it for you. You knew you would never want for another and you knew she felt the same. You two were practically joined at the hip since the night you told her you loved her, so when the time came to leave her for a few weeks you both dreaded it. 

Josh wanted to make a tradition out of the album writing process. He wanted to rent a cabin somewhere in the woods, bring all of your equipment and write the album. He said that time in nature would help you to detach and bring the album to life, and you were inclined to agree. However the thought of being without her left you feeling out of sorts. She helped you pack your bags, and after a few tears between the two of you, you left her with a kiss and an I love you.

—-

AUGUST 2018

The weeks at the cabin proved to be long and hard, with spotty cell reception and bad weather to boot. You promised to call her every night and damned if you didn’t try. But as the weeks went on the summer storm weather got worse, and the reception dropped off almost completely leaving you to see the dreaded ‘No Service’ icon flash across your screen nightly. 

There were a few nights you wanted to just drive home. Just to see her for a minute. But you knew you couldn’t. You were in the thick of writing, and there is no way Josh would let you leave. Countless unsent texts sat in your drafts, you silently begging them to go through but they never did. 

The album was written and you were proud of it. You couldn’t wait to record it and put it out. It was your best work so far. Your hand however was still slowly recovering. The pain would come at night after use throughout the day. Medicated only with whiskey and tequila. You drank until you could fall asleep, finally numb to the pain. You hoped that one day you would wake up and pain would be gone but each day it came back again. 

On the drive home your heart was racing with anticipation. It had been weeks since you'd seen her, let alone had a full conversation with her. Your heart ached knowing how she must have felt waiting to hear from you. You knew she would understand when you told her the situation. Or at least you hoped she would. You picked at your fingernails the entire drive home, once you got past that conversation you knew you were going to have to tell her about the press tour. You were going overseas to promote the album release and play a couple of shows, followed by a longer stint across the states. You knew she would be at school, that wasn’t the issue. It was the schedule. The months of sparse calls and messages. Long days and even longer nights. You didn’t know how it would work. You were nervous, scared even. You couldn’t lose her again. You refused.

HER POV

It had been weeks since you talked. You knew that it was a possibility when Josh started talking about the cabin he had found. Using words like “secluded” and “isolated” and he was right. That’s exactly how you felt. Choppy phone calls came early in the time Jake was away, which turned into sparse text conversations that usually dropped off after one or two messages. You tried not to take it to heart, I mean, you had gone months without speaking but that was…before. Things were different now.

It was just a regular Tuesday. You had started to slowly pack your things back up to go back to school for the year. Dreading the thought of being away from Jake but you knew you could make it work. He would be close by and you could come see him whenever you wanted. He could even come visit you. As you packed a sweater into the box you heard your phone buzz on your desk. Your heart nearly dropped as you stood quickly to see if it was him.

Jake: My love…are you busy tonight?

You: Are you back?!

Jake: Come over?

Throwing a few things into your bag you grab your keys before sprinting out of your bedroom, calling out to your mom that you'd see her later.

You jump in your car and turn it on, throwing it in reverse as you pull out of the driveway. Your heart is pounding as you make the short drive. When you pull into his driveway you see his car sitting there and your heart swells. He is finally home.

You get out and make your way to the front door knocking twice and almost shaking with anticipation. 

You hear the lock spin and you hold your breath as the door swings open. 

The smile that crosses his face has been sorely missed, “My girl.” he says, opening his arms to you.

You leap through the door into his arms and you are immediately intoxicated by the smell of him, fresh from the shower. Your lips find his and prove just how much you missed him. He pulls you in and shuts the door behind you, releasing his grip on your waist as he smiles at you.

“Hi beautiful, god I missed you.” he says.

“I missed you too, I’m so glad you are home!” you reply.

You see Josh standing in the kitchen busy with some task. “Hey Josh!” you call out to him.

“Hey stranger!” he replies with a cheeky smile. “Can't wait for you to hear this album.”

Jake grabs your hand and pulls you down the hallway, “Come on, I wanna tell you all about it.”

You clasp your hand around his and let him escort you to his bedroom. Once inside you sit yourself on his bed as he begins to unpack his bags. He tells you all about his time in the woods, the album, the shenanigans they got into but most importantly he tells you how much he missed you, how he thought of you every day, and how he tried to call every single night. Your heart flutters when you hear that you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours. 

He continues to talk and you listen intently, just happy to be back in his presence when you notice him favoring his hand. You watch closely for a few more minutes to be sure before you say anything. Surely it should be healed by now? You notice that he isn't using it normally and isn’t moving the fingers on that hand as he usually would. 

“Jake?” you ask.

He turns to face you with a smile, “Yeah?”

Your eyes flick down to his hand, “Why are you holding your hand like that? Is it still messed up?” you ask.

“I’m not. It’s fine.” he answers dismissively.

Your brow furrows and you press further, “No, I’ve been watching you unpack and you definitely aren’t using it like normal.”

“Y/N, it’s fine.” he says a little more firmly.

“You’re lying Jake. Come here and squeeze my hand if it feels fine.” you challenge, knowing full well it wasn’t.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head before walking over to you. He grabs your hand and you watch as he swallows and begins to squeeze your hand. You quickly rip it away when you see the pain written across his face.

“Jake! Stop! Why would you do that? I know your hand is still messed up, you were just supposed to tell the truth, not actually do it!” you yell.

He shakes his head as he tries to return back to his bag but you pull him back. “Hey… talk to me. What’s going on…”

He sits down next to you and sighs, “I don’t know. I thought it would be better by now. It still fucking hurts. I can’t play like I used to. It just locks up. I’m nervous and I don’t want to talk about it because then maybe it isn’t true.” he says. At that moment you can feel your heart breaking.

“Oh god Jake. This would have never happened if…” you stay throwing your head into your hands. “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. Quit saying that!” he says sternly.

“It’s my fault you’re hurting Jake! Plain and simple! You aren’t able to play to your full potential because of me! Because of my choices! Choices that you felt the need to deal with!” you say, raising your voice.

“Fucking stop Y/N!” he says standing up from the bed. He turns to face you, anger painted across his face. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think we need to!” you yell. “You have fucked up your hand for me! Because of me! It’s hurting you so badly that you can hardly play and it’s only fractured. Imagine if you fully broke it Jake? Then what? You couldn’t play at all! If I hadn’t come to that show this would have never happened. I will never forgive myself for this.” 

“You didn’t make me jump off that stage! I jumped off on my own accord to protect you! To defend you from that piece of shit!” he yells. “Yeah my hand got fucked up. Will it ever be the same, I don't know. But I do know that I love you and I would do it a thousand times over if I had to.” he yells.

“Don’t you see what's happened Jake!? Your life has only gotten harder since I came back into it! You’re fighting, hurting yourself, risking your career, all because of me! For me!” you yell at him. 

“God, maybe…none of this is right.” you whisper.

“What?” he questions.

“I said maybe none of this is right! Maybe this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! Look at us Jake. We exist in two different worlds! I’m in school for another three years! You’re out touring trying to make it, shit you already have! It’s only a matter of time… I just… I don't know, it just doesn't seem like we fit. Even after all this time. As badly as we want it, maybe it’s just not right.”

“Don’t fit?! Y/N, what do you mean? You are the only thing that makes any sense to me! I don’t want any of this if I don’t have you to share it with!” he pleads.

“You can’t give up your dream for me, Jake!” you say with a trembling voice, the emotions starting to spill over.

“Fuck the dream! You are the dream! You always have been! I don’t want it without you, Y/N!” he says, tears filling his eyes.

“Jake this is exactly what I mean! You can’t give it up! You have to see this through! You signed a contract!” you say, tears running down your cheeks.

He runs his fingers through his hair as he tries to collect his thoughts, “I know. I…I just… I can’t do this without you.” he begs. “Just… Come with me. Come with us.” 

“Go with you where?!” you question.

“I was going to tell you tonight, but… we are leaving in a few weeks to go overseas to play some shows and we will be gone for a few months.” he says with a defeated sigh.

“Oh.” is all you can manage.

“This is not how I wanted to tell you. I wanted us to make a plan. I wanted you to come with us.” he says.

“Jake, you know I can’t. You know I can’t go with you. I have school… I can’t just abandon everything!” you say.

He rubs his hand over his face, “I know. I know. I just don’t know what else to do.” 

“Jake, our worlds aren’t the same anymore.” you say, tears brimming at your eyes. 

“You’ve been my world for as long as I can remember.” he whispers. 

“Jake…” you plead. “I can’t be the girl who held you back from following your dream and seeing it through. I won't be. I have to let you go. I have to let you do this.” you manage through tears.

“Is that what you really want?! You want to just give up on this? After everything!? Have I not proven time and time again that I would do anything for you?!” he yells.

“You have! That’s the problem! You’re willing to risk everything for me! Something that you have worked for your whole life! I can’t let you do that! I won’t let you hurt yourself again for me!” you yell.

“Don’t do this to me Y/N…” he begs.

“Jake, I'm doing this for you.” you reply.

Suddenly his demeanor changes, you can see his thought process playing out. His eyes that greeted you with love and adoration only minutes ago are now filled with pain and resentment. 

“Fine. If you don’t want this…to fight for this… You can go.” his tone, venomous as he opens the bedroom door to let you out.

Your breath catches in your throat, and just like that the world you had built around Jake came tumbling down. 

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Chapter 6

Taglist: @gretavansara@jordierama@starshine-wagner@gretavanfvckface@gretavanmoon@gvfjess @misshunnybeebee@fretaganvleet@gvfpal@joshkiszkas@ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs@sammysprincess@gvfpal@objectsinspvce @lallisonl @gvfpal@raviolilegs @jaketlover @ascendingtostardust @indigostreakmorgan

[mikaelasgraveyard]

Marine Life in Owari no Seraph

okay listen this is going to be a lot of rambling because im hype up on doing way too much college shit all day but i can't stop thinking about what the ecosystem within the oceans in OnS look like. because okay so in Chapter 43, Narumi brings up that the ocean is fucked up:

That the oceans are acidic AND poisonous with monsters "even worse than horsemen" inside

whcih yoichi follows with:

SO IT'S ACIDIC, POISONOUS, AND BLOOD RED WHICH IS SO . OKAY OKAY WE HAVE A LOT TO WORK WITH.

cause okay so something that is often talked about in ecology studies is the concept of resilience. which britannica kindly defines as "...the ability of an ecosystem to maintain its normal patterns of nutrient cycling and biomass production after being subjected to damage caused by an ecological disturbance." - BASICALLY entire ecosystems have varying levels of this shit. some things are extremely resilient- when external stressors are introduced those fuckers will not die out at all, and will usually dominate future populations even after the habitat has reached a relative state of equilibrium stress events. Some however of course have low as hell resilience and yeah theyre gonnabe the first to die out and REALLY REALLY struggle to come back.

anyways now that we know somewhat of how observed communities are going to react to shit like- fucking acidic poisonous water that has turned blood red - we can start to speculate what the HELLS in there . because i have no fucking faith in Kagami to actually show us whatever the hells in there.

SO MONSTERS YEAH? let's say that these "monsters" that are in the water are actually evolved marine life - since OnS apocalypse happens in 2012 and current timeline is in 2020 we can assume that no Crazy crazy evolution has occurred just yet (short-term evolution is something that Does happen- and incredibly fast in some species cases! because generation to generation survivability can be super fucking extreme and force shit like armor plating esp in some species of fish dependent on turbidity) BUT just little things. especially a likely shift toward red colorations in these bitches. i like to imagine that the monsters were just the super fucking resilient of the bunch and if theyre predatory to Anything that enters the water (HOW DO THEY KNOW ABOUT THE MOSNTERS ANYWAYS IF THE WATER IS ACIDIC AND POISONOUS? WERE THERE EXPEDITIONS?) assuming that boats and things have got the shit beat out of them and those people on voyages dying horribly - we can assume these are big fuckers yeah? or just fucking nuts with acid poison brain enough to harm themselves to fuck up vessels.

I LIKE TO BELIEVE HOWEVER, that oceans are fucking FULL of jellies (jellyfish- trying to be known as just jelly or jellies these days since they aren't actually fish!) . CAUSE OKAY WE KNOW THAT LIKE. in current days where the oceans are CONSTANTLY invaded with stressors like pollutants, various contaminants from agriculture chemical runoff, global warming fucking up salinity and temperature in a lot of areas, and yadda yadaa yadda. and throuhg all of that - jelly populations are BOOMING!! they're literally super fucking resilient motherfuckers cause there's sooooo many of them soooo many types and they can adapt and evolve pretty fucking easy . and just god imagine big ass translucent red jellies with a whole new kind of potency to their stings (JUST WHAT WOULD POISON DO TO NEMATOCYSSTS??>?) that are capable of burning fucking holes through metal. oh my god it would be so cool. or just fucking anything resilient enough or maybe just fucking ANYTHING from super deep underwater that now has an increased survivability in higher water (ONLY due to color, theyre usually adapted to red perceived conditions because red is the last color to be absorbed by the water the deeper you go) and lord have you seen the guys down there? big scary teeth would look like monsters. sorry though my knowledge begins and ends at jellies.

um but i would just really like to know whats out there ... maybe............................... a little

[acknowledge-reigns]

Before I go on my lil rant here I just wanna thank my friend @love-islike-abomb for inspiring me and giving me the courage to call out bigotry all 2024.

Some of y'all are gonna read this and get mega offended. Rule of thumb, if it don't apply let it fly. But if the shoe fits wear it. I'ma need some of y'all in the IWC to start checking your covert racism, inherent biases and the way in which y'all uphold white supremacy, colonizer mindsets, misogyny, ableism, homophobia, transphobia and so on. Dismantle the group think and hive mind type echo chambers of the IWC. Sometimes that shit is so ingrained you don't even realize you're participating in the fuck shit but I challenge you to listen to marginalized communities when we tell you these things so we can all learn, change and grow!

Y'all lowkey upset cause this is the first time two men of color are main eventing wrestlemania. There's no white man in the mix anymore and it terrifies y'all to finally see what it feels like to lack representation.

I'm also gonna preface the next part of my statement by saying I am in no way saying all C*dy or L* fans are racist. I am however asking you to challenge why you think the way you do regarding the situation and why you are this bitter about Roman vs The Rock when your fav gets a main event title match anyway that he's practically guaranteed to actually win. Also ask yourself why you don't want Hogan's record broken. Because the shit he said doesn't effect you?

Watching y'all motherfuckers in shambles bc the white privilege within WWE is slowly slipping the away bit by bit is so funny to me. Like it really destroys some of you that a man of color is at the top of the game and brought his whole family with him. It fucks with y'all that Naomi is back. That Bianca is on the cover of 2k24. That Jade made a fucking statement. The diversity in NXT kills y'all. But what I know what really stings and is unsettling for y'all. Your perfect white blond hair blue eyed patriotic ken doll nor small town redneck rock or their fans were able to bitch their way into hijacking a story that's been building for for years based on a SAMOAN family and based on SAMOAN culture, insert themselves and take over what was never theirs to begin with. It's uncomfortable for y'all bc that's what you're used to seeing. You're used to white people being able to come in and steal culture and shit that isn't theirs after POC spend years building it and and working their ass off and it's a scary threat to your privilege when that's challenged even in something as little as sports entertainment. Bottom line is if you are not apart of the Samoan Dynasty - If your name is not Anoa'i, Fatu, Johnson etc, if you aren't their BLOODLINE then this ain't your story. It's not your business. It's family business. Period. This post will probably be unpopular as fuck but don't shoot the messenger!

[thechurchofsplatterdaysaints]

Everything you need to know about Out for Justice you learn before the title card. Gino Felino & his partner Bobby Lupo (yes, I'm serious) are waiting for a multi-million dollar drug deal to go down w/ the whole department on standby.

The over-Brooklyn-ing is immediate and stings and doesn't let up for the entire run time. Buckle up, baby.

Kelly Jo Minter (every 80s movie) plays a pregnant whore getting a beat-down from her foul-mouthed pimp. Do you think Gino can sit idly by & watch? Hell no! Big Daddy Fuck Pants has to serve up a spoonful of justice so he can continue to peacock around this scuzzy little turd with the appropriate level of dick chub.

“This motherfucker hit me & I'm scared I'm gonna lose my baby!”

Gino quickly dispatches some fists and slams the pimp through the windshield but not before they use the exact same sample of said pimp yelling “Yaaaaah” @ 3:17 & 3:25 respectively. You have to be some kinda next-level nihilist to do that shit. That sample has plagued me for 30 years. Fuck all 13 sound editors & mixers on this thing.

Despite my bitching this really is a great introduction to Gino and his special blend of macho horseshit.

And frankly, once you realize that no one cares and this whole God damned thing is serving Seagal's mammoth ego the only thing you can do is go along for the ride. Lean into the bullshit and enjoy because the man made one really good movie and this is it.

“Gimme an umarked and a shotgun.”

William Forsythe annihilates the gd screen as the crack smoking, meaner-than-piss antagonist who blows Bobby Lupo away for fucking his girlfriend. (Julie Strain, bitch Goddess I love you and miss you) Richie is a fucking death machine running to meet his maker and Forsythe outshines by a mile. (they edited more Forsythe out because Seagal = big baby bitch-tits)

Richie comes heavy. Richie don't play.

“You wanna fuck?”

Gino spends the rest of the movie hunting Richie down to avenge his partner's death and he has to butt heads with the mob on more than one occasion. But of course he's friends w/ the mob too, because everyone wants a piece of Gino's delicious cake. (my eyes cannot roll hard enough) Finook, gabagool, old mother dressed in black, grazie, scusi, et Spiritus Sancti, fughettaboutit.

“Cause he's a chickenshit fuckin pussy asshole.”

Seagal said the bar fight where he smashes everyone's face with a cue ball is his favorite fight scene and you can see why. The place is brimming with beefy thugs oozing criminality: we've got self-titled “Tattoo” representing Attica, master stick fighter “Sticks” (Dan Inosanto, who taught Bruce Lee nunchaku and was one of the 3 people permitted by Lee to teach Jeet Kune Do), boxing bartender to the stars Nick Dimitri (long established stuntman/actor you may recognize as the angry meth trucker from Stone Cold but check him out in Hard Times w/ Bronson mf throws down!) and last but certainly not least is Gianni Russo as made man “Sammy.” (Remember Connie's piece of shit husband in The Godfather who helped set up Sonny to get hit?)

“Anybody know why Richie did Bobby Lupo?”

Gino's bloated sense of self is on full display as always. He's waxing philosophic w/ mob guys about how “You gotta admit, God's got a strange sense of humor” which is exactly the kind of cracker jack bullshit that comes from a lifetime of never once having an original thought. Ugh. I hate that I love this movie.

"I like pain, you know." (*kiss* I love you, Richie)

The casting for this is off the charts. Jerry Orbach as the grizzled Lieutenant who understands comeuppance in a way that only men can, Gina Gershon as Richie's lippy sister, Dominic Chianese as Richie's immigrant daddy, Julianna Margulies in her breakout role as Richie's trapped and unwilling playmate. Loads of great character actors fill this thing out like one of those real nice 'Tits in Tops' pics. Kane Hodder worked with Seagal on 3 films as a stuntman and he's listed as “henchman at party” although I've yet to notice him in all my viewings. And I can't forget to mention my favorite stuntman/actor of all time Carl Ciarfalio who plays Paulie aka Is this a meat cleaver in my hand or are you just happy to see me? (Tony Doggs in Casino + 4000 other things)

Seagal is now a well-established piece of shit but it was always right there in front of us. The scene where he holds court with his wife is fucking painful. He sits high above her, she on the floor at his feet looking up at his big meaty gob as he spins this saccharine tale about some gd neighborhood man being ground down by life and dying of a broken heart.

She looks at him tenderly “It was your father, wasn't it?”

What in the actual fuck? They're married and she never knew his backstory? She let him blow his balls in her, she bore him some dimwitted little dago dipshit and she never even knew what her father in law did for a living? She never understood Gino's private pain? Who are these people? Mama mia!

The version I've been watching most of my life no longer exists if you upgrade to the blu. The movie famously used to showcase some real hack editing but it's been streamlined nicely. They also restored the John Leguizamo scene where Richie steals his drugs and shoots him in an alley.

There's some other business: a puppy named "Courage", 4000 squibs, bouncing boobs, a huge narcoleptic wiseguy, more shitty Italian stereotypes PLUS they hang out in L'Amour so if any of you Type O Negative fans wanna know what Pete was talking about in “Unsuccessfully Coping w/ the Natural Beauty of Infidelity” you've got front row seats.

This movie is 1991. If you lived it, it's fun to go back. If you didn't, take it with a grain of salt and enjoy the ride. It's hard to justify watching any of his "work" these days but he had about 10 minutes before he totally shit the bed. Essential viewing.

@watching-pictures-move & I decided to tackle this shit fest and as always he manages to be the classy one. You can read his thoughts on the movie here We considered ripping Fire Down Below a new asshole but Seagal already has more attention than he deserves. This was a fun experiment but I think if we do this again we might stick to the sleazy, obscure stuff cause that's more our wheelhouse.

[teamdilf]

Hurt & Comfort Dialogue Prompts - 4: "You probably don't want to watch this" please?

CW: injuries, references to dodgy medical treatment on oneself, and a whole lot of cursing.

"You probably don't want to watch this," Avi mumbles as he holds a towel to his left thigh, right next to where, just a few months ago, he removed a piece of shrapnel right in this very kitchen. Avi is going through the first aid drawer, pulls out a suture kit, a role of gauze and tape, and brings them to the table.

"Shit. Forgot the alcohol." Instead of forcing Avi to stand back up on his leg, he grabs a bottle of rubbing alcohol and brings it over to him.

"Meant the medicinal sort but this works too," Avi says and he stares at his boyfriend in horror as he realizes that he's wanting to suture his wound while intoxicated.

While waffling between enabling this and starting an argument about how Avi really needs to take better care of himself, his boyfriend opens the bottle of rubbing alcohol, rips away his torn undersuit and pours the liquid straight onto the wound.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch! Fucking fuck asshole, fuck!"

"Normally people use cotton pads drenched in rubbing alcohol instead of pouring it into an open wound like a waterfall," he says, apparently choosing enablement. He's involved now, which means helping Avi perform surgery on himself.

Or is it surgery if one is just closing a wound and not fishing around inside for shrapnel?

"Hurts like a motherfucker, but you know what's even more fucking annoying? When people are fucking gentle and make the sting linger. It's over now and I get to do this," Avi says as he begins stitching himself up, wincing as he does.

"Normally one uses a local anesthetic..."

"Fresh fuckin' out of it."

Now, he knows that isn't precisely true and wanders out of the kitchen, goes to the master bathroom, opens the drawer and pulls out a tube of ointment with a mild anesthetic in it. This will have the side benefit of lowering the chances of his boyfriend going septic on him. Apparently that has happened before while performing medical procedures on himself.

He walks back into the kitchen watching in mixed horror and admiration as Avi closes his wound as if sewing a pair of pants and not his own flesh, and hands him the ointment. "Please use this."

Avi takes it and makes a show of applying it, though his expression reveals that he's mostly humouring him. He finishes closing his wound, pours another waterfall of rubbing alcohol over it, curses three council species and his dead mother, and bandages it.

The moment Avi stands up, he throws his arms around him and holds him tightly. "What happened?"

All he knows is that Avi went on a mission yesterday and returned today covered in krogan blood and sporting this wound, as well as evidence of half-healed burns tended to by medi-gel.

"Best not to know, biscuit," Avi says softly. "I made it home, so can that be enough of a story?"

A good half the time Avi comes home with some sort of injury - whether it be bruises, burns, bullet wounds or stab wounds. His body is a map of scars revealing a life far harder than his own, and he's afraid that one day his work will take him away from him for good.

That night, as Avi sleeps in their bed next to him, he reads over the email he received from a woman named Jien Garson; one he had initially assumed was a phishing scam, that promises an opportunity in the private sector that would take him "further away than he can ever imagine".

Maybe this is just a scam and he'll wind up having to sort things out with his bank after his credit chit information is stolen. Or, maybe this is the ticket to saving Avi and his combat AI, Marius.

A place where his little family of three can be open about who and what they are.

[ch4p3lofbl00d]

Welcome to Earth, Maria Motionless-Mauro~Vinny Mauro-Part 3 to Depression is Bullshit.

Imagine waking up in the middle of the night, and you feel like you peed yourself, but it's actually your water breaking. You wake up Vinny, and he quickly grabs the hospital bag, and helps you out to his car. When you get to the hospital, you immediately give birth to your daughter, Maria Motionless-Mauro

Y\N Pov

I'm laying down on my bed right now, since I haven't been sleeping much lately do to being pregnant and having contractions. I looked over to the other side of the bed, and saw that Vinny was sleeping peacefully. That bitch. How is he allowed to peacefully sleep and not me? I laughed to myself, but that got interrupted by something wet going down my legs. I put my phone down, and started getting up from the bed. I walked to the bathroom, and quietly close the door; making sure I didn't wake up Vinny. I sighed as I felt wetness all over my pants. Then I realized that it wasn't pee, but it was my fucking water breaking. I sighed, and walked back into my room. Before, I could make it back over to the bed, I bent over in pain. I let out a small whimper, and saw Vinny slightly moving around on the bed. I held my stomach, and started slowly waddling back over to my bed. I breathe in and out, and started walking over to Vinny's side of the bed. I sat down on the floor, catching my breath. After a few seconds, I saw Vinny looking at me, concerned. I looked up at Vinny, and slightly smiled at him. I saw, Vinny get up, and he came and sat down next to me on the floor. I felt his soft arms wrap around me, and pull me closer into his embrace. I smiled, and quietly say

"Vinny, my water broke, and we have to go to the hospital"

I saw panic flash in Vinny's eyes. I giggled, and Vinny quickly helped me get up. I saw him run to our closet, to put on some pants and a shirt, since he didn't have some on. I giggled, but that got interrupted by another shock of pain. I winced, and bent over, holding my stomach. I heard running footsteps, and saw Vinny standing there with no shirt, but with pants on. I winced again, and I saw Vinny's concerned face. I hear Vinny ask

"Baby, it's going to be okay. I promise, just think, we're going to see out little girl in a few hours"

I smiled, and nodded, thinking about seeing my little baby girl. Vinny helped me get up again, and I saw him quickly put on a hoodie. I started waddling, and Vinny grabbed my hand and started walking down the stairs. The hospital bag was already in the car, since I told Vinny to put it in his car a few days ago. Vinny opened the door, and we started walking towards the car door. I sat down, and buckled myself up. Vinny got in his side, and started driving to the hospital. I sighed as I felt another sting of pain. I winced, and I felt Vinny's hand on my stomach. Vinny started driving to the hospital, ad I screamed fucking bloody murder. This fucking hurts. I winced again, and said

"Vinny, why did you have to get me pregnant?!"

I saw Ricky look at me, and say

"I didn't mean to. You're just good in bed"

I glared at him, and winced again. For fuck's sake, when will the motherfucking pain stop. I laid my head back on the seat, and started crying. It hurts too much. I saw Vinny look over at me, and I hear him say

"Baby, it's okay. It might hurt now, but our baby is going to be out to meet us in a few minutes"

I nodded as I saw Vinny pull into the hospital parking lot. Vinny parked, and helped me get out of the car. I leaned over again, in pain; I put a hand on my stomach, and started slowly walking over to Vinny. I sighed, and Vinny started helping me walk to the entrance of the hospital. When we walked inside, Vinny ran over to the nurse, and said

"My girlfriend is in labor, and she's literally about to give birth"

I saw the nurse nod, and say

"What's your girlfriend's name?"

I saw Vinny roll his eyes, and say

"Y\N Motionless, and I'm Vinny Mauro"

I saw the nurse nod, and ran off to get the doctor. I leaned over in pain again, and I saw Vinny's concerned face. I sightly smiled, and I hear Vinny ask

"Baby, are you okay?" I shook my head "no", and said

"she's coming right now"

I saw a flash of panic in Vinny's eyes, and I saw him running down the hall, trying to find the nurse. After a few seconds, the nurse finally came back with the doctor. I looked up, and saw Vinny getting a wheelchair. I sat down, and Vinny started rolling me into the delivery room.

Skip to giving birth

I'm sweating a shit ton. Who knew giving birth, could make you sweat bullets so much. I sighed, and I hear the doctor say

"Okay, Y/N it's time to start pushing"

I nodded, and I felt Vinny grab my hand. I hear Vinny say

"crush my hand, if you need to"

I laughed, and started pushing. Oh my fucking God, this hurts like hell. I looked at Vinny, and I hear him say

"Just a few more pushes, until we get to meet our babygirl"

I nodded, and breathe in and out. I pushed one more time, and that one was the most painful. I laid my head back on the pillows, and felt tears falling down my face. I hear little baby cries; that was my baby. I smiled as I felt more tears fall down my face. I saw Vinny get up, and walk over to the doctor to look at our baby. I smiled, and after a few minutes, I see Vinny walking back over to me with a sleeping baby in his arms. The nurses and doctor had already left the room, giving us privacy to hold and love our baby. Vinny handed her to me, and I started crying even more. She was beautiful. She looked a lot like Vinny; she had the same exact button nose as he did. I smiled, and looked up at Vinny, and saw that he was crying. I smiled, and kissed my baby's head. After a few minutes, I hear Vinny ask

"What should her name be?"

I looked at him, and said

"Maria, Maria Motionless~Mauro"

I saw Vinny smile, and say

"Welcome to earth, Maria Motionless~Mauro"

I smiled, and thought about how much I'm going to love Maria.

I hope you enjoyed reading!🖤✨

[negasonicimagines]

Afraid / Part 14: An Electrifying Rage

Yukio confronts you.

It’s a brand new week. You’re still riding the high of Eloise’s flowers and your father’s approval as you schmear cream cheese on your bagel when you feel eyes on you and start hearing the resentful thoughts emanating from one person in particular. 

What was the point of all that if she was just going to swoop in and take her from me? She’s freaking evil, I swear. 

“I can hear you, y’know,” you inform Yukio. 

“Good!” she says. You turn around to face her and try not to crack up. She’s furious… 

…And it’s more than kind of adorable, her red face clashing with her immaculately-styled pastel purple wig and glittery eyeshadow. 

After a bite of your bagel, you respond: “Alrighty. Do you wanna talk this out now, or are you just wanting to stew?”

“Screw you! You’re such a freaking jerk!” she squeals. 

“Strawberry yogurt?” you offer. It’s her favorite kind, and since you’re closer to the fridge than she is…

“What the hell is your problem?!” 

“I’d say I have a few of those, but most relevant to you… Well, Deadpool took it upon himself to invite Eloise to a task force we’re both a part of after I explained our little situation, which I never would’ve had to do if you hadn’t run your mouth. I thought we had an understanding,” you catch her up to speed before pouting dramatically. 

“And why would he do that for you?! I get that you’re all buddy-buddy now, but you two didn’t even know each other until that day!”

“Oh, is that not common knowledge yet? I suppose the only people here who’ve been told don’t have lips as loose as yours – no pun intended,” you cooly respond, taking another bite of your bagel. This is fun. 

“You wanna talk about loose lips? Ellie told me what you were doing that night! You’re sick!”

“Insulting me is no way to win Eloise back,” you playfully chide her. “She’s become quite fond of me, as you’re already aware.”

“I- Wait, what’s not common knowledge yet?”

You grin, finishing your bagel before responding: 

“He did it because he’s my father, Yukio. And he wants me to be happy.”

Her expression changes from anger to shock. 

“Uh oh. Weren’t expecting that, were you?” you ask as you step closer to her. She steps back, like she’s following your lead in a dance. Oh, this is great. You’re careful not to let your resentment and jealousy get the best of you, though. “What is it, Yukio? You’ve always been intimidated by me, but you look scared. Don’t make me read your mind. I’m in an exceptionally good mood, and we wouldn’t want to spoil that, would we?” 

She strikes you, not just with her hand, but with her powers. 

“Read that, you- You bitch,” she stammers, but her tone is firm. 

“That tickled,” you reply. Really, it stings and burns like a motherfucker, but it was just a little shock, you’ll be fine. You force your brain not to acknowledge the pain, still smiling at her. “Would you like to try again? I don’t mind, if it’d make you feel better. Just don’t be too shocked when it’s my turn.”

She looks even more fearful before she runs away. That’s more like it. 

You feel dizzy. Well, you haven’t had any caffeine yet, so that’s the next thing on the agenda. 

You stumble over to the fridge for a soda, your breathing becoming more irregular with each step. What the fuck?

You clutch the counter to get your bearings, attempting a breathing exercise. The electric shock probably did something to your nervous system. You just need to settle down and you’ll be right as rain. 

“She’s right there. I- I didn’t mean to, I swear!” Yukio exclaims, and you turn. She’s back with reinforcements, and she’s pointing right at you. Why?

“Back so soon? I’m starting to wonder if you just had a crush on me this whole time and just didn’t know how to deal with it,” you tease her. It doesn’t set her off, though. She only looks more alarmed. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Yukio, she’s standing, isn’t she?” someone you finally recognize as one of the infirmary staff suggests. The lights flicker. 

“Is that what this is about? It was a little love tap, I’m fine,” you assure her. “You’re sweet, Yukio. I’m sorry things turned out this way. I was just giving you a hard time.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t you feel it?” she asks, her eyes filling with tears. 

“No? I have-” you take a pause to get a good deep breath. “Control of my own mind just as well… As I do yours.” Another breath. Why do you feel so hot? “I shut out the pain. You gave me a good lick… Still no pun intended.”

“See? She’s standing because the pain is what would’ve made her pass out right away. I only slapped her, but the sparks kept going, look!” She points again for emphasis. 

The two staffers’ eyes widen. 

“Let’s go, Levi,” one of them says. “You need to at least be seen.”

“I feel fine,” you lie. The lights flicker again. “Some needs to change that lightbulb… That, or you need to calm down.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the light,” Yukio says. 

“It’s going in and out like crazy,” you disagree, bewildered. 

“No pun intended?” Yukio offers meekly. 

“Right,” you agree with a weak chuckle. You try to portray it as stronger, but your brain feels like mush.

“I know I’m in no place to ask you for favors, but it’d make me feel a lot better if you got checked out at the infirmary. Can we go together?”

“Yeah, sure. It’ll have to be quick, though, I have a class to teach at 10.”

“For sure, yeah,” Yukio agrees. “Guys?”

You let go of the cool counter, taking a few steps towards the trio before your knees buckle and the world goes completely dark.

You open your eyes to find yourself in the infirmary. 

“How come every time I run into you these days, I end up waking up in a hospital bed?” you ask Yukio, who’s filled to the brim with remorseful thoughts that occasionally slosh out of her jittery mind. 

She laughs awkwardly. 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask. 

“I was just… I was really angry, and I lost control. That shock was a lot worse than you seem to think. Um… They said the scars aren’t permanent. They’ll be there for a month, tops, and any discoloration they leave should fade, too… But you might want to look in the mirror before anyone sees you.”

“Uh, okay,” you reply. How bad could it be? Being knocked out like that would’ve made you let go of any temporary illusions you had, including you blocking out the pain, but it still doesn’t hurt. You start to sit up, and Yukio hisses in a quick breath through her teeth. 

“Not too fast. They gave you painkillers, you might feel a little nauseous.”

“Okay,” you agree, sitting up slower. That explains it. She fishes a compact out of her purse, opening it before passing it to you. You examine the branching scars, a pink vine with leaves branching off. It starts in front of your ear, where her fingertips hit, and curls along your jaw and down your neck. You follow it down with the compact before just looking at your arm and hand. “Holy shit.”

“I know. I- I should go.”

“No, I… I get losing control. We all do, or else we wouldn’t be here, right? For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I just can’t- I couldn’t turn her away. But I’m trying not to get too close, despite Wade and Miss Frost’s scheming, and…”

“The fact that she wants you closer,” Yukio finishes the sentence for you. “I get it. I was being selfish and immature, not just by being angry with you, but… Being with her in the first place.”

“I’d probably do the same in your position,” you assure her. “I get it. Besides, it’s kind of a flattering scar. Maybe I’ll get something similar tattooed one day.”

Yukio breaks down into sobs. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I was trying to make you feel better, not rub it in. I wasn’t kidding, it looks cool!”

“I just- I see why she loved you so much. I’ve always seen it, and I hated you for it when I should’ve just been your friend and loved you, too. Not the same way, of course, but-”

“We can start from here,” you offer, remembering Wade’s words. “No need to make up for the past or anything like that. We can just start… From here.”

“I doubt she’d like that,” Yukio replies, sniffling.

“In that case, all the more reason. It’d be a lot easier to avoid her that way, wouldn’t it?”

“You shouldn’t avoid her, though,” she tearfully insists. “You need to- She should know the truth. Even if you don’t feel comfortable doing anything about it, she should know that the girl she is so envious of for being loved so much is her! She deserves to know that someone did love her so much, that they still do!” 

“Wouldn’t that just inflict more pain on her? If I told her the truth: that I love her, but we can’t be together?” you ask. Yukio knows the current Eloise as well as you do, possibly better in some ways. Her insight is worth listening to. 

“Yeah, but it’d be the kind of pain that’s worth it, not this- It’s better to be hurt because of the truth than because of a lie. Trust me, I know.”

You nod. She makes a really good point, one you hadn’t really considered. 

“I’ll take it into consideration,” you concede. 

“Good, you better.”

“You gonna zap me again if I don’t tell her?” you tease her. She yelps, and you laugh. “Am I free to go now?”

“Oh, shoot, I was supposed to tell them when you woke up. They wanna check on your heart and go over the creams and stuff you can put on the burn to make it feel better. I’ll go let them know,” she chirps before skittering away. 

“Where is she?” you hear Logan ask. Shit, he probably got stuck subbing for you again. You hear his heavy footsteps approach the partition before he steps around it. “Holy fuck,” he swears at the sight of you. “Your pops is gonna be pissed.”

“I’m fine,” you disagree. “He’ll get over it. He and Yukio are friends.”

“Yeah, but you’re his ‘sweet little serpentine princess,’ and that’s a quote. The second Lux saw that I was subbing for you, she texted him and asked what you were up to. He was in a panic. I told him I’d sniff you out, Negasonic’s keeping him contained.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him I was injured?”

“I didn’t know. They just said you weren’t available and that I needed to sub for you again. Apparently I was a big hit last time.”

“You absolutely were, I’ve got a very competitive bunch this year. Thanks for doing that for me again. I’m trying to stay out of trouble, I promise.” Last time, he’d challenged them to make the biggest splash landing they could from the diving board. He even scavenged some dive sticks from the outdoor pool’s pool house, letting them go in pairs to get as many as they could. They loved it. 

“You’re Wade’s kid. You are the trouble,” he remarks. You roll your eyes in response, but you can’t help but smile. 

“I’ll let him know you’re alright.”

“Uh, no, it’s okay. I should be outta here soon. It’s probably best if I speak to him in person.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees. “Want me to stick around?”

“I’m okay. There’s another class at 2 and they probably shouldn’t see me like this, so if you don’t mind…?” you request. He nods in understanding. 

“Glad you’re okay,” he says in lieu of a goodbye, heading out. 

Yukio returns with a nurse, who checks your heartbeat with a stethoscope before nodding affirmatively to herself.

“I’m gonna give you this antibiotic ointment. Vaseline is a good idea, too. Just like any other ailment or injury, make sure you drink plenty of water, eat well, and get rest,” she tells you, passing you a tube of the generic version of Neosporin. 

“Great, thanks. Can I go now?” you ask. 

“Sure, just-” You immediately get up and proceed towards the door as the nurse calls after you: “Take it easy, okay?!”

“You got it!” you reply, making a beeline for Office D to relieve Eloise of her duties. 

“I’m just saying, this is all very suspicious. She would’ve told at least one of us, I mean, what does ‘not available’ even mean?”

“Don’t you think you’d be able to feel it if something were wrong? Paternal instincts or whatever?”

“I do feel like something’s wrong! That is exactly what I’ve been telling you!”

“Hey, you two…” you awkwardly greet them. There’s no point in hiding the scars from Eloise, Wade’ll point them out. You’re not sure how to get ahead of the issue.

“What the fuck is that?” Wade immediately asks, right on schedule. 

“Oh, uh… Picked a fight with someone I shouldn’t have – some people are just too cute when they’re angry. I’m okay now, though. It should go away in less than a month.” 

“Lichtenberg scars,” Eloise breathes. Of course she’d know exactly what they are. She was with Yukio for years, she probably saw her dole them out more than once. Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking kill her. Did she tell Levi anything? She must have, but what? That I’m envious of the girl because of the level of love they shared, or because I’m falling in love with Levi myself? 

“Lichten-huh?” Wade asks. 

“Lichtenberg scars,” Eloise says more firmly, her jaw clenching as she tries to rein in her temper. “It happens when static electricity transmits along the blood vessels that supply the skin. As in, someone struck Levi with lightning and I have a pretty good guess as to who.”

“Yukio did this?” Wade asks. 

“It was my fault. She was mad at me and I made it worse by teasing her. We made up,” you insist. “I think we might even be friends now.”

“You befriended my ex-girlfriend after she struck you with lightning because she’s convinced you’re the reason we broke up?” Eloise asks incredulously.

“Uh… Yeah?”

“Of course you did,” Wade and Eloise say in unison. 

“Jinx! You owe me a soda,” Wade proudly declares. 

“I-”

“I thought the rule was that she couldn’t speak until someone said her full name,” you say. 

“Oh, that’s better. I’m sure she’s ready to release a torrent of curses upon your bloodline, and as a part of your bloodline, I’d rather wait until she calms down before she speaks again.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Eloise grumbles. “I’m done playing games. Are you really okay?”

Her earnest expression brings tears that you won’t let her see to your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m really okay. They gave me some pain meds and some antibiotic ointment,” you assure her. 

“Good. Do you think- Look, I know you don’t have a lot of friends your age, so I get it, but the thing with Yukio is still pretty fresh. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hang out with her too much.”

Does she think I’m cute when I’m angry? I can handle her being friends with Yukio eventually, but… What if she ends up being able to move on, but with her instead of me? Wait… Is Yukio the girl? Levi could be furious with me for leaving her and I’d never know, would I? If she deemed it more advantageous to have me as a friend than an enemy, she’d never tell me. It would make sense for her to hang around me, too, as a way to avoid her.  That’d explain why she befriended her so quickly despite what she did… She had an opportunity to be close to her again and took it immediately, probably because of my encouragement. Fuck, how could I be so stupid?! 

You make sure Eloise doesn’t perceive your words as you speak: “She thinks Yukio might be ‘the girl.’”

“Shut up, no, she doesn’t,” Wade whispers back. You mask that as well before you nod, trying to hold in something – laughter or sobs, you’re not sure. 

“Yeah, sure, we can take it slow,” you agree. 

“Thanks,” Eloise sighs, before her pained expression returns as she eyes the lines going down your neck.

“I’m okay,” you insist. “Besides, it looks totally badass. I think I wanna get something like this tattooed one day, it’s a pretty flattering shape.”

“You like tattoos?” she asks.

“Yeah, I used to want to be a tattoo artist,” you reply.  

“Me, too,” she says. “My parents talked me out of it, though. Why didn’t you go for it?”

“I prefer a steady paycheck,” you lie. 

“Hey, uh, I was told you might be in here. You forgot your jacket,” Yukio says as she carefully steps in, like she’s going to break the floor if her feet land too hard. 

“Oh, thanks,” you say, meeting her and taking the jacket. “Can’t have a tracksuit without the jacket, right?”

“Are they going to kill me?” she whispers. You shake your head. 

“...But I would recommend you make yourself scarce,” you whisper back. 

“Of course. Thanks.”

“Thank you,” you reply before she leaves as swiftly as she appeared. You attempt to slip it on, but it rubs against your arm uncomfortably, so you just toss it over your shoulder. “Guess it’s just tank tops for me for the next little while. At least it’ll be easier to keep track of the healing process, right?”

“Y/N…” Wade trails off, and you turn to him. He’s staring at your arm. 

“It’s fine, okay?”

“I just… I never wanted you to have scars.”

“Most alumni do. The fact that I didn’t before this is a rarity. Tell him, Ellie.”

“It’s true. Stray bullets, stray fireballs, shrapnel… It’s inevitable,” she confirms. “Which begs the question, why would you let her do that to you? You had to know it was coming.”

You feel her gaze on you and you know despite not being able to feel it that Wade’s staring you down as well. 

“Felt like you deserved it, didn’t you?” he asks after a long moment of silence, but it’s not really a question. He knows. You don’t respond, your eyes downcast. “C’mon, let’s go get lunch. You must be starving.” 

“‘Kay,” you agree, letting him take your hand and guide you out of the office. You follow him to the kitchen, where he grabs a frozen pizza out of the freezer and starts preheating the oven. 

“So… How are you, really?” he asks as you take your seat on one of the stools at the island counter.

“Fine,” you insist. “I’m- I’m even thinking about telling her. Yukio said something that really struck a chord with me.”

“Really, is that so?” he wonders, clearly doubtful. 

“It is,” you insist. “She said it’s better to be in pain because of the truth than a lie. I mean, everyone made good points. Eloise herself, being so drawn to me… Laura, thinking we should both get over ourselves; Miss Frost, when she said that it’s still a form of manipulation… Even your old friend Domino said that we would make a cute couple when we ran into her the other day. Most of all, though: you. You’ve proven-” you breath hitches. It’s hard to say. It’s something you’ve always wanted to know but had no way of asking.   

Wade watches you nervously, unsure of how you’re going to finish that sentence.

“I could never know, not before you. If someone could actually love me. I always wondered if it was… Y’know. With everyone I cared about.”

He sighs, coming around the island counter and pulling you to his chest in a tight embrace, like you’ll crumble if he lets you go. 

Truthfully, you just might.

[crosmopolitan]

It has been a frightfully domestic weekend here at Crosby Manor - I have just finished the batch of practise cookies for the work exchange, and now will start sewing blocks together to make my quilt top.

But, because these were a mishmash of recipes and managed to turn out really well, I give you:

Wing & A Prayer Cookies (Double Chocolate Oatmeal - yield: approx. 40 cookies)

Preheat oven to 375° Fahrenheit.

In large bowl, cream together:

2 sticks (1 cup) softened butter

1 cup packed brown sugar (regular or demerara, not golden)

½ cup white sugar

Add & mix well:

3 Tbsp milk

2 tsp vanilla (2 capfuls and then a bit more because the bottle was almost empty anyway)

2 eggs

Add & mix well:

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1/3 cup cocoa powder (I use Fry’s because it’s what my grandmother used and is the best one. I may be biased.)

½ tsp salt (measured in the palm of your hand, so ½ tsp to a tsp, give or take)

1 tsp baking soda

Add & mix well:

2 ½ cups dry rolled oats

2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (like a bag. Technically a bag is just under 2 cups, but I’m not opening more for, like, 18 chips.)

Drop by tablespoonsful onto cookie sheets. Bake in middle of oven for 12 minutes (13 if you want crispy, 10ish if you want soft.)

Take out and cool on pan for 30 seconds to a minute. Put on wire rack to finish cooling. Try not to eat them all at once, but if you do, think of the fibre you’re getting from the oatmeal, and not of the sugar content.

Also I think these would be good with some flaked sea salt sprinkled on them when they’re fresh out of the oven, but I’m not 100% certain on that so take it with a grain of salt. Eeeeehhhhhh *finger guns*

[izurathespookyskeleton]

(A surprising reaction🤍)

~ had this idea and I wanted to try it with some of the characters cuz i loved it so much~ sorry some of it was a bit rushed

Ft: Zoro, Usopp, Sanji <3

S: Reader is usually a calm, gentle and cool tempered person but when their s/o gets hurt they are blinded by rage. Then they start unexpectedly lashing out as their s/o is in disbelief at their words and actions.

Warnings (swearing!/mention of wounds/blood)

~~~~~~~~

Zoro:

You were hiding behind a pillar as a guard came into the room to check on the prisoner which was Zoro. The dumbass got himself caught and was locked up. You watched carefully waiting for him to leave until you noticed he walked into the cell.

“Oi what is it-“ the guard kicked the green haired man hard in the stomach leaving him groaning in pain. Your eyes darkened as you felt your blood boil with anger.

You came out of your hiding spot and slowly walked up behind him with a dark aura surrounding you. The guard felt a sudden chill down his spine before turning around to see your terrifying expression.

“You little bitch.” You gritted through your teeth. Zoro would have normally yelled at you for blowing your cover but he shut himself up quickly seeing the look of rage in your eyes and hearing the words that slipped from your lips.

His eyes widened slightly in disbelief seeing his soft lover looking as scary as a demon before his attacker. He had to say he was very surprised seeing you beat his ass while swearing like a sailor at him.

Hearing words he never heard from you before. A smirk found itself to his face, absolutely loving this side of you already.

“Oi he’s had enough, don’t you think?” He asked, keeping the same smirk painted on his face, pulling you from your rage. With a last sharp kick to the guards stomach you stop and run up to Zoro immediately returning to your soft gentle nature. Making sure he wasn’t hurt too badly.

“Are you alright?” You asked with worry, holding his face with your hand, in return he gave a prideful smile at you.

Usopp:

His favourite thing about you was that you kept your calm in all situations, it helped him a lot when he was on the verge of panic.

Though this case is an exception to your always gentle behaviour, when Usopp was in your arms holding his arm with blood dripping down his muscles. You watched as he hissed in pain from the wound he just received, anger filling up in your veins at the sight.

“Oh those motherfuckers” you growled deeply with a bone chilling energy emerging from you. “Y-y/n?” Usopp stuttered out, not believing what he heard from his usually cool tempered lover.

Your piercing stare landed onto the marine who was responsible for the gun shot wound on the long nosed man. The ship was close enough to see how the man’s expression turned into fear at the sight of you.

You slowly and gently laid Usopp down back against the wall as you walked to the edge of the ship fully ready to beat the ever living shit out of the marine.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard!!” You shouted. Nami noticed the blinding rage in your eyes so she ran to hold you back as you swore bloody murder at the terrified man.

Usopp watched as you struggled with Nami forcing you back, he saw the anger in your eyes and felt utterly shocked. Not wanting to admit seeing you get so enraged for his sake made him feel special.

A blush crept to his cheeks as he completely forgot about the stinging pain in his arm at the sight. “Y-y/n! I’m fine!” The sound of his voice pulled you back to your senses as you turned to look at him again.

“Are you sure??” Your voice softens immediately. His heart pounded in his chest as he smiled at you before nodding.

Sanji:

Sanji grunted, his hand immediately going to the source of the pain on his shoulder. He then hears the beautiful sound of your voice calling out to him, he looks to you to see your expression slowly change as you take in the situation in front of you.

Your hands shakily turn into a first as your eyes follow his attacker. The room became as still as a statue as your anger was seen through your eyes. Your aura held a terrifying look.

“Wanna fucking explain?” You asked the attacker which turned pale seeing the frightening look on your face. He took a step back but was too late to run away when you started lashing out at him.

Sanji was stuck awestruck and had a blush on his face, seeing your usual sweet self turn into a demon before him. His eyes wide with absolute surprise. He stood there watching as he fell hopelessly in love with you all over again before snapping to his senses and running to hold you back.

“Don’t hurt yourself for my sake my dear~” he said gently, looking at you with a heart-warming smile. Your rage disappeared seeing his face and feeling his hands on your shoulders.

“You’re hurt Sanji! We gotta get you to Chopper!” You looked at the dagger sticking out of his clothed shoulder which was completely forgotten about by the blonde man. He was too busy adoring you look so terrifying and having a completely new side of you come out.

“Oh my dear you were absolutely gorgeous fighting for me like that!” He beamed like usual. “Your beauty would be enough to heal me!”

“Oh Sanji” you sighed at your silly lover.

~~~~~~~

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[faggotmox]

my hand actually slipped i was working on a completely different fic when i saw your rb

The King's Safely

Eddie Kingston x Action Andretti

PG for wounds & lanague lol this is sweet soft also I didn't proof read it hehe

The stinging and burning in his face had subsided to a throbbing ache that took over the entire side of his face. Action groaned as more of the medical staff worked to take care of the burns. This was wrestling, he knew that. Action maybe young but he wasn't naive. Beating Jericho would come with heat. Action just didn't think it'd be literal heat.

"How are you feeling, Action?" Doc asked as he finished laying the bandages over Action's face and eye.

"Hurts like a motherfucker, Doc." Action admitted. "With you guys poking around too, fuckin' sucks."

"Yeah. It can't feel great. I can give you something for the pain, but I need to make sure you can get back to your hotel." Doc sat down once the bandage was finally in place. "Do you have anyone that can help you?"

"Nah, Doc. I just got here." Action was glad he had a reason not to look at the doctor.

"I see." Doc said as he started to stand up. Action knew he didn't mean to sound so sad. "Give me a second. I'll get you some pain meds and organize a ride back."

Being left in the quiet room was a bitch and Action didn't want his head spinning after all that. Carefully he was able to get to his backpack so that his phone could be fished out. Both his eyes hurt, even the good one. So he just turned on some music. The headphones he knew were in the back were too much to find.

It didn't take long before the nurse was in to give Action the meds the doc promised. Within minutes he felt relief from the pain and finally relaxed into the bed. Burns fucking sucked, he decided.

"Yo, kid, you gonna need some help back to the hotel, right?" Eddie Kingston walked into the room Action was been set up. "Hey. This is a great song."

"Huh?" Action winced as he frowned.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. Eddie Kingston." Eddie reached down to take Action's hand in a limp handshake.

"I know who you are." Action tried to sit up more, tried to act tougher and more put together.

"Relax. You're a fuckin puddle, Double-A. They got you on some good shit." Eddie sat down next to his bed. "Look, Jericho did that shit to me at the start of this year. Did it to Shota Umino too. Anyways, I know it sucks. I wanna help."

"Help?" Action's head was spinning a little. Not sure what Eddie meant by that.

"Help get you back to your room and into bed, pal. Fuckin' relax." Eddie's booming laugh eased all the tension in the room.

"You sure?" Action frowned and then groaned at the stiff stretch of the painful burn.

"I'm sure. Plus you got good taste in music." Eddie grinned. "I'll go tell Doc, and get ya outta here."

"Thanks, Eddie." Action looked Eddie in the eye.

"Ain't a problem, Double-A." Eddie squeezed his head before leaving the room.

After that everything was just a blur to Action as Eddie got him to the hotel. It was nice that Eddie had been through the same shit because he knew how to help Action shower without getting his burns wet. Helped keep him up right when he cleaned his teeth. If it weren't for the drugs Action would have been embarrassed and mortified at all the aid. Especially when Eddie had to help him piss. Or when Eddie had to dress him.

Instead of anger or embarrassment Action felt safe. It had to be more than just a shared wound or shared enemy. Eddie was going out of his way to be good to him, to help and lean a hand in a way that didn't feel weird or wrong. Action felt young but no younger than he actually was, and Eddie's support felt real.

"All good, kid?" Eddie asked as he laid Action down in the hotel bed. "Your pills and some water are here on the bedside. There's also a trash can in case you get sick, ya know, between the shock and pills..."

"Can you stay?" Action found himself asking even as he was falling asleep.

"You're lucky enough to be booked in a single room." Eddie pointed out but was eyeing the couch.

"Don't give a fuck. Get in the fuckin' bed, Kingston." Action pulled the covers back to show he was done asking and was now telling.

"Fine, fine." Eddie sighed as he kicked off shoes and striped to boxers and a tank top before getting in. "Get some sleep, Action."

"You too, Eddie." Action looked over at the other man and smiled a little. "Thanks."

Before Eddie could refute the thanks Action rolled over to go to sleep. His brain told him to rest while he was safe with Eddie.

hope action is okay after the wizard attacked him :(