#and visible arteries

[the-artist-grimm]

COTLTOBER DAY 23- "The Tent"

Ok it's actually just Narinder's bed at his house as opposed to the tent but ehhhhhhh same concept. They do have one on the grounds, but a certain squid and his spouse polycule tend to uh...monopolize the sign-up for it. Nari's got a comfy bed anyway-canopy curtains, lots of soft pillows, little star lights, very cozy.

This is likely their wedding night anyways so the make-shift love hotel placed in a nowhere part of the cult isn't the most romantic place for that lol XD

(I shall now go hide in the corner in my shame cause while they're not doing anything here it's kinda obvious what they did do lol. Crownie's enjoying some sweet sweet sin)

...

(I may or may not have more doodles like this I'm debating on posting XD)

Prompt List!

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

the internet: yeah to practise harm reduction you go for areas that have more flesh to avoid going too deep and needing medical attention

me, an idiot: let's pick this spot anyway, how bad can it be. ...how did i get that deep that quickly

[bepisdotmp4]

something quick i threw together for ldov (ft alice and asher)

[loving-delusions]

everytime i see a character flex

like, in text or just see it done on a screen

i remember aaron. the fuckin horse from undertale. and how uncomfortable the interaction with that creature was during the whole time

please stop flexing. dont even show me a small doodle of a vein appearing. dont.

i am taking a breath through my nose and exhaling

[hayatheauthor]

10 Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

Prev: Non-Lethal Injury Ideas

Need some creative ways to give your characters a real fight for survival? Here are 10 ideas: 

1. Punctured Artery

A puncture to major arteries like the femoral artery (thigh), the carotid artery (neck), or radial artery (arm) can cause rapid blood loss. It starts off with a sharp pain, weakness, lightheadedness and eventually can lead to hypovolemic shock. Requires urgent medical attention.

2. Punctured Eye Socket

A punctured eye socket will cause blood vessel damage leading to internal bleeding. I would use this for non-combat characters trying to get away. The eyes are an easy weak spot + you don’t need much strength to cause a critical injury/puncture. Also good for a protag's tragic backstory.

3. Torn Achilles Tendon

A torn Achilles tendon can result in severe bleeding if nearby arteries or veins are damaged. Your character will be forced to hobble away as pain causes their foot to swell and bruise. Plus, you can easily adjust the pain levels per your scene, from swift cuts to explosive jumps. 

4. Neck Hyperextension (Hangman’s Fracture)

This injury will fracture the C2 vertebra and can lead to spinal cord damage, paralysis or sudden death. This isn’t a light injury your character can come back from, so I would suggest using it only when you’re aiming for death.

5. Pierced Lung

A punctured lung will lead to a pneumothorax where air escapes into the chest cavity, collapsing the lung. Characters with this injury may have difficulty breathing, chest pain, and a cough that produces frothy blood (all the dramatics you need). 

6. Severe Concussion

A severe concussion will lead to confusion, vomiting, immobility and memory loss. More dangerously, brain swelling, internal bleeding and damaged brain tissue. Plus, it has a long recovery period. 

7. Shattered Pelvis

If you need something severe that restricts mobility but also causes severe pain then this is perfect! Involves signs of shock, internal bleeding, numbness, swelling—really a lot of things. Can occur if OC falls from a high place, hit repeatedly, car accident, etc.  

8. Internal Bleeding from Blunt Force Trauma

I like using this when you need something subtle since it doesn't show immediate symptoms. Over time, they will feel weak, cold, nauseous, and intense pain. Perfect if you want that 'everyone made it out then suddenly someone collapses' moment. 

9. Intestinal Perforation

A sharp blow or penetrating wound can cause a tear in the intestines, leaking bacteria into the body cavity, then peritonitis. It can go from small stomach pain to near death pretty quickly. Without prompt medical care, sepsis can set in, causing organ failure and death.

10. Cut to the Jugular

If you need something more visibly dramatic then go with the classic cut to the jugular. A warm rush of blood will pour out, and blood would spurt with every heartbeat. Causes panic, choking, and internal bleeding too. All the blood and gore you need. 

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. Remember the worse the injury the more likely your character is to die (so be realistic folks). Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[jennelikejennay]

I know this is basically heresy to the Spock fandom. I know a lot of people will disagree, and fics will continue to do things exactly the way they always have. But I must speak my truth.

Spock is not green.

Spock's blood is green but his skin is best described as sallow. Pale with a yellow undertone.

Likewise humans are not honestly all that pink (no matter what Shran says). But we are more pink than Spock is green. We have a pink undertone, but Spock's undertone is yellow.

I've thought it over: the colors of human blood, with and without oxygen; the colors of copper, oxidized and not; the color of the copper-based blood of horseshoe crabs; the optical qualities of human skin. And I offer an explanation.

If you have a lightish skin tone and you flip your forearm over, you'll see blue veins. Which is why you probably grew up thinking unoxygenated blood is blue. It's actually not; it's purple.

What we're seeing is a scattering effect. You know how the sun shines in the atmosphere, and most of the color comes straight through just fine, but the blue covers the whole sky instead of coming straight down with the rest of the sunlight? That's because our atmosphere lets the other colors straight through (the warm white of the sun as seen from Earth) but scatters blue, making it seem like it's coming from everywhere.

Human skin does the same thing to red. While blue comes straight through, as if the skin were transparent, showing clear-edged veins, red is scattered. You won't see your arteries. Instead you see a pink cast that seems to be coming from everywhere.

Importantly, which colors show through and which are scattered has nothing to do with our blood, and everything to do with the optical properties of our skin.

Back to Spock. Oxidized, his blood is grass green. Which is kind of odd when you think about it. Horseshoe crabs have copper-based blood, and it's blue. When it doesn't have oxygen in it, it's pretty much colorless.

And this is the color of oxidized copper. I wouldn't call it grass green. The proper word is verdigris.

So for Spock's blood to be grass green, there's probably something yellow in it. The plasma, or the white blood cells, or whatever.

Unoxygenated, copper is ... well, copper-colored. Orangey-brown. I'm not sure if it's possible for anyone's blood to ever get fully unoxygenated—cells just aren't that efficient. But if we assume Spock's blood is less green and more orange when unoxygenated, we might expect a yellowish-brown, yellow being the only color in both green and copper.

So we just have to assume Spock's skin has optical qualities which allow yellow through more than green or brown. The yellow is scattered, while visible blood vessels (if Spock has any) might be green or brown.

Yes, I'm arguing that Spock blushes yellowish. His ordinary skin tone would darken. You wouldn't have a whole new color showing up.

None of this implies that Spock's mucus membranes (tongue, gums, internal parts of genitals such as a sheathed penis) wouldn't be green. Without the thick, protective Vulcan skin, a lot more would show through.

I'm just saying, Spock looks pale-to-yellow on the show and I'm okay with that. I think science can justify it. (Alternatively, as SPOCKNALIA argues, Vulcan skin is too thick to show much through it, and the yellow tone is Vulcan melanin.)

However, I may still continue to have Spock blush green just for art's sake, and you can too. The only law of fanfic is that your canon is whatever you say it is.

[whorediaries-09]

i‘m craving rom weasley smut and im so happy you’re taking requests!!😩

how about ron x girlfriend!reader having passionate and hottttttt sex in the kitchen one night while they’re visiting his family. they have to be quiet because one thing about their relationship is, that they’re almost never casting a quiet spell because it’s just so exciting if there’s a possibility of being caught🤭

just imagine her on the counter and him pounding her and it’s soooo hard to be quiet!! and apparently they weren’t really that quiet because the next morning fred says „how’d you two sleep?“ with suuuuuch a big smirk on his face👀

ughhhh i love this request so much ⭐❗ ron was actually my first fictional crush. hope you like this!

heaven and back;

pairing- ron weasley x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- it's like that one scene in where harry and ginny were caught kissing and george was like 'morning'-

little train

' she went to heaven and back now everything is turning to black.'

the ache in your core began during dinner, when ron had been eating with one hand, and the other one buried deep into you. he slowly rubbed circles upon your clit, pumping his fingers in and out simultaneously. it made you squirm in your seat, and he surely enjoyed watching you hold back the pretty sounds from your mouth as you tired not to combust in front of his family and your friends.

but he had teased you, all through out dinner, 30 minutes of pure torture, just to leave you withering with anger and not make you finish. every time you'd feel the coil about to snap, you'd clench your thighs and the walls of your cunt and he would draw out his hand.

and by the look on his face, you could understand he did it on purpose. he enjoyed the game. two could play the game, you decided, so you changed into your 'night clothes' to join harry, ron and hermione for their usual conversation after dinner.

it was a soft silk night slip dress in burgundy. it was lined with black lace. it ended just above your knees. knowing molly wouldn't allow any of the girls to sleep along with the boys, you'd decided to wear the dress, to be a tease and take a little sweet revenge.

it had resulted in an awkward boner and a distraction to him. he sat painfully, the ache in his groin prominent, the bulge of his pants a few minutes away from being visible. he was too immersed in trying to hide his bulge that eve hermione beat him at chess. with an excuse of being tired, he called off the night, going to sleep.

you had thoroughly enjoyed the redness of his face and how visibly hot he was. if it weren't for going to bed, you were sure he'd turn into a tomato with steam rising from his ears.

but the ache in your core persisted, and try as hard you might, you couldn't get off yourself. so that's why you were awake in the middle of the night, dreaming of your boyfriend's fingers knuckles deep into you, as he wrecked your body, putting you away from the pain.

the ache travelled from your core to your throat, as you slowly gulped. you were thirsty. and the last jug of water was emptied by ginny. so you decided to be crawl down the kitchen, drink some water and sneak back right in.

initially, that had been your plan.

you surely didn't expect yourself to be sitting on the kitchen counter with ron's cock buried deep into your cunt as he pounds into you. he wraps your shaking thighs around his waist, letting him feel better, letting him go deeper.

'k-keep quiet,' he whispers into your ear. the slow sensuous way he speaks contrasts with the rough pace he wrecks you. you nod incoherently, burying your mouth into the crook of his neck, your mouth clasping onto the skin, trying to silent the moans that beg to be echo from your lips.

'just cast the s-shit- spell ron-' you say, as he removes your face from his neck, holding you by the throat. he presses onto your arteries slightly, letting the oxygen flow into your head admonish. he grins, pressing his sweaty temple against yours,

'no honey, what's the fun in that?'

the big pleading eyes of yours does nothing but turn him on further, as he rubs circles on your clit, making your toes curl and back arch. he hits your sweet spot just right, and paired with the the ruthless circles on your clit, the coil bubbles intensely within you, wrecking you slowly.

'f-fuck, so g-good. just there, ron please don't stop,' you scream, shame thrown out the window. he breathes you in, letting out a small gasp as your walls convulses around him.

'i don't fucking plan to stop,' he promises, chuckling darkly. you bite your lip, feeling the nerves tug your veins, the sensations colliding to create a beautiful ecstasy that bubbles within you, shimmying through every crevice of your body.

you scream his name, chained with obscene words as you release, the euphoria of the orgasm gripping you slowly, ruining you slowly. he releases himself deep inside you, his white hot orgasm painting your insides.

he brandishes your face with kisses, helping you off the counter and helping you clean up. with a final kiss on your cheek, he wishes you a goodnight as he descends to sleep.

*-

the morning breeze is cool. your back still hurts from the weird juxtaposition you'd been last night, getting your brain fucked out by the one who has his arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body.

he's warm, the result of wearing the jumper his mum had knitted him last christmas. his fingers are wrapped around his cup of freshly brewed tea. he sips on it slowly, letting the taste wander on his tastebuds, enjoying the silent peace.

it doesn't long though, when his older brother, fred shows up. he's chewing on a piece of bread, a big smile- no smirk on his face.

'what are ya so jolly about, this morning?' you ask, humming slowly. he stands beside ron, pressing his shoulder upon his.

'well good morning to you too. it's not a crime to be jolly now is it?' he winks. you chuckle.

'good morning, fred,' ron grumbles, rolling his eyes. fred's smirk deepens as he replies,

'good morning ickle ronniekins. how did the both you sleep?'

he knew.

****************************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.

[hotchner-edu]

Intertwined | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: Following the bullet you took for Aaron, he must pick up the pieces of himself to face the awful realization of what comes next. — part 2 of THIS

Pairing: Father-figure!Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader (Platonic)

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, happy ending, descriptions of blood/feeding tubes, medical inaccuracies—

In spite of how dangerous being an agent in the field was, and how often Jack’s pediatric appointments occurred, Aaron never grew accustomed to the overwhelming stench of sterileness.

It coated every surface of every room, pervading his senses to remind him of the hollowing anxiety that swirled in his chest— the feeling of utter helplessness in the face of impending doom.

His eyes were rimmed red, stinging from exhaustion and unshed tears. He's slumped in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as his eyes stared unblinkingly into the vinyl floor.

Guilt was trapped in his heart, tugging and stabbing as he replayed the conversations he had with you the day prior. He knows he's been unfair with the team as of late because of the divorce proceedings with Haley, but unfair doesn't even begin to describe his treatment toward you.

You were young and careless. He hated how careless you were. It made you susceptible to slip ups, it made your heart too soft, and it made you take that damn bullet for him. And now you were being operated on by every competent staff member in the damn place, echoes of his desperate yells and furious shouts ringing through his head.

He'd lost all composure in front of the hospital staff— in front of his team. But he found it hard to care, every ounce of his energy circling around the memory of blood rapidly gushing from your neck.

Derek had started to chew him out at the scene, but stopped when he saw his horrified face, eyes glued to the paramedics who were urgently trying to resuscitate you.

His jaw shifts, clenching hard as the burning of tears stirs in his eyes once again.

He feels something cold press against the back of his neck, momentarily causing him to close his eyes.

"Pull yourself together." Dave's voice comes out calmly, trying to comfort Aaron to the best of his ability.

"She looked dead." He whispers out, voice quiet but etched with regret.

Dave shakes his head— he can see it in his peripheral, and the older man moves in front of him, squatting down to catch Aaron's eyes. "But she's not."

"How can she not be?" He mutters, shoulders sagging as his mind instantly shoots toward the worst case scenario, imagining himself having to fill out the case reports— having to fill out the papers explaining how you were killed on the field.

Dave's eyebrows raise slowly, speaking softly. "Do you want me to get Reid over here to read off some statistics?" He attempts to joke, glancing over at the rest of the team as they all sat in silence down the hallway.

Aaron doesn't react to the joke. "Why did she push me out of the way, Dave?" He asks, searching futilely for an explanation as he stares at his friend.

"The same reason you would have done the same for her if you were in her shoes." Dave states with a sad smile, patting his shoulder before handing him the cold water bottle.

By three in the morning, six hours since you've been in surgery, Aaron can see that most of the team has fallen asleep in their chairs. He's still sat in the same spot, back protesting the odd position he's put himself into as he busied himself with catastrophizing.

He only musters up the energy to sit up when the OR doors open, a visibly disheveled and exhausted surgeon walking toward them. He shoots up from his chair, joints cracking as he hurries toward the woman.

"For Y/N L/N?" She asks gently, gazing at him with an inscrutable expression.

Aaron nods quickly, mouth dry. "Yes. Is she okay?" He asks urgently.

"She pulled through. A few centimeters to the right and her carotid artery would have been severed. She likely won't wake up for a while, and we'll need to put her on a nasogastric tube for a few weeks since swallowing will be difficult." The woman explains.

Aaron's ears ring in relief when he realizes you're alive, but the more he hears, the more his stomach sinks. You were going to be enduring hell for the next few weeks.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers breathlessly and rubs a hand across his forehead.

"She'll be situated in the ICU. However, you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to see her." She explains, flashing a glance over his shoulder to look at the rest of the team.

Aaron has to be dragged from the hospital that night, the team urging him to go back to the hotel to clean up and sleep so that he could visit early.

A part of him felt a bit of shame for falling apart, needing his team to reorient him as he seemed to be stuck in a perpetual daze.

He's unable to sleep for more than two hours, waking up in cold sweat with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears as he sits up. He's sure his mind is tricking him, but he's almost certain he can hear the sound of the bullet piercing through your flesh in the back of his head.

Aaron is driving off to the hospital again before most of the team is even up, rehearsing what to say to you in his head as he is reminded of the cruel words he spat at you in the precinct.

Everything is moving in a blur for him, and by the time he's by your bedside, he isn't even able to remember when he even parked and walked into the hospital.

He pulls up a chair to sit by your side, eyes studying the bruising around your neck that’s peeking out from the bandages wrapped around your stitched-up wound.

The only thing assuring him of your breathing was the rhythmic beeping from the vital monitor that echoed like a backtrack for his jumbled thoughts.

He could swear you weren't breathing.

Maybe the machine was deceiving him? Did the nurses hook everything up right?

Maybe the job was finally getting to him and he was losing his mind.

"Can you hear me?" He croaks out, hand moving to cover your limp one. "Y/N?"

You can see colors warping, dancing and spinning before melting into a soothing darkness. It felt like you were floating, then wading through water, then being lifted into suspension again.

You felt nothing, but you also knew there was something you needed to remember.

Like a sponge soaking up water, bit by bit, you could feel your senses returning. For a split second you could feel every muscle in your body, every sound around you, and then nothing again.

"Y/N?"

The sound was deeper and worn down. Yes, that was your name.

Willing yourself to move, you felt a tingle run down your body.

Your eyes peel open and you're blinded by brightness, stabbing into your nerves and triggering blossoms of dull pain to erupt around your body.

When you're fully awake and cognizant, the memories come pouring in like an irrepressible tsunami. Your neck was pulsing in pain, and it takes you a moment to understand why.

"Y/N? Hey, hey. You're up..."

Your eyes shift over to your side and you're met with the sight of a disheveled Aaron Hotchner who looked like he just survived a combination of natural disasters.

A part of you feels pity for his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance, realizing he was probably at his wits end from worry. Then, you're slapped over the head with the memory of his acerbic words.

You're still deeply wounded from what he said to you, the image and esteem you held him in faltering with every replay of the memory.

"How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain? Wait, let me get a nurse." He rushes out breathlessly, turning around to leave the room.

You could tell he cared for you just by how he was conducting himself at that moment, but a nagging voice in your head was convincing you that he was just doing this to alleviate the guilt and pity he felt for himself.

You didn't need him attending to you just to clear his own conscience. It was a bit juvenile, but you wanted him to suffer a bit more.

True to your initial resolve, over the next following days, you stay cold toward Aaron. When the team first got word that you had woken up, you were nearly blinded by the sheer volume of colorful balloons Penelope brought.

And tears. So many tears were shed for you that you were sure they thought you were going to drop dead at any given second.

Everyone was taking turns acting like a mother hen toward you, and Derek even toned down his jibing in exchange for playing his various playlists for you. Spencer took to reading to you everyday, citing that he didn't want you to strain your eyes.

Emily and JJ talked about everything under the sun with you, making promises and plans for the next few months— shopping trips, movie dates, and anything else they could think of.

Well, you weren't able to really talk yet so they mainly chatted with each other while looking to you for nods or headshakes.

Penelope entertained you by pulling up private information on anybody you could name from your past (which was maybe a little illegal, but the things she did for you.)

Rossi indulged you by recounting some anecdotes from his time serving in the Marine Corps.

Aaron was probably your most constant visitor, dropping by everyday and staying for hours. You barely looked at him on most days, but when the team is called back to Quantico after a week, he becomes your only companion after he decides to take a few weeks off to take care of you.

You could see how disheartened he was getting everyday you ignored him, and you cursed yourself for feeling awful about it.

Two weeks have since passed since the rest of your team returned to DC, and Aaron was lucky to get a few words out of you everyday. You're currently watching a rerun of an old sitcom, trying to distract yourself from the awkward tension between you and Aaron.

"The doctor said you're not allowed to fly for a while, but you can be discharged by tomorrow since you're able to eat soft foods now." Aaron speaks softly, leaning forward in his seat before reclining again, a nervous habit of his.

Staying quiet, you gently prod the tube in your nose that was being removed in a few hours.

"Do you feel ready to leave?" He asks kindly, voice patient and soft.

You nod once and you can see him smiling a bit from your peripheral.

"That's great, sweetheart. I'll ask the doctor for all the medication you'll need." He says before hesitating. "I'll drive us back to DC. It'll take three days or so."

Your head snaps to look at him in shock, wincing a bit as the sudden movement causes a sharp pain to cut through your neck and shoulder.

Aaron can see your shock and indignance at the news. "I'm sorry." He whispers. You're not sure if he's apologizing for making you endure his constant presence for three days on the road, or if he's apologizing for everything that happened prior, but you just exhale through your nose and look away.

Being bedridden for most of your stay caused your muscles to be significantly weaker. Your legs were like jelly when you attempted to shuffle off your hospital bed, meaning Aaron had to help you around.

You were sinking further into confliction. A part of you wanted to wholeheartedly accept his help, the appreciation for his fatherly tendencies growing stronger. In the weeks that you've stonewalled him, he stayed by you and was always jumping to attend to your every need.

It was hard to forget the one night you woke up in blinding pain, huffing and hissing silently. Aaron had woken up in a matter of minutes, holding your hand and trying to soothe you back to sleep.

Maybe he did care.

On the first day of your drive back to DC, you're sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, the pain medication you're on making you relaxed and drowsy.

Aaron doesn't try to talk to you until you're two hours into the drive. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it right now, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You stay silent, having expected him to bring up the topic sooner or later.

"I was being completely unfair to you. I won't make excuses for what I said and did because I should have been able to keep myself in check, but I failed." He continues, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"I want you to know, above all else, that I don't think you're incompetent or unskilled— you're a crucial part of the team, and I'm sorry if I made you doubt that." His voice wavers slightly, growing heavy with emotion as he seems to be unleashing everything he's been holding in since you woke up.

Your chest rumbles softly as you speak quietly, voice weak from the lack of speech in the past few weeks. "I always saw you as like a father to me."

The moment those words left your mouth, you almost wanted to take them back as the heartbreak in Aaron's face was clear as day. He swallows hard, clearly becoming even more emotional from your declaration.

It clearly meant a lot to Aaron since he knew how poor your relationship with your father was growing up. So to have your trust, something that's been battered by others and locked away inside of you, it reminded him of the hurt he carried because of his own father. It reminded him that he once was like you, vying for that affection and care when everyone's backs were turned.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, clenching his jaw as his eyes well up.

"Do you really care about me?" You ask, looking ahead at the road.

"Yes. I always have." He answers back, voice almost inaudible as he sounds a it choked up. "Because the same way you view me as a father, I always saw you as my kid. My reckless and soft-hearted kid that I needed to protect."

Tears fall from your eyes at his words. "I don't know if I can forgive you." You whisper candidly.

"I know." He nods and blinks away his tears. "But I just... I hope that the light inside of you never dies. This job... it takes everything from us. It almost took you from us. So we need you to keep that fire inside of you alive."

You feel very small at that moment, wanting nothing more than to shrink away and abandon everything. But despite that pervasive feeling, you can't help but continue clinging onto the hope and safety Aaron provides you with.

"Promise that you care about me?" You ask almost childishly, not wanting to be strong and alone any longer. The medications you were on certainly made you feel less inhibited, your honest feelings pouring out of you.

Aaron's words are almost hushed as he's quick to reassure you. "Yes. I promise, you can cry on me and depend on me. I promise that it's okay to be tired."

"I... I'm so tired." You whisper softly.

"You've endured so much all this time. I'm sorry I couldn't see it before." He says quietly.

Neither of you say anything after that, letting the conversation slip away as some semblance of closure blankets you both.

When the sun begins to set, the sky a canvas filled with an array of oranges and purples, you let yourself relax.

You can't pinpoint when you fell asleep, but when you're conscious again, Aaron is by your side, gently patting your shoulder. "There she is." He says softly when he sees you blinking awake. "It's almost midnight, I thought it'd be better for us to rest up for a few hours. I also need to check on your wound dressings."

Grumbling a bit, you slowly sit up and look through the windshield to see a roadside inn in front of you both. Nodding, you let him help you out of the car and toward the check-in desk.

"Does your neck hurt?" He asks quietly.

"No. Just sore right now." You whisper back tiredly, limbs feeling heavy.

When you're both checked into a room for the night, you waste no time dragging yourself toward one of the beds.

"Don't lay down just yet." Aaron is quick to say, placing your bags down and going to wash his hands.

You reckoned that if he weren't such a great agent, he'd fare well as a nurse from the way he was deftly redressing the bandages on your neck, disinfecting and cleaning like it was second nature to him.

He can sense your questioning gaze and he huffs a bit sheepishly. "I, uh, asked Reid for some pointers on the phone. And searched the internet."

"Let me guess, WebMD?" You smile weakly.

Aaron's face breaks out into a small grin and he chuckles. "Yeah, and ReidMD."

You snort a bit at his joke. "That was awful."

"Jack says I'm getting really good at making dad jokes." Aaron quips back playfully.

"I'll have to teach him that it's not good to lie like that." You muse, hiding a small smile as he narrows his eyes at you in fake offense.

It felt like you were gaining a bit of normalcy back, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss being able to talk freely like this with Aaron.

"Alright, done." He sighs and hesitantly rests his hand on your uninjured shoulder. "Anything else you'd like me to do?"

You caught onto his true meaning, knowing he was trying to make further amends with you. Considering it for a moment, you shake your head gently and smile tiredly. "No, you're all good."

Aaron lets out a shaky exhale before leaning down to hug you, being mindful to not press on your injuries. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too." You whisper back and pat his back reassuringly.

You would be out of commission for a while and that reality weighed down on you, but Aaron's reassurance and presence provided you with some relief.

You were tired, but for now you could rest.

[ghost-of-a-dream-girl]

Vampiric vascular access PSA from your friendly neighbourhood fanfic writing medic: Where To Bite

For those of you who, like me, love to write/read this sad vampire (or indeed anyone who likes to write any vampire), there were just a couple of sexy little anatomy things that I wanted to highlight (purely for fun).

First: arteries vs veins - Arteries take blood at pressure generated by the left ventricle of the heart, hence the pulse, to tissues and organs. Veins are a low pressure system that take blood back to the heart (via all sorts of mechanisms like valves, suction pressure from inspiration, pressure gradients, etc). - The inherent not-quite-sexy risk to puncturing/bleeding from an artery (especially a big one) is the risk of clot formation and with that the risk that those clots travel (embolize) further down the artery. This can result in things like strokes or ischaemic limbs. - Major arteries have associated major veins running nearby them. - Because of pressure differences, arterial punctures can spurt blood out, whereas veins ooze. To drink from a vein you'd have to apply a little more suction, whereas drinking from an artery might be a bit more messy/squirty. - Sure, veins don't pulse in the way arteries do BUT the way that we find these big veins (without ultrasound) is via use of anatomical landmarks. Your fave vampire will likely know those landmarks. Durge will likely also know these landmarks...for other reasons.

The neck (the classic, and everyone's favourite) - One of the things we look for as part of a fluid status assessment/CVS exam is the JVP (jugular venous pressure), which reflects pressure changes in the right atrium. For this we look for the double waveform pulse on either side of the neck coming from the internal jugular vein. It's not really palpable in the way arterial pulses are, but it is visible in most people (especially at neck turned 45 degrees). - The internal jugular vein (IJV) AND the external jugular vein are the two chunky veins of the neck. The IJV in particular would be a good one to bite for the same reason it's often a favourite vein to use for central line insertion- it's large, superficial, and usually pretty straight in its course within the neck. - The carotids are the major arteries of the neck, sitting more in the midline and protected a bit by a muscle there (sternocleidomastoid).

The inner thigh (the smut writer's favourite) - Gods know that the femorals have been doing some heavy lifting in vampire smut fics. Given the fact that they are located on either side of the groin, any biting action there has the inference of a lot more physical intimacy. - Like the neck vessels, you have big arteries AND big veins in the femoral region too. You have the femoral arteries which lie again more in the centre (like the carotids), and you have the femoral veins which actually lie more medially (more towards the mid-line of the body, i.e further in on the groin). These then branch out. - For purposes of vampiric vascular access, the femoral veins would be just a bit easier to get into position wise, but they do run very close to the femoral arteries. Because of how anatomy and fat distribution works also worth mentioning that the femoral vein and artery also lie a little deeper, so would require a much deeper bite.

Peripheral pulses (for those little nibbles) - For a quick snack more peripherally, it's going to be much easier to chomp into a peripheral artery. Arteries have thicker, more muscular walls than veins and the more superficial veins get the flimsier they are (i.e would be bitches to try to puncture with fangs). - We often sample arterial blood by puncturing the radial arteries. The radial artery runs on the thumb side of the wrist, and is very easy to palpate! - One could also attempt the brachial arteries, which are just above the inside of either elbow. A little deeper, but still palpable. - For the more adventurous bloodsuckers, you could even go for the dorsalis pedis (top of the foot), or the posterior tibial (below and behind the innermost part of the ankle bone)! See below: Astarion sampling a little of that radial artery juice

Aftercare (for the bitten) - If you are biting an artery or big vein you will usually need to apply some pressure to stop the bleeding. - In terms of clotting, it depends on what magical properties you believe vampire spit has. If none, it generally takes a few minutes to stop bleeding with a bit of added pressure, but bigger puncture sites may take longer. - That said, all bleeding stops eventually in one way or another- just ask Durge. - Like always, after a big drink you may need to ask your cleric friend to help you out with a cheeky lesser restoration spell to stimulate erythropoeisis so you're not wandering around the Realms so deeply anaemic.

Happy biting, friends!

[nsharks]

Hi! I love love LOVE the way you write Ghost and his relationship w/ the reader!! Ignore me if requests are closed, but how did he react when the reader discovered she was pregnant???

"surprising ghost with a pregnancy" words: 1.8k tags: pregnant reader, fem!reader, slight angst?, fluff

“Hope ya don’t miss me during breaks, Lt.”

Soap watches the man he admires, in his infamous ruthlessness and all, stare with a straight gaze at the base’s entrance.

“Only when I drink too much,” Ghost says.

His mask is good for anonymity, yes. But it also does well in moments like these: the Scot beside him has no idea of the pulsing artery in his neck, the eagerness in each flicker of his gaze. He’s looking for you. Looking beyond the gates where you should be hidden somewhere.

Soap has no idea.

“What do you do in your free time, mate?” Soap wonders aloud, shifting the bag over his shoulder. Then, in a cheeky murmur, “Didn’t hear this from me, but I’ve heard whispers ‘bout some criminal activity.”

“Criminal activity?” Ghost repeats dully.

They’re getting closer.

He looks towards the spot you normally wait for him in: is that—?

He can see you.

The tension in his limbs fades to adoration. In the shadows, perfectly hidden but readily visible to his knowing eyes, is his girlfriend. Wearing one of the black hoodies he’d left behind. So big on you. He nearly groans at the sight.

Girlfriend is a weak title.

He hates it. It doesn’t encompass the truth of you: it’s such a simple word, too simple to capture how complicated of an effect you’d had on his life for nearly five years. To say Ghost loves his girlfriend would be to say he has a reason to live. It would be to say that you’ve got this behemoth of a man wrapped so tightly around your finger that his lungs just don’t work the same until he’s holding you.

(Perhaps that’s the reason for the little black box in his bag.)

He turns to the Sergeant and gives a half-hearted clap to his shoulder. “I save the criminal activity for weekends, Johnny.”

And with that, he leaves him (never was one for heartfelt goodbyes).

But he is now one for heartfelt reunions, he figures, because he’s ghosting his way towards you like some wild creature. Preying. Slipping under any eyes. His skeletal hands beyond desperate.

If Soap were to look carefully outside, under the shadow of the building, he’d see how the Lieutenant actually spends his free time.

He’d see his broad form envelop you.

He’d see him eagerly inch up his mask to reveal a pink mouth that doesn’t waste any time before sealing over yours.

And maybe, if he really looked, Soap might’ve been able to see how you cling to Ghost’s chest and tremble.

(But Soap doesn’t see any of this. Not today.)

Not even Ghost, whose got you in his arms, sees the shaking at first. His mind is a bit frenzied with the sensory overload of your smell, your soft hair, your breasts against his chest.

He only ends the kiss so he can get a good look at your face.

“Three months,” he grumbles, lips wet as he ushers the mask back over them. “Felt like a fuckin’ lifetime.”

“I know,” you whisper, but you fail to meet his eyes. “I was worried about you.”

The faintest contour of a smirk beneath his mask.

“Worried, were you?” He rubs your knuckles. “Lovely girl. Don’ worry about me. I’m a bit tough to kill.”

“Don’t,” your eyebrows pinch together. “Please… don’t even mention that.”

He rests his masked chin on top the crown of your head. His arms are so strong and warm and you breathe it all in. His hands stroke your hair with the gentlest of caresses as if, even after five years, he thinks you might be a fragile dream.

“I was so worried,” you say again. A whisper that he barely hears. “I—“

It’s now that he notices something. The rush of adrenaline has soothed over and now, taking your hands in his, Ghost notices the little tremors, swallows them up in the gulf of his large palms.

“Jesus, love,” he frowns. “You’re trembling.”

“There’s… something—“

Ashen eyelashes flutter against smudges of black paint. His shoulders tense as he pulls his chin away from your scented hair. Shifting his weight from boot to boot, Ghost further tucks you behind the colossal mass of him so even now, if someone were to look, all they’d see was his back.

His brows furrow behind a hard-shell skull. “What something?”

You’ve practiced these word so many times but now—

“What?” your boyfriend repeats, low and gruff. His relief is quickly turning into something dark. “Fuck, tell me. Did somethin’ happen?”

“Well, yes—“

“Christ,” he chokes. He doesn’t want to assume the worst, but it’s a gnawing fear. Always. “Someone else?”

“No, Simon.” You’re shaking your head. “It’s not that—“

“What is it then? What’s got you like this?”

“Just—“ and you swallow your fear, “Give me your hand, baby.”

“My hand,” he repeats numbly and offers you one. You take his hand and tug at the glove. There’s little give, so he swears under his breath and helps you pry the fabric off to reveal warm, calloused skin.

Here, tucked away outside a military base, you guide his bare hand under the hoodie you’ve got on. Hold his fingers and spread them apart so he can cup the small growth of your stomach.

Because the reason for your trembling lies here.

Small, growing. Supple skin stretching over a little piece of him and you.

It takes him a moment to process the news under his hand.

He smooths his hand over you. Even after three months, he knows every inch.

This—

This feels different.

You watch a kaleidoscope of realizations, feelings, and perturbation play in his eyes.

You’ve had to keep this secret to yourself for weeks now because it wasn’t something you could just share over the phone. It was too heavy. Too intimate.

Surely, it’ll distract him from his job.

That’s what you figured. But now—

—seeing his eyes cloud frantically, you wonder if showing up 16 weeks pregnant was the best move.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost murmurs. Keeps moving his hand over your little belly as if he’s not quite sure it’s real.

So you lift up the hoodie even more, just here for the two of you to see, and reveal the entirety of your secret for him to peer down at.

And now that he sees it, the unmistakeable bulge, the reality truly sinks in.

He’s silent at first. You kind of expected him to be: your boyfriend is a man of few words. But it doesn’t make the drawn-out moment of uncertainty any less excruciating. You study his eyes with a bated breath.

Children. It’s not something you talked about too much. He’d said in the very beginning that it was completely off the table because “I’d make an awful father”.

But that was years ago and Simon had molded into someone softer, someone less afraid. Someone who, with the help of your love and light, had ripped through the tangled ropes of distrust and guilt that he’d been caught in.

“Say something,” you finally whisper. “Please, Simon. I know- I know this is surprising.”

But all he utters is, “How?”

“The pill isn’t perfect,” you explain sheepishly. “That’s what the doctor told me—“

“…Doctor?”

“Well, I’ve been to the doctor a few times already.”

Lowly, “You… a few times?”

“To make sure everything was alright, baby,” you whisper carefully. “But I— I didn’t ask for the sex yet. I wanted to… I thought you’d want to be with me for that.”

Ghost is controlled. He’s precise and tactical and rarely caught off-guard. But this, the swell that lays under his hand which he hasn’t been able to look away from, has managed to thrust him into feelings he rarely experiences. He feels confused. Shaken to the core. He’s spent most of his adult life determined to stay alone, protect anyone from ever getting caught in the hallow storm of tragedy that is his life.

But you—

You infiltrated his life with promises of bright colors and warm touches and suddenly, somehow, Ghost began to enjoy coming home. He ached for it. He wanted to keep you close and safely tucked away so that little light of yours would never fade from his life.

And now you’ve given him another promise, one that rests in his palm. Death— he understands that too well, perhaps. But this little promise of life is so new and confusing and in mere seconds, it has torn the past from the future. Ghost could never be the same shell of a person he once was because now he’s been filled to the brim. Could he even be trusted with all of this? He’d always felt like there was a carved void where his boyhood had been taken from him, ripped away by terror. How could he be a father with such hole in his chest?

What could he give?

You’re crying. He’s been thrown into such a daze that he failed to notice the onslaught of tears and quiet sniffling coming from his girl.

“Hey,” he’s grounded in the present now, swallowing down the shards of his hesitation and wrapping his arms around you. He could give this. “Hey now. I’m here… I’m here.”

“You’re here?” you ask him, weeping.

“Yes, sweetheart. Christ, m’here. Always.”

In perhaps his first act of fatherhood, Ghost holds you close and murmurs promises of love and safety into your hair. You’d been so scared to tell him. He wouldn’t leave you, no, he could never. If there was ever an ounce of worry that he might—

It’s now smothered by his presence, his warmth, his strength.

“You’re making me a father,” Ghost whispers after the two of you just stand there for sometime. His voice: terrified and in awe all at once. “Don’t know if I’ll be a good one.”

“Simon-“

“But-“ And he gives the entirety of you a squeeze. He’s not going anywhere. “But I won’t be like my old man. Fuck, I swear it to you.”

“I know you won’t, Simon.”

Ghost decides to push his inhibitions to the back of his mind. He can be strong, he can be what you need. He will prove this to you over and over.

“And here I thought you jus’ liked wearing my clothes,” Ghost mumbles, a bit numb and a bit elated.

He reaches for your stomach again and rubs the bump over the fabric of his hoodie. (Perhaps, here lies another reason to live.)

Your crying has ceased. Twisting his uniform in your hands, you murmur with a weak laugh, “Might be the only thing that fits me soon.”

“Bloody hell.” And Ghost sighs. Holding the two of you now, he already feels like all the synapses in his brain have been rewired. Lighted up with a primal urge to protect, he doesn’t think about all the worries for right now. No— just thinks about how he’s going to smother your stomach with kisses once you’re home.

“I’ve got plenty more of those for you to wear.”

[kaijutegu]

So. Now that she's home and safe and gonna be ok, I can talk about this.

I almost lost Kaiju. Christmas Day. I was woken up by a phone call from Allison, who will be referred to a LOT in this story. Allison runs the pet store where I board Kaiju. She called to tell me that Kaiju had lost a LOT of blood. (As it turns out, half her blood volume. Humans die when we lose 40%, just so you know. She lost 50%.)

There were no visible injuries, and she had passed a bloody stool. Or rather, a blood clot with some poop in it. She continued to pass only blood when they put her in the bathtub to clean her up. If I'd taken her anywhere else, that... would have been it, probably.

But Allison is an actual miracle worker and knew an emergency vet who was open- on Christmas Day- and could see reptiles. As soon as she called me, she took her to the e vet, where they gave her fluids and oxygen and got her stable. They did some x rays and found... nothing.

In fact, the e vet actually complimented me on her bone density and how nice her toe joints look. Whatever this mysterious haemorrhage was, it was in the soft tissue.

The immediate thoughts were:

Impaction

Cancer invading an artery

Aneurism

Reproductive issues

However, the emergency vet couldn't figure it out, and my vet was out of the country. The e vet consulted with a lot of vets and it was decided she'd go into Chicago Exotics for care the next day- they were willing to see her on immediate notice. Allison drove her over and they did an ultrasound... and couldn't differentiate the mass they found.

So, exploratory surgery it was.

But... she didn't have enough blood for that. She wouldn't have survived... if Allison hadn't found blood for her. Tegu donors were found, the transfusion happened, and was completely successful.

And what the surgery found was completely unexpected. No cancer. No repro issues. No typical impaction.

Instead? Weird white things in her muscles and a partial impaction that seems to be related to a reduction in her ability to properly digest. There are two possible diagnoses at this point. One is visceral gout. This is very strange because in reptiles, articular gout basically always happens first, and her kidneys are fine.

The other option? Weird, potentially cross species parasite she picked up when she was in the Everglades. Something she's likely had all her life, something that was dormant until recently.

I'll know when the pathology report comes back in a week or so.

Anyways! She is doing very well. She is alert and interested in things. She has an incredible appetite, even though she can't have solid food yet. She's on three meds, including one I have to inject. At her three week recheck, we will add a fourth- either the correct anti-parasitic or a medication to improve kidney function, depending on the diagnosis. Currently she's in a hospital cage and she hates it- she can't have any substrate because of the stitches.

The vet says it should take about three months until she makes her full blood volume. Her pack cell count should be at 35%. It was at 7% on the 26th. But by the 28th, it was at 10%. She's gonna be ok. She's tough. My little girl is a fighter, always has been. You have to be scrappy to survive in the wild.

And throughout this entire experience, everybody has told me how lovely her personality is. Through the injections and cloacal probing and everything, she never bit or even tried to. The vet didn't think she even wanted to bite. Like it wasn't a question of wanting to bite and not being strong enough- it's just not something in her behavioural repertoire. She doesn't bite because she doesn't want to. Because even at her most scared, at her most painful, she's still Kaiju, the best tegu to ever live. Love is stored in the tegu, and it continues to be stored in the tegu. We have a long road ahead of us, but she's out of the woods and is going to be ok. We both are.

Also, consider this a MAJOR plug for Curious Creatures in Chicago. I'm never going to board my animals anywhere else.

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Vroom Vroom

A/n: Billie brings you along for the shoot, but in the end she's suddenly jealous you not so much of Charli as of your attention to her as a celebrity. Charli playfully teases at her, but no doubt Eilish finds an original way to remind you about herself.

Their music video for "Guess" is a sudden bomb for my inspiration! And it doesn't have much to do with the text, but I do want to point out that Charlotte is an icon of my teenage years, lol.

Talking to Charlotte Aitchison, or more popularly Charli XCX, is definitely an exciting moment for you, given your strong fascination with her as a teenager. You're extremely visibly shaken from exactly the moment she gives you a welcoming hug and you're still in that excited mood. You've fainted about forty times in your mind, and you'd probably have realized one of those dramatic falls if it weren't for Billie's hand on your waist, which is clasping your side a little tighter than usual by the minute, or beating out some nervous rhythm of its own.

"It's very nice to meet you, Y/n!" - Charlotte smiles incredibly warmly, and for a second it seems to you that you are going to kiss the asphalt fantastically with your lips. Well, and with the whole face as a whole. - "Billie told me that you're an old fan of mine, you know, I'm really pleased."

"Gosh, uh... thank you!" - you touch the back of your head with the palm of your hand in burning awkwardness, only to then bring that hand back down sharply, as if spurring yourself on and sobering up. - "I just momentarily lost all the words I wanted to say to you, I'm sorry."

You're feeling incredibly uncomfortable with your surroundings under the weight of your own excitement and trepidation, even though Charli is looking at you as relaxed and friendly as possible-what's more, her dark brown eyes remind you of two mugs of hot tea, which with each sip envelope you with comfortable warmth, dispersing the delicious boiling water through your arteries.

Eilish, who has been gallantly silent all this time, understands you without any words, simply by reading your broken body language. In one deft but at the same time masterfully hidden in her persistence movement, she pulls you closer to her, right to her side, as if she were a mother duck and you were her obedient but confused duckling.

"Relax, my girl." - Eilish throws a slight smile on her lips, and puts her hand possessively much lower than your back, or rather, right on your ass. Just for a few moments, but you also instantly feel your ears light up like warning lights. - "Charlotte is exactly the same person as you, remember?"

Charli chuckles playfully as you nod and exhale slightly, gathering all the words and thoughts into the formerly organized piles in your head.

"Okay, let's start with something simple to bring you to your senses, hot chick." - you side-eye Eilish's eyebrows almost twitch, wanting to come together at the bridge of her nose, and that little silver snake rattling the tip of the tail foreshadowingly in her blue eyes. But the smile doesn't leave her face a quarter of an inch, so chalk it up to your nervous imagination: good idea, right? - "Name me your favorite song from my recent album."

And you babble inspirationally, like a renaissance poet who has met a sacred and previously unattainable muse: you note the meaning of your favorite lyrics, or the beat that comes into your soul, like was as if someone had unceremoniously opened the door with his hit foot. You praise almost every track on the album, unable to decide what you like best, and Charlotte laughs loudly, touching your shoulder lightly with a little pressure. And Billie sees how shocked you look at the singer, being doused head over heels in euphoria. She sees your gaze, with a million stars floating in it, sees your quivering smile. She sees it, and almost sending sparks of pure current straight into the asphalt. You don't admire her, but someone else, even if it is well extremely deserved for Charli. And the realization of your admiration definitely stings her painfully, like an angry wasp out of the blue. Sure, you're her girlfriend, but aren't you her fan anymore?..

When she notices this dazzling spark in your eyes, which ran through the moment when Charlotte offered to personally give you her autograph, O'Connell frankly breaks the first lock of self-control out of a possible three. She doesn't even have time to think properly, almost leans on you with her whole body, throwing her arm over your shoulder, hanging on you in mute demand. You immediately shift your gaze worriedly, shifting all your attention to her. For Eilish, holding back a satisfied smile, which is coming out of her cunning interior, is now a difficult task to heaven, but doable.

"Tired, dear?" - you ask sensitively, deftly reversing roles: your hand now firmly and securely on her waist. - "Do you want me to get you some water?"

"Or you can take a break in the dressing room," Charlotte gently advises, while devils dance invitingly in her eyes, as if her irises are bursting with the heat of inquisition bonfires. Oh, she definitely got it. That's why Eilish stabs her in response with her zealous blue blizzard, wrinkling her nose. Just a second, so that only she can see, but in no case not you.

As Billie opens her lips for a made-up answer, a thin female voice cuts through the air beside you:

"Ms. O'Connell, I'm sorry, but can I talk to you for a minute?

You all three of you look at the girl at once, as if the request wasn't addressed to Billie alone, which makes the petite blond stew, clutching the clipboard with neat palms to her chest, but then she finds the necessary composure.

"Your presence is required at the site to clarify a working point."

"Sure, no problem." - she moves out from under your palm ever so unwelcome, swaying slightly from side to side to prolong her contact with you for a few moments. Turning on her heel and shouting to you, she's already following the fast-paced assistant director. - "I'm fine!"

She feels your gaze on her with the back of her head, mixed with misunderstanding and slight excitement, and she almost choke on her own pride, finally allowing herself a cheeky smile. Suddenly, the tingle from the back of her neck is gone, and behind her your hear your loud laughter and Charlotte's azartic shout: "I'm going to steal your loyal groupie to show her the set, Billie! I can't promise I'll get her back!"

Eilish turns around, and Charli smiles at her like a cat contented under the heat of the sun. No, it won't work like that!

×××

"Really? I never thought you'd still love «Vroom Vroom» more than anything."

Stepping over millions of wires and stage markings, you survey location after location, noting how your excitement is gently shifting into confidence, and confidence into a slight premonition of anxiety warming at your fingertips and deep in your heart. Talking to your living dream in the world of Hollywood is extremely comfortable and desirable, but still you feel in your gut that something is wrong with Eilish, even if you can't explain what it is.

"This is my loudest baby, if I may say so," - Charlotte smirks, gently putting her hand out in front of you in a warning gesture, - "careful, there's another one here."

You step over the thick camera cord, suddenly feeling the ground beneath your feet shake slightly, or should I say vibrate. Far behind the two of you, you hear a mechanical, rumbling noise reminiscent of a construction site. Charli puts her tanned palm on your shoulder, instantly stopping you in your tracks.

"Turn around," - she smiles at you extremely contentedly, meeting a catchy sketch of misunderstanding on your face, - "I'm sure you'll like it."

One hundred and eighty degree turn around your own axis and you don't know what's deafeningly louder right now - the gushing laughter of Charli seeing your bulging eyes in amazement, or the helling murmur of the damn construction excavator that's coming your way slowly, led by her majesty Eilish, sitting regally behind the wheel.

"What the fuck, O'Connell?!" - you announce, folding your palms in a report-like fashion and bringing it to your lips: the only thing that helps a bit to overcome this sonic behemoth with a multi-ton bucket.

"Get ready to jump in!" - Eilish's eyes are burning a confident blue enough that you don't even need to squint to see it, and about a smile would be needless to say. - "I'm taking my loved groupie back, Charlotte!"

"I give up!" - Aitchison shouts, mixing the echo of his own voice with the roar of the engine, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture, grinning good-naturedly.

The excavator clanks, sliding at first a little to the left side of the wide area, and then leveling off again, still on course with the two of you, except now it's traveling at a safe distance from you instead of straight ahead.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting if I were you, or she'll burn with jealousy," - Charli puts her palm to your ear conspiratorially, except instead of the classic whisper: a shout. - "Come by my dressing room afterward, I promised you an autograph after all."

Something clicks shrewdly in your head as you smile, hugging the star briefly: you barely touch her waist and she pats you on the shoulders in return, and the excavator seems to make an even louder noise, like an iron bull spewing anger in the heat of a bullfight. The only one subduing him is Eilish. Charli hurriedly steps aside, watching with undisguised interest, and you only catch Eilish's outstretched left palm as you climb up the step. Her fingers grip you so tightly and securely that even the tattooed three of winged fairies embossed on her skin seems to be pulling at you with their little hands.

"You're crazy, Eilish!" - you shout with an outburst of laughter, wrapping both hands around the iron handrail.

"I'm your crazy!" - Billie returns both hands to the steering wheel, confident that you have a firm grip these.

"When did you even learn to drive this multi-ton monster?"

"Exactly half an hour ago," - an undisguised contentment plays on her lips as her gaze drifts forward. - "Not much different from a normal car, though there are nuances."

Glancing in the rearview mirror, you notice not only the surprised set workers, but also Charli waving at you. A grin spreads across your face.

"As nuanced as your jealousy of Charli?"

"I'm not jealous," - O'Connell lets a chuckle pass through her lips, and even drowned in the rumble of the car it doesn't seem sincere.

"Oh, what are you saying?" - you raise an eyebrow, and Eilish casts a quick glance at you-the blue sea is completely draped in eloquent silver serpents, to see which: an honor purely for you and no one else.

"Okay, yeah. I'm jealous." - Eilish exhales in astonishment, jerking the long clutch lever with her hand, to which the iron hulk rumbles, going leisurely to the right on its powerful tires. You see parking lot markings in the distance and a small silhouette waving two neon-orange flags: obviously the parking attendant himself. - "I don't like it when your attention and admiration isn't on me."

"My, you're greedy," - Billie tsked, rolling her eyes, but you only smiled affectionately. - "Would a kissing session make up for my shortcoming?"

Billie hesitates for a moment, rubbing her chin with one hand, then playfully pouts her lips in an olfactory pink bow like a child.

"If you also stand behind the cameras with the cameramen, catching my every glance, then quite possibly yes."

"Okay, I agree!" - You laugh, throwing your head back, and Eilish doesn't hold back in her supposed seriousness, drowning in laughter following you.

"Now get ready to get off. We'll walk from here. I have to see what kind of wall I have to break down."

You are silent, choking on air in a flash. Well, this is going to be an interesting shoot, though it's always just that way with Billie.

[rivangel]

As many times as you quenched the wound in the side of Levi’s thigh with bandage wrappings, the bright redness kept welling up to the surface like a stubborn hate.

“It didn’t knick an artery; it’s fine,” he’s saying. He keeps saying that, as if a Titan’s molar getting anywhere near his flesh is as unfortunate as a sudden storm.

“Then why is it still bleeding??”

“It must be deep.”

You level him a stare as firm as your hold on the wound. He sits right there in front of you, yet he seems so far away. There’s a smear of blood just under his chin, pretty mistakable as a shadow. Human blood, but not his own. Fittingly, he looks a mess—his pants strangled by his toned calves, belts half-sprawled like a couple random dead snakes. His collar is crumpled despite having his cravat in place.

He doesn’t say anything.

You lean forward (mindful of your hand, mindful) and tug it loose. You’re the only person in the world who he wouldn’t push off right on the spot. But confusion is still there till you dab it on your tongue and start to clean off that spot. He looks disgusted, and, and guilty.

The silence in the tent has grown deafening, but you feel no need to “defend” yourself. He’s too stubborn anyway.

Surprisingly, what he says next is stilted and thick with feeling. “…You can stop now. Let’s just close it already.”

‘Let’s’. That’s nicer. You stretch your arm up to grab the padded kit, and open it, preparing supplies to again clean, and stitch the wound with. Levi takes over in the pressure department.

“Alright, honey.”

Levi silently watches as you start. Your fingers brush as you maneuver the cloth away. If the alcohol burns violently, and it does, Levi hardly shows it but with a crease between his brows as though he’s annoyed. You have something of the same look—he’s right, a deep wound. The sides of the wound look like paper someone carelessly ripped angrily down the middle.

Levi shifts his thigh to give you the easiest angle.

“Let’s get this over with.” Needle threaded, you breathe deeply, and start.

Naturally. Levi had been masking the pain he’d been in since it happened with a mask of ambivalence. He grunts as you lace the needle and press on the screaming wound.

“It’s alright, baby,” you hear yourself murmuring. Words of comfort pass from your heart to your mouth. You don’t have the energy to pay your faint mortification an iota of attention—it’s the first method you jump to. “It’s okay, baby.”

Levi had taken hold of your arm at some point—you don’t notice until it tightens, making you look up. So much of his prior stoicism has melted from his face, like blistered wax under too much candle-burn. He’s letting himself look genuinely pained.

Your intense gaze flickers back to the task at hand.

Suggestions of the pain he's in become incessant, but asking if it hurts is redundant. While chasing the end—near yet so far—you ask if it hurts very badly.

He murmurs hesitantly. “…Thanks, but…Do somethin’ else, I’ve got it.”

Your resolve was unbreakable that you wouldn’t stop helping, for whatever reason he gave.

This, you hadn’t considered.

But of course, Levi would have the skill and mental fortitude to stitch his own wounds.

Slowly and carefully, you have him adjust his leg. He’s more accepting of help this time. And then, you transfer the needle and sutures to his hands.

You have no idea what ‘something else’ affords you, so as you rub another chalky rag soaked in the alcohol between your fingers, you sit right by his other side. You dab a bit of visible sweat off his temple, and his expression eases into something more focused instead of intensely upsetting.

Despite the rigidness in his shoulders, his timid voice, and his disposition from before, his hands never shake at all.

[eowynstwin]

Re: this post. Because we all know what Price would do.

cw: Infidelity. Implied rape (coerced sex is rape). Implied murder. Price is Price.

-

The scent of ozone is sharp in your nose. The air around your husband gathers, electricity coalescing, taking on a slow, heavy pulse of its own as he sits there, arms crossed, expression closed. Hard.

John Price is a hard man. You knew this when you married him. Appreciated it, even. He suffers no fools, loathes a point belabored. To him, there is an unbroken, straight line, gloriously clear, between himself and his objective; a simple, beautiful connection between means and motive. Anything inconsequential is merely scenery on a road trip. Meaningless visual noise.

Between you, the wallet sits in the middle of the dinner table like a live grenade. Leather; worn around the edges.

Not his.

“Who,” he says. It is not a question. It is an order.

Your lips are pressed together tightly, so it might keep your chin from trembling. Stray tears are hot down the corners of your nose.

You can’t look him in the eye.

“It was,” you stutter, “the man, the—the man—for the car—”

Suddenly you have to take huge gulps of air. You pull them in raggedly, like they claw at your throat, refusing to go willingly into the cage of your lungs.

“It was only—only for—” you heave past a sob “—for the payment, he said—he said either this or—or—”

You cry out in fear as John stands from the chair, whole body shaking now.

Your husband does not suffer excuses, either.

You’ve never been afraid of him; John keeps his anger away from you, when he can. Takes it outside with a cigar and a bottle of scotch, to the gym and the sparring mats, or all the way out there where inevitably he must kill to keep from being killed.

But now it fills the house like tear gas. Billowing, noxious, whipping against your skin, pressing sharply into your eyes.

You squeeze them shut, tightly. He approaches you. Instinct, something written deep in your bones, seizes up, knows it feels the predator closing in. Resigned, like waiting for the jaws to close will make it hurt less when they snap your neck.

It’s why you flinch when his mouth lands, far too gently, on the crown of your head. His hand cups your nape like a newborn.

“Order some dinner,” he murmurs—not gently, but in memory of gentleness. “Have a bath, with those bombs I got you.”

You choke on your own breath. He withdraws, and finally you look him full in the face—

His brow is low. His gaze is shuttered away from you, fixed on some far point.

“John,” you whisper.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he murmurs.

“John!”

He turns his back on you and walks out the door.

-

You order pad thai for two, jasmine rice, crab kanob jeeb with spicy dipping sauce. You splurge and have fresh cookies delivered, against better judgement—not your own, you demonstrably have none, but certainly someone’s.

When you close your teeth around a dumpling, broth spurts against your tongue, like an artery punctured. The sauce clears your nostrils in a sudden punch, no lead up, no dancing around what it is and what it’s supposed to do. It’s delicious; exonerating.

You would think guilt would close your stomach, but in fact you eat like a man on death row, inhaling every flavor like you can take it with you into your next life. You have to stop yourself from digging into what your ordered for John.

He said he’d be back. He isn’t a liar.

You do have that bath. You pour yourself some of his scotch, light candles, fasten your hair up with a clip and rest the back of your neck against the slanted lip of the bathtub. You and John had bought this house in part because of this tub; you’d fantasized about doing just this as often as you pleased.

He’d joked about its great capacity for draining a body. You’d told him if he ever used your tub for murder, you’d leave him.

The bath bombs fizz next to your thighs, dying the water in pink and gold, bubbling along your skin. Steam rises visibly from the water; tension bleeds from you slowly, like your body is unwilling to give it up just yet.

When it begins to cool, you open the drain and shower off. You wash yourself from top to bottom, lathering soap between the palms of your bare hands, reacquainting your body with your own touch. There, the dips in your pelvis; there, the folds of your stomach; there, the backs of your knees, calves, the knobs of your ankle bones.

Everything as it was before. Clean. Unblemished.

You take your post on the couch in your softest pajamas, pulling a blanket up to your waist. There’s a game on tonight, a Liverpool friendly that you remember John wanted to watch. He should get back soon, then. He wouldn’t want to miss it—

The front door opens.

You whip around. Your gaze locks with your husband’s. You hold together motionless, staring, as if evaluating each other.

You’re not sure how you expected him to arrive but you find yourself surprised that he’s clean. He’s in the same clothes, even, jeans and a T-shirt and a bomber jacket and work boots. The picture of nondescript.

The air he brings in with him is…different. Not miasmic; more refined. Almost satiated. You can’t read his expression, but the line of his brow is softer.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, and find yourself surprised that you mean it.

Words sit heavy in your stomach. Serious, needful. But you know John; and suddenly you realize if there was a time for them at all, he wouldn’t want them anyway.

He comes over to you, toes off his boots and slings his jacket over the sofa back. Sits, gathers you into his side, bringing your legs over his lap and pulling your head into the crook of his neck. He’s warm; warmer than he should be, having just come in from the cold.

“Needed a walk,” is all he says.

“Sure,” you agree.

He smells like your John. Clean, evergreen body soap and fresh laundry and earthy, like the smell of turned humus. A little thread of gun oil that never goes away—metallic, in a way you’ve grown used to, and couldn’t imagine being without any longer.

He cups your shoulder with one hand, lays the other across your lap. Squeezes your thigh. His knuckles are chapped a deep, bruised red from the cold; you notice a dark spot beneath the nail of his pinky.

“What’s the score?” he asks. His deep voice rumbles in his chest.

“They’re losing,” you say. You inhale his scent, hold it in your lungs, and breathe out slowly, calmly.

“Eh,” he says, giving you a squeeze, kissing your hair. “They’ll get away with it.”

-

You buy a car on a loan from some shady fuck like an idiot and John takes care of it, idk. Don’t worry about watching the news babe he’s a professional

[ghettogirly]

After losing some one he care about. He saw her in everything. Deja Vu

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━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: after seeing you die, it was as if Armando lost a piece of his soul. Nothing was worth loving anymore.

-> format: one shot

-> theme: angst.

-> warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, mature language, heavy angst.

-> authors note: thanks for the request! this would be a first of writing heavy angst about him. This is not proofread. 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!🌸

━━━━━━━━━━

The sound of the copper plated bullet whizzed past his ear as it pierced into the girls carotid artery. Going 100mph, the tiny metal shrapnel shot through her, being so small yet so dangerous.

She fell limp into his arms as the bullet punctured her neck, cutting off a blood supply to her brain. Gasping for air, you twitched in his arms frantically as Armando laid you down trying to apply pressure onto the hole, with no luck. “Cálmate, por favor.” The male mumbled as he tried to help you. Sliding your hand up his shoulder, you gripped onto Armando’s royal blue shirt in an attempt for you to hold onto your consciousness for a little while longer. Not being long before you would eventually bleed out.

“Get some fucking help!!”

Blood seeped into the cracks of the wooden floor, staining not only the brown tiles but the latino’s hand, painting it fully red. Your eyes continuously blinked as you fought hard for your life, feeling it slowly slip away from you. Losing the will to live, your eyes slowly start to descend as you alleviate your grip on your lover. “No, no. Quédate conmigo.”

Tiny noises heave out of the brown skinned girl who laid in his arms, slowly tapping his hand with her nail before her head fell down limp. Crimson yet thick, blood still continued to flow out of her neck, it being more of a visible red due to the oxygenation that occurs when flowing around the body. Her deep brown hair mixing with the metallic smell of the substance seeping out from underneath her. The colour from her beautiful deep skin slowly started to disappear from her, becoming practically mummified.

In disbelief, the male slowly shook his dead lover in hopes of this just being a dream. “Baby?”

No response.

“Son..” A hand was placed on Armando’s shoulder to which he violently shrugged off.

“¡ Quítate de encima!”

Placing his lovers body slowly down on the floor, he stood up. Tears cascaded down the males face as his eyes were a bloodshot red due to the extremity of his sobbing. Glancing around the room, faces of pity just stared at him, “No me compadezcas.”

The loud strobe of lights from the ambulance came shining onto the group, the sirens blaring as they quickly pulled up and ran over to the group.

“Where is she?”

A scoff was heard amongst the group as a muscular physique arose from the crowd, strolling over to the leading paramedic. “You’re too late. She’s fucking gone.”

“Armando..”

Mike’s calls fell on deaf ears as Armando continued to press the paramedic, practically screaming in their face due to how long they took to get here. “This is your fault!”

“It went through her main artery, she wouldn’t of-“

“No me importa!”

Unable to hold in his rage longer, the taller male pushed the paramedic forcefully causing him to fall down. Standing over him Armando looked down, which then caused warnings signs for the rest of the team who quickly ran over to him so they could hold him back. “Armando. Calm down!”

Flipping his head towards Dorn, the tall blonde who spoke them words, Armando walked up to him and intensely stared. His eyes piercing through Dorn’s soul. His chocolate brown orbs now full of hurt and pain, causing him to go back to how he was before. Before finding love. The ruthless, reckless and cunning man he was. The man who couldn’t love, let alone care of other people. The assassin who took any life who was in front of him.

That was who he was.

His mother was right.

Santa Muerte was right.

“Calmarse? Está bien.” Putting his hands up, he walked backwards.

Everyone exchanged confused glances as Armando’s demeanour suddenly switched. Watching him walk over to his blacked out motorbike, he put his helmet over his head before flipping the screen closed. Revving the engine, Armando zoomed off into the night. Leaving his team there at the bar, anxious.

And not only that.

Leaving the person who changed him for the better, who he loved, behind too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃.

It was currently 2 in the morning. The rain was currently attacking Armando’s modern windows, the tiny teardrops forming bullets as they attempted to penetrate the double glazed window below. Thunder was roaring across Miami as bolts of lightning flashed between houses here and there. Unable to sleep, the latino slugged towards his bathroom.

Putting his hands on the counter, his head sunk down. His hair was a mess and he was sweaty due to the constant tossing and turning he was doing into the night. Looking up, at the mirror, bags hung down underneath his eyes. They showed no sign of emotion anymore. Numb. Void.

There was a piece of him missing. His body now unfulfilled.

You stood behind him. The curly locks that bounced upon your shoulder were stained with blood splatters as your appearance was the exact same that particular night.

Armando’s mouth was agape as he looked into the reflection of the mirror, slightly shocked but still delusional as he was half awake, that you were really here. This positive aura still beamed around you as your beautiful full lips, and melanin skin was still apparent. Even after death. “Amor..?”

Curling your lips in grief and sadness, you answer him. “why are you doing this?”

“Doing this?”

“The whole team just wanted to be there to comfort you, but you push them away.

Scoffing, Armando shook his head at your oblivious nature. “claramente no entiendes.”

“I do understand.”

“¡No es así! ¡Te he perdido todo! No puedo avanzar".

“Please baby, you have to let me go. You can’t keep living like this.”

“La forma en que vivía antes era mejor que vivir contigo. Conocer a todo el mundo fue un error, mi madre tenía razón.”

Throwing a punch towards the mirror where you were, the shards of glass crumbled down his counter. Little pieces of your soul flew away as the male destroyed the mirror. Destroyed the last pieces of your essence in his life. Tiny pieces of glass punctured Armando’s fist causing streams of blood to flow out of it.

“He did fucking curse me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Cálmate, por favor.”: Calm down please.

“No, no. Quédate conmigo.”: No. no.. stay with me.

“¡ Quítate de encima!”: Get off me!

“No me compadezcas.” : Don’t pity me!

“No me importa!” : I don’t care!

“Calmarse? Está bien.”: Calm down? Okay.

“claramente no entiendes.”: You clearly do not understand.

“¡No es así! ¡Te he perdido todo! No puedo avanzar". : You do not! I have lost you, everything! I cannot move forward.”

“La forma en que vivía antes era mejor que vivir contigo. Conocer a todo el mundo fue un error, mi madre tenía razón.” : How i lived before was better than living with you. Meeting everyone was a mistake, my mother was right.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @tyneshaaa @5tarlan7 @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @believeinthefireflies95 @thedarkworldofhananerea @dyttomori @armandosbabymama @deadpool15 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @yeahnohoneybye @sarcasticbitchsblog

[megalony]

You're Not Leaving

As promised, this is my new Dark! Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon. Thank you for this idea I loved it and any dark Evan requests I'll happily try and write them. Let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) tries to walk away from Evan, she knows his obsessive nature is out of control. But after a drunken night, she finds her way back to him and realises leaving a second time isn't going to be easy.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you want, pal? You've been following me for the last five blocks."

Simon turned to look over his shoulder, hunching his shoulders up as his lips crinkled in distaste and panic.

Who was this guy? Why had he been following Simon since he left that bar? If he was looking for a hook-up, he had the wrong person in mind. And if he was looking for a fight, Simon wasn't the type to go round brawling with strangers.

It didn't help that the moon was barely visible behind the shimmering clouds and the street lights were as dim and helpful as a single match.

The man continued to stalk over until he was one foot away from Simon. He had broad shoulders that seemed to expand for miles and his arms were almost ripping through the thick denim jacket he wore that wouldn't even button up around his chest, he was that heavily built.

He had a heavy frame that made his shoes bash and stomp against the pavement, announcing his presence to anyone within listening distance. His hands were stuffed into his jean pockets. His face was freshly shaven, giving him a youthful look and his hair was perfectly cut into short strands that were just starting to curl and crimp at the ends. He didn't look as if the midnight air toussled his hair or touched him at all.

His eyes were the worrying factor. Simon couldn't tell what colour they would have been in the bright midday sun. But here in the darkness of the clouds, the man's eyes were raven black with tiny, glimmering flecks of white like miniture moons captured within each eye.

He looked manic.

"I want to give you a warning." His voice was smooth like velvet, with just a tiny frayed edging to it that cut through the air as sharp as a blade.

He took a step closer, hunching his shoulders higher and tilting his head down due to the height difference. The stranger was easily over six foot and he towered over Simon like a bad omen of death, here to take him down to the underworld.

"What?"

"You need to leave (Y/n) alone."

(Y/n).

The girl Simon had just been on a date with? The girl he had just parted ways with at the bar only ten minutes ago?

Why would this stranger need to give Simon a warning about (Y/n)? Why was he warding him away from her?

She was the one who had asked Simon out again tonight. They met in a cafe two weeks ago, went on a date last week and had been on a second date tonight. She was the shy type. The type of girl who had her face buried in a book and her soul hidden behind protective layers that took time to scrape through and see the girl hiding beneath. Who was this man, to her?

"I don't understand-"

"Then I'll simplify." Evan latched his fingers around Simon's throat before he could finish his sentence. He dug his short nails into his neck, pinched his thumb over his pulse so he could feel the artery in his neck throb and ignite with panic.

His left arm moved to pin across Simon's lanky, thin chest and with very little effort, Evan shoved him back against the brick wall behind him.

He squeezed his throat just tight enough to have tears welling up in his eyes and cause his lips to part in panic. He struggled for breath, gurgling and gasping as Evan pinched his throat so he only had partial use over his airways. He needed him frightened and compliant. He needed Simon to listen to what he was going to tell him and to heed his warning carefully.

"On your next date with (Y/n), you tell her you don't wanna be with someone like her. She's not your type. And you leave her the fuck alone."

"W-why?" Simon's voice was nothing but a gargle, a cat mewling in the midnight air. Begging for someone to walk past and see this altercation and help him. To get this freaked stranger off him before he crushed his windpipe or strangled him to death.

"Because she's mine."

Those three little words were as dangerous as a gun being aimed in his face. They were fire and ice, life and death, sun and moon all combined together in one big combustion.

(Y/n) was his. She was Evan's girl.

And he didn't care if she instagated this date or not, another one wasn't going to happen. He wasn't allowing this guy to take his girl away from him.

She wanted a break. She took a step back from her relationship with Evan, but he knew she would come running back to him when she realised how deeply he loved her and what their relationship meant to them both. She walked out of their flat and had been living with a friend. She didn't know Evan was still checking on her, making sure she was okay, that she got home from work safely, that she wasn't meeting strangers and getting herself into trouble.

He had left everything in their flat the way it was, he didn't move her clothes or their pictures or her hairbrush or anything in the bathroom. He was wating for her to come back. She hadn't taken a lot of her stuff with her and she hadn't come back for the rest yet, clearly she wasn't finished with their relationship like she pretended she was.

"After you break things off, I don't want you near her again. If you so much as look at my girl… well, I'll have to get creative."

The smile that formed on Evan's lips was more than frightening, more than sinister and much worse than pure terror.

(Y/n) was Evan's girl; his one and only. She was the one for him and he wouldn't have anyone else trying to hurt her or take her away from him. This guy needed to stay away from her for his own sake, or Evan would have to take more drastic action to make him pay attention to the rules laid out before him.

When Simon started to bash his hand down on Evan's wrist and then his elbow to try and gain some air, Evan obliged. He loosened his grip enough to let strangled gurgles leave Simon's lips as he gasped for breath.

"Understand?"

"Y-you're derranged-"

With a shake of his head and a chiding click of his tongue, Evan grabbed the hand that was about to land a very frail attempt at a punch on his jaw. In one swift motion, Evan bent his index and middle finger back until the tips of his fingers were touching the back of his hand, earning a howl from Simon at the same time as a sickening crunch tore through the air.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes! Fuck! Yes, j-just let me go." Tears drenched Simon's face as he pleaded and nodded his head until his neck ached and felt like his head was going to drop off.

He understood. He was listening. He knew his orders. He would stay the Hell away from (Y/n) if this guy was going to be hovering around her like a bad omen. He would stay away from her. He didn't need this kind of trouble and he wasn't getting involved in whatever mess she had going on here. This unfinished business had nothing to do with Simon. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Evan said nothing, but his smile was satisfactory. He took two steps back and watched with a grin as Simon slumped down to his knees like he was praying to the Devil himself.

He seemed to have learned his lesson.

Now all Evan had to do was stand back and wait. He knew (Y/n) like the back of his hand. She would come back to him in no time, and he would be waiting.

***

Swaying on her feet, (Y/n) leaned forward until her left shoulder banged into the familiar doorframe. Her right hand wavered and made the keychain hooked on her thumb jingle out a strange tune.

She tried her best to fiddle with the keys, but the chain wouldn't unhook from her thumb and her nimble fingers were trembling too harshly for her to find the right key. She had too many on the chain. Why did she even keep the key for the apartment in the first place?

This wasn't her home anymore.

She hadn't been back here in almost a month. She hadn't stepped foot inside, not to collect her clothes or her books or her jewellery or the little nicnacs she had made and was rather proud of. (Y/n) was too afraid to come back and bump into Evan in the process. He would make it harder to leave, and walking out with a small bag of clothes had been the hardest thing she had ever done in the beginning.

A groan tumbled past her lips and she slumped her forehead onto the cold wood, relishing in the way it cooled down her burning skin and relieved the headache pounding in her temple.

The chain finally unhooked from her thumb and when the metal sang as it collided with the floor, (Y/n) bashed her hand limply against the door.

"Evan?" His name trembled past her lips like a song she was too afraid to sing in fear of the consequences it would ensnare.

Evan loves you. That's why you're here right now. He's going to take care of you.

It was all (Y/n) could process.

If she wasn't drunk to the point of passing out, (Y/n) wouldn't have come back here to the place that still felt like home. The place she had moved into after only two months of dating Evan.

If she weren't drunk as a skunk, (Y/n) would have told herself some cold, hard truths that would make her turn around and go home.

Evan is obsessive.

He checks your phone. He won't let you go out alone without him. He won't let you take a phone call in another room.

He needs an exact schedule of your day, your week, your month so he knows every movement you make. Keeping you safe is his priority, but smothering you is the cost that comes with it.

He thinks you're the one for him and if you leave, the world will end. He is always anxious about you leaving him, it fuels the fire burning inside him and makes him controlling.

Give me your phone! Where are you going? Why don't you want me to go with you? Why won't you tell me where you're going? Can't you see I need to look after you? I need to keep you safe! Too many people get hurt in this world and I have to protect you. I can't let you leave. Why won't you let me look after you? Where are you going?!

The alcohol blocked out all of those thoughts. The vodka made them blurry, the shot of whiskey watered them down. The cocktails turned them into sludge and washed them along the river. Everything drained out of her head until the only thing left was the one truth (Y/n) could conceive. Evan loved her, and she needed some love tonight.

"(Y/n)- hey, you okay?"

When the door opened, (Y/n) didn't realise how much weight she had leaned onto the door, or how heavy her head was. Until the door opened and her body slumped forward like a pendulum.

A broken gasp broke past her lips but her head met with a hard, familiar chest that smelled like leather and pine. Her wet lips pressed into a cotton shirt that felt like the softest cloud beneath her skin and she almost started to kiss it. Her arms curled around a familiar waist that was broad and large and stocky. Her very own weighted comfort.

A large hand softly planted down on her back between her shoulder blades and the chest took all of her weight for her as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of sugar.

"Hi,"

It was clear the moment (Y/n) tilted her head back and pressed her chin into Evan's chest that she was drunk. Her eyelids were halfway over her eyes which were blown wide with pupils that were dancing around like stars. Her lips spread into a wide, lopsided grin and the soft, laboured breaths she took showed how drunk she had gotten tonight.

Saying nothing, Evan pressed his lips to the top of her head and let go of the doorframe so he could take a step back. He kept his arm curved around her waist and let her slump against him and stumble inside their flat.

Once the door was closed, Evan made quick work of bolting it shut and drawing the chain across before he looked down at the girl in his arm who melted his heart.

"Are you okay?" Evan's voice was as soft as melted butter and it made heat rise to (Y/n)'s cheeks and had her smile turning cheeky and flushed and embarrassed.

He did care. Evan was the only person in the world who cared about her. The only person she could rely on, despite his obsessive, protective tendencies that frightened her. What was fear compared to the love he made her feel?

"Can I stay with you? I d- I don't wanna be alone… or with Lacey." (Y/n) hiccupped through her words but her arms tightened around Evan's waist until he took a sharp breath. His eyes were enamoured by her and he took the time to drink in every inch of her that he could. He drank in her plump lips that looked even softer and thicker than the last time he kissed them. He was having withdrawal symptoms every day just thinking about those lips.

He raked his eyes over the dress she was wearing. Dark blue. His favourite colour. Did she dress up just for him? Did she know that off the shoulder look was going to aggravate him into wanting to rip that material off her arms and ravage her right here in the hall?

Did she know that it started to flutter around her thighs and stick to them when she started to sweat? Did she know not wearing any tights just gave Evan a better view of her plump thighs that he wanted to lay between until the world ended?

(Y/n) didn't want to go back to Lacey's apartment where she had been staying since she left Evan.

She didn't want to go there where her friend would already be in bed and she would be alone with her thoughts and the drowning knowledge that nobody wanted her. Simon broke it off with her. Two dates was all it took for him to say she wasn't his type. She seemed clingy. He couldn't get into another relationship right now. He wasn't ready for that. For her.

The only place (Y/n) could think to go that would make her feel comforted and loved was here. Her old home, with Evan. With someone who worshipped the ground she walked on and would love her like she depended on him to breathe.

"Then you'd better come in." Evan's voice was comforting and quiet and rolled in one ear and out the other, but in a good way.

He slid her bag off her shoulder and slung it on the second hook on the wall that still had her denim jacket and her raincoat hung up. He curved his arm tight around her waist and dug his fingers lovingly into her hip while he leant down and slid her high heels off her aching feet.

When she got drunk, her mind would wander. She sought the reassurance she couldn't get the courage to find when she was sober. She clung to Evan like her world, her life, depended on him. She kissed him and attached herself to him and became clingy and needy in such a way that made Evan feel like he had taken a dose of ecstasy and was on top of the world.

He knew he was needed when she clung to him and kissed him and ravaged him and begged him to tell her everything was okay. To tell her that he loved her.

He guided her towards the kitchen until (Y/n) turned to face him.

Her arms bound tight around his waist until her hands were on his upper back and he could feel her nails scratching through his shirt. She tilted her head down and suddenly smothered her face into the centre of his chest, squishing her nose against his sternum and fanning her hot breaths against his skin that was getting flushed already.

"Missed you." She murmured softly into his chest, so quiet that Evan almost missed the words. But they made him grin.

Simon had done as Evan had asked. (Y/n) had come back to him. Evan wasn't going to let her leave again.

"I missed you too, baby."

Evan kept his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and moved his left hand to cup the back of her neck. His head tilted down until his lips and nose were smothered in her hair and he breathed in the scent of her lemon shampoo that drove him wild.

He swayed them both from side to side, feeling the way (Y/n) grinned into his shirt and he was sure she was starting to kiss his chest too.

"Don't wanna be alone…" Her voice was as quiet as the evening breeze drifting by outside. And Evan felt each word vibrate through his chest and into his heart. She knew he would never let her be alone. He would always look after her and shower her with love and show her exactly how much she meant to him.

That was why she was here. She was here because she didn't have the strength or the willpower to stay away now she was drunk. Her defences were down and she couldn't fight herself to stay away from Evan. She wanted to be loved and Evan was more than ready to do that for her.

"You're home now, you're not gonna be alone."

Moving his hand around from her neck to her face, Evan gently pinched her chin between his thumb and finger and lifted her head up from his chest. He wanted to see her. He wanted to look down into her eyes and see the stars that twinkled within them. He wanted her to look at him like she always used to; with love and adoration and wanting.

His thumb brushed across her lower lip and he tugged it down, noticing the dark patch in the corner where she had anxiously bitten a layer of skin off.

He couldn't resist any longer. He crashed his lips down against hers, tasting the infusion of vodka, whiskey and all sorts of alcoholic combinations on her sweet lips. His tongue battled against hers, winning the fight easily and stealing the gasp she elicited into his mouth.

His fingers crushed down around her hip as if making sure she wasn't a figment of his imagination trying to tease him.

Their lips parted for all of a second, just enough for (Y/n) to draw in a sharp breath to push away the dizziness in the front of her mind. And then his lips were back on hers, savouring her taste, drinking her in, swallowing her whole and consuming every inch of her that he could get.

When he walked her back, (Y/n) stumbled along, letting him drive her in any direction he wanted until her back collided with the kitchen wall.

A groan bubbled up in her chest but Evan swallowed it down, crashing his teeth against her lower lip until the metallic taste of iron trickled onto both their tongues.

Her heels scraped against the floor to keep herself upright and a dull ache throbbed in her shoulders and the back of her head when Evan kept her head tilted back and pushed into the wall. But he kept her pinned in place with his hard chest that collided with hers and crushed her between him and the wall.

His fingers roughly let go of her chin to glide back round and cup the back of her neck, curling his fingers into her hair so he could give a sharp tug and tilt her head up to be more at his level.

(Y/n) finally found some control over her limbs and wiggled her arms out from around Evan's chest so she could loop them around his neck instead. Her fingers dragged over the back of his neck and raked up, scratching against his skin until she felt him shivering against her and groaning into her mouth.

"Evan…"

She wasn't sure what she was asking him or trying to convey, but it didn't really matter. Evan seemed to have complete control and (Y/n) was more than willing to surrender to him.

Her heart rocketed in her chest and she felt adrenaline pooling in her stomach and travelling down her limbs when his hands moved. He let go of her neck but the way his chin pressed into hers kept her head tilted at just the angle he needed her in to keep devouring and biting her lips.

One hand travelled down until his fingers were splayed out in the middle of her back, pressing her chest fully against his so there wasn't even a membrane of space between them. But it was his other hand that (Y/n) started to focus on. His fingers scrunched up in the hem of her dress that had already ridden up her legs and became glued to her thighs.

With one sharp tug, Evan raked her dress up over her thighs until it was bunched over her hips, exposing her black laced underwear.

She gasped for air when Evan finally released her sore, bruising lips and though her fingers stayed curled around the back of his neck, she watched him tilt his head down. His chin pressed into his chest and his head leaned to the right so he could get a look at the underwear she was wearing.

The smile that formed on his lips was devilish and made his blue eyes darken three shades.

He hooked a finger into the lace and pulled it back, watching with glee as it snapped into (Y/n)'s hip and made her jump forward against him.

"Come're." His growl made (Y/n)'s knees go weak and she could feel herself about to slide down against him into a puddle on the floor. But his hand secured around the back of her thigh, dangerously close to her underwear and he gave a sharp pull. He lifted her leg until she hooked it over his hip and when he pulled, (Y/n) took the hint.

She lifted her right leg over his other hip and let him hoist her up onto his torso. Her arms bound tighter around his neck and she took the opportunity to smother her face against his neck while his fingers dug deeply into her thighs which would leave bruises in his wake in the morning.

(Y/n) let her hazy eyes fall closed and breathed in Evan's scent that felt like another wave of alcohol washing over her, intoxicating her to the max. Her wet lips started to create hollow kisses up and down from his shoulder up towards his jaw. And when she grazed her teeth over his skin, a dark hum vibrated through Evan's chest and made her stomach jolt.

She realised he was walking out of the kitchen and he lifted her higher on his hips so he could make quick work of climbing the stairs.

(Y/n)'s head started to spin and she opened her eyes, watching the light fixture spin in clockwise circles above her when Evan laid her down on the bed. The alcohol was starting to take a different kind of effect. She didn't want to keep her eyes open but the room continued to spin even when she closed them.

She could feel her hands trembling against the back of Evan's neck and she clung to him tighter, breathing through her nose to clear her head.

She almost whimpered when he unhooked her hands from his neck and started to retreat down her body. She thought he was leaving her. Maybe Evan thought she was too drunk and was going to let her sleep it off.

Electric sparks flickered through (Y/n)'s thighs when Evan laid on his chest between her legs and started to place open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs. She felt his fingers hook into the top of her underwear and her head spun faster when he slowly dragged them down her thighs and flung them somewhere in the room.

"I'm glad you came back, baby." Evan was more than glad, more than relieved, more than grateful that she was back.

And he wasn't going to let her leave again.

***

Oh God, what had she done?

(Y/n)'s limbs felt like bars of gold when she brought a hand up to rub across her eyes and try to open them properly. She was thankful for the blackout blinds in the bedroom. They stopped the light from blinding her this morning and showing off her shame.

She could feel her heart rocketing up into her throat, closing off her airways when she looked down at her chest.

It wasn't a dream. Nor was it a vague memory. She had slept with Evan last night. The proof was Evan himself, wrapped around her like a blanket.

His head was laid comfortably in the middle of her chest, his nose tickling her skin and his sandy curls swept across her collar bone. He had both arms curled around her like she was a teddy he was clinging to in his sleep and his body was resting comfortably between her legs. Well, Evan seemed comfy. (Y/n), on the other hand, was aching. Her hips were bent outwards to accommodate him resting between her legs and from how stiff her joints felt and how accustomed she now felt to him laying on her, (Y/n) guessed they had been like this all night.

She didn't mean for this to happen.

(Y/n) didn't want to end up in bed with him like this. It wasn't what she planned. Hell, she didn't even plan to go back home with Simon after the date they were supposed to have last night.

Crawling back into bed with Evan only made this sticky situation worse because it made it that much harder for (Y/n) to walk away from him for good.

(Y/n) dropped her hand from her face and let her palm rest on Evan's shoulder and the touch made him groan into her bare chest.

He was always a light sleeper. (Y/n) could never walk out on Evan during the night because he woke at the slightest sound. If she moved in bed, his arm would suddenly secure around her and bind her to him like fate keeping them together. If she tried to get up before him, he would wake up and pin her down to the bed.

Trying to make a quiet exit this morning would be impossible with him laid on her like this, and something told (Y/n) this was part of the plan.

"Morning." Evan's rough, gritty voice sent shockwaves through (Y/n)'s system and woke her up immediately.

She stayed perfectly still as Evan moved his arms so his hands were planted down on the mattress either side of her arms and he turned his head to kiss her collar bone delicately. His lips worked their way up her skin, making their own path along her neck as he crawled up her body and hovered over her.

Hovering over her like this allowed (Y/n) to take a proper breath, but it also let her feel every ache and bruise she now had. Her shoulders were tense, her thighs were aching and surely bruised and she didn't want to look and see what marks Evan had left down her neck and across her chest.

"Here, take these for the headache."

(Y/n) didn't see him move and she stayed still as Evan pecked her lips and dropped a packet of painkillers on the pillow beside her from his bedside drawer. He knew exactly how rough she would be feeling and she figured she didn't look her best self either.

Her eyes followed him as he slowly climbed off her, shrugging on his boxers before he headed downstairs to the bathroom.

She didn't want to move. Her head was still pounding and when she sat up, the room tilted at an angle and sent her head swaying from left to right.

She had to leave.

(Y/n) had to be quick and leave the room before Evan managed to keep her here. He was the kind of person to pin her to the bed and distract her or he would wrap around her and sweet-talk her until she gave in and stayed here with him.

It was for her own safety that she had to leave.

Her legs trembled when she slumped off the bed and took a look around. Wearing last night's clothes wasn't an option today. (Y/n) had no idea where Evan had thrown her bra or underwear last night. And when she leaned down and picked up her dress, her lips pressed into a thin line and she dropped the material back down to the floor.

Evan had ripped it. As she tried to think back, (Y/n) had a vague memory of his hands roughly yanking the straps off her arms and tugging it down her waist. If she closed her eyes, she could hear the material shredding and the threads pulling apart.

"Thanks, Evan." She huffed to herself and shuffled towards the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

Everything was still in its place. (Y/n) thought Evan would have bagged everything up when she walked out. She thought he would have binned her things or bagged them so she could come and get them later. But she should have realised he wouldn't move anything. He wouldn't get rid of her things because Evan wanted her to come home, he would leave everything as it was because he didn't take no for an answer and he didn't believe their relationship was over.

In haste to try and make a quick escape, (Y/n) shrugged on some underwear, a bra, a pair of jogging bottoms and one of Evan's shirts. Somehow, despite all of her clothes staring her right in the face, she picked Evan's attire.

It's easier. It's quicker. Getting dressed in his clothes was quicker than fiddling with one of her shirts or dresses or fighting with a pair of tight jeans.

Her hands shook and her head pounded as she ignored the painkillers Evan had found for her and hurried down the stairs. Her eyes cast around the room to try and find her purse. She wasn't sure where she left it last night, or where her shoes were. Walking home in high heels was going to be a killer.

"What's the rush?"

His voice rattled (Y/n) down to her core and she spun on her heels to find Evan stood leaning against the wall in the hallway.

"I- Evan I'm sorry… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have come round last night-"

"Yes you should. You came home."

She couldn't help but cringe at his words. Technically, (Y/n) did come home. This was her old home. This was the only home she had so far, she hadn't gotten around to taking her name off this flat. Her post still came here, her job still thought this was her address and she hadn't found a new place to rent on her own.

But (Y/n) couldn't stay here. She couldn't get back into this predicament of telling Evan where she went every time she had to leave the flat. She couldn't handle the constant messages and calls and how he would glare and push her behind him if anyone tried to talk to her that he didn't know.

She couldn't handle his obsessive nature that was getting out of control. She turned into his possession instead of his partner. She felt like someone under twenty four hour observation who couldn't take one step out the flat without Evan knowing where she was going and who she was going to be with.

"I'm gonna go-"

"No, baby, you're not. You're not going anywhere, you need to stay with me."

Evan moved within the blink of an eye and a croaky gasp left (Y/n)'s lips when his hands found her waist and her back suddenly hit the wall. Her eyes snapped closed and she couldn't bite back her whimper when her already aching body pinned into the wall.

"Evan I can't." Her voice was feeble and she knew he didn't believe or listen to her words. And when his lips attached to the side of her neck, (Y/n) pushed her arms into his chest and scrambled out of his grasp towards the door.

It was locked. Her fingers shook as she unhooked the chain across the top of the door but when she flung her hand in the dish on the side cabinet, she froze. The keys weren't there. Evan always kept his keys in the dish so if he had to leave in an emergency or for a last minute shift, he could always get out on time and as fast as possible.

Where were her keys? She still had her key to the flat on her keys- oh no. She dropped them last night. She didn't unlock the door, Evan had unlocked it last night to let her in.

"Where are the keys? W-where's my bag?" (Y/n) darted her eyes around the hallway but she could feel her heart dropping down to her stomach like a stone sinking into a lake.

She couldn't see her bag, she knew she had come over with her bag because it held her phone, her purse, her ID, her work ID badge. Everything important was in that bag and she had it on her last night when she went out. She must have come over here with it. She knew she did. What was Evan up to? What was he doing?

"Evan… what are you doing?" She was almost too afraid to ask.

Her eyes followed him as he pushed off the wall, dragging one rough hand across his lips and down his chin and jaw. The action was so slow and methodical that (Y/n) couldn't help but shiver. She watched him stalk closer to her, his hair askew in all directions, his muscles tense and free on display. The only piece of clothing on him being the boxers hanging dangerously low on his hips.

"I told you you're not leaving." Evan's hand was unusually soft as it curled around her upper arm and he slowly dragged her away from the door. "The only way that door will open, is if this relationship is patched up again. Otherwise, you're staying exactly where I can see you."

Bile rose in the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she shuddered as his words started to sink in.

He wasn't going to let her leave.

He had locked the door and hidden the keys. He had plugged her bag away somewhere in the flat so she couldn't find her phone and call for help. Their apartment was on the fifth floor, (Y/n) couldn't climb out the bedroom window or get out onto the balcony and find her way down to the ground without risking her life.

The only way she could leave was by finding the keys and risking making a break for it. Or by agreeing to work things out and getting back into a relationship with Evan.

(Y/n) took a step back but when Evan stalked closer, he looked just like a demon coming to claim her soul. The light from the balcony windows shone across on him and created a halo of light around him while his face and chest basked in darkness.

He advanced towards her, following her as she moved past the kitchen and stumbled into the living room. Her eyes swept around frantically, trying to search for anything she could use to either defend herself or break the lock on the front door to get out. But all she could focus on was the photos littering the apartment.

Dozens of them. Evan with his arms wrapped around her. (Y/n)'s cheesy smile as Evan rested his chin on top of her head due to their height difference. A picture of them both with Chris and Eddie on a day out to the zoo. A picture of them at Christmas. One of them with the team at the summer party a couple of months back.

Each photo showed how strange their relationship could twist. In half the photos on the walls, Evan simply had an arm around (Y/n) or his hand on her back. But in others, he was wrapped tightly around her like a predator trying to squeeze the life out of her and keep her safe and secured to him. No one else would be able to notice, but (Y/n) could tell which photos showed Evan in one of his manic moods.

His eyes always gave it away.

"Evan… baby, please don't do this. I was wrong to come over last night… I stayed the night and I hurt you-" (Y/n) cut herself off when she saw the way Evan's expression changed.

"You came home. Come on (Y/n) you admitted you missed me and I know you still love me. Let's talk."

Biting her lip, (Y/n) found herself nodding and she backed up towards the sofa and slumped down just as her trembling knees started to give way beneath her. She coiled her arms to her chest and flopped her head back on the sofa, but her heartbeat quickened when Evan sat down next to her.

He sat so close that their knees were touching and when he laid a hand on her thigh, she didn't have the nerve to pull away.

The way he tipped his head back so casually almost made (Y/n) feel like they had gone back in time to when they first bought this flat almost half a year ago. Back when (Y/n) didn't feel like she was smothered, like she was someone's possession and when she thought Evan's expressions of love were the best things in the world and life couldn't get any better.

"I never said I didn't love you," (Y/n) spoke quietly, her eyes focusing down on her hands that stayed rigid and frozen on her lap.

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect, although (Y/n) wasn't sure what kind of effect she was hoping for. But his hand on her thigh wasn't it. She felt like shrinking back and disappearing, but her body stayed motionless even as Evan leaned closer until his face was inches from hers.

"I want you to stay." He spoke as if (Y/n) didn't know that. She knew he wanted her to stay here, stay home, stay with him. The locked door gave that message away loud and clear. "You belong with me, you know I love you and I'd do anything for you. Anything."

Anything but let her go.

His lips attached to the side of her neck and when his chest merged with hers, (Y/n) couldn't stop him from leaning his weight onto her. She let him carefully push her back into the sofa and pin his hands near her head and the other next to her hip. Caging her in beneath him. Binding her to him.

"Tell me you'll stay. Tell me you'll come home to me." His words sounded like a command, something (Y/n) didn't want to disobey in fear of how he would react if she said no.

What choice did she have? She couldn't leave if she didn't agree, Evan wouldn't let her. She couldn't say yes and then disappear, Evan would find her. She couldn't start a new life without him, he wouldn't allow it to happen. And no one else seemed to want to be around her or in a relationship with her.

Evan did. He was here, he loved her, although he loved her far too much for his or her own good, he still loved her unconditionally.

When he worked his way up to her lips and stole a gentle, tepid kiss, (Y/n) watched his face hover over hers. She locked her eyes onto his blue orbs and felt his nose nudge against hers. She felt his breaths entwining with hers, his lips tickling hers as they barely touched, barely parted. His fingers dug into her waist. His chest pressed down on hers, his heart beating rapidly in tandem with hers.

"Tell me," He murmured against her lips, stealing another kiss. Then another, and another until (Y/n) felt positively drunk again and she couldn't think straight.

"I'll stay."