#and to stop feeling like i'm being constantly stabbed in the chest

[vriska-serketboard]

i just want to feel normal again

[not-rigel]

Admit Defeat

warnings: smut, facesitting, fingering, bottom! sevika (if you squint), lots of flirting, y'all are in love, sub! sevika (if you squint), yearning, lesbians being lesbians

work count: 4k

You don't remember who made the first move. You don't know what you had done to get Sevika to return your feelings. At some point, the two of you switched from only speaking in work-appropriate conversations to constantly flirting. The switch was far from gradual, a near overnight shift in dynamic. For weeks,  Sevika has been laying the charm on thick and you've been returning the banter. 

Tonight was no different. The two of you inside the near empty Last Drop, chatting over a game of billiards. Billiards isn't yours or Sevika's typical game but watching her bend over the table was too tempting a sight to pass up. 

“I ever tell you about the time I almost bled out?” Sevika says, chalking up her cue. 

“Just one time? That's a little boring, Sevika,” you tease. 

“I'd have to be stabbed to be bleeding, and you know how often that happens.” 

The answer was seldom. Sevika got into plenty of fights, but most ended with her mechanical claws in her opponent's gut. Never the other way around.  

“Go on. Tell me,” you urge. She finishes chalking her cue and sets it down on the edge of the table. Your eyes follow her as she walks around the table, searching for her shot. She studies the eleven ball, considering the difficulty. 

“Eleven, back left pocket,” she calls. She bends down to line up the shot. But instead of taking it, she begins her story. 

“I was at the harbor, the smaller one, on personal business-” 

“You were gambling,” you interrupted, leaning your weight to rest your hip onto the table. You watch Sevika's eyes follow your movement. 

Sevika shakes her head, “It was for personal business. Needed new plating for my arm, one that can withstand higher temperatures. I heard from a trusted source-” 

“At the brothel,” you interrupted again. She still hasn't taken the shot. Still bent over the table, cue lined to hit but her arm hasn't drawn back yet. 

Sevika laughs at your correction, “I heard at the brothel that someone was looking to trade down at the harbor. I went down there with an alright gun. Wanted to be rid of it anyway. I get there looking for the guy and I find he's got four other people with him, fucking bruisers by the looks of it.” 

Sevika takes a break in her story to finally take her shot, the eleven ball gliding across the felt and into the pocket she called prior. She stands, walking over to where you're leaning against the table. She smirks as she draws closer to you, stopping just close enough for you to feel her body heat. You look up at her, gaze dropping to her lips for a moment before moving back up to her eyes. 

“It's your turn again,” you tell her. You tilt your head toward the table, not breaking eye contact. 

“You're standing in front of my shot.” 

“My bad,” you playfully shrug, taking a large enough step back. Sevika immediately fills the space, stepping even closer to you than she was before. Another centimeter and your chests would be touching. 

Up this close, you'd have to crane your neck to make eye contact. But since you can't find it in you to look away from her lips, you don't have to look as far up.  Her tongue creeps from her parted lips and wets her bottom lip, surely to tease you. 

“As I was saying,” Sevika continues, aware you're watching each word, “I don't pay attention to the other guys, figured if I didn't treat them like a threat they weren't gonna fuck with me. And it worked for the most part. I get through the trade with my guy, no issues. I'm thinking it's over so I shake his hand, close the deal and wait for him and his goons to leave, cause I'm not gonna turn my back on them.” 

You nod, trying to follow along with her story but your attention is divided between how her lips quirk up into a smirk every other sentence. You loved this side of Sevika, the side that can't stop talking. The side that loves sharing her time with other people. The side that is heartfelt and open. 

“You still listening?” She says, pulling your thoughts away from her mouth and secret softness.

“Just skip to the good part,” you huff. You're not impatient and you could listen, and watch, her talk for hours. But the attraction between the two of you was a few degrees warmer tonight. You can't afford to overheat, especially since you work together. 

“Right. The good part. They think I'm looking for a fight so they jump me. I handled them fine enough, taking a few punches. Was focused on keeping them off of me. One of ‘em came charging at me with a knife, no fucking clue where he got it from, and aims right at my ribs. I wasn't really thinking, I just pushed his arm down. Fucking slashed my thigh open,” she continued. She bent over the table again and this time you could see her back muscles ripple underneath her shirt. 

You shift your hips slightly, so they brush against her side. 

“Can I see?” You ask. 

She stood up without taking her shot, taking a step to trap you between herself and the table, “I'd have to take off my pants.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

She chuckles, “Thought you'd let me kiss you before trying to get me undressed.” 

This was the moment one of you would usually chicken out, coughing up a practiced excuse. But tonight was different. Seizing a confidence you've never held in your life before, you close the little distance there is between you. 

“Kiss me, then take your pants off.”

“Thank fuck,” she sighs. 

She reaches her right hand out, cupping your cheek and guides you to her mouth. There is a moment of hesitation from her, when your lips are a hair away. A chance for you to withdraw. But you won't take it. You push up on your tiptoes, smashing your lips into hers. 

Sevika hasn't felt genuine attraction like this in years. Her body feels like it moves on its own accord. Doing the opposite of what she usually does in situations like these. Fingers tracing over skin instead gripping. Tongue feeling the softness of your lips instead of claiming. Heart beating wildly out of her chest instead of being steady. 

Her chemtech arm holds you by your waist. Between her hips pressing into yours, the table behind you and her arm holding you up, you still feel like you'll melt right to the floor. 

Needing more purchase, you wrap your arms around her neck. Her hair tickles your fingertips and you need to feel more of the soft strands. When you tangle your fingers into her hair she shudders, her knees go weak and weight shifts to rest on you.

You take the time to kiss down her neck, feeling her breaths catch in her throat. Feeling her skin vibrate with her moans. When your lips press onto her pulse point you can feel her erratic heartbeat. It almost overwhelms you, how much she softens for you. 

You're surprised when she guides your hands from her hair down to her breast. Without any hesitation, you fondle her breasts, thumbs rubbing over where you know her nipples are. She's letting out moans above you, the sounds deep and throaty. 

She gasps out a ‘wait’ and you pull your hands and face away.  After she catches her breath she asks if you want to go back to her place.

She's staring deep into your eyes and you regret having looked at her mouth so much tonight. She has the prettiest eyes you've even seen, the most enchanting shade of gray you've ever seen. Like a thundercloud full of heavy rain, her eyes always held back a rough storm. Usually she's unreadable, but right now you know exactly what she wants. 

“Mine is probably closer,” you offer. 

At that Sevika nods, muttering out a soft “Take me.” 

You grab her hand and lead her out the Last Drop and in the direction of your apartment. It's far closer than Sevika's, hardly a five minute walk. Three minutes if you were really in a rush. You make it home in two and a half. 

It's a simple studio apartment, small but well within your needs. 

Once you step inside, she grabs you from underneath your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around her torso. Your hands find their way into her hair, fingers dancing on her scalp. You needed her weak for you, and she was falling apart at the seams the more you touched her. She carries you over to the bed, hiding in the corner of your apartment. She sits down on your bed with you sitting on her lap.

Her hands grab at your shirt, shoving the offending fabric over your breasts until you break the kiss to pull your top over your head. You return to the kiss the moment your shirt is discarded behind you, pushing Sevika down into the mattress. She gasps into your mouth as her back thuds against the bed. 

Her hands are flat against your lower back, inching downwards to slip her fingertips beneath the band of your pants. Sevika guides your hips to grind over hers. You rut your hips into her, no rhythm or pace set. 

"You've got such a pretty face," you tell her. "You wouldn't want me to sit on it, would you?" It's something you've been waiting to experience, waiting for the right person. If there was anyone you wanted it with, without hesitation, it's Sevika. 

"I've been waiting for you to say that for so fucking long," Sevika laughs. You laugh with her, finding humor is how long you've spent dancing around each other. 

You roll off of her lap onto your back to shimmy off your pants and underwear. Within seconds, Sevika is sitting up to help you out of your clothes. You lift your hips and she pulls your pants and underwear down on one try. 

Seeing you near fully naked, Sevika admires your body. Every curve is in its perfect place. Every scar is like fine details painted into your skin. Each blemish makes you more and more of a masterpiece. She always thought you were breathtaking but the word felt much more literal now. Breathing was wasted energy, anything other than pouring her full attention into admiring you was useless to her. 

“Sevika… you're staring,” you said under your breath. 

“I- I'm going to die tonight,” she sighs, leaning down to press kisses to your shoulder. She kisses your shoulder until she's grounded herself, no longer lost in passion boiling over in her head. 

“I need you on my face. Now,” she says against your shoulder. 

“Patience.” 

“Fuck that. I need you. I can't wait anymore.” 

She grabs your hips, flipping you over to straddle her waist. She unclasps your bra, pulling the straps off your shoulders. 

“You're still dressed,” you gasped, trying to find an excuse to slow her down. 

“We'll get to that later. Sit on my fucking face.” She grabs at your hips trying to pull you up and shimmy herself down. You admit defeat when she pouts. 

You crawl up her body and place one knee to the left side of her head before swinging the other over her head. You don't sit down on her face yet, shifting your hips back to hover over her shoulders. 

“Fuck, please sit on my face. I can't wait.” her hands grab your thighs, metal and flesh fingers alike digging into you.  

You're ready to give yourself to her, but you're stopped by the look in her eyes. This time she's the one to take your breath away. 

You reach down and stroke her cheek, “You're so pretty.” 

Her hands loosen their grip on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin.

“You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful,” she whispered. The moment was so fragile but nothing could break how she felt for you. 

You feel the need to say something in return but the only words that come to mind are about how you're falling for her. And you can't give yourself away just yet. So you shift your hips over her face. Before you take your seat, you notice that you've forgotten a step in your haste. 

“Wait, we need a safe signal.”

“Like I'd fucking tap out,” she rasps, frustrated that you're so close but just out of reach. 

“Still, we need one.” 

“Fine. I'll tap you twice if I need you off. That work?” 

“That works,” you nod, shifting your hips to position right over her mouth. 

“Oh fuck, thank you.” She sighs before you lower your cunt onto her mouth. 

She starts with kisses to your folds, breathing in your scent while she can still breathe. Her lips press kisses everywhere she can reach, mostly over your labia. Her nose nudges right beneath your clit and you drag your hips back to get her right where you need her. Nose now bumping against your clit, your thighs clench from the added simulation. 

You can feel the tension, built up on months of pent up emotions, dissolving with each pass of her tongue. The tension melts down, collecting inside of you and waiting to be released. Her kisses become open-mouthed as your arousal coats her lips. You jerk your hips, moving your clit over her mouth. She licks around the bud, feeling it twitch and beg to be touched. 

Looking down, you can see her eyes are closed, eyes rolled back behind her lips. Her tongue swipes over your clit and you nearly throw your head back to moan, but you can't tear your eyes away from her. She looks too beautiful beneath you. It makes you feel like you're doing more than taking your own pleasure. It makes you feel like you're not on top, you're on your throne. Your insides clench again as she flicks her tongue over your clit. 

Sevika's hips squirm, trying to find some friction to calm the tension inside of her. Everything about you fuels how much she burns for you. She felt warm whenever you were around but with you filling her senses in this moment, she was close to combustion. She could distantly feel a liquid heat drip from her cunt. With each slow drip that leaked from her, her core coiled with excitement. 

Channeling her yearning into eating you out, she works her tongue over your clit. When you start to shift your hips again, she flattens her tongue letting you move wherever you please. 

You grab her by the hair, grinding onto her tongue to chase your orgasm. It's an orgasm you've been chasing everytime you've masterbated thinking about her. A fantasy that has been just out of reach, and even now it mocks you by running away. 

“Sev, I'm so close,” you choked out. 

You ride her tongue, desperation drowning out the aching in your muscles. Your thrusts are messy, but her tongue finds you each time. No matter where you move, Sevika is there. 

Your orgasm is done with being chased. It meets you, just the way you always imagined it would. It breaks the laws of physics, making gravity cease to exist. Your entire body is weightless as you gasp and choke out Sevika's name. Your grip on her hair is the only thing tying you to this world. 

When the world finally rights itself, gravity working as it should, you lift your weight off of her. Her hands pull your hips forward, setting your dripping hole over her mouth. There's so much more of you to be had and Sevika wasn't ready for the moment to end. 

She laps at your opening, groaning with every bit of cum she licks away. Your taste is even sweeter now, or maybe it was psychological. Sevika wouldn't put it past her to think you taste better after coming. You did things to her that she couldn't explain. 

She is pulled from her thoughts when you jerk your hips away and she detaches her lips. You swing a leg over her head and dismount inelegantly.

“Thank you,” she gasps after she catches her breath. When she no longer needs to gasp for air she takes a deep inhale through her nose, catching your lingering scent that coats her face. 

She doesn't have enough time to react before you straddle her hips and push at her top. You're surprised by your surge of energy but you'd be damned if you didn't return the favor. 

“Sev… Fucking strip for me,” you purr. 

She moans your name, hands reaching up to hold your face and bring you down for a kiss. You dodge the kiss, needing her naked for you. 

“Sevika, I want you. Please… you're too beautiful for me not to see.”  

That makes her heart skip a beat. Sevika doesn't accept compliments but you said that word like it's the truth. So she believed you. 

“Okay,” she nodded, her turn to admit defeat tonight. 

You lift off her lap, moving to unbutton her pants. She lifts her hips and you pull down the waist band. Her pants take more force than you expected to pull over her ass but after a couple tries, they slide all the way down to her knees. She begins to kick her pants down to her ankles then toes them off. 

“The scar is pretty obvious,” she says. You're confused for a moment then you remember why the two of you are in your bed in the first place. On her left thigh is a gash, a centimeter thick and 7 centimeters long. It was a deep cut, evident by how raised and pale the scar is. 

“Shit, that's really fucking bad. How'd you survive?” 

“Took two extra doses of shimmer. You'd be surprised by how life saving that shit can be.”

“Huh,” you shrug. She shifts her hips beneath you and you're back in the moment, forgetting her near death experience. Fuck the reason you finally got her into bed, you have her now and nothing else matters.

You are about to tug at her boxers when her chem tech arm reaches down and tears them apart with two tugs. You snort at her impatience. The amusement is soon gone when you see her cunt. Your imagination has failed you, she's prettier than any fantasy you've had. A trail of opaque, white cum leaking from her. 

“You fucking came?” you asked. 

“I can't control myself with you,” was the best explanation she could give. 

“Oh fuck,” you curse. You bend down to press kisses to her torso, trailing down the valley of her muscles. You don't care that you don't have her top off. If you were going to get your way tonight, it will be coming off eventually. But right now you want to feel her. 

You set your pace slow, kissing downwards to her thighs. She opens her legs, making space for you between them and you gladly take it. 

“Sevika, what do you want?” You doubt you could do anything she wouldn't want but it never hurts to be sure. 

Sevika stops to think for a moment. She imagined every single sexual scenario with you. So which one would she choose? A few crossed her mind but one made the coil of excitement return above the rest. The thought of your fingers, more slender and soft than hers, fucking her until she melts into nothing. 

“Finger me,” she pleads. Sevika keeps surprising you, using a desperate tone that goes against her character. 

“Oh shit, I'm going to fuck you so good,” you sighed. 

You get comfortable on your knees, intending to stay there as long as you can. You trail your fingers over her thighs, tracing words into her skin. You can't tell her that you're falling so you write it out. On her left thigh, ‘I love you” is etched. On her right thigh, “Stay with me” is drawn. 

“Stop tickling me, I need you inside me,” she whines. The sound almost kills you, her velvet voice whining for you to enter her. 

You trace your right hand over her thigh and toward her cunt, teasing just a little more. She gasps when you insert your middle finger. Maybe you do too, with how good she feels. You knew she was wet but what makes you lightheaded is how warm she is. 

Her whines no longer shock you, coming out of her with each slow stroke of your finger. Adding a second finger takes her moans up in pitch. Your fingers feel a thousand times better than she dreamed, non-calloused fingers pulling the coil inside her tighter. 

“More,” she pants. You don't want to leave her word up for interpretation so you ask for clarification. 

“More what? Another finger? Faster? Need me to rub your clit? Tell me,” you urged. 

“Faster! Touch my clit!” she gasps out. Sweat begins to coat her forehead. 

Your fingers pick up their speed, curling against her sweet spot. Without removing your fingers, you move over her right thigh, walking up on your knees before settling down. 

In this position you lay at her side, face next to hers and arm reaching down to finger her. Your palm rubs over her clit with each thrust. You dip your head down to attach your lips. She sighs into your mouth, lips parting to let you control the kiss. 

Everytime your lips meet, you find a new favorite way to kiss her. Now, you find you love biting her lip. She pants and moans into your mouth as her pussy squelches from your fingering. She sounds wetter with each thrust, your fingers gliding in with more and more ease. 

“Please,” she pants, “I'll make a mess.” 

It's your turn to groan into her mouth. That sentence was a threat and a promise. She shifts her hips nudging your fingers to the exact right spot. 

You feel her orgasm wet your fingers as she whimpers out your name. Nothing could've prepared you for how magical making Sevika squirt for you would be. Her breaths huffed into your mouth. Her thighs clamped around your hand. Her pussy leaked all over your fingers. 

After thirty seconds pass, her thighs unclench and you remove your hand. You bring it up to your lips but Sevika grabs your wrist before you can taste her. 

“Can we… I want us… I want to be yours.” Sevika says when she catches her breath. 

“As long as I can be yours.” 

She guides your wrist to your mouth and you take your coated fingers into your mouth. Her taste bursts over your tongue, earthy and slightly salty. You lick your fingers clean and commit her taste to memory. Not that you would never taste her again, but it's something you need to remember. Any moment spent not tasting her will be torture from now on. 

Sevika wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in to lay on her chest. You settle in, placing your head over her heart. The two of you hold each other, you're listening to her heartbeat steady itself. 

“Sorry about your sheets,” you hear her say, words rumbling in her chest. 

You sit up to inspect the damage. The image makes you laugh. Between her thighs is a little heart-shaped puddle. 

“I lo-” you stop before the words come out, “I don't care. It'll wash out.” 

You lay back down to cuddle her, “You came in a heart-shaped puddle, by the way.” 

Sevika snorts, not surprised that her body was outing her feelings for you. She presses a kiss to your forehead, settling for gratefulness that she didn't chicken out tonight. 

“Why did it take so long for us to do this?” you ask. 

“I was afraid you'd figure out that I'm in love with you,” she says. She meant to hide the words but they found their way out. Sevika loves the way you soften her, how you break away all the walls to her heart without trying. 

Your voice is a whisper when you speak, “Are you still scared?” 

“I'm terrified.” 

“Me too.” 

“Scared?” Sevika tries to get you to clarify. She needs to know. 

“No. In love with you.” 

[dumbass-sappho-stan]

hit first and hit hard || challengers

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴛ ᴅᴏɴᴀʟᴅꜱᴏɴ, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴢᴡᴇɪɢ, ᴛᴀꜱʜɪ ᴅᴜɴᴄᴀɴ

— fem! reader

summary: the tennis girl weaves her way through simple lover's quarrels and one manipulative blonde boy.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦(?), 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sleepy 𝘛𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘋𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘯

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ʜɪ! ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ, ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ! ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪᴛ.

​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​ ​🇨​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​: 7.7k

Read Part One here!

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘿, 𝘾𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙉𝙄𝘼, 2007

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺

The days following your fight with Art were rife with silence and solitude. Sequestered alone in your dorm, you lay there either working on your piling homework or listening to 'emo'-esque music to help funnel your emotions, but that still didn't help.

As much as you hate to admit it the one thing that did was tennis. Wanting to avoid Art and even Tashi, you went as early as possible. Every morning since the fight for at least a solid week, you got up at 4:30 AM, dressed, jumped the court fence to practice for about 5 hours, and exited just as the other 'early' players showed up.

It invigorated you to be energized early in the day and you sometimes smashed the ball or even your racquet if you felt like it. Being alone wasn't a new circumstance for you but it was certainly novel as of late. You were so used to Art's presence on the court and in your life.

Dinners were spent together, and silly chats you two had were the norm for at least a year. Not to mention the bizarre push and pull with the romantic tension between you two. Even before Stanford, you'd labored to get his phone number, after begging Tashi for a few days and speaking to him on the phone constantly.

Though, the blonde seemed just as ardent as you in your aversion to one another. He had tried calling you multiple times and texting but it was fruitless. You'd picked up the phone once to only put it back down.

 ⋆★⋆

"I'm so sorry," Art sobbed, he sounded as if someone had stabbed him, "I'm so, so sorry." You said nothing and stayed neutral. You, unfortunately, picked up the phone after Donaldson had called it 23 times in the past 2 days, and decided the 24th would be the last. It was time to be the bigger person and end the fight between you two.

"Me too, Art." Muttering drily you heard his hiccups stop, and a loud sigh of relief. You could almost feel the weight being lifted off of his shoulders.

He whispered your name softly, "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I wanted to say what I thought you wanted."

A sharp pain shot through your chest as those lethal words left his lips and pure white-hot vexation replaced whatever emotion had been there previously. It was silent between the two of you, which confused the boy.

Art called your name but was interrupted, "You know what I want Art Donaldson?" You roared, "For your fucking castration to be slow and painful!"

 ⋆★⋆

The poor cutesy, pink Motorola Razr was no longer a phone after the conversation and lay shattered on your floor for days before you finally felt bad and threw it out. Your new one, a hue of bright cherry red, felt much more fitting for this new lifestyle.

Tashi you didn't actually avoid, more like you didn't tell her what was wrong. If beating around the bush was a professional sport you would've left tennis ages ago. Every time you and Tashi would be talking, in your small instants outside of your room or the court that week, Art would approach and you'd immediately give these automated lines;

"Oh shit, Tashi, sorry I got an essay to write!"

"Oops! I forgot I had a thing I have to get to so.."

"It's what time? I gotta go walk my fish!"

Ausispously, these went unnoticed by Tashi because in every single one of the instances you slipped away back to your dorm and to your desolation, without as much as a blink from your friend. If you weren't so content in your loneliness you probably would have been much more uncertain or at least unhappy about her sudden disconnect from you, but chalked it up to Patrick being in town for a longer period.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞

The loud pounds landed dully against your door and woke you up immediately. Your body sat up and the sun's harsh blare into your tiny room flashed in your face, nearly blinding you upon waking up. You frantically glanced around your dorm room, seeing if it was something inside rather than external.

But no, all in your room were your postered walls full of music artists, art pieces themselves, silly photos of you and your friends from home (though most of those photos were overshadowed by Tashi's), and other miscellaneous items that sat around. In the small moment of silence between pounds, you began to slightly enjoy the pleasing sight of how pretty your room looked in the California dawning sun.

However, you were quickly slapped back into reality because the pounding had not ceased; seemingly getting louder if it was imaginable. What the fuck... That specific thought rattled through your foggy brain and your face contorted to deep confusion—even fear. Yet, you finally got the motivation to gradually inch toward the door, not even knowing who the fuck could be on the other side. The door rattled and shook explosively the closer you got until a hand to the handle.

The metal felt cool and smooth under your grasp. Soon flinching at the pounding and slightly wondered how your neighbors didn't get pissed off yet. But, you focused and opened the door.

Then there he was, Patrick Zweig, in all his glory posed in a mid-pound gesture at your dorm room door, staring straight at you.

"Hi,"

"Hey..."

Patrick soon pushed his way past you, walking into your dorm unphased. "Okay, just come right in.." You muttered, shutting the door behind you before turning to him. He stood in the middle of your room, inspecting it like he's the fucking DA. Nevertheless, he looked quite pretty as he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt with some dorky slogan and jorts—fit for California weather.

The silence was palpable between you two, Patrick seemed unbothered, almost jovial, and the signature devilish glint in his eyes. You, in contrast, glared at him like he was the spawn of Satan.

"Don't you look joyful?" Patrick chuckled, a playful smile soon following. Your scowl didn't budge but despite that, he came toward you with arms open wide, and enclosed you in a hug, "I'm certainly happy to see you." His words were muffled in the tangled mess that was your hair at this early of an hour. You hugged back briefly, then pressed him off.

"Pounding at my door at..." You glanced at the digital clock, "Jesus Christ, 7:15 in the morning?!" A small chuckle left Patrick again at his ability to get a rise out of you. You crossed your arms angrily and pinched the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

"Well, I'm eager to see one of my two special girls," He quipped, leaning back on your window sill with a surprising suaveness. That had become his nickname for you and Tashi over the past months. His 'special' girls were his way of flirting with you and getting on your nerves all at the same time. Both he and your best friend found it hilarious.

"Zweig, you have a pretty fucking odd way of showing 'enthusiasm'," A scoff left your lips just as you sauntered to the bathroom that was tangent to your room. The brunette soon followed and leaned on the doorway as you started your routine.

"I adore you, pookie!" A shutter audibly left you when he drawled out the terribly cheesy nickname. That one was the worst.

"Bleugh," You gagged, "Jesus Christ, Patrick why can't you be normal?" Somehow you frowned even deeper if that was even possible.

The boy laughed in reply, "Because who would be around to force you to have some fun?" Patrick looked at you with those eyes, his pretty forestry eyes that have broken hearts all across the country, they were meant for you. It made you want to stare back with your own, basking in it like a summer's day. And that smile, god— his smile was the sun itself. If Art was the ice, Patrick was the fire, the sun. The sun's light could always melt the winter's snow, you assumed he was with Tash for that similar reason. Opposites attract.

You started to feel yourself blush, your mind overthinking and repeating thoughts that all were about him, Patrick.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick.

Hastily, you rushed to turn on the faucet and started to forcefully wash your face. Hopefully, it would wash away the shame that overtook the sudden rush of emotions for your best friend's boyfriend. Damnit, this is what happens when you don't get laid for a week... Scolding yourself internally, you washed your face and sighed to look back at him. As you expected, his eyes were still on you. But something had changed, the playfulness just wasn't there. It was something else, but you didn't have the time to place it before he looked away.

"So," Patrick spoke your name, "I haven't seen you for my entire time here, and..." He paused for effect, "I missed you."

You gasped dramatically and put a hand to your chest, "Me? Patrick Zweig misses me?" Teasing him with a smile, "What an honor! What's next, I get taken to the Dollar Tree?"

Laughter bounced off the small walls as the two of you were terribly unfunny and it was mutually known. It didn't stop you two from laughing at the stupidity of it. The laughter endured for a moment or two before it died down.

"But really," Patrick started to pull himself together, "I did miss you. Y'know how Art is these days, and Tashi only wants to talk about fucking tennis..." He stepped closer to you, close enough for his hand to slightly caress your free arm. "You're honestly my only friend right now..."

You laugh awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere from his own. Patrick was looking at you, you knew it, but if you looked now you wouldn't be responsible for what you would do after. Self-control was one of the better traits you'd taken from Tashi—you stepped away from his touch and smiled thinly.

"Oh come on Patrick," The shitty tile of your bathroom floor seemed more and more interesting as the seconds passed, "Tashi's just trying to help you." You knew what he was referring to as Tashi complained of Patrick's inability to listen to criticism.

Patrick scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, regardless didn't reply. He dropped the subject, realizing ages ago you'd always choose to defend Tashi over anyone else. He shifted back to his original plan.

"Okay, that's whatever, would you like to go out tonight then?" He asked, his original jovial tone returning, and suddenly like that, everything was okay. The bizarre tension was gone and you could meet his gaze with a knowing face.

"I'll think about it." That answer seemed good enough for Patrick, you witnessed a cheesy exclamation and a terrible fist pump to follow. You sighed at his absurdity but it finally got him out of your doorway as he sauntered back out to your room.

"Great! I'll see you at 8 tonight," He announced, walking toward the door and out the door before he could hear your faint, "Patrick I don't-"

It was suddenly silent in your dorm again. Which, you were grateful for as it meant now you had time to concentrate; you could possibly continue your new 15-step life plan of isolation and become the second-best tennis-female player of all time, Tashi would be the first. Or get black-out drunk tonight and forget all about everything. Each option was very crucial.

A few hours of homework later, you had determined two things like you had done a week ago. One, yes you did need to get black-out drunk, Two, you had to make more male friends that weren't your best friend's boyfriend or said boyfriend's best friend.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

The club was hot and sweaty, it felt as if it'd swallow you whole with the number of people who crowded around you. Dancing, grinding, touching. You hadn't drunk enough alcohol for you to start to enjoy this feeling so off to the bar you went. Patrick followed in tandem, keeping a good trail on you as he was the "designated driver", though you were sure that both of you were going home in a taxi that night.

Patrick ordered a round of 10 shots of assorted types of strong-smelling alcohol and smiled at you, though the smile made you queasy. It exactly mirrored Tashi's smile when she forced you to do shit.

"My favorite girl, pick your poison," The brunette snickered, taking in the blank features that had taken over. "Unless you're a pussy."

"Oh, I'm a pussy?" You raised your eyebrow in defiance, "Please, Patrick, watch and learn." Mirroring his confident smirk, you picked up one random shot and took it back. Then another, and another, and another... Soon there were only 3 shots left for your friend and your tongue started to go numb. The boy laughed at your efforts and followed your lead by taking the rest of the shots.

Shortly, you were on the dance floor, the colored lights seemed so much more welcoming and the touch of strangers felt like a blaze. You drunkenly danced with Patrick, spinning and moving against each other, hands above the waist for both of you as it felt anything but personal. Occasionally you two would make eye contact for too long and would just erupt in giggles and he'd take you for another spin. Patrick knew how to have fun and pulled you along for the ride.

During some Nelly Furtado song, you'd finally gotten fatigued of the club after who knows how long of dancing, drinking, and other illicit activities that involved a certain plant. You tugged at Patrick's collar of his shirt and he stopped his movement.

"Patrick," You slurred, "I wanna go home.." He looked down at your figure and nodded his head. Patrick led you off of the dance floor and finally outside of the club. You clutched onto his shirt on the walk to the car, which honestly felt like miles. Patrick filled the air with little comments about the people who had filled the club and it made you giggle. Though, as drunk as you were anything could've made you laugh.

"Yes! The car!" The grip on his shirt tightened as you through one of your hands in the air in celebration, "I'm so fuckinggg... tired.." You dragged out your constants as you both made your way to the car. Ultimately, it was more like Patrick was walking and you slanted onto him, trotting along.

"Mhm," Patrick hummed, he'd kept one hand on your waist but you hadn't really noticed it. There were many things you didn't notice in your inebriated state.

Patrick, luckily, hadn't drunk as much as you and was sober enough to drive you home. You laid your head comfortably on the window as you observed the blackened city and yellowed road soar past you. It was serene, you and Patrick. It was the first time in the past week you felt a smidge above the bare minimum. Your head was hazy and everything felt so miniature; boxed in.

The ride home was rather reserved, with no one speaking other than you drunkenly giving him directions to your dorm. Eventually, after he had to call Tashi, he stopped in front of the building.

"We're here, Sleeping Beauty," Patrick murmured quietly, slightly nudging you with his hand. When you responded with a groan, he sighed and got out of the car. You perked up a bit and lazily followed his figure until he opened the door. The lack of movement signaled to Patrick that he would be the one to get you out of this car.

Patrick heaved you out of your seat, to your disdain, and he held you close as he closed the passenger door behind you. Your face was squashed in the curve of his neck. He smelt like really lovely cologne and sweat.

Looking up at him, Patrick met your gaze with his own and smiled, "Hi." You smiled back, "Hey.." His hand stayed trained on your waist and you felt that warmth. The fervor you felt that night in the hotel room. It pooled deep inside of you, and it made the stupid smile on your face grow even wider.

"What are you smiling at?" Patrick grinned at your behavior and his hand that had been unlocking the door moved up to cup your cheek. Both of you stood there under the cloak of the night sky, staring foolishly at one another. He softly said your name, "What are you smiling at, pretty girl?"

The tone of his voice was something you'd never be able to interpret in your lifetime. Forgotten among memories and the intoxication, you thought about what led to the position you were in years later, and next to that night in the hotel room, this seemed to be another flick to the dominos collapsing.

Patrick didn't wait for your response, his lips were already on yours. He felt needy in this kiss, it was long and passionate. Your eyes were clenched shut, the euphoria you felt from being so out of it momentarily leaving your body to replace it with stone-cold regret. The kiss was split when you finally pushed one hand to his chest.

"Patrick?" You muttered, "What the fuck?" Patrick's air sobered at your words. He looked at you, the mere panic very visible on his face. Had he fucked up?

"What?" The brunette laughed humorously, "Did I, erm..." He was searching through his lexicon to say anything that could save whatever the hell just happened.

The shame began to quickly devour you, a sickish feeling overtaking your senses. Whatever just happened mortified you to no extent. You staggered back from Patrick, finally meeting his frenzied eyes.

Your eyes started to gloss over and you cried. Tears fell freely down your face as you felt the humiliation slap you in the face. All of it. The humiliation of Art not even liking you, Tashi's carelessness this week, and then this. The culmination of the efforts from the four of you, kissing your best friend's boyfriend. Or rather he kissed you, but what was the true distinction?

"What the fuck Patrick!?" You roughly wiped the tears that continued to fall, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Patrick said nothing, only stared, so similar to his best friend.

"Jesus... The both of you!" You barked, "The both of you two fucking astound me." Your words were sharp and cutting bore into Patrick, apparently, that's what got him.

"What," His voice trailed off as his demeanor only heightened in puzzlement, "What do you mean both?"

"You and your fuck-face friend, that's who!" Your words blended together, as unfortunately, you were still pretty shit-faced. "You and Art fucking around with my head..."

Patrick tensed, "Art's fucking with your head?"

"Yes!" You replied, throwing your hands out in anger, "He's still in love with your girlfriend, and decided to fuck me on the side!"

Patrick's eyebrows raised, he knew Art was trying to manipulate the situation by trying to break him and Tashi apart but he didn't know that you were weaved in here too.

"That's... fucked up." He attempted to comfort you, very awkwardly.

"Yes, it is fucked up Patrick, almost as fucked up as you kissing me." You shot back venomously, narrowing your eyes at him. Patrick went quiet for a beat. He looked at you, looked away, and back at you. He seemed to be deliberating something.

"There's nothing fucked up about it," He finally answered, "I wanted to."

An involuntary gasp slipped from your lips. Your face contorted. "What?"

"I want you."

It felt like a gallon of cold water splashed on you. You stumbled back even further from the boy, your expression no longer confused but mortified.

Thundering down the sidewalk, you callously ran to where you didn't know. You heard Patirck's calls after you but they didn't matter. It wasn't as if he ran after you. The haze from everything that had happened still lingered as you ran. The thoughts bombarded your mind aimlessly, wondering what Patrick meant or what he might say to Tashi.

Tashi...

You'd raced so far that you were there at her dorm, which was seated right next to the tennis courts. Vision hazy, you tumbled into the building. It felt dingy and humid and walking through the corridors you tripped about six times and fully fallen over 3; that didn't stop you though from your destination.

By the grace of god, you handled yourself well enough to place three ordered knocks on Tashi's door, then slump to the floor with a deep sigh. Honestly, you didn't expect her to open the door. You didn't know what time it was but it was late enough into the night (or the early hours of the morning), that the rest of the world was silent.

Everything went silent for a moment as you stared at that wooden door. You focused on a dent in the door itself, right near the handle. You were so immersed in the indentation that you didn't notice the door hinged open.

"Well, well, well... look who it is," Tashi stared down at you with a slight smile. There she was.

"Tashi!" Your mood was instantly lifted at her company and smiled right back. The nastiness, the dread, and the remorse were lifted instantly once you saw her. She let out a sigh once she saw your state— your outfit was skimpy, mascara and eyeliner were smeared all over your face, and you looked like you'd cried a river.

"Christ," She sighed out your name, "Can't you have a good night?"

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

You and Tashi lay on her bed peacefully, and you exchanged no sentiments in those moments. She'd washed you up from your sordid state and now she was tracing designs in the curve of your hip. Tashi laid her chin on your head and you nestled on her collarbone. This was a frequent situation for either of you, as, during tournaments during your adolescent year, nights were spent braiding each other's hair, swapping secrets with smiles, and just being girls.

"So, are we going to talk about it?" Tashi hummed, staring out into her own cluttered room. Smiling like a fool you replied, "Talk about what?"

"Art, he told me about what happened." She continued, her hand moved from your hip to your hair. Tashi threaded her fingers through it gently and you let out a giggle.

"Pfft, Art.. that stupid, dumb blonde," Laughter filled the room, and you drew your head away from Tashi to meet her. "He's just stupid, that's all."

Tashi held back her own laughter at your intoxicated words, "I see.." You nodded in confirmation and laid back down cuddled back in. "Well, I just wanted you to know that this week I wasn't trying to avoid you," She resumed, "Art just told me about your emotional state, and knowing you, I know you like space."

You hoisted your head again and sneered, "You'd believe that twink?" Tashi giggled and rolled her eyes, "I don't think you can say that anymore," She spoke your name in a scold, "But, yes I did, he's pretty fucking convincing you know."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Convincing my ASS," Your eyebrows drew together in irritation at the mention of the boy, "He's stupid, just like the other one.."

Dead air obscured the room again, the only sound being you and Tashi's breathing. The warmth you'd felt from the alcohol returned again, but it felt different. It didn't feel as murky or slowing, it felt good. Yet, the disgrace from earlier was still in the back of your mind. You knew the next day would hold so much bullshit for you and your friend depending on Patrick's efforts or if Art decided to tell Tashi whatever Patrick would recount to him. The involvement of the two boys had made everything so muddled.

"Tashi,"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll love me forever?" You asked quietly, finally breaking the tranquility. The voice you had dawned felt foreign to you, it was desperate, vulnerable. Tashi pulled herself away from you to meet your eyes. Her deep sharp eyes scrutinized you with an unreadable gaze.

"What do you mean?" She asked, trying to laugh it off with a dry chuckle.

"I said what I meant," You slurred in reply, a pout, "Will you love me forever?"

Tashi scoffed, "I'm not fucking Mother Theresa," She said your name with a mocking edge. "You're my best friend, I..." Tashi stopped to carefully phrase her words so you could understand in your blitzed condition. "I like you more than any other person on planet Earth."

Your pout formed into a frown, and you stayed silent. Tashi then exhaled wearily, knowing she'd hurt your feelings but didn't say anything. It was a staring contest that you wouldn't win. Tashi did like you a lot, more than she liked her family, friends, and her boyfriend. But she wasn't good at pretending—she couldn't pretend she loved more than one thing. She loved one thing, and one thing only; Tennis.

"Then I'll love you enough for the both of us." That response caught Tashi off guard and she blanked. "I'll love you seeds and all, Tashi Duncan." The announcement of your love for her wasn't on the list of things Tashi thought she would've heard tonight. A nervousness overtook her but you didn't notice, you just stared in determination.

"Seeds and all?" Tashi questioned, her demeanor shifted to something a bit fainter, similar to yours.

"Yes, Tashi, seeds and all," You said it as if it was the most common thing in the world and laid back down. A sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over you, it was so easy to fall asleep. Despite this, Tashi stayed awake and watched you. It wasn't uncommon for you to say sappy shit and for Tashi to combat it with banter, but this felt more amorous; for the first time in the girl's life, she felt confused.

Tashi glanced back down at your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful and pretty. An involuntary grin graced her features as she lay next to you. Her face was inches away from your own, bringing her hand to brush away some stray pieces of your hair to simply stare at you.

"I love you too," The girl muttered your name, kissing the apple of your cheek, turning around to her side of the bed, and falling into a slumber soon after. Tashi had assumed you were sleeping and wouldn't remember it even if you weren't. But, unfortunately for her, you had heard.

Tashi Duncan loved you.

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

𝘾𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝙉𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙄, 𝙊𝙃𝙄𝙊, 2011

𝘊𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯

The hotel bar's music softly played through the speakers, setting a particular homely affection amid the room. A few people were there, tennis players and normal patrons alike, drinking or crying over their loss today. Cincinnati, Ohio was one of the last stops any of these players had of making it to the US Open but unfortunately, they didn't make the cut.

You on the other hand? The 15-step plan was in motion but this time you'd be first. Going pro three years ago was one of the best decisions you'd made, in your life. The dream was cradled in the palm of your hand. Young, beautiful, determined, the brands just ate you up.

Being sponsored by Nike, doing commercials for popular products, and selling out was pretty amicable. The celebrity that came with it was a sweet taste that you sunk your teeth in. People shouted your name on the street and begged for your signature, they wanted you. The only downside was that now and again you'd have to see him.

God, You thought, when was the last time I heard this song... Instead of nursing your drink, you glanced around the room, observing the players. You recognized some from previous competitions and some you'd played today. Suddenly, noticing how everyone had someone to talk to, it was exposing to be the lone person at the bar. At 23 and no man, for now, was a smidge uncomfortable.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you...

While scanning the room, you saw her, sitting there with her computer propped up and sporting a shorter hairstyle. A jolt surged through you, you'd seen enough of her today, and you swiveled your head back forward. Another bad move, there he was. The blonde shaggy curls bedazzled you when he strolled in. Art Donaldson walked through the room and the world stopped turning.

Art walked into the bar in search of something. He just didn't know what. For the past few weeks since the Atlanta Open, he'd been on edge; for what he didn't really know. The looming task of the US Open had been teasing him for years, but he was young. He had time to play and win it, this year might just be his year. Though that's what he told himself. The US Open was what he was worried about. Yes, nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely not about certain brunettes.

Art made eye contact with you for a split second. A look flashed across both of your faces, both with varying feelings. Art's face showed an emotion of enchantment, like seeing a rare jewel. You looked like you swallowed sour milk. You shifted your gaze away from him and back to your drink. The alcohol stung your nose.

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger...

Do you have to let it linger?

A shiver strained through you, wondering if the universe was truly trying to get you to buy 30 mg of fentanyl and a bottle of vodka. Art you were used to, both of you were established and young tennis players, it was foretold the two of you would cross paths after that day. Every time it did happen there were formalities exchanged between you two, and then you'd take 4 shots of the choice of alcohol that night and cry.

Art peeked back at you once more before back on his path to Tashi. She was perfect, he had known that fact since the day he met her. Shoved on the pedestal, his fiance typed stormily at her computer, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

A smile grazed his face, "Hey," He sat down across from her. Tashi barely acknowledged him with a nod. Art sighed and tapped on the rim of her computer, "Hey Tashi..."

Tashi exhaled and lips thinned, "Hi, what's up?" She curtly replied, "I'm working right now on our deal with Nike," Art's confidence slightly buckled under her glare and apparent annoyance with him.

"Oh, well, nothing..." He trailed off with his smile being replaced with a slight pout, unfortunately for Art, this irritated the coach more. "Well, then get out of my face. You have a game tomorrow," She articulated concisely instructed him with a tone a mother would use, "A game you need to win."

Art straightened up a bit, winning was important, he knew that but he missed Tashi. His paranoia surely wasn't helping her curtness as of recently, but he was still relegating it to US Open nerves. He just needed to win and it'd be fine. "Okay," He agreed, "I'll see you upstairs?" The blonde was met with a quick nod, the sound of typing only emitted.

"I love you."

"I know."

Art left the table with a sullen expression on his features, but you didn't know that. Now you were focused on what type of wood the table was, to avoid thinking about when was the last time the three of you were in the same room. Maybe it's maple.... Your thoughts were soon cut off by a buzz from your phone. The iPhone 4 buzzed madly in your pocket and you pulled it out.

It was some random number you didn't have on your phone.

415-xxx-xxxx

𝘏𝘪, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬.

𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 3𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.

𝘖𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺.

A miniature smile begged to come onto your features, even texting you could hear the way he'd talk with his comforting, careful diction. But then the meaning of the message settled deep inside you. He wanted to meet you up? Why? Confusion replaced the thick nostalgia as the cogs in your head started to work. It confused you, but you were intrigued. Plus, what was the worst that could happen?

212-xxx-xxxx

𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺, 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸¸¸♬·

Idily standing in the dingy ice room, you'd start contemplating your life choices. Specifically, the ones that led you to this moment. Why did you approve of this? Why did you go to that fucking bar? You're not even supposed to drink the day before a game. Oh, that's right, you remembered, Patrick Zweig.

♬☆♬☆♬☆

Earlier that day...

The cooling feeling of the concrete against your back felt like pertinent compensation after a day of sprinting around in the sun. You'd finally made it to the semi-finals after dominating through the bracket, some you'd played against during earlier tournaments, others were just painless to beat and move on to the following one. Nonetheless, the girl you'd just played had given you a run for your money. Not because she was good, but because you were distracted.

Tashi Duncan, coach of the FAMOUS Art Donaldson, observed your match. You'd noticed her when perusing the stands after the first game when you were looking for your friend who had come to cheer you on. Seeing her was the biggest mistake of your game, serve after serve it'd either be out or barely touched the net. It was utterly embarrassing and you'd lost the second game by 15 love. When it was the break you'd skimmed only to find her gone.

It pissed you off. Who the fuck does she think she is? You clenched your water bottle angrily, your knuckles shy of a shade lighter than normal skin tone. The spite of Tashi leaving your game (or so you thought) had lit that flame that you doused years ago. The flame of insecurity produced by Tashi Duncan.

You were relentless against the girl, hitting the ball with your full strength each and every time. An intense volley had occurred in the middle of the game, so intense that your opponent fell face forward in an attempt to catch the shot (she did not). The stadium was silent other than the loud sounds of your grunts and anger. It was hotter than the concrete you played on but just as hard. It pissed you off so much that when you won, instead of your normal self-indulgent bow, you smashed your racquet to the floor and a roar. The crowd scarfed it down, hailing you as a passionate and beautiful player, tenacious against competition.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go home and cry, but you were hustled off the court to where you are now. Stranded in the hallway and lying in your muddled emotions. It was now the men's bracket, but you didn't plan on watching anyone. Particularly Donaldson. Yet, trying to make it out of the vacant hallway, a familiar face entered your vision.

"There's the golden girl!" No words in a dictionary could express the face you made at that moment.

"Oh my..." You muttered under your breath, turning around to see Patrick Zwieg, in all of his sleazy glory. "What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here Patrick?"

Patrick laughed with faux hurt, "Aw, aren't you just a ball of sunshine!" He tried to get closer to you but you edged back. He gauged your expression and sighed, "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me..."

You scoffed in disgust, "Christ Patrick, seeing you is like seeing a dog with cancer, it should be put down already." The brunette's lips pulled into a smirk, he crossed his arms and gave an irksome look.

"Well, I'm not a dog," He corrected, "I'm a cat and we got 9 lives." An exasperated sigh left your lips, your eyes meeting his with a tiredness. After the mind-fuck of seeing Tashi, you had no bandwidth for Patrick's bitchiness.

"I don't fucking care, Patrick," You hissed, finally starting back on your walk. Patrick started to slightly slip from his confidence, he hadn't expected this. He usually was able to keep you around for a good banter but you'd genuinely just stopped it this time. To keep you from going he snatched your forearm, keeping you from going any further.

Your glare deepened, "Let me go!" He didn't budge and kept you in place, although you started struggling to try and escape his strong grasp.

Patrick spoke your name calmly, "I just want to talk..." He sounded like he was talking to a feral cat. Grunting and now starting to whine, you struggled in an attempt to get away from him and this conversation. "About what? How you fucked over my best-" You stopped yourself, the word 'friend' died on the tip of your tongue. You two weren't friends, you hadn't been for years. Patrick caught this moment of vulnerability and used this.

"Friend? Please, she left you once you got better," He goaded with a sinister grin, "She couldn't stand that you could play and she couldn't."

The struggle became relentless as you started to shout for 'help' but it was useless. You were isolated. The best you'd gotten was dragging Patrick an inch or two across the floor, no escape was foreseen. A thin line formed on your lips as you glared.

"Shut up Patrick, don't fucking project your bullshit with Art on me,' You spat venomously, "He won, you're fucking losing, so what?"

Patrick chuckled drily, "Won what? The match? In case you forgot I won that-"

"NO!" You cut him off with a shout, "God no Patrick, he won at life. He's getting married to the girl you, and only you Patrick, lost because you're a dipshit." Face contorted into one of pure hatred for the man in front of you, and his hold finally slackened for you to draw your arm back.

Patrick rolled his eyes, "Newsflash, I slept with the girl I lost like.." He stopped speaking to count on his fingers, "Three weeks ago!" A triumphant and smug smirk graced his features.

"Great, so you can add home-wrecker to your tennis accolades?" You raised a brow and scoffed again, "You astonish me Zweig, you really do."

Patrick's grin didn't budge, "I aim to please," He did feel quite pleased with himself, and was even more pleased because he confidently believed you were jealous. Jealous that Tashi Duncan slept with him again and you didn't. He was sorely mistaken.

A heavy breath was taken in and you became focused. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to him, "Patrick, you may've fucking one that on match, let's say a battle." You began harshly, "But you didn't win the war, Art did."

Coming closer to Patrick to look him square in the eye, "Art is going to marry Tashi, he won. He will continue to win and be remembered." Patrick clenched his fists to try and calm himself, your words cutting in like serrated blades, "Who will you be Patrick?"

The question echoed throughout Patrick's mind, but you didn't waste time on his reply. Quickly, you stormed away after and resolved that the finest thing to do was to drink this moment away.

♬☆♬☆

A disgusted exclamation softly left your lips as you remembered that instant from today. Patrick always knew how to rile you up, to push your buttons until they'd break. At this point, you thought he enjoyed pissing you off. However, your internal monologuing was cut off by approaching footsteps. Darting up from the checkered carpeted floor, the blonde approached.

Art felt his palms begin to sweat when he saw your languid figure up against the vending machine. You looked so effortlessly beautiful to him, even when looking like you wanted to kill him. He sauntered into the small corridor and shut the door behind him.

Then, he pivoted around to face you. A hush swallowed both of you. It had been the first time you two were alone in around 3 years, at least. Art looked nervous meanwhile you looked disinterested.

"So?" You asked expectantly, "What did you need to talk about?" Art uncoiled and bit his lip. What did he want to talk about again..?

"Oh uhm.." He stuttered, "Hi, so..." Art desperately combed his mind for an answer, "I just saw you and I..." He coughed awkwardly and shifted his weight, "I just wanted to know how you were."

You took a deep breath and then let out a sigh, "Great, so you wanted to waste my time?" Art visibly flinched at your response and his lips twitched in apprehension.

"No, I just missed you," He asserted quickly, trying to meet your tone. Art's deep blue eyes met your own and something tugged at your heartstrings. "We both missed you."

"We?" A wiry laugh echoed in the room, "I don't think Tashi misses me, Arthur, but a cute way of guilt-tripping me." You cooed mockingly with a smirk. A sour expression fell across Art's countenance at the use of his full government name.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall and; after a beat spoke, "We watched your name today," Art stared at you intensely, "You were good, but what fucked you up during the second game?"

You clenched your fists, annoyed that he had been there too. "I don't know, it's called none-ya."

"What's none-ya?" He asked, confused by your retort.

"None of ya fucking business, Donaldson," You shot, "We aren't friends, we don't have tea parties and talk about fucking tennis."

"Well," Art started calmly, holding himself together, "Why don't we talk about anything but tennis?" You smiled fakly at his offer and stepped toward him, the height difference not really being too big, close enough to meet eye to eye.

"Then why the hell are we talking, Art, if we're not talking tennis?"

Art was silenced by your reply and stared down at the floor. He understood why you were acting the way you were, you were hurt. Aching. He would be too if he were in your shoes. The boy knew it wasn't him that should be talking to you. If anything would be solved between you and him, it'd first have to be solved between you and his fiance.

So, he looked back up at you, "I don't know why are we still talking?" The way Art said your name triggered some deep-buried emotions you had killed many years ago along with your insecurities. It was the seductive, whiny nature of Art Donaldson that kept you awake during the hard, lonely nights and right now it was your reality.

The space between you two was barely existent, lips almost touching... Your phone buzzed. The moment was ruined instantly and you quickly plucked out your phone. It was your coach, texting you verbatim to 'GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, NOW!' with five angry emojis.

Art's eyes searched your movements as you read the message. He was so intent on solving or fixing things with you tonight that he hadn't acknowledged that other outside forces could interfere. When he saw you play today and then back at the bar? It fell into place for him, he just had to have you again. He had to. He deserved it right?

You shoved Art aside and opened the door, focused on now going to sleep and preparing for your game tomorrow. Simply put, you didn't have time for stupid boys like Art Donaldson who wanted to play tennis with two balls. It was ineffective.

But, just as you were down the hallway he shouted, "Tashi misses you!" You ignored him, "She told me to tell you."

"Tell her," Turning around so he could directly hear you, "Tell her that she can go fuck herself, and," You had stopped speaking, storming off to right in front of the man, "Go fuck yourself too." It was easy to snatch the collar of his old grey hoodie and capture him in a kiss.

The clash of lips was a brutish one, Art being caught off guard and you kissing forcefully as if he was the last thing on earth. His hands traveled to your jaw and let you take control of the kiss.

It was a longer one, almost juvenile, letting yourself clash teeth or slightly push up against him. You finally pulled away, his bottom lip sliding through your teeth slowly, keeping eye contact while it bounced back in place.

The both of you were flushed a deep crimson, now both frustrated and sexually frustrated you let out an exclamation of anger and strode furiously down the hall, into the stairway.

There left was Art, his attempts hopeless and now he was alone. His hand shakily rose to his lips where you had just been. Fingers gently grazing his lip before letting out a shaky sigh. It'd been forever since he'd been caught so off-guard, it shook him inside. You always did, pushing his own buttons instead of yours. Art was always susceptible to your touch and words.

Yet, frowned when he thought of the way you had spoken to him tonight. You had become so jaded, so much more.. mean. It reminded him of how Tashi used to talk back at Stanford. Before the injury. How confident she was, somehow more than now, and how she had the world at the tips of her fingers. Art silently wished he'd handled that day differently than he did. But, deep down, he knew he didn't. Art got what he wanted at the end of the day, wasn't that beautiful?

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

Hi! I really hope you guys liked this chapter, I really wanted to explore the character dynamics more and just flesh out the relationships. It'll get spicy, trusttt!

Please like or comment!! I would love to hear what y'all think or want for the plot, you guys were literally so, so nice in the last part!

Thank you for reading <3

🇹​​🇦​​🇬​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​:

@jackierose902109

@bloodyrevengedbullets

@ssababe

@skylerwhitwyo

[rafesfavgirl]

little old me — r. cameron

soooooo my deepest, darkest, most impulsive thoughts may have won over with this one. hopefully you like it or at the very least, understand why i wrote it :)

❝ who’s afraid of little old me? you should be. ❞

pairing: bf!rafe x dark!reader

context: rafe comes to realize you’re more like him than he thought.

words: 3k+

warnings: definitely +18. mdni. murder, dark!rafe, psycho!rafe, psycho!reader, jealousy, possessive behavior, p in v sex, unprotected sex, sub!rafe (kind of, but not really), choking, praise kink, cutting, stabbing, blood, violence, blood play (idek if it counts tbh), dark fluff (is that even a thing?), SMUT with fucked up plot… rafe and reader being crazy, basically

you stood by the bar beside your best friend, engaged in conversation about some guy who'd pissed her off today by standing her up on a date, your eyes focused on the scene behind her head, where your boyfriend sat on the couch in the living room, a girl with short brown hair beside him, trying to cling onto his arm.

you feel your grip around your glass tighten, as the girl's hand gets closer and closer to wrapping around rafe's bicep.

"do you know who that girl is?" you cut your best friend off in the middle of her sentence and she snaps her head to what or who you're looking at.

"oh, that's sofia," she tells you, taking a sip of her drink. "she works as a bartender at the club. always flirting with top, kelce, and rafe. why? you jealous?"

heat rises in your chest at the mention of the girl constantly flirting with rafe, but you play it off. "please," a scoff leaves your mouth. "you know he knows better."

you take sip of your drink, and pull out your phone to text rafe.

you: if that sofia girl touches you one more time, i stg i'm dragging her ass across the floor

rafe: chill baby

rafe: you won't

you click your tongue and type away, your best friend watching your every move.

"you good?" she asks.

"mhm," you hum, sending the message.

you: you think i'm kidding?

you: try me, bitch.

you look up to find rafe snickering at your text, which only pisses you off more as he texts you back.

rafe: shut the fuck up, and get over here.

you: fuck no. tell her my drink's empty.

rafe watches as you down the rest of your drink and set the glass down on the bar, before waltzing away and heading outside, throwing him a glare as you do. he rolls his eyes at your antics, but gets up to follow you anyway.

“where the fuck are you going?” he calls after you, trailing closely behind as you cross the front lawn. “you came here with me.”

“i’ll call an uber,” you reply, continuing to walk towards the road. “go back inside and let sofia touch you some more.”

“oh my god,” he groans and catches up to you, grabbing onto your wrist to make you stop and look at him. “will you quit being a brat?”

you tilt your head up at him, fire in your eyes as they lock with his. “and what are you gonna do if i don’t?”

—

a moan slips out of your mouth as your back hits rafe's bedroom door, making it slam shut—thank god, his family had gone to the bahamas—as he kissed you like a man starved.

"still got more to say about sofia?" he says against you, lips trailing down to your neck, and hands trailing up your thighs to hook them around his waist. "jump."

you do as you're told, your legs locking around him and your fingers tangling into his hair, as your lips connected again and rafe's hands trailed up your back—one pressing you against him and one sliding up your hair.

he turns and lets you fall onto the bed with him above you, your legs still locked around him, as he began untying the knot in your shirt. he pushes it off of you, revealing your lacy white bra.

"fuckkk y/n," he groans, hand reaching up to grab at one of your tits.

"you like it baby?" you ask, as he trails wet kisses down your neck and collar bone. "it's new."

"i love it," he says, fingers unclasping it from the front, and lips moving to wrap around your now exposed nipple.

his other hand massages your other boob, finger flicking at your sensitive nub.

you pull him up to attach his lips back to yours. "i want you, rafe. now."

he chuckles against your lips, the vibration turning you on more, the spot between your legs getting wetter. you flip the both of you over so you're straddling him. 

"i like this side of you, doll," he looks up at you with a smirk as you rid yourself of your bra, and he reaches up to grab both your tits. "should make you jealous more often."

"shut up," you say, leaning back down to kiss him, hands entwining into his hair as your hips press down into his.

a groan falls from his mouth as his hands roam over your body, your hard nipples pressing against him.

"need you, pretty girl," he said, hips lifting into yours.

"more than sofia?" you ask, pulling your lips away from his.

"more than anyone," he replies, hands snaking around the front of your waist to unbutton your shorts.

you move to the side so he can tug them off your legs, along with your lacy white thong, while you reach to pull his shirt off his head and he takes off his shorts.

you swing your leg back over him once you're both naked, hovering and grinding your hips above him, slickness coating his dick just enough to tease him.

"doll, come on," he whines, attempting to press you down onto his length.

you place both your hands on his chest and lean down towards his ear. "this'll teach you not to make me jealous."

"y/n…" his voice is much serious now, and you smirk.

"what?" you look at him with innocent eyes, hand trailing down to grab his dick and align it with your center.

you slowly sink down onto him, your body relaxing as he groans.

"so so good," you mewl, hips rocking against his.

he watches you closely, hands moving to grip your hips. he lifts you up slightly and slams you back down, eliciting a moan from your mouth.

"move, pretty girl," he demands, eyes locked on yours as you sit up. "let me see you ride me."

you give in to his words and begin bouncing your ass on him, hands trailing down to his abs to steady yourself. up. down. up. down. up. down.

"just like that, doll," rafe says, hand trailing up your body to wrap around your neck. "you look so pretty riding my cock."

that only makes you pick up the pace, hands moving to rest on his thighs behind you, as your pussy clenches around his length, your orgasm quickly building up in your core. rafe's hands move to grab your tits as you continue, his eyes watching himself slip in and out of you.

"you gonna cum for me, baby?" he asked when you threw your head back in pleasure.

"cum with me, rafe," you moan, your high inching closer and closer.

his fingers pinch at your nipples and that sends you over the edge, your hips slowing down as your high washes over you. rafe follows soon after, thrusts getting sloppier as he comes down.

 you slowly move off to lay beside him, and he reaches out to open the drawer of his nightstand and pull out a small towel. he uses it to clean the spot between your legs before cleaning off himself.

you position yourself under his comforter as he tosses the towel on the ground and joins you.

"remember how good my pussy feels around you next time you let sofia touch you," you say, snuggling into him.

a small chuckles falls from his lips as he wraps an arm around you and places a soft kiss on your forehead. "good night, crazy girl."

—

your eyes shoot open at the sound of rafe’s phone incessantly buzzing on the nightstand, as the sunshine peeked through his bedroom curtains.

making sure not to wake him, you reach over to grab his phone, rage boiling through your veins when you read the notifications on the screen.

3 missed calls from sofia.

sofia: hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday lol. lmk if you need to blow off some steam ;) xx

“oh, this bitch needs to be put down,” you mutter to yourself, immediately unlocking rafe’s phone—he gave you his passcode months ago without you even asking—and typing away to reply to sofia's message.

rafe: hey sof :) yeah, she's a lot. how 'bout you meet me at tannyhill around 2 today?

you hit send, and the three bubbles appear almost immediately.

god, this bitch was desperate.

sofia: perf, i'll see you then!!

rafe: just knock when you get here, i'll be home alone

sofia: you got it, see u later xx

you roll your eyes and proceed to delete the conversation, before moving to rafe's phone app to remove her 3 missed calls from his log. 

three. who calls a guy with a girlfriend three times? crazy bitch.

just as you're about to place his phone back on the nightstand, rafe groans and shifts, arm slinging over your waist, as a call from ward vibrates his phone.

"baby," you nudge rafe, but he just groans again, arm around your waist tightening. "rafe," you shake him this time and his eyes flutter open.

"morning, pretty girl," he smiles, hand scratching your lower back. "you ok?"

"mhm," you nod, pretending you had just woken up. "woke up from your dad calling, though."

you hold the phone out to him, which was now vibrating for the second time with ward's name.

"sorry 'bout that, doll," he takes the phone from you and sits up, answering the call and pressing the phone up against his ear.

"i'm gonna go pee," you mouth to him, and he nods, as you get out from under the covers and slip on rafe's shirt before walking towards his bathroom.

you close the door behind you and take a quick piss before washing your hands and deciding to brush your teeth.

hopefully rafe wasn't gonna be around the house at 2 today, you thought. you knew he went out golfing with the boys and hit the gym afterwards every saturday afternoon, usually returning around 5 or 6, so it shouldn't be a problem. unless ward had him do something today that required him to stick around the house—now that would really put a damper on your plans.

the door opens and rafe joins you, only wearing a pair of boxers. "mmm," he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, chin resting against your shoulder. "i'll never get sick of seeing you in my shirt."

his eyes meets yours through the mirror, and you lean down to spit and rinse your mouth.

"what's my baby doing today?" he asked, as you wiped your mouth dry.

"probably just hang around here," you shrug, hands trailing along his arms, as you leaned your head against his. "maybe lay out by the pool for a bit and make some lunch."

"for me too?"

you look down at him, and his eyes meet yours. "you're not going golfing with kelce and top?"

"oh, i am," he nods. "and i gotta take care of some stuff for dad too, so i'll probably be home a little later." perfect. "how 'bout we do dinner? you can dress up all cute and sexy, and i'll take you out on the town?"

"sounds perfect, baby," you smile, connecting your lips with his.

this was gonna be the best day ever.

—

after rafe left around eleven, you occupied yourself by taking a quick swim in the pool, before settling on a floatie and closing your eyes, as the sun beat down on your skin.

ring! ring! ring!

your alarm clock goes off at 1:50 pm, and you open your eyes to take your phone from the cup holder and silence it, happily slipping off the floatie when you realize it's almost time.

you grab your towel from one of the pool chairs and dry off before wrapping it around you, slipping on your crochet shorts, and waltzing inside with more of a pep in your step than usual.

you whistle as you walk through the house and stop in the living room to hang your towel off the back of the armchair and sit down, just in time for a knock to come at the door.

it's followed by another, before the front door creaks open and closes, as the sound of someone's footsteps get closer and closer.

"rafe?" the sound of sofia's voice fills your ears and you smile when she reaches the living room.

"hey, sof," you say, causing her to completely stop in her tracks, a few feet away.

"oh, y/n," she was clearly caught off guard. "i didn't know you'd be here."

"of course you didn't," you shrug, sitting up. "because you came here to see my rafe, isn't that right, sof?"

"uhh…"

"no need to lie, sweetheart," you drawl. "i've been expecting you." you pull out the pocket knife that you had stashed in the armchair earlier  to prepare and spin it around in your fingers.

the color instantly drains from sofia's face, as you flip the knife open, the blade catching the sun's light.

"here's the thing, sof," you stand up and slowly approach her, the growing crazy look in your eyes making her uneasy. "i'm a very possessive person, and i don't like sharing what's mine." you shake your head, eyes focused on hers.

"and rafe… tall and handsome as he is… is mine," you glide the edge of your knife across her collarbone as you round her, making sure not to cut her just yet. "and personally, i didn't take it very well when you called and texted him this morning."

"i- i don't know what you're talking about," her voice shakes, clearly afraid of what you might do if she admits to it. 

"hey, i saw y/n throw a fit and storm off last night. that must be a lot to deal with everyday. let me know if you want to blow off some steam," you recite the text message she sent rafe from memory, making her breath hitch.

"that— that wasn't an accident," sofia shakes her head. "i didn't mean-"

"oh, baby," you whisper against her ear, making her head turn towards you. "don't you know i hate liars?"

"please," sofia begs, eyes closing shut as tears stream down her face. "y/n… you don't have to do this."

"and you didn't have to text my man," you tut, trailing the knife down her back. "but you did, so i'll make it quick."

"no!" she shouts, pushing you away from her, and beelining for the door.

"you really shouldn't have done that," you chuckle, a smirk coming across your lips, as you follow to tackle her before she reaches the door.

you turn her around, so you're straddling her, both your knees pinning her arms down. "i tried to be nice…" you say, gripping a handful of her brown hair as you lean down to cut across her collar bone.

she screams in agony. "stop, stop, stop!"

"consider this a lesson, sof…" you trail off, knife moving down to dig into the side of her stomach. "rafe," stab. "is," stab. "mine." 

you pull the knife out from her side, blood splattering on your stomach, as you drag it up her body, towards her chest.

"and," stab. "you," stab. "don't," stab. "take," stab. "what's," stab. "mine."

the color drowns from her face as her eyes turn lifeless, and she stops squirming underneath you.

at this point, your chest, face, legs, and arms are covered with blood splatters, your hand holding the knife bloodier than any other part of you.

you stand up and hover over her, a smirk coming across your lips at the sight of her dead body.

"look, dad, i took care of it, a'ight?" the familiar sound of your boyfriend's voice booms through the house, as you hear the backyard door slide close.

shit. shit. shit.

he wasn't suppose to be home until later. what the fuck was he doing here?

panic begins to build up inside you, as rafe's footsteps approach you, and you round sofia's body to pick up one of her hands to begin dragging her towards the front door. maybe it was a good thing she tried to run.

"yeah, i got it," you hear rafe's voice again. "i think y/n's taking a nap right now, so i'll take the druthers out and-" he suddenly stops in the entryway connecting the living room to the kitchen, eyes on you. "i'll call you back later."

he ends the call with ward, phone coming down to his side.

"i told you i'd drag her across the floor?" you joke, shrugging a shoulder.

"holy shit, y/n!" rafe rushes over and crouches down to feel sofia's pulse.

nothing.

he looks up at you. "did you do this?!"

"no…" you give him your innocent eyes, and drop her hand, pocket knife hiding behind your back.

"what the fuck, babe?"

"hey, don't act like this is all on me!" you argue, pointing down at sofia's body and pacing around the room. "she was the one who was texting and calling you nonstop this morning! she should've known better! no one takes what's mine. especially not you!"

"you— you did this… because of me?" rafe slowly stands, eyes refocusing on your crazed out state.

"of course i did," your shoulders falling limp. "i— i love you, rafe!" you shake your head. "i— i can't lose you. not-"

before you could get another word out, he was pushing you up against the wall, lips hungrily kissing yours.

the knife clatters onto the ground, as your bloodied hands tangle into his hair, and he hooks a hand around your thigh to bring it up beside his waist.

"you— you're not mad?" you ask between kisses.

"are you kidding?" he mutters against you. "fuck no. just a little more work for me."

"wait, wait, wait—" you place a hand on his chest, and push him away just enough to look at him. "what does that mean?"

"there may or may not be a dead body in the cargo bed of my truck…"

"you killed someone?"

"it was necessary?" he shrugs, a cute little smile on his lips.

a laugh falls from your mouth before you can stop it.

"what?" rafe asks, chuckling at the sound of your adorable laugh.

you shake your head, hand trailing down his hair. "we're so fucked up."

"and that's just how i like it."

i hope y'all don't think i'm absolutely insane now lolz. i swearrrrr i just wanted to try something new.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

click here to be added to my tag list!!

tags: @chiaraanatra @ijustwanttoreadlols @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesgiirl @solanathascientst @10ava01 @werewhatkilledthedinosaurs @void21 @groovycass @azrielsgirll @rroslitas @crvptidgf @star-girl-05 @redhead1180 @shadyshadyy @prettypimpcess12 @emotionsmgcbabe @outerbankspov

[steviewashere]

Words Like A Bullet, Wounding My Soul

(also on ao3)

This is Part One, Part Two is Posted Here!

CW: Implied/Referenced Sex, Safeword Use (No Smut, Though) Rating: Teen

WC: 2,543

Tags: Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Arguing, Eddie Being Mean, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Insecure Eddie Munson, Insecure Steve Harrington, Safeword Use, NO SMUT, Using a Safeword While Arguing, Hard of Hearing Steve Harrington, Dialogue Heavy

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

----------------- Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington were two forces not to be reckoned with. Everybody knew this. If Eddie was snippy and rough and loud—then people zipped their lips, threw away the key, and sat on their hands. If Steve was cold and distant and biting with every word—then the others knew to be warm and inviting and leave the past in the past.

These were known facts.

It was also known that Eddie and Steve were a pair. They were gentle with each other and all soft and gooey around the edges. Often, they'd circulate each other in public—skimming fingertips over backs of hands, sharing straws because somebody "forgot" to grab another—or behind the privacy of closed doors—entangled on the couch during movie nights and washing dishes after large dinners and exchanging quiet glances that everyone knew meant, "Horny and Impatient."

But they definitely knew how to choke each other out. Insecurities ran deep and were easy to point out. Like mold on bread slices.

So it makes perfect senes that they constantly argued, too. Usually mundane situations. Things like: "Ugh, Steve! It's my turn to choose what we watch, enough with the basketball!" and "Eddie, stop leaving your dishes strewn about!" and "No, I'll pick up everybody and drop them off!" Though, these were quickly resolved. A deep breath taken, a compromise made, and a few warm pecks exchanged.

However, on a slow Thursday evening in the middle of November, things go haywire.

They've been neck at neck for hours. Biting back and forth about the usual. The dishes. Your sports game. No, I'll do this. No, I can do it. Yet, everything comes crashing down the moment Eddie says:

"God, you're being so stupid!" Shouted and spitting. He's red faced and wild. His body lanky and petrifying the way a molten skeleton in some very graphic thriller movie would be.

Steve stops where he's been pacing in the living room. Now glancing back over to Eddie on the couch. "What?" he asks in a quiet, shaking voice. He doesn't remember anything about the argument, but he can definitely hear the way Eddie's voice echoes now. Doesn't know where the snarky remarks were going, how they dissolved now into this.

This being the two of them several feet apart in the same room. Not looking at each other, trying to find the most convenient and decorated corner of the Harrington's living room. Spitting and biting and growling.

"You're being so stupid!" Eddie shouts again. "I feel like every time I try to explain something to you, I'm just talking to a brick wall! Do you even listen to me? Or are you just a fucking space cadet all the time?" He runs a frustrated hand down his face, pulling at his features exaggeratingly. "For once, I wish you'd listen to me, just once!"

There's a tense moment where Steve just stands rigid and Eddie must take this as some sort of confirmation. Because he hefts himself up from the couch and makes his way around the coffee table to where Steve is just standing. A bony finger stabs into Steve's chest. Eddie closes in, voice low and husky. Face centimeters away, eyes lit with ingenuine mirth and teeth glinting in the shape of fangs. "See?" he questions lowly. "Can't even fucking give me an answer."

And something finally wakes up in Steve. He takes a wobbling step back, feeling cold air rush around him. "Wh-what? Of course I listen to you. I just—"

"You just what?" Eddie raises. His voice itching to be loud and louder. "You just listen to what you want to hear? Want me to call you pretty names and tell you how good you are and how excited I am to see you?" he taunts. "But when it's something I care about—"

Steve flinches at his wording.

"—when it's something I care about, you just can't bother," Eddie growls. "If it isn't fascinating to you, then you just tune me out. Your brain fucking implodes and shrivels back down to being jock sized and empty." He takes a hefty step forward, once again in Steve's orbit. A palm raises in Steve's line of sight, it shoves hard at his chest. Not sending him to the floor, but stumbling enough that he wheezes from the impact.

Eddie moves again to try it once more, to make Steve feel small.

But, Steve sidesteps him. "That's not true," he tries to argue, but it sounds too soft and tiny to be anything. "You were talking about D&D and I tried to follow along, but you know how I am with that stuff. It doesn't—"

"It doesn't connect," Eddie mocks. "Fuck you, Harrington. I've heard that a million times before and each one of those times, I've explained this shit to you. Over and over and—"

"Fuck me?! Fuck you, Eddie!" Save finally screams back. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You're being such an asshole, you know how I am with being called du—"

Eddie scoffs. "Oh, so for years, you and your little pack of high school bullies can mock me for shit. Call me names. Toss me around. And the one time I finally call you out on this, it's suddenly too much?!" he roars. "You're so—" He grunts, groans, screams nearly.

"Stop, Eddie," Steve demands. Tome firm first.

But Eddie barrels on anyway. "You're such a dick. You think everything revolves around you. You don't care for anything I have to say. You—"

"Stop," Steve pleads.

"You don't really care for anybody around you, do you?" he questions darkly. "'Just wanted to help,' my ass. Just wanted to clear your name, more like. Am I right? And now you're just stuck here, fucking jumping to whatever conclusions you want, following the wording you want to hear—"

"Red!" Steve screams. "Red, red, red!" he shouts before turning towards the couch and sitting down heavily. Head in his hands, fingers pulling at the hair around his ears. His throat feels like it's on fire and his head is pounding and there's definitely tears threatening to pour from his eyes. Peeking between the gap of his palms, the carpet is a mirage of blended colors, not a single one making a complete picture. But he can't look up from it. Not after having to practically safeword out of an argument.

Eddie is now startled into silence. His body turns to face his boyfriend. Where he sits, shaking and choking on quiet sobs. There's a brief moment where Eddie can literally feel his heart parachute to his stomach. Can hear the sizzling of his organ and the rush of his own blood. He's never heard Steve get loud like this. Usually he's so quiet and pensive and passive aggressive, but this, this is a new side. And Eddie doesn't like it at all.

It was common between them to try new things out and see what pleasure can be derived. And if things were taken too far or something immediately felt off-putting or terrible, they were allowed to exit the scene at any time. The stoplight system. Their shared word being "Asparagus." Things that could easily be heard and shut down everything at once, forcing them into a gentle lull where they share whispered praises and warm compliments and careful touches with a soft rag or just fingers.

So it's not unusual for Eddie to hear it. He's had to comfort Steve after a few scenes. And Steve's done the same for him.

What gets him is the context now. How tense the room feels, like walking into an already heated up sauna. Like walking into a hot tub set to one thousand degrees, in nothing—absolutely nothing.

And even though they’re fighting, Eddie’s immediate care kicks into overdrive. He forces his body to skitter over to the couch, plop down by Steve’s side, and reach out to rub a palm over his back. But when his skin makes contact, Steve flinches away.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” he growls. And when his eyes look deep into Eddie’s, there’s something tragic there. “You—You don’t get to say shit like that to me and then try to—Try to,” he chokes. A sob caught between a gag and a phlegm cough cracks open from his chest. “I don’t understand what I did wrong,” he cries out.

Eddie is once again quiet, keeping his hands to himself. Running them nervously over his thighs. It takes everything in him to not reach out and scoop Steve up and run fingers through his hair. He swallows and breathes. Opting to not respond. Maybe this will teach him to shut his mouth, for once.

Steve cries loud and harsh. And Eddie bears witness to it all. The contortion of his body, the reddening of his skin, the pulling of his hair, especially the wailing that’s spilling from his closing throat.

“I was listening,” Steve hiccups. “I was, I swear. I didn’t—“ His breath stutters through his next inhale. Lip sucking inwards when he does attempt a deep breath; it’s not like it lasts, merely only sitting in his lungs for three seconds before punching back between them. “I couldn’t hear you!” He exclaims. 

There’s no residual anger in Steve’s tone, though Eddie thinks there should be. God, he feels like a pile of shit just for the way Steve is holding himself right now. How his body is giving up on him. The way he continues to writhe through each stabbing cough and sob and gag and—He just feels like shit.

Though, alarms are going off in Eddie’s head. What Steve just said, that doesn’t make any sense. They were facing each other. They were sitting only two inches apart, practically every open area of skin clinging to one another. For a moment, Eddie once again feels anger spike through him. But the other part of him is overcome with deep concern, rippling in his blood, pouring out in the way his eyes widen and his eyebrows furrow and his mouth shifts downturned.

“You couldn’t hear me?” He parrots.

Steve nods his head. A bobblehead who’s spring is wound too loose, head flopping almost over its shoulders. “I—I was going to tell you, I swear. But I—You were talking and talking and I couldn’t read your lips because that’s really hard and you talk super fast and when you talk fast you mumble and—“ He gags. Slams his back behind into the couch, head dropping over the curved edge. He blinks rapidly, swallows so aggressive that his Adam’s apple appears to be plunging from behind his tongue. A deep breath, short lived. Two more deep breaths and they wheeze through him, but it must be enough because he carries on. “And then you got mad and you were so mean and I swear I was listening, I was interested, I just didn’t understand. And you get so tired of having to reexplain things that I didn’t want to ask and then you got even more mad and now—I was listening, I swear!” He cries out once more.

In response, Eddie’s jaw is dropped slack. He couldn’t hear me, he realizes. Genuinely, really.Scrambling, he whispers, “And I got mad and I called you stupid and then…” And then he called red, you idiot, Eddie self-chastises.

God, he is really a steaming back of flaming dog shit.

Taking another breath, Steve exhales with, “I was listening.” He tilts his head to look directly at Eddie. Eyes open and pleading. Begging to be understood. “I’m losing my hearing, Eds. I was going to tell you, but I didn’t—I didn’t get the chance. And then you were—“

“I was being mean. I was being an asshole. I wasn’t listening to you,” Eddie lists off. “I was doing the things that I accused you of,” he realizes.

Steve nods against the back of the couch. Blinking and blinking and swallowing and trembling.

“Oh my god, you couldn’t hear me, you couldn’t understand me,” Eddie whispers. Suddenly, he shoots upwards. Nearly startling Steve into another frantic round of panic. “How long, Steve?”

“Since March,” Steve admits, almost shamefully. “My head slammed into the wall inside of the Creel house and I ended up with another concussion. And that was the start of it,” he elaborates. “It’s just been going from there.”

As he talks, Eddie begins to silently cry. And when Steve’s done, Eddie sobs.

“And this entire time…Oh my god,” he mumbles. “Oh my god,” he repeats. Choking through his next breath. “Baby—“ Steve perks up at that. “—Baby why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

Steve shrugs. “Everybody else had it worse off. It didn’t seem important.” He sniffs. “Guess now it kind of is though, right?” A humorless chuckle. “If that’s how you’ve been thinking of me.”

Damn him, Eddie thinks. Damn him and stu—and his unnecessary self-sacrificial nature. “Sweetheart, you’re not stupid. I swear, you’re not stupid. Steve, you are one of the most intelligent people I have ever had the fortune of coming across. You know just what to say, when to say it. You’ve got that interest in classic literature, which I fucking adore by the way. And you know almost too much about any sport in the world. That’s—Your sport stuff is like D&D for me.

“God, you’re not stupid. Not by a mile. I just—I’ve always been treated like shit for the things I like. And I know that’s not an excuse, it’s just the way I’ve had to adapt and grow, y’know?” He asks rhetorically. “If I got defensive and angry and vicious, then people left me alone. And I could enjoy my stuff in peace. But when I tried to share the things I liked, people were fast to tune me out and shrug me off.” Eddie slowly inches in again, gauging Steve’s reaction. When he doesn’t flinch, but instead moves close, Eddie shoves a hand into the back of his hair and slings his other arm over Steve’s lap. Thumb rubbing at Steve’s denim thigh. He says, “You’ve never been stupid. I just thought you didn’t care. Nobody has ever cared about me the way you care about me, I swear it.”

Steve nuzzles in closer. He breathes against Eddie’s neck. Murmurs, “Everything you like is special to me. And I want to be able to understand. I’m trying.”

“I know baby, I see that now,” Eddie whispers. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you previously and today. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

He squeezes Steve tighter. An attempt to meld their bodies into one.

“I love you so much, Steve. We’re going to figure something out. Learn a language or raise some money for a hearing aid, whatever you want.”

Against Eddie’s chest, Steve nods. “I love you too,” he whispers. Presses a kiss over Eddie’s left pec. “You’re gonna have to show me though.”

“Whatever you fucking want, Steve. You can have anything you want from me.” And he can feel the smirk against his neck. But Eddie is willing and able to give. “Take anything you want from me.”

----------------- Part Two is Here!

[rickydoodahgrimez]

friends? || rick grimes x gn!reader

summary: you save rick from almost getting bitten and he doesn't seem to like that

tw: swearing, rick being a little bitch and denying his feelings xx

It was supposed to be a normal run

Unfortunately, not everything goes to plan. Glenn and Carol begged you to go on a run with Rick since Daryl had to back out last minute. You tried to beg Glenn if he could take your place because who knows what would happen if you were alone with Rick Grimes.

It really all started when Rick first joined the group. You two just constantly butted heads. You just never agreed on anything. So who knew what might happen if the guy you can't spend 5 minutes around without smashing his head in, you have to endure 2 hours with.

Sadly, your pleading didn't work and you had to get into his car, not sparing the sheriff a glance and watching Carol and Glenn wave with matching smirks on their faces as the car drove away.

It was painfully awkward and everlasting silence during the drive and every single time you tried to talk to him, he would stay silent which would make it more frustrating. In the end, you decided to give up because it was simply not worth it.

It was around thirty minutes when the car stopped next to a orphanage in a random town. Rick got out first and slammed the door behind him, making you roll your eyes at him.

You walked into the pharmacy a minute after Rick did and headed straight towards the kitchen. You looked in the cupboards for baby food and put it in the bag you carried. You were about to look in the fridge when you heard a loud shout

"Shit!"

There was no answer on how fast you run towards the sound, all you know is that you dropped the bag that was in your hand and took flight. You didn't know how you knew on which room it came from but you're glad you did, when you saw around 10 walkers and one Rick Grimes on the floor.

Quickly, you stabbed all the walkers in the head that were close to you to get towards Rick and then you noticed that he stabbed the one that was on top of him and shoved it out the way but unfortunately, another walker was on top and it's mouth landed right next to his neck.

Instinctively, you reached for your gun and shot the walker in the head causing it to fall limp against Rick's chest. Rick breathed heavily and he looked at your now stretched arm in front of him and to your annoyingly pretty face, then he decided to ignore your out stretched arm and walked away from you

"Where are you going?" You asked, keeping up with his pace

"We're leavin'" His southern accent drawled out

"But we're not even done yet!" You protested, grabbing his shoulder

Rick suddenly turned and blue eyes pierced your soul and locked his hand around your wrist to tug you along "I said we're leavin"

Before Rick could tug you further, you twisted his wrist and propped him against the wall, with your knife at his neck and a murderous look in your eye.

Your voice was low and void of any emotion "If you touch you me again, I will drive this neck through your neck and I enjoy every single fucking second of it"

You backed away from him, your knife back in your pocket and jogged towards the kitchen, not sparing him a glance. When you came back to the spot where you left Rick, he was still standing there and this time your bag was in your hand.

"Now we can go" You broke the silence and walked back to the car

You and Rick were in the car, driving on the main road and it's been more awkward than the first drive, when he walked in. You watched the window and as the trees passed by, you knew you weren't gonna take it anymore

So being the stupid person you are, you turned to Rick "Why do you hate me?"

Rick turned to look at you and chuckled "Why do I hate you?" He asked slowly

"Well it's either you're deaf and you need hearing aids sweetheart, because I'm pretty sure you heard me" You retort back, sarcastically

Rick let out a short laugh at your comment, which made you look at him in disbelief "Wow, who knew Rick Grimes could laugh"

Rick stopped laughing but still had a small smile on his face "I don't hate you"

"Really" You ask "Because I have this passionate, burning hate for you that goes deep inside my veins and every time I see you, I want to pour hot, flaming coffee on you so you can burn in the sun"

Rick turned to look at you and you continued "Do I really need to be any more sarcastic for you Rick? Because I'm pretty sure everyone knows you hate me"

"Nah" Rick replied "You just piss me off to an extent"

"Huh, and how exactly did I ‘piss you off to an extent’ when the first time we met, you made it seem like you hated me" You explained

"I don't know" Rick stated "You took care of anyone, you cared for people even though you didn't know them, you took care of Carl and you took care of Lori even when I wasn't"

"So basically, I pissed you off because I took care of your family members?"

"And also, you're sarcastic remarks" He admitted and you smiled

"Knew it" You both chuckled and Rick looked from the road to you

"So, friends?" He suggested

You looked at him with a small smirk "Maybe"

yeah, so basically, my first post. y'know, i couldn't think about the ending for almost a day cause my head was being a little bitch 😀

[kissorkill16]

Just An Idiot: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Sometimes, you just feel like an idiot for wanting a pretty girl.

Enzo tried not to squirm as his sister pressed the disinfectant pad on his chest.

"You're a real idiot for doing that.", said Maritza. Enzo rolled his eyes and gently pushed his sister, "Mari, please. This is punishment enough.", he said, gesturing to his stab wound.

"Whatever, man."

Maritza grabbed the bandages from the table and began wrapping them around Enzo's chest.

"I mean it, though.", she said. "You knew it was risky, and you still went out there anyway. And for what? For some girl who doesn't even like you like that?"

At that point, Enzo felt something inside him just snap. He stood up despite the pain, and he shoved his sister to the floor.

"What the hell is your problem?!", he yelled at her. "You constantly mock me, tease me, throw things at me and you act like you're embarrassed to call me your brother, even in public. Trinity makes me happy, and you think she's just using me for her own gain, but you're wrong!"

"And how do you know that?!", Maritza yelled back at her brother.

"Because she's given me reasons to trust her!", said Enzo, "While she's been a totally awesome friend to me, you've been nothing but a total bitch!"

Maritza stood up, "I'm not taking it back. You're an idiot for wanting someone just because they're pretty.", she said. "I know what Trinity is really like, because I'm not blinded by her pretty face."

Enzo felt himself ball his hands into fists, "And I'm the idiot here? Just because I want to trust someone and help them out when they need me?", he said. "Yes, I love Trinity because she's pretty, but I know she's more than that. She's kind, she's smart, she's brave, and she's a fantastic leader."

He bent down to meet Maritza's level.

"And if she's really using me, I'd prefer it over you being a total asshole to me 24/7 any day of the fucking week."

Maritza's eyes widened. She's never heard her brother swear before. At least not in English. When he did, he only swore in Spanish, never in English. That's how she knew that Enzo was really angry.

Then she saw Enzo curl up and his eyes fill with tears.

"Maybe I am an idiot.", he said, "We went into the woods together, and when I screamed, she didn't even come to save me. You did.", he wiped his face as tears started to run down his cheeks. "Maybe Trinity isn't the girl I fell in love with anymore, maybe I was an idiot for just falling for her pretty face."

Maritza didn't like seeing her brother cry. She sat down next to him and gave him a side hug, "Enzo, I know you feel stupid, and I'm gonna admit something."

Enzo looked over to his sister.

"As I got to know Trinity, I kinda fell in love with her too."

She looked away from her brother's surprised face, "But ever since she found that coin, she's become more stubborn, and I know she's probably under a lot of stress, but..."

Maritza took Enzo's hand and held it in hers.

"But you almost died tonight, and if I hadn't known about this, Crowface would've fucking killed you. She knew you'd come with her because you were the only one willing to help her, and she used that to her advantage. That's not the Trinity either of us fell in love with.", said Maritza, "I guess we're both idiots."

Enzo looked at his shoes, and Maritza gently squeezed his hand.

"But we can be idiots together, but maybe we can stop following the pretty girl."

Enzo smiled warmly at his sister, and Maritza gently wrapped her arms around her brother, careful not to put too much pressure on the stab wound.

[allelitewrites]

Barbed Wire Heart

I'm So Sorry (Part Two)

Word Count: 1171

Relationship: Reader X Hangman Adam Page

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

After the attack by Swerve, even if it was against what you wanted, Hangman insisted he assist you backstage and then to the medical room. He probably would've carried you if you would have let him. Doc Sampson was already waiting, fully expecting a visit from you. He asked you a few questions as you grimaced every once in a while. You couldn't even feel the tacks in your back anymore and your head had for the most part clotted up. Adam never left your side, allowing you to squeeze his forearms whenever one of the thumb tacks being removed from your back hurt enough to make you flinch.

Doc eventually finished up, leaving you and your fiancé to yourselves. You took one of the unopened cleansing wipes on the counter next to you, tearing open the packet and unfolding the napkin. "Can I?" You ask Adam, pointing at your dried blood still staining his stubbled chest.

"You don't need to worry about it. I can get it." He softly smiles. He was doing what he always did when you got hurt. Not letting you help him with anything even if he really needed it. But when he tried to take the wipe you pulled your hand away.

He couldn't help but chuckle at your stubbornness. You cleaned up his chest, more of your blood on him than you thought there was. You didn't think he knew it but you were trying to distract yourself from the tiny stabbing pains in your back wherever a thumbtack once was. He looked like he was closer to crying than you were. He watched you with sad eyes, waiting for you to look up at him and just admit to him how much pain you were in so he could use it as a reason to cater to you. But it wasn't going to happen. The pain was better than making him feel more guilty than he already did.

When there was no visible blood left on him, he stood up and picked his shirt up off the chair on the other side of the room. When a knock rattled the door, Adam opened it to reveal the Young Bucks on the other side. They were visibly worried as they checked on you. You needed to assure them you were fine, standing up and shaking your body to show you weren't in too much pain. Regardless of your best efforts to lie, your fiancé who was putting his hair up in a bun could sense the untruthfulness radiating off your body.

Eventually the Bucks did leave. You and Adam checked in with Tony Khan to let him know you were doing all right. Adam never let go of your hand once. Even as you were grabbing your bags or walking through doorways in the hallway. You both knew you were going to have to return back to your home which you watched get trashed.

You walked through the parking lot, waving at a fan or two who left the show a few minutes early. Adam put your bag in the back seat. Opened the car door for you. Even buckled you in. He was being annoying but his genuine heart stopped you from being able to get mad. Adam wanted do everything to make sure you didn't work at all.

He drove you both home, his head constantly turning to look at you to make sure you were alright. You occasionally planted a kiss on his hand which was interlocked with yours. Every so often he'd mumble a few words to you, ask you if you were in any pain, or if he could do anything to help you. He offered you food, but you didn't have much of an appetite. He offered you ice cream, but the thought turned your stomach. Adam eventually realized he would have to just settle for tending to you at home.

It wasn't as easy as that. You took a deep breath before Adam unlocked the door. For the time being it seemed he forgot that your home was raided and torn apart. Again he reached for your hand as he pushed the door open. All of the lights were left on, drawers were pulled open, and there was things all over the floor. You led him through the door. Speechless about the sight laid out in front of you and your fiancé.

Adam's eyes scanned the room a few times over before you let go of his hand. You only took your hand back to wipe one of the tears that had escaped from your eyes. Your name has been brought up countless times by Adam's opponents just as your opponents had Adam. Plenty of people threatened to hurt you just to get to Hangman, but no one had ever gone this far. Removing the peace from your home and practically tearing the walls from the support beams. No one had ever gone as far as laying their hands on you, forcing your fiancé to watch helplessly.

Adam barely began to question if you were alright before you went out in the backyard and dropped to your hands and knees. You crawled around your yard like a dog, feeling around for the necklace that was thrown out the door. Your breath was hitching in your chest and the tears began to fall more frequently, Adam quickly followed you out and pulled you to your feet. He pulled you into his chest and let you cry, carefully resting his hands on your back, doing his best to not hurt you. "I'm so sorry." He whispers. He didn't think you heard but you could hear him holding back his own tears. "Y/n, I'm so sorry."

After an hour or two of cleaning with small breakdowns in between, the house looked closer to the way it normally did. Decorations on the walls and shelves, pillows propped on the couch, and Adam even managed to find the necklace in the yard. Setting it back in its place; draped on your favorite photo of you and Adam.

He showered with you and helped you get ready for bed. The now clean cuts starting to sting again. He helped you to your bed, holding you tightly to his chest. Even though the chances of someone coming back through the front door were little, his strong arms held you protectively. You were quick to fall asleep, the whole day washing you over with exhaustion. He struggled. Every once and a while his eyes popping open at the sound of a squirrel outside, a car passing by, or the sound of the house settling.

That night, the little amount of minutes of sleep Adam got were filled with dreams of each way he would get revenge. Revenge for keeping him from protecting his treasure. Revenge for destroying yours and his place of comfort. But most importantly...

Revenge for ever laying even a single finger on the one person he loved more than anyone else.

[lexidius]

and maybe it's just me being "an annoying fucking kinnie" or something but like. i have tried repressing it. i have tried leaving the fandom. i have tried content filtering and self curating my online experience. i have tried to "drop the kintype", as all these "voluntary" KFFers and "chosen kintype" kiddies so eloquently put it. but i didn't choose this kintype for "funsies". i didn't choose my strongest alterhuman IDs voluntarily. i didn't wake up one day and decide "hey i'm going to actively decide to become fictionkin of the character in this series who people think of as a second-rate badly written knockoff of the main blorbo, i sure do love the idea of constantly hearing about the way in which this selfhood of mine gets stabbed through the chest and bleeds out dying in the arms of the love of his life, sounds like a fun quirky lil thing to add to my carrd for the lolzors". i don't find this fun or quirky or something that i can just push away into the corner like it doesn't affect me. it does affect me. and yes i have tried to touch grass about it. yes i have in fact touched grass about it. i have tried and tried and tried and unfortunately, no, this is something that isn't going away any time soon. and i know i can't control what the fandom does, and i know that i'm just some rando guy on the internet who people are going to look at and go "ugh, that fucking jason fictionkin is taking it all too seriously again, what a fucking delulu, get a life and stop fandom wanking and shitting on our parade, none of it is real its all fiction its just a story", like i fucking know that. and yet i still can't help feel upset when i want to engage with my source material and always have to have my guard up in case i'm flashbanged with an untagged post and hit with painful feelings about character death again. and maybe it does make me crazy to relive something from a work of fiction as though it was an actual memory of something that once happened to me in a former life. i don't have proof of it other than my own subjective feelings and emotions about it, that much is true. but again... i didn't choose how real this feels to me. i didn't choose this. i didn't choose this kintype. this isn't voluntary. i didn't choose to feel these things. i didn't choose to feel this pain. serious kin with serious IDs exist. and it's not a game to us.

[0perfectimperfections0]

I know you probably don't write spygirls' a lot but it kinda kills me how they, being Lou's "loyal assistants", stopped giving a damn about Lou at all for no reason. Imagine if they did try to help him at the end somewhere during the time he was suggested to be killed/put in the washing machine/etc. yeah I'm bad at phrasing my thoughts

Lucky person number 2 to finally have their ask answered!

Sorry 😃it's been....since September that you sent this in.

But mmaaaaayyybbbeeee it's been worth the wait? 👉👈

<><><><><><>

Fatal ideas were tossed around the air flippantly. The baby, tearing his stuffing out, letting the dog have its way with him. The terrifying part wasn't necessarily the punishments themselves. It was the fact that they were doing it. The factory had threatened and punished him with far worse. But he knew that his creator cared nothing about him.

But did these dolls not care, either?

After everything? He...he made, maybe, a handful of mistakes and now he wasn't worth a second chance. They were no better than the factory. No better than his creator.

Or maybe this was what he had to expect, being a prototype. This was his place in life; being lower than everyone else and constantly punished and left behind for the smallest mistakes. He wasn't worth the mercy.

Or maybe he was.

His shrunken eyes landed on the Spy Girls, about to beg them for mercy. But Kitty spoke up before he could say anything. "Well, hold on!" She spoke out from the crowd, walking forward. "He has treated us like trash, but maybe there's a reason for it." Lou's heart lifted. "Maybe this is just how prototypes are."

It sunk twice as fast.

There were a few murmured agreements from the crowd. Kitty continued on. "Maybe he's like the dog or the baby. Just there to be an obstacle for us."

Lou looked down at her, brows pinched. "You're...comparing me to a robot?" That pain in his chest was returning. A sharp pain.

Sadness.

No...this felt more like when Ox had stabbed him in the back to try and leave, despite the bonding they had experienced. He didn't have a word to describe it though.

Kitty merely looked up at him with a shrug. "I'm saying you are a robot. A robot that doesn't understand anything outside of what you were meant to do. So, you don't understand how we feel."

But he did. He did to some extent. This was...this was invalidating his feelings. He could feel things, too, just like them. It had been a learning process, but did that suddenly mean that all that learning was for nothing? They would still discard his feelings as...programmed? Robotic?

Fake.

He wasn't being fake. Not with...

Not with...

Well, there was one time...

Lou began to realize that...he had been faking for many years now. Faking being happy. Being perfect. Being...being content and okay with the fact that he couldn't go anywhere. Faking it to the point of fooling himself into thinking everything was fine.

And it wasn't.

He had been pushing away and invalidating his own feelings long before they began to.

Kitty's voice jarred him from his revelation. "No wonder you can't go to the Big World. You aren't able to understand love and compassion."

Lou shook his head. The dog gently set him on the ground to stand. "No! I-I can! I can understand it, just like the rest of you!" He gave a shaky smile to the dolls. They would toss him aside and leave him to collect dust if they thought him to be any different.

That's how it had been with the dog and baby. Trapped in the Gauntlet.

He didn't want to be any more trapped than he already was.

Lydia stepped up, looking doubtful. "Right. Then what does love mean? How do you show it? Cause you've treated us like trash."

Lou, with a hand to his chest, opened his mouth to try and come up with something. "It's...it..." Love. Love. What was love? The crowd waited for his response, expressions slowly changing from expectancy to doubt.

When he couldn't find the words, Ox stepped up slowly. "Is...that why you tried to kill Mandy and Moxy? You don't...you can understand something as simple as compassion? Is that why you tried to have me recycled?"

"You think I didn't care about you?" Now there was an emotion Lou knew all too well. Anger. Betrayal. Lou's hands fisted at his sides as he glared at the bunny. "You think I sent you through those pipes because I didn't care about you? I should be asking you if you even cared about me? I'm not a freaking robot!" He swept his glare to girls now. "I feel things, too! Just like the rest of you. If there's anything I have in common with you it's that I can feel these God forsaken emotions!"

"But you don't know what love is," Kitty pointed out condescendingly.

"Do you know what loneliness is?" Lou shot back. "Do you know what solitude feels like?" Kitty stayed quiet. The dolls were quiet. "You've never experienced it before, have you? None of you have. I guess you might say you don't know what it feels like. Well, I've never experienced love. I've never felt it, never had it, never seen it or been given it."

Ox set his face into a stern glare, trying to shake off the hurt in Lou's eyes. "You could have done something, Lou. You coulda told someone and-"

"Like how I told you?" Lou whirled on him. "Like on January 15th of 2012 when we were talking and I told you that all I wanted was for someone to stay. I told you what I was feeling."

Ox looked down at the ground before looking back at Lou. "You remember the day?"

"Yeah, because I thought that would be the day everything changed. I thought that was the turning point in my life and you would stay. I thought it would be the two of us against the world." Lou swallowed. "And I was wrong, I guess," he gestured shakily to the portal in the distance, "cause even now...you'd rather toss me aside just for a chance at the Big World."

"Lou-" Ox started.

Kitty interrupted him. "Maybe you should stay in the Gauntlet with the robot and baby," she suggested to Lou. "You'd fit in better. They'll stay with you. They can teach you what love is."

Was that her idea of a better solution? It was basically another prison.

Lou set his jaw, biting down on his tongue. "Well, I definitely won't learn it being around any of you." He brushed past Ox. The bunny tried hurrying to catch up with him until Lou held out a hand. Lou walked backwards to glare at him. "Don't bother, Ox, I can't 'understand compassion' anyways, so don't waste your time." Lou turned back around and headed toward the Gauntlet.

Kitty huffed, calling out to him. "You could say thank you for basically saving your life!"

"I'd rather be dead than be stuck here any longer." Lou spoke loud enough for them to hear. "Excuse my lack of compassion, but thanks for nothing."

[doberbutts]

Just had my check-in with my endo and:

We are increasing testosterone because my menstrual cycle is being incredibly stubborn, and we still have plenty of wiggle room with my current levels to see if that helps things along.

Discussing top surgery in summer!!!

Since I have had people ask me for pros and cons after 4 months on T:

I have gained weight. I don't really care but I know folks with eating disorders will. Part of it has to be because I'm eating bigger meals more often because I'm constantly hungry and thirsty. Since the end of September I've gained 10lbs. We'll see if that stays steady esp when the weather warms up and I go back to hiking twice a week.

I do have higher blood pressure. This is actually good because due to my POTS/NCAH I have historically very low blood pressure which makes me fatigued and cold and tired all the time. I am no longer fatigued and cold and tired and instead feel energized with good stamina and I haven't had a POTS episode for ages. So... not really a con for me but my doctor still wants to keep an eye on it.

I don't really seem to need Sushi as a service dog anymore. This is the biggest lifestyle adjustment and while it's great it's sort of bittersweet. I've gotten used to having a dog by my side all the time and now I no longer need her except in very specific situations.

Periods unfortunately have still been a thing. The tradeoff is interesting- overall less pain and blood (the last two my coworkers didn't even know I was on, vs me having to call out because I couldn't move due to the severe pain and nausea). But at the same time instead of only lasting 3 days, it lasts a full 7. 7 days of barely-there spotting (like, I don't even need a pad, barely there) vs 3 days of crippling agonizing pain and bleeding through pads hourly... better yes but I want it *gone*

More hair, everywhere. On my face, on my chest, on my ass. Get used to being fuzzy.

More muscles built easier, which again will be interesting to see when I start exercising outside again.

Deeper voice, especially while singing.

Significantly better mental health- my friends and coworkers have commented multiple times that I seem happier and healthier.

TMI FOLLOWING:

As discussed, way higher sex drive. Orgasms are easier to produce, feel stronger/sharper, and have a shorter recovery period before I'm ready to go again.

There is also the problem of dryness. I do not enjoy PIV or really vaginal ANYTHING so I'm pretty okay with the dryness. However the dryness is also causing fluid duct blockage which is causing small, painful cysts on the labia especially after an extended sexual session or when near my cycle. It's NOT an STD (I checked) but it IS caused by microtears and fluid buildup due to atrophy and dryness, and especially because I have a trash immune system that means risk of infection is sky high. The only way to fix is topical estrogen via vaginal suppository, which I am absolutely not doing. So that is a con to consider for those this may concern. I've honestly just sort of managed it with OTC antibiotic ointments but ymmv on how annoying this may get for you.

Bottom growth definitely a thing lol it's uh. Probably about as long and thick as my thumb. Big enough to now be actively in the way when cleaning myself in the shower or wiping after I use the bathroom.

Prior to T I had incredibly sensitive nipples, not in the good sense but in the sense of "ow this T-shirt material feels like it's sandpapering my nipples directly off my chest" and "my boyfriend tried licking my nipple during sex and all I felt was searing hot pain like he'd stabbed me with a sharp knife". That has stopped- and I haven't gained any sexual pleasure to replace it which is fine, but it does mean my nipples don't hurt anymore.

[targwh0re]

Gwayne Hightower/After the Death of Helena Cuy Drabble

(Obviously inspired by teen wolf, that Chris and Isaac scene after Allison dies. Also thanks to ladybug023 for convincing me with that lovely Daeron Targaryen drabble (go read it) to get off my ass and write something for Gwayne & the Hightower fam😂❤)

There is nothing worse than the grief of losing someone who you love. Especially when one is so young. It was choking Gwayne, seemingly cutting off all oxygen so that he couldn't breath. The tears flowed freely and stung his eyes like a thousand tiny pin prick needles, making his eyes all red and his skin blotchy; under his eyes were raw from where he'd constantly rubbed away tear after tear. He didn't wanted to cry, he wanted to make his father proud but he just couldn't stop. He tried and he tried but...this was his mother, the woman who bore him and nursed him at her breast, who always read him stories and sang songs, who was gentle with him and helped him when he couldn't get the words on the pages right - the woman who loved him most in the world. And now she was gone.

Gwayne's first memory was of his mother. The light of the sun had surrounded her like a golden aura to match her personality, and her smile was so wide that the dimples looked like little valleys on either side of her lips. She just smiled, and he remembered the love and the safety he'd felt just from her presence. Perhaps that's why he was now sneaking into his sisters chambers. She was the spitting image of their mother and he wanted...he wanted to pretend for just a moment that she wasn't gone.

But when he saw her sitting up in the bed, her clothes as bleak as the midnight sky and the feeling in their hearts, he faltered. Her messy face was a mirror of his but she wore a blank stare, as if all the light had been drained from the world. She didn't look like mother now, and he felt guilty for trying to pretend. She needed someone too and he'd selfishly only thought of himself. He felt it eating at him as he gently sat on the edge of the bed, digging his nails roughly into his palms to create cresent moons in the flesh. She merely looked at him, slowly moving her bloodshot eyes to focus on him, but even then she wasn't truly seeing.

"Are-are-" He cleared his throat and cursed himself for his stutter and the tears that came to gloss over his dark eyes, a replica image if his fathers; he hated them. "Are you okay?"

Even breathing hurt Alicent, and she felt a sharp sting, particularly in her chest, and the constricting of her throat. But she was better at being stong then her brother, for when she exhaled and opened her chapped lips to speak her voice was strong despite the barely noticeable wobble to them. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I have an ability to compartmentalize my emotions."

It was silent for a few moments and that's when she truly took in her brother and saw he'd turned away from her to hide the tears now flowing so freely down his face. He thought he used them all up. His voice was a mere whisper when he spoke up. To hell with being strong, I'm not strong, he thought.

"I don't." That was all it took for her instincts to kick in as a big sister, the need to protect and be the caretaker. She sat up and shuffled over to him, taking his face gently in her hands, and holding her against herself. She didn't care about the tears or the snot currently staining her dress, not as she felt her own hot tears slowly descend her face to land in his wild chestnut hair. She just whispered over and over again that it was okay, even though it wasn't, even though it probably wouldn't be for a while, it would be eventually. Until then they knew that they had eachother, they had their memories, and the thought that they would see their mother again one day. It still did nothing to help them escape the stabbing pain in both their hearts, though perhaps maybe it did dull it to some extent.

Their father stood just on the other side of that door, his fist raised to knock but never meeting the wood. He heard them crying in their grief, and he wanted to do what she would have wanted and comfort them but he couldn't bring himself to step into that room and see the looks on their faces. Alicent was the spitting image of his beloved Helena, a ghost he couldn't quite face yet. But Gwayne, everything he did, from the way he to spoke, to the way he held himself, and all his mannerisms...all belonged to his mother. Otto stood outside that door listening until they became silent, having cried themselves to sleep holding onto one another, and still Otto Hightower stood out there all night...and he cried.

[hiraethinhaven]

its kind of insane being in my early twenties because I am in my internship and working towards this highly important degree. I'm handling so many responsibilities and meetings and being everywhere at once while also dealing with the most gut-wrenching emotions and struggling against my own sense of cosmic identity. Im questioning myself, my religion, my parents, and also everyone I ever met and talked to. I constantly have these moments of extreme anxiety and I balloon out of my body and see myself from a third person perspective just sitting. just standing. i feel so insane and on the edge of something truly unavoidable. it feels like I'm constantly waiting on something bad to happen. its exhausting and taxing and mentally draining. I talk with my mentor teacher, my students, and my classmates. and then I sit in my car alone. and I just feel like none of this matters. on paper I can write yes of course this matters, you're working towards a degree, you're impacting these kids lives, you are establishing professional relationships, you're doing everything you possibly can! and yet. I feel so. resigned almost. like I’m just going through the motions. and all of this will fade away, none of it will Really matter, and I'll still end up sitting in my car. alone. I get in these moments of stabbing anxiety and my whole being buzzes and feels so insanely on edge. and these moments happen everywhere. when I'm laying in bed. when I'm driving. God I get so scared when it happens when I'm driving. I feel like I'm gonna explode. my head hurts. God its never stopped hurting. all this and I still just go to work. go to class, sit and read, stand and teach. I make food and eat it and feel nothing. I make tea and hold it close to my chest and all I feel is that physical warmth. nothing translates. nothing helps. yet I don't feel hopeless, just resigned. I just need to finish this. but then what? what happens after? what do I do? who am I even becoming. what do I get excited for anymore, nothing and everything. everything is overwhelming and I hate to think past my own hands. and maybe I'm just rambling and this doesn't even make sense to me but I’m sitting in class and trying not to freak out. I have a daily fear of passing out from the stress of it all. I get dizzy and disoriented just talking to someone because that anxiety grips me so deeply and fuck I don't know what to do!!

writing helps. its the one thing I come back to. writing helps. I talk and talk and so much of it is just bullshit and I overthink and overthink and so much of it is waste. I write and I feel relieved. like I’m not the only one with this burden. I'm handling it over to you.

[elpida]

"Lawrence it's.. it's okay, I'll be fine, I just feel under the weather. He's not... Lawrence he'd-" she was frightened enough to try and push it all aside, to lie. In her mind it was lying to keep him safe, to keep someone they both loved safe. Before she could even think on how to fix it, how to keep Lawrence out of Sams chaos. When it came down to it.. Sam was really a man picking on someone smaller than him, because he could. Eden was an easy target, he'd walked in here like it was nothing and he was making her feel small but this.. when something was clearly out of sorts with Eden? Anyone close to her knew she had a harm time with food so when she was being sick too, she could get ill quickly and from how.. dainty she looked, it'd been more than a day or two now. God she looked so fragile actually. A lot of that healthy weight she'd maintained whilst she was with Angelo had gone.

There was a relief that washed over Eden at the idea that Sam would let her go, that with how public Lawrence with with his bold statement, he'd let her simply walk away... but in the space of a few seconds he'd pushed Lawrence. He'd reached forward and shoved him, hard. Hard enough to send a man his age to the ground. "Lawrence!" she gasped, this genuine worry in her voice and she was moving to get down to help him when she felt her upper arm gripped, twisted in Sams grip. "Noah-" she urged and her other hand was pointing at him to help Lawrence because Eden knew.. she knew perfectly well that with how low her energy felt and with just how Sam towered her, she wasn't fighting his grip or that way he was dragging her. All she could think about was Lawrence and how he'd tried to help her, how she wanted to help him and go with him and she'd have gone with him so easily.

"Sam- Sam stop it! You're hurting me!" she cried as he squeezed her skin in his arm and dragged her up the stairs. If she tried to pull or even stay on the spot, he squeezed harder, until she was half certain he'd break her arm for sport. He as good as threw her into the apartment and slammed the door behind her. Each step he took at her had her back pacing until her back was to the wall. Sam reached behind, pulling something that she heard click and only when she saw the glint of it in the light did she realize that he had a pocket knife. Her heart lurched. "What... what are you.." she gulped, she felt that aching agian, the tight feeling spreading across her chest but it all felt like it came to a firm halt when she felt the cold, drag of metal against the dip of her throat. "I'm bored Eden, I warned you about the old man.. didn't I? Didn't I say I'd tire of the insubordination? You made your choices and now.. well now I get to make mine." his smirk was wicked, it was sinister.. and she'd never seen such determined and disgusting desire in someone. "Tell me what consequences I have for taking what I want when I want it? Plus with you being pregnant, what more do I have to lose now?" he leaned in, dragging down the knife to the first button of her shirt.

"I'm not- what?" she felt her throat drying, her throat that she tried to move, she was so.. perfectly still against that knife. She'd faced a knife before and on cold days she still felt sore in her shoulder so if he.. but what if what he said was the truth? What if she was pregnant? That was a possibility.. one that she'd never even considered and now that she thought about it, her period was late. Shit it was really late actually. She'd been that stressed constantly she hadn't even thought about it. "Let me go Sam. I was never yours." Eden said, trying to sound more firm but he popped another button on her blouse and she was... if she were truly honest? Absolutely terrified. "Stop it- just- just stop it- no-" she move her hands to push at his. Let him stab me, she thought. It was better than him taking more buttons. Edens hands shoved at his arm and in a swift movement he'd back handed her and it was hard, hhard enough to leave her dazed for two moments and those two moments he took in grabbed her jaw and pushing his lips against hers. Think like Angelo, think like Cade, they'd never let anyone make them feel small. I am not small. Eden kept thinking it. I am not small, I'm not small, I am not small.

She bit his lip, has hard as she could, until the tang of iron was in her mouth and he was groaning at the pain of it and pulling back. She took that opportunity to reach for a decorative vase and like they would, like Angelo, Cade and Agatha would, without mercy, she sent that vase straight into his head. She let it shatter and ran. Her head was buzzing from that backhand, there was so much and her chest her mind, everything was running in overdrive but Eden had sense. She slammed her fists into the door, fighting with the lock. "I can't get out- I can't get it- For god sake, open!" she screeched and that was the fear, the urgency, rattling that door to get it quicker until it clicked and she pushed it open. Her blouse was hanging down from one shoulder, the small scrape the knife had left that she'd barely realized when she shoved it, a nick near her eye, along her cheekbone, it was clear enough what Sam had done or tried to.

"He tried to-..." she didn't have to explain, not to Lawrence. She was panting. A hand on her chest. "He tried- I think I'm pregnant and I hit him... I hit him with a vase, I hit him. If he's dead I did that..." she repeated, moving forward. Just as she got to Lawrence Sam, with blood streaming down one side of his face, jumped forward. He'd initially been aiming for Eden. She hadn't even realized she'd told Lawrence her suspicion, she was running on adrenaline and fumes at this point but either way he'd aimed for Eden and aimed low... it was more than cruel what he tried to do.

All she saw was red, a familiar shade of red.. a deep crimson. She'd been shielded Lawrence protected her. He'd really moved in the way to shield her entirely and took the hit for her only it wasn't a hit, it was a wound.. a deep wound an a knife that Sam kept in there as he stared at Eden. "The camera is on you." she blurted out. Her eyes moved to it at the bottom of the stairs. Noah moved it the night before, she'd whispered it to him the second she could, she knew something would happen, so Noah changed a camera Sam wouldn't check often enough, just hoping to catch something. "It's not linked to my phone. Good luck finding the footage Sam." All the fury showed in his eyes. "I'll fucking kill you for this... you and him, everyone.. everyone you love." he seethed. "Noah." Eden screamed. "Police, Ambulance, now." she screeched it, as loud as she could and when he realized what she'd shouted, what she screamed for people to hear, he let go of the knife in Lawrence's gut and ran. He was down the stairs and out of that door faster than he'd ever moved before. "Lawrence-" she was hushing, lowering down with him. "Lawrence? Hey- Hey look at me, this is... this is going to be okay, you hear me? We've done this before me and you, remember? You remember when I was really bad with my shoulder? Well you helped me so many times and now, I'll help you. Hm? I will make you all the Limoncello trifles you could want, yeah?" she whispered, simply.. lowering down, and holding him. There were moments for her where this felt like holding Ben but she wasn't going to let it happen again. "Don't touch it, don't take it out.. " she'd learned that much. "I'm here with you and me and you, we're going to be okay." it was all she could do, whisper sweet words to try and comfort and... part of it was to comfort her to. "Hold me hand, here look, you can keep hold of my hand? I need you to keep hold of my hand, I'm a big baby with hospitals remember? If you keep hold of my hand I'll be okay, so can you keep doing that for me?"

At the bottom of the stairs Noah came rushing. "Tea towels Noah- yep- Call Angelo Santino next, then Cade. Cade and Agatha but make sure Angelo hears you. It's not Eden calling it's Lawrence, he'll be in the emergency department." Noah was nodding and Eden held a tea towel around the wound tightly. "You have to be okay.. he won't listen to me, he'll always listen to you." Tears started to spill quickly. "Lawrence he had videos of me, I thought-...he said all these things he'd do and he has- he still has so much and I tried, I wanted to go home.. I wanted to come home so many times and if you just, get through this... please, for me. For Angelo, get through this. You hold on tight and you don't let go." she leaned, smoothing her hand along one side of his face. She could hear the sirens. "I'm so sorry Lawrence, I'm so so sorry."

Eden refused to leave the ambulance, she refused to let go of his hand too until he was being wheeled into surgery and only then, rather than pacing a waiting room did she let herself be checked over. She pre warned them that when he was out she'd be sitting with him and not in this room playing patient. Eden found out on her own, in a place she was naturally frightened and wary of, that she was pregnant. That her sickness, that was severe morning sickness. They didn't know the reason for the pain in her chest, they said they would run tests but.. she didn't listen, she was too zoned out by the news that she was pregnant. Angelo's. It was absolutely, without a single doubt, Angelo's. That one night... and with everything that'd been happening she didn't even think about the consequences of that night but now, there was a baby, their baby... and she wasn't going to let Sam get anywhere near her. Two butterfly stitches where placed on her cheek, they didn't think it'd scar at all so that was something... same for the scrapes from the knife but either way she moved to be in Lawrence's room with him when he was out of surgery. She wasn't going to leave him, despite the insistence that she should have been laying down awaiting tests, she insisted on sitting at his bed side and holding his hand. "I am pregnant, Lawrence. It's his. It's Angelo's." she whispered, squeezing his hand lightly. It was the best comfort she had, and that she hoped she could give him. "I wouldn't be, if it wasn't for you... so you have to be okay. Our child needs you in their life, and to know how fiercely you protect their m-..." she paused. "Mother." she whispered the word, it all felt.. surreal. "I'm going to tell him everything when he gets here, I'm going to try and fix things, to explain... you're going to be okay now." she hushed, keeping a firm hold on his aged palm. She saw him as a Father, she saw him as the type of Father she'd wished she could've had, or even a Grandfather, but either way.. Eden had chosen her family after all those years of missing it.

The conversation about Eden had ended in a heated clash, with Angelo's refusal to accept the reality of her situation weighing heavily on Lawrence. Angelo's pain and anger over her abrupt departure from the hotel clouded his judgment, leaving him unable to see beyond his own hurt. The love he still harbored for Eden was tangled with bitterness, making it nearly impossible for him to accept that she was in genuine danger, coerced into a life she didn’t choose. Lawrence, however, wasn’t so easily swayed. He had seen too much in his years to ignore the signs of someone in distress. Though his body no longer possessed the strength of youth, his mind was sharp, and his resolve was unyielding. The image of Eden's fearful eyes and the quiet desperation in her demeanor haunted him, pushing him to act despite Angelo's dismissal.

Lawrence’s decision to return to the bakery had been driven by a sense of urgency, a need to see Eden again and assess her situation firsthand. Deceiving the guards with an excuse, he managed to convince them to drop him off a short distance from the bakery, knowing they would wait for him there. He was determined to help Eden, even if it meant putting himself at risk. As he stepped into the bakery, the familiar chime of the door announced his presence. His eyes immediately found Eden, standing beside Noah, who appeared to be comforting her. The sight of her, looking more fragile than ever, sent a pang of concern through him. Lawrence approached them slowly, offering a small, close-lipped smile as he observed the scene.

Before he could say anything, Eden noticed him, and he saw the change in her demeanor as she halted mid-action. That’s when he realized that the man from his previous visit—Sam—had reappeared. Lawrence’s instincts kicked in, and he observed Sam carefully, noting the way the man carried himself, the way he seemed to exert a silent but oppressive control over Eden. The tension in the air was palpable. Lawrence remained silent, politely greeting Sam when the man acknowledged him. He waited with patience, letting the encounter play out until Sam finally left towards the kitchen. Only then did Lawrence approach the table where Eden had taken a seat, his expression softening as he sat down opposite her. She reached for his hands, and he could feel the trembling in her touch, the fear that she couldn’t hide.

His brows furrowed in concern, and he leaned in slightly, speaking in a soft, comforting tone. “The brave man is not the one who does not feel afraid, but the one who conquers that fear,” he whispered, hoping to offer her some solace. He could see how frightened she was, the way her eyes darted nervously around the room, her grip on his hands tight as if seeking an anchor. “Fear not, Miss Eden,” Lawrence continued, his voice steady and reassuring. “The purpose of this visit is to assist you, for you to be freed at once.” His words were filled with determination, a promise that he would do everything in his power to help her. He knew the situation was delicate, that Sam was a dangerous man, but he also knew that Eden deserved a life free from fear and oppression.

As Lawrence heard the kitchen door swing open once more, he felt a wave of determination surge through him. Slowly, he let go of Eden’s trembling hands, his decision made. Rising from the chair, his aged frame still commanding a quiet strength, he turned to face Sam with unwavering resolve. "Young man," Lawrence's voice carried an authority that belied his years, his gaze firmly fixed on Sam as he spoke. "I believe this young lady right here needs to be assisted, and it is quite suspicious you haven't noticed that she is unwell to be attending to customers." His words were carefully chosen, each one a deliberate challenge to Sam's apparent negligence. "If I may say so boldly, you must lack sufficient knowledge of a person's health, more so a lady like she is." Lawrence's tone grew more pointed, the subtle reprimand clear in his words. His objective was clear: to remove Eden from this oppressive environment and lead her to a place where she could be safe, where she could receive the care she so desperately needed, which was none other than Angelo's home. Lawrence's gaze didn't waver as he took a step closer to Sam, his posture still dignified despite the years that had weathered his body. "So if I may announce," Lawrence said, his voice firm and unyielding, "I am taking this woman to healthcare to be assisted, given that you, consciously or not, fail to respond to her wellbeing."

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

hey bestie is your music event still going?? if it is can i please get a baji with heatwaves? if you cant think of a plot maybe its one where baji and reader are friends and reader saves him during the valhalla fight?? thank u in advance

HELL YES I LOVE THIS IDEA MY FRIEND!!!!!!!

Music Event

Cw: mentions stabbing

(Name) felt his heart drop as he looked away from Mikey atop the cars. Kazutora was gone... And charging at Baki with a knife in hand. He clenched his jaw and charged in without hesitation, he'll take whatever lecture from his captain later. Right now, his only goal was to protect Baji Keisuke; his childhood friend and crush.

He stood between Baki and Kazutora, grabbing Kazutora's arm as he jabs the knife forward. The knife started digging into the skin of (Name)'s stomach as he strained against the deranged man. Kazutora gazed up at (Name) with unfocused rage filled eyes as he thrusted the knife further. The blade dipped further in making (Name)'s eyes water. It took a few seconds from Takemichi, Chifuyu, and Baji to realize what was going on.

Takemichi immediately lunged forward and helped push off Kazutora, ripping the knife out of (Name)'s stomach and cutting his hands. Bank quickly spun around, pulling (Name) closer to him and putting his hand over the wound. Baji's mind raced as panic surged through him. Did Kazutora try to kill him? Is Kazutora against him? Was (Name) going to die? Is (Name) going to be okay?

"F-fuck... Baji, go fuck up Kisaki! I'll take care of myself alright?" (Name) grunted out, moving Baji's hand and putting his own I've the injury. He whined a little as he applied more pressure, nudging Baki away.

"Like hell I'm gonna leave you like this!" He shouted, his jaw clenched and brows strung with worry. (Name) gave him his signature half lidded smile, gently brushing Baji's hair out of his face.

"Kisaki's the reason this is all happening right? Go fuck him up for me Kei-Kun." He whispered, Baji's heart melted a little as (Name) turned away to Kazutora - who was sitting on the ground muttering nonsense. Baji begrudgingly turned away, putting forth all is worry and frustration as he charged towards Kisaki.

Chifuyu was quick to replace Baji, reaching out for (Name) as he collapsed. The injured man panted and coughed as tears stuck to his eyelashes. He let Chifuyu fret over him as he regained his senses.

"Oh god- how do I even deal with this? Fuck... Wait! (Name)-San! You shouldn't be moving!" Chifuyu cried, pulling the other back to sit down. "Fuck... Takemichi call an ambulance!"

Baji couldn't help but tear up at the sight... (Name) being carried away on a stretcher, unconscious and bleeding. Every time he closed his eyes that's all he could see, the events replaying in his mind. Kazutora running at him, (Name) protecting him, (Name) falling unconscious, Kazutora being arrested, (Name) on a stretcher. Always on loop in his mind. Even as he sat in the hospital room, holding (Name)s warm hand in his. Warm. That's right. He's alive, he's okay.

Baji pressed (Name)'s hand to his face, feeling guilt well up in his chest. He placed a gentle kis on the other's knuckles, silently praising and thanking the unconscious boy. He's been unconscious for two days, the doctor's said it might take a while for him to wake up. Baji's heart stopped for a second as he remembered it. (Name) might not wake up, he went brain dead for almost nine seconds. Even just nine seconds could have sever repercussions, he might not even remember who he is anymore. Tears swelled up in Baji's eyes, his body trembling a she choked back sobs. "I'm so sorry..."

This continued. Daily he could visit (Name) thanking and praising him as he lie unconscious. Even when he wasn't at the hospital he was constantly thinking of him. All he wanted to do was hug and kiss his savoir, thank him in any way he could. All he wanted was for his friend to wake up, he wanted to tell him that he loved him.

Baji bit back tears as he zoned out in class, his eyes tired and unfocused. Teacher's were informed of the incident by Baji's mother, none of them really being hard on the boy. It's not easy having a friend in the hospital, hell it's not easy at all when that friend was stabbed by one of your most trusted friends. He rubbed his face, rubbing away the tears as thoughts welled up in his mind.

It was a shock to reality when the final bell dinged, Baji jumping out of his seat and running out of the classroom as soon as he heard the sound. He needed him. He needed to see him.

"Kei-Kun...?" Baji's heart shattered a little as he entered (Name)'s room, seeing the other awake and we'll ment everything to him. He couldn't hold back anymore, tears streaming down his face as he pulled (Name) into a tight hug; mumbling incoherently.

"Kei! It's okay, I'm okay! Calm down alright?" (Name) reassured with a smile, petting the other's silky black hair. Baji pulled away, his face tear stained and snotty. (Name) sighed and grabbed a few tissues from the bed side table, gently whiling his friend's face. "God, you're always such a messy crier... I'm glad you came to visit me."

"I'm so so so so sorry!" Baji cried out, making (Name) freeze. He blinked hard, scanning the other's face.

"You don't have to-" Baji was quick to cut him off.

"I'm so sorry! You got hurt because of me- I... I didn't know what to do! I thought you wouldn't wake up, I was so scared of losing you. I thought I would never be able to tell you that I loved you- or- or hug you again!" He spat out, spilling out all of his worries and grievances without any stopping. Infact he said more than just that paragraph, but all of it was an unintelligible mess of sobs.

"Kei... Shh it's okay." (Name) whispered, holding Baji's head against his chest. Slowly his sobs turned to quiet sniffles as he listened to the rhythmic sound of (Name)'s heart. Baji let out a shaky breath as he nuzzled into his friend.

"Keisuke?" Baji hummed quietly, glancing up at (Name) with reddened eyes. (Name) gently wiped away the stray tears with a loving smile. "You love me?" Baji's heart stopped. He actually said it.

"Yeah..." He whispered out, his voice cracking a little as he sniffed. (Name) smiled brightly, his cheeks burning a pale pink. He gently held the other's tear stained face in his. Hesitantly he leaned down and planted a kiss on Baji's forehead.

"You want to be my boyfriend?" He whispered, pulling Baji up to sit in his lap. Bank felt his heart leap into his throat. He silently nodded, holding back a smile making his cute little fang poke out. (Name) giggled and hugged the other, pressing his nose into Baji's jaw.

"I love you too, Keisuke Baji."

[whatstheoccasion]

— SITTING THERE, IN BLACK AND GOLD.

Maybe he can ask you to tattoo your initials on him tonight. Wouldn't be the first time he's thought about it. "I can't believe I signed up for this," you say, eyes not leaving his hand. "I'm almost done, so behave."

Law huffs, smart eyes dropping to your lips and resisting the urge to kiss them, and he waits.

> being law's lover means you're now his personal tattooist, apparently.

tags: gn reader. fluff. established relationship. kissing. +16 for suggestive thoughts bc law is whipped. warnings: cursing, post-time skip but no spoilers! word count: 660

a/n: i read the law novel and i have many feelings about him </3. also contains very inaccurate descriptions of tatting!! title from jasmine - dpr!

playlist: loveeeeee song – rihanna ft future, jasmine – dpr live

It was that time of the year where Law had to, grudgingly, retouch his tattoos.

His calloused hands were constantly washed over the years, clean of blood, dirt, and ink. It's only logical the tattoos fade. But it was the first time you were going to tattoo on them for him.

He has no excuses. He wasn't injured, his arms were perfectly healthy and his vision hasn't worsened one bit. He could do it himself.

But you've been together for years, now, and this is the first time you've asked him. That was it. Law would rather die than tell anyone that your smile was enough to make him cave, though.

(Having you sit on his lap for long periods of time didn't hurt, either.)

"Babe, stop moving."

He's not. It's your hands that shake, carefully trying not to screw this up, but he's in a good enough mood he doesn't feel the need to mention it. "I'm not moving."

Law likes your face like this, focused and– fuck, he'll never say it out loud– adorable. He can't keep himself from staring at the hood of your eyes, sweet shape of your nose and lips, bitten in worried concentration.

He wishes he could bite them for you instead.

"Stop looking at me like that."

Carefully lifting an eyebrow, his lazy grip on your waist tightens. "You're making an awful amount of commands tonight."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

He rolls his eyes in response, hating the way his lips curve slightly up, and his free hand leaves your waist to rest his head on it.

Law's content with watching you work on him for the entirety of twenty seconds before his thoughts start running wild, the slight pain of the ink needle stabbing his fingers and the mouthwatering press of your chest against his arm– yeah, he needs a distraction.

Trying to break your concentration, he waits until you're busy attempting to finish his H to make his lips twitch, faking a painful expression, "Fuck."

"What? Oh my god, I'm sorry!" you quickly bring the hot needle away from him, looking at his face then his irritated knuckles in a frantic manner and your thighs tense on top of his– until you see his bastard smile threatening to break his face.

You stare at him in disbelief, your own amused eyes following the wide stretch of his lips. "You little–" punching his shoulder, your eyes fall back to his entertained grey ones, "insufferable little shit. I thought I hurt you!"

"Sorry." His eyes follow the way you pout, shoulders relaxing and back to work already. How cute. The things he'd do to you, if he were a lesser man.

He is a lesser man, to be fair. There's only so much the pirate can keep from his racing mind when you're sitting on him like this, pretty face so close to his and body resting so innocent on his thighs. Vulnerable and his, the thought rising goosebumps on his skin.

Maybe he can ask you to tattoo your initials on him tonight. Wouldn't be the first time he's thought about it.

"I can't believe I signed up for this," you say, eyes not leaving his hand. "I'm almost done, so behave."

Law huffs, smart eyes dropping to your lips and resisting the urge to kiss them, and he waits.

Soft waves lulled the submarine in the night, effortlessly taking the crew to their next island. Inside it smells like you both, your night clothes are spread next to his on his black sheets, and if he turns his head to the right all he can see is yourself in his room, his quarters.

Law struggles to believe this is all his, sometimes, that it's enough having you on his lap, kissing and loving you, that you won't leave. In moments like this, he thinks life can be worth living for.

"All done, Captain!"