#but my chest feels tight and I’m holding back tears and this shit always hits me out of nowhere and I don’t know why it keeps happening

[gamblersdoll]

brat taming kirishima with his bratty tsundere girlfriend.

idk thinking that kiri can be such a soft but hard as fuck dom and it always come to a head when you get snarky, like he knows how you are, almost as bad as bakugou.

but god, does he love when you subconsciously act out.

in this sense, you had completely forgot the rule about not allowing kiri to help you with the heavier things. he hates when you get too independent. sure, he knows you carry yourself so, so good. but hes trying to make you not be so defensive, so independent where you cannot be helped because you wont let the thickest walls down.

and on top of that, you shooed him away. biggest mistake for you.

“you know youre not supposed to be carrying these heavy things, right baby?” he tries to take the big box of a black grill out of your hands, but you pull away and swat your hand.

“i can do this shit by myself, kiri.” you grumble, sitting it in the garage with a standing kirishima.

none of that mattered now, not the way he has you folded up on your back to mattress and spread eagle.

the sheer force of his body always knocked you into oblivion, thrusts making your voice so high and ragged.

“i’m sorry, im so sorr—y!” you squeal, moans just bubbling out and a thumb circling your clit.

“oh, i know.” he coos, thrusts becoming meaner by the second. oh, he was pissed. pissed because, the fuck you thought this was? let him lift heavy things for you! youre not single anymore.. and your exes were some punk ass bitches. “bet you wont do this shit again, huh baby?”

you nod, tears starting to bubble up in the corner of your eyes and trying to keep the hold of the back or your knees.

he slows, keeping that motion on your clit and thrusting once really hard. “words, baby.” he growls, pointed teeth gritting.

“yes! yes!” you hiccup, feeling his hips go back to bullying your cervix.

“such a fuckin’ brat you know?” he groans, soft slaps against your cheek. “need’a real man to fuck into you like this, huh?” he coos again, rolling his eyes at a certain tightness. “always gotta be so mean to me.”

you nod, babbling incoherent words and sentences as he circled your over sensitive clit and push his cock deeper. “igunnacum!”

“there you go, just let go and cum, ‘kay baby?”

you hate how gooey he makes you feel. how patience is his strongest suit and making you feel so pathetic in his hands. he was right, needed a big bruly man to fuck you so deep you forget to rebuild that wall you made to protect yourself.

“you going to be mean like that again?” he asked, thrusting in his needy tip that pushes and traps you into the corner of the bed that is against the wall. “hm? cmon, say something, love.”

one thing about kirishima, you know hes pissed when hes drilling you like this, and he’s mocking and laughing at you.

his hands grips your hips hard, all two eighty five hundred pounds of him loving you. “fuck— fuck! yeah, cum!” demanded, and starved. finally, he hits that gummy spot hard enough, and your clit throbs and feels like it clenches on its own, creamy translucent fluid just dribbling from your walls and he laughs out.

“oh, thats my girl.” he shushes, wiping the tears and kissing your cheek. he groans, pulling himself out from your confinements and stroking himself, looking down as he growls from his chest meanwhile his own essence drools to the couch.

you just lay there, a twitching mess as he presses your legs up. he takes the discarded shirt of his to wipe up your cream and then his own. “you okay baby? did i go to hard, again?” he thickly swallows, feeling the pat of your hand against his large bicep.

[pupkashi]

a/n: gojo comfort drabble bc i need it :P

masterlist

gojo satoru has always been privy to your emotions. maybe it’s because you have a terrible poker face and you just can’t seem to lie to him, or maybe he just pays close attention to you.

regardless of the reason, it seems too obvious to satoru when you start to become more distant. he takes it personal at first, a pout on his face when you hit him with single word texts, heartstrings tugged and stepped on when he’s left on read. it seems all too sudden, you were just fine two days ago, what could’ve happened?

satoru thinks back to every word and action between the two of you, finding nothing that could’ve caused your mood to sour so quickly. he’s frowning at his phone, scrolling up and down your conversation to try and find the root of the problem, then it hits him.

I’m starting to get overwhelmed with everything idk T^T

there it is, he thinks, the frown on his face growing as he already knows you’ve slipped into your old ways. distancing yourself, shutting yourself off and more than likely spiraling. he sighs, grabbing an extra crewneck, spraying his cologne on it and grabbing his car keys.

the sharp knocks on your front door has your heart jumping out of your chest, making your quickly wipe the tears from your face and staying absolutely still. maybe if you didn’t move they’d leave, you reason.

“y/n, open up i know you’re in there” satoru sighs, staring straight at your front door through his sunglasses. “please? just wanna make sure you’re okay sweetheart.”

satoru’s voice makes you sit up straighter, panicking to fix your appearance and hiding the mess that’s become of your living room. you’re quick to splash water on your face, hoping your eyes aren’t too red as you put on a fake smile and open the door for your boyfriend.

“toru! didn’t know you were stopping by” you grin, making sure the door stayed as closed as possible to hide the state of your apartment.

“you’d know if you replied to my texts” he snips back, pushing past you with two bags in hand and placing them on your kitchen counter.

“wha- hey!” you protest, rushing after him and trying to stop him from going any further, “sorry i was uh- i was working on some stuff and got caught up” you nod, almost believing your own lie.

“oh? what were you doing?” his tone is innocent, and the way he cocks his head at an angle makes your resolve disappear, you knew you were caught the second he knocked on your door.

satoru sees your shoulders slump and chest deflate, and when he catches your bottom lip quivering he doesn’t waste time pulling you into his chest. it’s heart wrenching as you fall apart in his arms and he struggles to keep you together in his embrace. he’s got one arm squeezing you tight and another softly rubbing your back.

“I’m right here, just let it out” he whispers, his own eyes watering as you clench your fists full of his ridiculously expensive sweater.

“work has been shit and my boss is a dick and then the deadlines and i don’t wanna be a failure and-” you’re cut off by your own sobs, unsure if satoru even understands a word you’re saying. you’re mumbling into the soft fabric, letting everything you’d bottled up out.

you don’t know when satoru had picked you up and taken you to the couch, you just hold onto him tightly as he cradles you and listens to everything you have to say. he’s silent as you calm yourself down, his grip not once loosening as he continues to rub your back.

his grip only loosens when you softly push against him, letting him know to let you go. satoru complies instantly, his firm grip softens to let you choose wether to stay on his lap or move next to him. your linger for a second before settling in the spot next to him on the couch, sniffling and thanking him for the tissue to blow your nose.

“sorry” you whisper, voice shaky as you stare at the ground.

“it’s okay” he replies, “that’s why i came, do you feel better?” you nod, he smiles softly. “do you want me to say anything about it?” his voice is gentle, there’s no judgement, just love.

you think for a second, “not right now” you sigh, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying again. satoru nods, a small ‘okay’ leaving his lips as he gets up and brings you the two bags he’d walked in with.

“eat before it gets any colder” is all he says before silently moving and cleaning the living room.

“you don’t have to i was gonna get to it” you say, puffy eyes staring at him as he shakes his head, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

“let me do this for you” there’s no room for argument, that much you know. instead you nod, heart warming when you see he’d brought your comfort food for you. the action itself is enough for a sniffle to escape you.

by the time you finish your meal satoru had cleaned your entire apartment, vacuum in hand as he hands you his crewneck, shorts and fresh pair of underwear. “i already turned the water on, go shower and then we can watch some tv, yeah?”

it all seems too perfect, what did someone like you do to deserve this? to deserve him? as the hot water hits your skin you sigh, letting it run over every inch of your body and letting your mind be silent for a moment. you can hear the vacuum over the sound of the shower, and your eyes land on the crewneck he’d handed to you.

it’s the same one you always use when you go over to his house, the one you’d been eyeing to steal from him for the past month. it’s his favorite one.

when you exit the restroom, freshly showered and finally feeling a bit better you’re met with a sparkling clean apartment.

“i put the dishes to wash, changed your bedsheets and dusted a bit” satoru says, taking your dirty clothes and throwing them in the washing machine alongside your other clothes.

“you wanna stay here or go to mine?” he figures you’ve had enough of your apartment for a bit, offering the change of scenery, and he could pamper you a bit more at his place.

“can we go to yours?” you sheepishly ask, avoiding eye contact.

“of course we can love bug” he replies, practically whisking you away and into his car.

it’s the first time in two days you’d left your apartment, the fresh air hitting you, almost breathing life back into you. it’s not too long before you’re arriving at satoru’s place, and he almost immediately has you under his covers and handing you the remote.

“put whatever you want, just gonna use the restroom and change first” he smiles, kissing your cheek before heading into the restroom with a change of clothes.

you were cuddled up to satoru’s side before you knew it, creating in his cologne and letting your eyes flutter shut. his body heat bringing you more comfort than a weighted blanket ever could. you scoot closer to him, wanting to be as close to his as humanly possible and never let go.

“want me to kill your boss?” satoru smiles down at you, dimples flashing when you smack him softly.

“as much as i wanna say yes i know you’d take it literally, so no” you giggle, the sound makes satoru’s heart flutter and stomach flip.

it’s a win for satoru, seeing you relaxed and refreshed as you cuddle into his side, slowly drifting off to sleep. your breathing evens out before long, holding him tightly in place. he can’t but press a gentle kiss on your forehead, tracing your features with his eyes and committing them to memory.

satoru lets his eyes flutter closed, your steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep. after all, he has to be up before you to have a word with your boss.

[thestraprider]

fuck. paige mentally cursed inside her head.

why did you have to be so fucking pretty?

both of your chests were rising up and down in rapid breaths, necks covered in marks as paige’s lips went to your harden nipples, the prettiest shade of pink she had ever seen as her teeth sunk into it, pinching the other between her pointer and middle finger.

you let out a whimper as paige continued to nip your chest, you arched your back as you weakly pushed her shoulders. “fuck you, paige.” you breathly muttered, “i told you not to leave goddamn marks… i have to—ah, meet my friends later!”

“yeah?” paige’s voice was muffled against your skin, moving her lips up to pepper kiss the skin of your chest as she sped up the pace of her hips. her strap that was hitting every part of your inside for the past hour had caused your body to limp on the mattress, gasping for air and crying out her name. “there are only two solutions for that, ma.”

you hate to admit it to yourself, but paige was the only one who can fuck you like this. splitting you open, fucking you so good that you felt your whole body and mind were melting. you bit your lower lip to stifle a scream when paige angled her hips a bit, bullying your weaker spots.

tears were threatening in the corner of your eyes as you felt a warm breath on your neck. paige softly kissed your earlobe, “first, just show it to them. let them know that i’m the one who’s making you feel this good because your batshit ex-boyfriend couldn’t.”

your mind couldn’t fully comprehend what paige was saying, especially when she lifted your lower back before pistoning her hips, hard enough that the bed started to shake.

“or, just ditch them for tonight and spend your time with me.” paige grinned before sucking your neck.

you let out a loud cry, both of your arms were grabbing paige’s back, kneading your acrylic nails on her back as the blonde winced at the pain.

“shit, ‘m so close…” you moaned on her ear so sensually—making paige clenched her jaw while you pressed your upper body against hers. “please… mmh, let me cum…”

skin slapping against skin. the lewd feeling of cum dripping down your thighs, the idea that you wouldn’t be able to even walk properly motivated paige even more instead of getting worn out.

paige immediately slowed down her pace, holding your hips on the mattress with a tight grip as she straightened her body. you cursed in irritation when the feeling of your climax faded away, you tried to grind your hips against her strap but the grip on your waist forcefully stopped you.

“seems so desperate, huh…” paige cooed after you let out a frustrated whine, “hold it until i say so.”

you pressed your nails on her biceps, “fuck you.”

paige let out a short laugh, “i’m already fucking you, baby.” you were about to open your mouth for a rebuttal until she held your knee, widening your legs even more before slamming her hips harder.

everything was suddenly happening too fast, the overwhelming pleasure shocked your body that you couldn’t do anything but cry and moan. you knew damn well that paige was always serious about her words.

you squeezed your eyes shut when paige lifted your lower back off the bed again, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and arching your back.

paige admired you, licking her dried lips before biting it. you looked so beautiful underneath her, your plump lips that always captivate her eyes, your neck that was covered by her marks, and your teary eyes that were filled with lust while taking her strap so obediently.

“fuck!” you cried out when paige just decided to be the most menacing person in the room, bringing her thumb down to rub your clit so perfectly while slamming her strap inside you. “stop—ah… shit, p… it’s too much!”

paige didn’t answer you, she wanted to make you feel so good. so good that you’d forget everything except crying out her name.

she leaned her face down—closer to you that her lips were almost brushing against yours. “hold it, baby.” paige whispered on your lips, “or i won’t let you cum.”

you locked your gaze at her, after hearing what she just said made you pout. “please… i’ll be good to you, p.”

“mhmm,” paige hummed, “you should, baby. didn’t like your attitude for the whole day.”

a gasp pushed past from your lips, moaning when her grip tightened on your waist that was enough to leave a bruise. and paige began to pick her pace up more while you grip on her biceps.

“nghh fuck, please, please, please-!” you were losing it, you were going to lose it. with tears tracking down your face, your body sore and used—all you needed now was: “please, paige… i need it, wanna cum! wan’ it so bad…” you croak, babbling and sputtering on your saliva.

she pressed a soft kiss on your lips, “cum.”

paige’s body tensed against yours and a sob escaped your throat, long and ruined as she thrust once, twice more with a long groan as a warmth liquid exploded, making you squirt as your legs shook extremely around her waist.

she pulled the strap out from your pussy, all wet mixed with cum. you gasped for air while you let your legs open wide in front of paige, all numb and shaky.

you thought she was done, you thought she already went to the bathroom to clean yourselves up. not until paige pushed her two fingers inside you, making you flinch from the sensitivity.

“paige…” you whined as you felt your body couldn’t move an inch, paige licked a stripe on your clit before sucking it harshly. “m sensitive… i already came..”

paige held your legs, keeping them open while she continued eating you out. “just cleaning you out, baby.”

[leaentries]

through it all | luke hughes

summary: when the comments start getting to her, luke is there to show his girl he'll be there through it all.

warnings: rude comments, body shaming, fat shaming, angst (w/ a happy ending), swearing

wc: forgot to keep track but a lot

The constant ticking of the clock seemed to mock you, counting away the time wasted reading those insufferable words. You typically veered away from the comment section altogether, but something about the empty apartment weakened your resolve. 

Being away on a roadie, Luke didn’t understand the trouble that plagued your mind. He always made sure to make you feel like the only girl in the world, so why was it that as soon as he leaves, you fall apart? He didn’t understand how the words of others held so much power over you, how they held you hostage. 

You sat, legs tucked under you, holding your phone with shaky hands. Something in you had hoped for better. Maybe people changed their views about you and everything that came with. Maybe you could finally open social media without the constant fear of ridicule. Yet, you were proved wrong once again. The comments hadn’t changed and neither did the way your throat contracted in disgust and embarrassment.

User4562: still can’t believe luke would date someone like her

Fan93: get this whale outta here pls 

Hater365: luke is so much hotter then her?? shes not even pretty??

User67:  this is kinda embarrassing for her tbh

Fan42: girl needs to learn what the gym is asap

Hater6783: pretty sure her thighs are bigger than his…

User3421: comments did not disappoint💀

Hot tears filled your eyes as the negativity swarmed your senses. How could people be so cruel? Deep sobs wracked through your body as you let your phone fall to the couch. You grabbed the nearest pillow, pulling it into your chest.

You felt suffocated. The weight of being in the spotlight and the tense wave of hate was too much. You couldn’t fully understand why people were so bothered by your appearance or the fact that Luke had chosen you.

Though, in all fairness, you couldn’t grasp why Luke chose you, either. He had a roster of beautiful, fit women at his beck and call, yet he was bouncing his way home to you every night. No matter how many times he expressed his love, it was too big for you to comprehend.

So, there you sat, mascara running down your face, sobbing into a throw pillow because random people on the internet decided you weren’t good enough.

❥.

You must have fallen asleep at some point through your cries, because as your swollen eyes managed to peek open, you noticed the sunlight beginning to shine through your living room curtains. For a peaceful moment, you forgot the previous night’s turmoil. You let yourself fully wake up, slowly sitting to adjust to your surroundings.

Confusion plagued you as you realized you were on the couch. Your face fell with gloom as reality hit you like a truck. Swarms of comments flashed in your mind once more, diminishing any energy you had for the day.

Although, as you slumped back into the cushions, you heard the front door unlock.

Shit.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, only to be met with a black screen. Your phone must have died during the night, rendering your alarm to go pick up Luke, pointless. Standing from the couch, you rush to the kitchen to make yourself look busy.

Luke swung the door open, trudging in with all his bags.

“Hey angel, I thought you were picking me up?” He chuckled, “You’re lucky Dawson lives in our complex, or I would have been stranded.”

“Yeah-” You cleared your throat trying to will away the tightness, “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lukey. My phone died last night.”

Luke shook his head at your forgetfulness. He quickly set down his bags by the kitchen table, noticing the state of the living room.

His brows furrowed, “Did you sleep in the living room last night?”

Panic flooded deep in your stomach. You should have known Luke would get suspicious. After all, he knew how picky you were about where you slept.

Scrambling for a lie, you responded with a quick, “I was watching a movie and fell asleep.”

Luke walked over to where you busied yourself by cleaning the leftover dishes. You sucked in a breath, hoping you didn’t appear too disheveled. Ducking your head closer to your chest, you tried to look anywhere else but Luke’s face as he took to the spot next to you.

“Y/n?” Luke’s voice came in a soft whisper.

When he didn’t get a response, he gently reached to grab the faucet handle, turning it till the water trickled to a halt. Grabbing the dish towel nearby, he also helped dry your hands while you sat limply.

In truth, you were too afraid to speak, or move. You were afraid that if you looked into Luke’s sorrowful eyes, you’d crack. You’d finally show the version of yourself that the internet sees, the version that he’d hate.

Luke set down the towel, his eyes seeking your downcast face. “Y/n, baby? Please talk to me.”

You shook your head slightly, pulling away as his hand brushed up your arm.

“D-did I do something?” Luke began to worry, he’s never seen you act like this, “Was I gone too long? I thought we facetimed enough, but I can try to call you more.”

It broke your heart to hear him. The simple fact that he assumed it was himself and wanted to fix it. He was too good for you, the internet saw it, you saw it. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before he did too.

“No,” You let out a deep sigh, “It’s not you, Luke.”

He swallowed thickly, nerves beginning to take over his senses. “Then what is it, angel? Please, I just want to help you.”

Hot tears blurred in your eyes, he finally broke your resolve.

Luke immediately pulled you into his chest, his calloused hands moving to cradle the back of your head as you sobbed. He was at a loss. Not knowing what the correct thing to do was, he held you tighter. Luke was prepared to hold you forever if it meant you’d stop crying. He could swear a piece of his heart dies every time he sees you cry.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed as he stoked your hair, “Angel, it’s okay. I promise, I’m here.”

You gripped his hoodie, scared he’d disappear from under your fingertips.

The both of you remained in each other’s embrace until you found your breath regulating. Pulling away, you swore Luke winced when he saw your bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go to the couch.” He guided you carefully, making sure to help you get comfortable enough to talk to him. Once you had settled into his side, he finally nudged you to start talking.

“If you’re ready, will you tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

Deciding to go against your gut will to hide the truth, you pulled out your phone, now freshly charged. You shakily opened up your social media, hitting into the comment section.

“Here,” You placed the phone into Luke’s hand, “Just scroll.”

Upon beginning to read the first few comments, you could see Luke’s face visibly grow stern and frustrated. He bit the inside of his cheek as angry tears welled in his eyes. Luke felt every muscle in his body tense with hatred and fury towards the lowlifes that would dare to say such vile things about his girlfriend.

He shut the phone off and tossed it away, not being able to handle reading another word of the electric slander on your screen.

It took a moment for Luke to compose himself, taking deep breaths and debating on how to approach the situation.

Now, of course Luke had grown used to people writing heavily opinionated articles and hate comments about him. Hell, he even got used to seeing it about his brothers. But something he never considered was the impact it would have on you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shot up at Luke’s apology.

Why is he apologizing?

He had his head down, fingers picking at each other. He looked guilty, as if, somehow, he caused all of this to happen.

“What?”

Luke wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

You shook your head sternly, “No it’s not, Luke. It’s mine” Your voice went quiet.

Luke slowly looked up to see fresh tears cascading in taunting rivers down your cheeks.

“It’s my fault for being not good enough.”

He tried to protest, but was only silenced by your words.

“It’s so hard trying to be perfect all the time. Especially when all I’m getting is ridicule for living my life. It’s not fair that I have to have my head on a constant swivel because some person decided my body wasn’t up to standard. It’s not fair that I have to wake up, everyday, worried you’ll realize you deserve so much more than me.”

Luke’s own tears rolled down his face at your confession. He couldn’t quite get a handle on how long you have felt this way.

His beautiful girl.

His heart shattered, “I- I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Luke.” You interrupted, “It’s just the way it is. People who look like you don’t love people who look like me.”

His face grew grim.

“No, Y/n. What I don’t understand is how you can think like that. I mean, fuck, don’t you realize you’re every thought I have before bed. And every breath of air I breathe when I wake up. I don’t know who these “people” are that you’re referring to, but I’m not one of them.”

Luke took your face in his hands, “You are my girl. And if I have to spend the rest of our lives proving that to you, then I will.”

There wasn’t much you could say through the thickness of emotion. You threw your arms around Luke, his own coming to dig into your plushy hips.

“Thank you, Lukey.” You mumbled into his neck.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“Always.”

Maybe you were enough for him.

[monzamash]

to be loved — carlos sainz

carlos sainz x you — “i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.” requested by @dancininseptember masterlist

The short stroll from your office to the apartment never really bothered you. In fact, you typically enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to enjoy the city you loved. But it was early February; rain was threatening the Spanish skies and the frost bitten breeze stung your already tear-filled eyes. It was a crappy end to an even shittier week, your energy wasted on people who didn’t deserve it.

You practically flung yourself through the door of the apartment and shed all remnants of the day – coat, beanie and scarf, all strewn haphazardly, and in that order, on the floor of your small entryway. It took every ounce of energy you had to kick off your heavy boots, each one hitting the wall much harder than you intended. Maybe it was an unconscious way for you to let out frustration, the scuff marks on the white wall a stark reminder of your last straw.

The smell of fresh bread and bolognese sauce hit you as you slunk down the hallway, your tummy grumbling on instinct. You hadn’t eaten since yesterday, a terrible habit you had fallen into lately and Carlos had noticed. He was home more during the cooler months, easily picking up on your little habits that both endeared and worried him. So he made sure, while he was close to you, that you came home to a warm meal every night – because looking after you was his calling in life.

“That smells incredible.”

Carlos briefly glanced over his shoulder and gave you a bright smile before turning down the stove and grabbing a washcloth to clean his hands. You loved him like this; soft and relaxed, in his element. The kitchen was his playground and you remember the sigh of relief that left your lungs when he told you he loved to cook on your first date, because you weren’t particularly gifted when it came to the pots and pans.

“Hope you’re hungry,” He sang, circling the island in the middle of the kitchen to say a proper hello to his beautiful girlfriend, “How was your day?”

A rigid sigh fell from your lips as you fell into his arms, the loving embrace triggering tears to spring to your eyes for the third time today. Carlos held you tight and brushed his hands down your back, comforting you through the sobs wracking your aching body.

“Ay, mi amor,” He soothed, “Breathe for me please.”

Carlos guided you through a couple of deep breaths, chests rising and falling together in synchronicity until your sobs subsided, air finally filling your lungs again. A tight squeeze around your waist brought you back to the man holding you in his arms, worried eyes searching yours for a sign that you were okay as you pulled back and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, I’m sorry.” You sniffled, head shaking.

Carlos tutted as he thumbed away the trail of tears from your face, “Do not say sorry, my love. Talk to me…”

Anger replaced sadness as you told him about how your sister had completely disregarded your feelings for the millionth time, accusing you of only caring about yourself while she’s all alone and stressed about wedding planning. Carlos has managed to get you to sit up on the counter beside him while he finished dinner, but not before pouring you a glass of red wine to nurse while you purged all the negativity from your day.

“She called me a bitch and then uninvited us from the wedding, which by the way I didn’t want to go too to begin with,” You huffed, hands animatedly flying around while he tried to keep up with the drama.

“And all I said to her was that work has been stressful and that us trying for a baby hadn’t been… fruitful, I guess. She flipped out when I said that because her dickhead fiancé doesn’t want kids and she thinks she can change his mind…”

You took a sip of wine and noticed Carlos' eyes rolling like they always did when the topic of your sister came up. He was as sick of her shit as you were, unapologetically scoffing at her selfishness. Making you feel bad when all you needed was someone to confide in was one thing, but lashing out on you was something he couldn’t stand by and watch. He knew he couldn’t do anything right now; maybe he would make a stern phone call tomorrow once the dust had settled.

So instead of getting upset, he put down the wooden spoon coated in the most delicious sauce you had ever tasted and nestled himself between your swinging legs. His warm chocolate eyes stared into your soul as he planted his palms on your thighs, tethering himself to you.

“You know I can take care of you, mi vida,” He said, voice deep and barely above a whisper, “No matter the problem, you won't need anyone but me, I promise.” 

For the first time in weeks, you felt your heart slow down and return to a normal rhythm as Carlos pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You softly moaned in unison and gripped the grey shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, pulling him in closer – not that he had any plan on going anywhere.

No, all he wanted was for his girl to feel heard and to be loved because all he needed was you.

a/n — loved writing carlos again. inbox detox is still open !!

[ravennaortiz]

Could I have brownies please with Jax forced proximity that leads to smut !!! 😁

Why yes you can! As Always 18+

Get Along

“This is ridiculous Opie! Open this damn door now” You demanded as you angrily shook the door handled again.

“What she said man” stated Jax with a huff of frustration as he pounded his fist and slammed his shoulder into the door knocking into you as he did.

“Watch it Teller” you growled as you shoved him. This was his fault as it was that Opie had trapped you both in his stupid coat closet.

“No” stated Opie firmly again from the other side. “Not until you two work shit out and can get along. I am tired of listening to you argue and shit every time we all are together. Were best friends so get to being that again or get used to a dark cramped closet.” He stated before moving to his living room with a beer and collapsing on his couch with a heavy sigh.

“This is your fault” both you and Jax snapped at one another as you turned in the cramped space to face each other Jaxs finger in your face.

“Fuck” shouted Jax as he pulled his finger back and shook it. The sting of your teeth from where you had bit him still present.

“Don’t put your grubby fingers in my face like I’m a child asshole” you stated as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Jax chuckled as he shook his head. “Don’t worry darling I know you are no child. Just like every other guy in Charming the way you parade around in the tiny shirts and tight tops.”

“Is that what your problem is Jax?” you asked with an eye roll. “Pretty blond boy jealous cause others want me?”

Jax clenched his fist and gritted his teeth at the idea of another guys hands on you. He knew it should not matter. You were his best friend and he was with Tara. “Honey, I’m not jealous” stated Jax as he moved closer to you and cupped your chin. “No one holds a candle to me” he added before latching onto your mouth and forcing his tongue between your cherry tasting lips.

You moved to push him back but he held you firmly in place and before you knew it you were leaping up to wrap your legs around his waist. The feel of his hands rubbing the flesh of your ass under your skirt making you moan and grind your dampening core against the tent of his jeans. Jax pulled from your lips and began an assault on your neck that had you whimpering as he bit hard leaving teeth imprints that he soothed with his tongue as he slipped two fingers into your pussy.

“Wet already darling” stated Jax with a smirk against the skin of your neck as he pumped in and out of you mercilessly. Curling his fingers just right to hit that sweet spot over and over making you moan loudly and buck your hips for more as pleasure built in your body.

“Close Jax” you moaned as you closed your eyes.

“Nope darling” stated Jax as he quickly pulled from you making you pout. “You are going to come on my cock like a good little slut” he stated as he moved his hands to his belt making quick work of it and his pants.

“Fuck” you hissed as he shoved his thick length into you with one smooth thrust.

“So fucking tight” growled Jax as he slowly started thrusting in and out of your dripping pussy.

“Fuck me hard Jax” you demanded as you dug your nails into his shoulders making him wince slightly.

A few minutes later you were cumming hard as Jax continued to pound in and out of you. One hand around your throat tightly as you cried out and your body clamped and clenched along his hard length.

“Jesus Christ you two” started Opie as he yanked the door open letting light flood into the dark space.

“Shut the fucking door” bellowed Jax as he continued to fuck you hard as tears poured down your face as you came again.

“You like being fucked like a dirty little slut hmm?” he panted once the door was shut. “Like my taken cock pounding your tight pussy don’t you?” he chuckled darkly as he slowed a bit so you could answer. He frowned when you only weakly nodded. “Use your words darling” ordered Jax as he gave a few pointed thrusts into your aching pussy that had you whimpering and trying to push away.

“You can take it” he whispered as he held you firmly in place. “Now tell me how much you like me fucking you like a slut” he stated as he started his thrusts back up making you call out his name as you came again.

“I love it Jax” you moaned as he sucked and nipped at your neck. “I love being your little slut” you babbled as he fucked into you harder than ever as he neared his own release.  As his thrust started to get erratic he worked on pulling from you only to smirk as you demanded he cum inside you. With a growl and final pointed slam of his hips Jax buried himself deep in your warmth as his cock twitched and shot ropes of cum into you as your body convulsed around him and your eyes rolled from the pleasure.

“All you had to say was you needed good dick darling” chuckled Jax a few minutes later as he helped you down to your feet. Your legs felt like jello and you had to cling to his kutte to keep from falling to the closet floor.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “More like all you had to ay was you needed actual good pussy Teller” you stated before pushing around him to the door.

“Guess that mouth needs a lesson” stated Jax with irritation as he grabbed your wrist and spun you back around. Hand grabbing the back of your head. “Kneel darling” he commanded giving you a light kiss that had you dropping to your knees.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Hold On Too Tight

Warning: This is going to be a very dark side of things, including smut, codependency, deferred addiction, jealousy and emotional issues. MDNI, 18+

You loved Marshall with everything you had. You’d been through his worst and stayed, just like you promised. You’d seen him high, you’d seen him angry, you’d seen him fall apart and pull himself back together. But now, years into his sobriety, you were seeing a different side of him—one that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

Because Marshall had always been protective, but lately, it had turned into something else.

The constant check-ins, the way he needed to know where you and the kids were every second of the day. If you didn’t answer a text fast enough, he’d call. If you were late coming home, he’d be pacing by the door, jaw tight, hands in his pockets, eyes dark with worry.

At first, you brushed it off. After everything he’d been through, maybe this was just his way of staying in control. But tonight, when you’d come home twenty minutes later than you said you would—stuck in traffic, nothing serious—he’d lost it.

"Where the hell were you?" His voice was sharp the second you walked through the door, his body tense like a live wire.

"I told you, I got caught up—"

"You should’ve called," he snapped. His eyes flickered past you to the kids, who were already heading upstairs. He lowered his voice, but the intensity was still there. "I didn’t know where you were. Anything could’ve happened, Y/N."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall, nothing happened. You’re acting like I disappeared—"

"You were supposed to be home twenty minutes ago!"

You exhaled sharply, setting your bag down on the counter. "You have to stop this."

His expression flickered, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he masked it with frustration. "Stop what?"

"This. The constant calls, the worrying, the way you freak out if I don’t answer my phone the second you text. I love you, but I feel like I can’t breathe."

His jaw clenched, and he turned away, running a hand down his face.

"I just—I need to know you’re safe," he muttered, voice rough.

"I am safe," you insisted, stepping closer. "And so are the kids. But, Marshall, this isn’t normal. You’re holding on so tight it’s suffocating."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Then he exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping.

"I just…" He swallowed hard, his voice quieter now. "I can’t lose you."

His words hit you like a gut punch. You reached out, resting a hand on his arm. "Marshall, you’re not going to lose me."

His head dropped, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "That’s what I thought about Proof."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I thought he’d always be there," he admitted, his voice breaking. "We were supposed to grow old together, still talk shit when we were sixty. And then one day, he was just gone. Just like that."

Your heart clenched. You knew how deeply Proof’s death had cut him, but he rarely talked about it—not like this.

"I was so fucked up back then," he continued, shaking his head. "I buried it. Drowned it in pills, in alcohol, in music. I didn’t deal with it. And now, after all these years, it’s like… I’m finally feeling it. And it scares the hell out of me."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes.

"Baby," you whispered, stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him. He didn’t hesitate, burying his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky against your skin.

"I know I’ve been too much," he murmured. "I just—every time you leave, there’s this voice in my head that says maybe you won’t come back."

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His blue eyes were glassy, full of pain.

"I will always come back to you," you promised. "But you have to let me live, Marshall. Let us live."

He nodded slowly, exhaling as he leaned into your touch. "I’ll try."

"That’s all I ask."

You kissed him softly, and when he pulled you back into his arms, it felt different—less desperate, more grounded. Like he was finally ready to loosen his grip, just enough to let love in without fear of losing it.

---

Marshall had never been good at dealing with emotions—especially the raw, unfiltered kind that made his chest tight and his mind restless. Vulnerability had never come easy to him, and now that he had finally let himself break in front of you, something inside him felt exposed.

Normally, when he felt like this—like he was unraveling—he’d reach for a bottle, a pill, something to quiet the noise. But not anymore. That wasn’t an option.

So instead, he reached for you.

You barely had time to react before his hands were on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him. His mouth crashed against yours, desperate, urgent, like he needed to feel something that wasn’t fear or grief.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, his hands sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair.

"Need you," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, pleading. "Need to feel you."

You could feel the tension radiating from his body, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they moved over you. He wasn’t just craving sex—he was seeking refuge, something solid to hold onto when everything else felt like it might slip away.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t hesitate. If he needed you, you’d be there.

You let him take control, let him push you back toward the bed, his breath heavy against your skin. His hands were everywhere at once—gripping your hips, sliding up under your shirt, pulling it over your head before his lips found your neck.

"You’re mine," he muttered, almost to himself, like he needed to say it out loud. "Only mine."

"Always," you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair. "I’m not going anywhere."

That was all it took. His restraint snapped, and suddenly, clothes were being stripped away in a haze of heat and desperation. He was all over you—kissing, biting, worshipping every inch of your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

By the time he finally sank into you, a shuddering breath left his lips, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you close, like letting go wasn’t an option.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "You feel so good."

You ran your hands down his back, grounding him, reminding him that you were here, that he wasn’t alone.

"I’ve got you," you murmured, wrapping your legs around him. "Let go, baby."

And he did.

He moved with raw intensity, pouring everything he couldn’t say into every thrust, every kiss, every desperate grip of your body. You took it all—his pain, his need, his love—meeting him stroke for stroke, giving him the solace he craved.

When he finally came undone, his body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his heartbeat erratic. You held him close, running your fingers through his damp hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple.

For a while, he just lay there, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

"You okay?" you finally whispered.

He nodded against your skin, exhaling slowly. "Yeah… I just—" He swallowed hard. "Thank you."

You cupped his face, making him look at you. "You don’t have to thank me for loving you."

His eyes softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw something other than fear in them.

Maybe he was still healing. Maybe the ghosts of his past would always linger. But as long as he had you, he’d never have to face them alone.

---

The room was quiet except for the sound of Marshall’s breathing—still a little uneven as he lay half on top of you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. The weight of him was grounding, his body warm against yours.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, your nails scratching gently at his scalp. He hummed in response, shifting slightly to press his face into the crook of your neck.

"You okay?" you murmured.

He didn’t answer right away. His arms tightened around you, holding you a little closer, like he was still coming down from the emotional high of everything that had just happened.

"Yeah," he finally said, voice hoarse. "I think so."

You kissed the top of his head. "You sure?"

A slow exhale left his lips. "I just… I hate that my head does this shit." His voice was quiet, almost embarrassed. "I was fine, then suddenly, I wasn’t. And instead of dealing with it, I needed to lose myself in you."

Your hands slid down his back, rubbing slow circles. "Marshall, that’s not a bad thing. You didn’t run. You didn’t shut down. You reached for me instead of something else."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, but I can’t keep putting all my shit on you like that. It’s not fair."

You tilted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at you. His blue eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there, too—fear, doubt, maybe even guilt.

"You’re not putting anything on me," you said firmly. "We’re in this together. You don’t have to handle everything alone, and you sure as hell don’t have to feel bad for needing me."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I just… I don’t want to be a burden."

"You’re not," you whispered, kissing him softly. "You’ve spent so long carrying the weight of everything by yourself. Let me help."

He exhaled shakily, nodding against your touch. "I’m trying," he admitted.

"I know," you said gently. "And I’m proud of you."

Something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t used to hearing that. His fingers curled against your waist, holding on like you were the only solid thing in his world.

After a moment, he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so you were lying against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his fingers brushing lazily up and down your spine.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his skin. "Someone’s gotta be."

His chest shook with a soft laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was real, and you held onto that.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The weight of the night settled around you, but this time, it wasn’t suffocating—it was something else entirely. Something safe.

Marshall let out a long breath, like he was finally allowing himself to relax. "Stay here?"

"Always," you promised.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—he believed you.

---

You noticed it almost immediately.

The way Marshall started gravitating toward you more—physically, emotionally, in every possible way. It was subtle at first. A hand on your thigh when he was feeling restless. A deep, lingering kiss when stress was gnawing at him. The way he’d pull you into his lap when he seemed lost in his thoughts.

But then it became constant.

Anytime something triggered him, anytime he got overwhelmed, he found you. His need for you was insatiable—not just sexually, but in every sense. You were his anchor, the thing he clung to when the urge to numb himself became too strong.

And tonight was no different.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up after putting the kids to bed, when you felt him before you saw him. His presence was a weight, heavy with tension, the air shifting as he came up behind you.

"Hey," you murmured, placing a dish in the sink before turning around.

His blue eyes were dark, stormy, filled with something hungry. His hands landed on your waist, gripping just a little too tight.

"Bad night?" you guessed softly.

He nodded, exhaling harshly. "Yeah."

You studied him, taking in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed like he was trying to hold himself together. You knew that look—knew exactly what it meant.

"What do you need?" you whispered.

"You," he rasped, pressing you against the counter, his hands sliding up your sides. "Always you."

His lips crashed against yours, and you barely had time to react before he was lifting you onto the counter, stepping between your legs, molding himself against you like he needed to consume you.

It was always like this now—desperate, intense, as if you were the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms ghosting over your bare skin, and you shivered.

"Marshall—" you started, but he cut you off with another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, stealing your breath.

"Please," he murmured against your lips. "Need to feel you."

You knew what this was—knew that this was how he coped now. Any time he would’ve reached for a bottle, a pill, a vice, he reached for you instead.

And you let him.

Because if he needed you, you’d be there.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer. "I’ve got you," you whispered, just like you always did.

And as he pressed his forehead against yours, as he lost himself in you the way he used to lose himself in substances, you realized something.

You were his addiction now.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing—or something that would break you both in the end.

---

It took longer to see your own descent into the madness.

It started slowly.

At first, you didn’t notice. You thought it was just normal, just love. The way you reached for Marshall when you felt overwhelmed, the way your body sought his when the weight of the day sat too heavy on your chest.

But then it became constant.

You found yourself craving him in ways that had nothing to do with sex—though that, too, had become its own form of solace. It was his touch, his presence, the way his hands on your body could silence the world, the way his lips against your skin could make everything else disappear.

You didn’t just want him anymore. You needed him.

And that scared you.

Because it was the same way he needed you. The same way he used to need his vices.

The realization hit you one evening as you sat curled up on the couch, staring at your phone, anxiety twisting in your stomach. It had been a long day—the kids were acting up, work had been stressful, and now, Marshall was late coming home from the studio.

Your fingers hovered over his name, already ready to call him.

You could feel it—that restless, gnawing feeling in your chest. The same feeling he got when you were late, when he couldn’t find you.

And suddenly, you understood.

You weren’t just leaning on him anymore. You were clinging.

The door opened before you could spiral any further, and your head snapped up. Marshall stepped inside, dropping his keys onto the counter, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, but the second he saw your face, his expression softened.

"Hey, baby," he murmured. "You okay?"

You weren’t.

But instead of answering, you got up and walked straight into his arms.

His body stiffened for half a second before he melted into you, wrapping you up, pressing his face into your hair.

"Rough day?" he asked, his voice low, knowing.

You nodded against his chest.

He let out a deep breath, holding you tighter. "I got you," he murmured.

And God, did you believe him.

That’s what scared you the most.

Because you weren’t sure where he ended and you began anymore.

And maybe… maybe neither was he.

---

Marshall sat at the dining table, scrolling through his phone, absently picking at the breakfast you’d made. You barely noticed at first—you were too busy helping your daughter pack her school bag, making sure everything was in order before rushing out the door.

"Mommy, did you know Daddy’s leaving tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, stuffing a notebook into her backpack.

Your body went rigid.

Marshall’s head snapped up, eyes immediately locking onto yours.

"What?"

Your daughter, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, zipped her bag and looked up at you with big, curious eyes. "Yeah! He said he’s going to LA for a whole week."

A whole week.

You turned to Marshall, your pulse kicking up. "You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow."

He looked guilty, like he hadn’t meant for you to find out this way. "I—" He ran a hand down his face, exhaling. "I was gonna tell you today. I swear. I just… I didn’t wanna stress you out."

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

A week.

The room felt smaller. Tighter. The thought of him being gone that long made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t prepared for.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile for your daughter’s sake. "Okay, baby, go get your shoes on."

She nodded, skipping toward the front door. The second she was out of earshot, you turned back to Marshall.

"A week, Marshall?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was heavy.

He sighed, pushing his plate away. "I know. I know it’s a long time. But it’s business, baby. I can’t not go."

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your breathing steady. "I just… I wasn’t ready for this."

He pushed his chair back, standing, immediately closing the space between you. "I wasn’t, either," he admitted, resting his hands on your waist. "I’ve been dreading it."

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. "What are we supposed to do for a week?"

His jaw tightened. "We get through it. One day at a time."

You searched his face, seeing the same fear reflected in his eyes. He wasn’t just worried about leaving—you could feel it. He was scared of what would happen without you.

"You gonna be okay?" you whispered.

His hands tightened on you. "I should be asking you that."

The truth was, neither of you had an answer.

And that was the scariest part.

---

The house felt too quiet without him.

It had only been a day since Marshall left for LA, but the absence of him was suffocating. You tried to distract yourself—kept busy with the kids, cleaned rooms that didn’t need cleaning, scrolled mindlessly on your phone. But nothing helped.

Because every time you turned around, you expected him to be there.

You could still feel him—his presence woven into the walls, his scent lingering in the sheets. But it wasn’t enough.

And you weren’t the only one struggling.

Your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Marshall: What are you doing?

You sighed, curling deeper into bed, phone in hand.

You: Trying to sleep. You?

Marshall: Trying to not lose my fucking mind.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.

You: It’s only been a day.

Marshall: I know.

A pause.

Then another text.

Marshall: I don’t know how to do this without you.

Your chest ached.

Because you felt the same way.

You: You don’t have to do anything, baby. Just breathe.

His reply came instantly.

Marshall: That’s the problem. Breathing is harder when you’re not here.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wiped at them, frustrated, because damn it, you shouldn’t feel like this over one week. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

But it was.

Because you weren’t just missing him—you were withdrawing from him.

And the worst part?

You didn’t know how to stop.

---

By the third day, you were unraveling.

You barely slept, barely ate. Every time you closed your eyes, you imagined Marshall lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his steady breathing grounding you. But when you reached for him in the dark, all you found was empty sheets.

You hated this.

Hated how much you needed him.

It wasn’t just loneliness—it was physical. Like your body didn’t know how to function without him. Like every nerve ending in your skin was wired to his touch, and without it, you were short-circuiting.

And Marshall?

He was spiraling, too.

Your phone barely left your hand because every time you set it down, it buzzed.

Marshall: Baby, call me.

Marshall: I don’t care what time it is, I need to hear you.

Marshall: I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

Marshall: Please, baby. Just pick up.

It was 2 a.m. when you finally caved, pressing the call button.

The second he picked up, you heard it—the unsteady breathing, the barely concealed panic.

"Baby," you whispered.

"Fuck, I thought you were asleep." His voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

"Couldn’t sleep," you admitted. "You?"

He let out a shaky breath. "Nah. I keep thinking about you. About how I used to be fine doing shit like this, but now…" He trailed off. "Now I don’t know how to be without you."

Your chest tightened. "Me neither."

Silence stretched between you, heavy, charged. You could picture him—pacing in his hotel room, running a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to jump on a plane and come home.

"I don’t like this," he muttered.

"Neither do I."

"I keep thinking… what if something happens? What if you need me and I’m not there?"

"I do need you," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

That was all it took.

"You want me to come home?" he asked, dead serious. "I will. Right now."

Your heart clenched. "Marshall, you can’t."

"The fuck I can’t," he shot back. "I don’t care about this trip. If you say the word, I’m on the next flight."

Tears welled in your eyes because you wanted to say it. Wanted to beg him to come back because the ache in your chest was too much.

But you couldn’t.

"You have to stay," you whispered. "You need to do this."

He cursed under his breath. "I don’t give a fuck about this, you are what I need."

His voice cracked at the end, and that was when you knew—he wasn’t just struggling. He was breaking.

"Marshall," you breathed, gripping the phone like it was the only thing tethering you to him. "Just breathe, baby. I’m right here."

His breathing was ragged, uneven. "Talk to me."

You closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice settle you. "Remember the last time you left for a trip? How you told me I was the first person you wanted to see when you got home?"

"Yeah," he rasped.

"I’ll be waiting, just like last time. Just like always."

His breathing slowed.

For the next hour, you stayed on the phone, whispering to each other in the dark, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you both from falling apart.

Because maybe it was.

---

By the fifth day, you weren’t sure if you could take much more.

You were barely functioning—going through the motions for the kids, pretending everything was fine when, really, you felt like you were coming apart at the seams. Every hour dragged by, the silence of the house pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Marshall wasn’t doing any better.

His texts had become more frantic, his voice more strained every time you spoke. You could hear it in him—the barely-contained panic, the exhaustion, the way he struggled to keep his shit together just long enough to make it through whatever bullshit meeting he was stuck in.

And tonight, he finally cracked.

Your phone rang just past midnight, and the second you answered, you knew something was wrong.

His breathing was erratic, uneven.

"Marshall?" you asked, sitting up in bed.

"I can’t fucking do this," he rasped. His voice was raw, wrecked. "I can’t—baby, I need you."

Your stomach twisted. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Everything. I don’t fucking know," he admitted, voice shaking. "I just—I feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I can’t breathe without you."

His confession knocked the air from your lungs.

Because you knew that feeling.

You felt it every second he was gone.

"Baby," you whispered, gripping the phone tighter. "Just talk to me, okay? I’m here."

"I’m fucking losing it," he choked out. "I feel like—like I need something to take the edge off, but it’s not even about that anymore. It’s you. You’re my fucking fix, and I—" His breath hitched. "I don’t know what to do without you."

Tears burned your eyes. "Marshall…"

"I almost left," he admitted. "I almost fucking walked out of the meeting today, booked the next flight home. I don’t care about this deal, about the money, about any of it. All I care about is you."

Your heart clenched.

Because you wanted that. God, you wanted it so bad it hurt.

But you also knew if you let him come back early, if you let this spiral control both of you, it wouldn’t stop.

He had to get through this.

And so did you.

"Baby, listen to me," you said, voice trembling. "You’re gonna get through this. We are. Just two more days, okay? That’s it. And then you’ll be home, and I’ll be in your arms, just like always."

He let out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a sob. "I don’t know how to do this without you."

"You don’t have to," you promised. "I’m right here."

Silence.

Then, finally, his breathing evened out, his body slowly coming down from the panic.

"I love you," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

"I love you too, baby," you whispered. "Now try to sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

He didn’t respond, but you knew he was still listening.

And so, you stayed on the line, listening to his breathing, grounding yourself in the sound of him.

Because even with thousands of miles between you, he was still the only thing keeping you whole.

---

The next morning, you woke up with your phone still clutched in your hand, the call with Marshall long disconnected. You blinked against the harsh light streaming through the window, heart sinking as the reality of another day without him settled in.

Two more days.

You could do two more days.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But as the day dragged on, the emptiness gnawed at you. You weren’t fine—not even close. You felt jittery, like something was missing, like you were constantly reaching for something that wasn’t there.

And then there was him.

His texts came constantly, short bursts of need that made your chest ache.

Marshall: I hate this.

Marshall: I don’t even remember why I agreed to this trip.

Marshall: Baby, just tell me to come home. I will. Right now.

You: Two more days.

Marshall: That’s too fucking long.

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

That night, after putting the kids to bed, you curled up in your shared bed, pulling his pillow close, inhaling his lingering scent. It was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing making you feel like he wasn’t completely gone.

Your phone rang, and you answered before the first ring even finished.

"Hey," you breathed.

"You in bed?" His voice was low, tired, but desperate for something—anything—to hold on to.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You?"

"Not yet. Can’t stop thinking." A pause. "Can’t stop missing you."

You swallowed hard. "Me too."

The silence between you was thick, charged with everything you both wanted to say but couldn’t.

"I need to touch you," he confessed suddenly, voice rough with longing. "Need to feel you, baby."

Your breath hitched, heat crawling up your spine.

"Marshall—"

"I know," he murmured. "I just—I don’t know how to do this, baby. I don’t know how to be this far from you and not lose my fucking mind."

Tears burned your eyes. "I don’t either."

Another pause.

"I don’t want to go another night without you," he admitted. "I don’t give a fuck if I have to be up at five. Just… stay on the phone with me. Please."

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you stayed, whispering to each other in the dark, breathing in sync, pretending the distance between you didn’t exist.

Two more days.

You just had to survive two more days.

---

The last night without him felt like the longest one yet.

You barely made it through the day. Everything felt dull, colorless, like the world wasn’t quite right without him in it. The kids were your only distraction, but even they noticed the way you kept glancing at your phone, waiting for it to light up with his name.

And when it finally did, you answered before the first ring even finished.

"You okay?" His voice was low, strained, like he’d been holding his breath all day.

You swallowed hard. "I don’t know."

He sighed, and you could hear the exhaustion in it. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke for a moment, just listening to each other breathe. It was the only thing keeping you both grounded, the only thing keeping the panic at bay.

"You know what’s fucked up?" he muttered finally.

"What?"

"I’ve been counting the hours. The minutes. Just waiting for this shit to be over so I can get on that fucking plane."

Your chest tightened. "Me too."

Another silence. Then—

"I don’t wanna sleep without you again." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent a shiver down your spine. "I don’t even wanna close my fucking eyes if you’re not here when I open them."

Tears burned your eyes. "Just one more night."

"That’s one too many."

You pressed your face into his pillow, inhaling deeply, willing it to be enough. But it wasn’t. It never was.

"Baby," he murmured, voice thick. "Can you just… talk to me? Keep me with you, even if it’s just for a little while?"

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "Okay."

So you talked. About everything and nothing. About the little things—the way the kids had argued over what movie to watch, the way the house felt too big without him. He told you about the meetings, the way he kept zoning out because all he could think about was you.

And when the exhaustion finally started to pull at you both, you whispered, "I love you."

"I love you more," he murmured. "I’ll be home soon, baby. Just hold on."

You fell asleep with the phone still pressed to your ear, his quiet breathing the only thing tethering you to sanity.

Tomorrow, he’d be home.

You just had to make it until then.

---

You woke up with a sense of relief so deep it felt like you could finally breathe again. Today was the day.

Marshall was coming home.

You spent the morning moving on autopilot, trying to keep yourself busy, trying not to count the hours until his plane landed. The kids were excited, asking over and over how much longer until Daddy was home.

And then your phone buzzed.

Marshall: Baby… don’t freak out.

Your stomach dropped.

You: What happened?

It took him a minute to respond, which only made the panic creep in faster.

Marshall: My flight’s delayed. Some bullshit about weather. I don’t know how long yet.

You stared at the screen, hands shaking.

No. No, this wasn’t happening. Not when you were this close to seeing him again.

You called him instantly, pacing the kitchen as he picked up.

"Hey," he said, voice tight with frustration.

"How long?" you demanded.

"I don’t know. Could be a few hours. Could be—fuck, I don’t even wanna say it—overnight."

Your chest tightened. "Marshall…"

"I know," he said, voice thick with irritation and something deeper—something close to panic. "Baby, I swear to God, the second they clear this flight, I’m on it. I don’t give a fuck what time it is when I get there."

You sank into a chair, gripping the phone like it was the only thing keeping you steady. You had been barely holding it together as it was. You needed him home.

"I can’t do another night without you," you whispered, voice shaking.

His breath hitched. "Don’t say that."

"It’s the truth."

"I know," he admitted. "But you can. And you will. Just like I will. Because we don’t have a fucking choice."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "I don’t care about choices. I just want you here."

"You think I don’t?" His voice was rough, raw. "You think I’m not losing my fucking mind over this?"

Neither of you spoke for a moment, both too close to the edge.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh. "Baby… I need you to breathe, okay? For me."

You forced yourself to take a shaky breath. "I don’t know how to do this."

"Yeah, you do. You’ve been doing it. We both have." A pause. "It’s just a few more hours. Maybe a night. But either way, I am coming home to you."

You nodded, wiping your eyes. "Promise?"

"Swear on my fucking life."

You exhaled slowly, gripping onto that. Onto him.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll wait."

"That’s my girl," he murmured. "Now stay on the phone with me. Just for a little while."

So you did.

Because it was the only thing keeping you both sane.

---

The moment Marshall stepped through the front door, everything in you screamed to run to him. To throw yourself into his arms, to press your face into his neck, to feel him, breathe him, let his touch remind you that he was finally, finally home.

But the kids got to him first.

“DADDY!”

They swarmed him, tiny bodies colliding against his legs, their excited voices overlapping. Marshall barely had time to drop his bag before he was kneeling down, pulling them in, wrapping them up in the same arms you had been aching for.

You stood back, watching, your hands clenched at your sides.

He met your eyes over their heads, and for a split second, you saw it—the same desperation, the same need, the same barely-contained urge to close the space between you.

But not yet.

“Missed you guys,” he murmured, voice thick, pressing kisses to their foreheads. “You take care of your mom while I was gone?”

They both nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! But she missed you so much.”

Marshall’s gaze snapped to you again, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was casual, but you knew him. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Your face burned. “They’re exaggerating.”

“No, we’re not!” your daughter insisted. “She kept looking at her phone all day! And she barely even watched movies with us.”

Marshall smirked at that, like he was tucking that information away for later.

You crossed your arms. “Are you guys done exposing me, or—?”

They giggled, already dragging him toward the couch, talking a mile a minute about everything he had missed. He let them, letting them climb onto him, his hands and attention fully on them.

And you sat on the other side of the room, watching.

Waiting.

Holding it together.

It was agonizing.

Every part of you was screaming to touch him. To sink into his warmth, to breathe him in, to let him pull you under the way only he could. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

So you smiled, you laughed at their stories, you played the part of the normal, functioning wife and mother.

But under it all, you were burning.

And so was he.

Because every time you caught his gaze, his fingers flexed, like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. He was listening to the kids, responding at the right times, but his eyes—his mind—were somewhere else.

On you.

Hours stretched on like that—forced restraint, barely-contained tension.

And then, finally, finally, it was bedtime.

The kids clung to him, protesting, wanting just one more story, one more hug, one more minute. And he gave them all of it, because of course he did.

But then they were asleep.

And the second their bedroom doors clicked shut, everything snapped.

Marshall turned to you, chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with something desperate.

“Come here,” he rasped.

And before he could even finish the words, you were already in his arms.

The second you were in his arms, everything else disappeared.

Marshall’s hands were on you everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you against him, like he couldn’t get you close enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you pressed to him to believe this was real.

His breath was ragged against your ear. “I fucking need you.”

You barely had time to let out a shaky breath before his lips were on yours, hot and desperate, swallowing down every bit of longing, every second of the past week spent apart.

Your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling, yanking, needing more, needing him.

“I swear to God,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough, wrecked, “I almost lost my fucking mind without you.”

“You did,” you whispered, nails digging into his shoulders.

He huffed a breathless laugh, but his grip on you only tightened. “And you?”

Your forehead pressed to his, breaths mingling. “I don’t think I’ve breathed since you left.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenching. “Then let me fix that.”

And then he was picking you up, carrying you to the bedroom, his body covering yours before the door even fully shut.

For the rest of the night, he made up for every second you spent apart.

And when you finally collapsed against his chest, tangled in his arms, his lips brushed your forehead, whispering against your skin—

“Never again.”

And you believed him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You have sand it places you don't want to think about. You shake off as much as you can as you approach the carrier plane. Sy greets the pilot as stretch your legs and shoulders. The drive was long and bumpy.

He approaches and points you into the cargo bay of the plane. You load in with the crates and sit on a metal bench mounted to the wall. He sits beside you and splits open the wrapper of a protein bar.

"I can't wait for a greasy burger and fries," you say as you grip the edge of the bench and lean on your arms.

"Yeah? All that healthy stuff ya buy me, I thought you'd be dyin' for a salad."

"Well, I wouldn't eat it every night but I do like to indulge," you hide a yawn in the crook of your elbow.

"How's 'bout you stretch out, Iz?"

The plane engines blast one and the big metal vessel shakes. You brace the bench tighter as the wheels taxi and you take off at a slow incline. You slide into Sy and he steadies you.

When you're level, you pull away. You may as well close your eyes, even if you don't sleep. You move your bag and rest your head on it as you stretch out.

You cross your arms and shake with the constant vibration.

You ease into the metal even if it hurts your hips. It'll be a few hours, then you'll be boarding an actual passenger line. You long for the cushion.

Suddenly, the bench is no longer between you as the plane bounces. You fly off against a crate as another crashes down on the other side of the cargo. You cry out at the shattering pain in your knees as you fly off the floor and hit the mounting bar of the bench directly on your cap.

You're kept from hurdling through the air once more as Sy latches on to and pulls you against him. He has you in his lap, panting as his chest presses to your back. You wheeze through your teeth as you reach for you knee and whimper.

"Izzie! You okay?" Sy hollers as the plane steadies.

"Urggggh, damn!" You shudder. "I-- I-- it hurts, god, it's..." you suck in air then bend over his arm. You vomit onto the floor as you feel the cracked bone rub together.

"Shit," he growls, "Iz."

He lifts you and turns you sit on the bench again.

"Hey, you idiots," he barks over his shoulder as he searches in his pack. "Assholes tryna do tricks or somethin'"

He wraps a cloth around your knee. Tight. He doesn't pau attention to the bile between his boots.

"Needa keep it from movin' too much," he helps lift your legs and angles to sit under them. "I got ya, Iz. Alright?"

You touches your wrist and you wipe your tears with your other hand. He has a gash above his cheek. You reach into your pocket and dig out the packet of tissues.

"You got..." you hold it out and wiggle it. "Blood on your cheek."

His brows draw together then he tuts and shakes his head. He takes the package and pulls out one of the tissues. He dabs his cheek.

"You worryin' 'bout me when you nearly flew all the way home yourself," he shakes his head and crumples the tissue. He tugs out another. "Iz, you got anyone worry about you?"

He unfolds a tissue and pats it against your chin. You're bleeding too. You lidt your head and look down. You have scratches all over your hands and a rip right through your shirt.

"I'll do my best," he avows. "You take it easy then. I got something for it."

He reaches in his vest and takes out a syrette. Before you can react, he jabs it into your thigh and squeezes. You gasp and groan then a heavy warmth spreads through you like a river over stone.

"Morphine," he says. "Takes the bite off."

"Sy," you murmur.

"You'll sleep a bit, okay? Any luck, when you wake up, the doc will be done fixing yer leg."

You hiss and heave. Before you can even think, the blackness speckles over you and blots out the world. The relief is only a dulled pain and oblivion.

🖤

When you wake, you're groggy. Your mouth is dry as cotton balls and your muscles are wound like springs. Your lashes stick as you try to clear the haze.

Your head feels loose on your neck. You see a cup. You're thirsty. You reach for it only to knock it off the table. You groan and drop your hand. There's a tube stuck to it.

"Iz," Sy startles you as he lumbers over. He looks tired. His shirt is sweat-stained and his eyes have bags.

"Sy, where--"

You try to sit up and nearly gag at the agony in your leg.

"Shattered knee cap. Remember, the plane..." he touches your shoulder and rubs gently. "I can get ya some more meds."

"No, no, I... I wanna be awake," you insist and fall back. "Damn it, Sy."

"I know, Iz. It hurts but doc says it should heal just fine--"

"Sy!" You proclaim as you throw your hands up. "How am I gonna work like this?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't wanna go back to riding a desk."

"Huh? You-- I ain't gon' fire ya, Iz." He snorts.

"Why not? I'm caput," you mope. "How am I gonna jump outta planes or get you your awful tequila?"

"Ain't nothing you can't get over. Izzie, you're strong than most of the men I was in the shit with. Mind my language, but you'll be okay."

"I'm not okay," you cross your arms.

"Not right now but ya will be," he insists.

You look at him and furrow your brow, "since when did you become an optimist."

"Day I met you, sugar," he grins. "Now you let me get the doc, you gonna make it worst with all your squirming."

[shybluebirdninja]

FADING BONDS: PART 3

Summary: Two broken souls—Logan, an aging hero, and a young woman overlooked by her own family—find solace in each other’s silent company, forming an unexpected connection that challenges their emotional walls.

Pairing            : UberDriver!Logan x Fem!Reader

Genre              : Angst, Fluff

You stand outside his door, your hands trembling from the fight you just had with your parents. Your chest is tight, each breath feels like a struggle, and all you want is to disappear. But instead, you find yourself here, at his place—Logan’s place.

The door creaks open, and there he is, standing there with that rough, weathered look. His eyes are sharp, like always, but there's something softer in them tonight. He sees you, really sees you. It's different. No questions. No judgments.

“What's up?” he says, voice gravelly and tired, like he hasn’t slept in days.

He scratches at the scruff on his chin, like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like he doesn’t mind you showing up at his door, looking like you've been through hell.

“I... I just needed a place to go,” you manage to get out, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You don’t know what you’re doing here. Hell, he probably doesn’t know either, but there’s nowhere else to be. Nowhere that feels safe.

He steps aside, his hand gripping the door just a little too tight, knuckles white like he’s holding something back. “Yeah. Come in.”

You walk past him, and the smell of cigarettes and old whiskey hits you—familiar, oddly comforting. The place is a mess, but it suits him. Scattered bottles, a couple of plates on the table. Nothing fancy, just... survival.

He doesn’t say anything as you sit on the couch, your legs barely supporting you anymore. You’re trying not to cry, but your throat’s burning. Everything’s been a mess. Your life, your family... they just don’t get it. They don’t get you.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence between you two. It's heavy, but it's the kind of silence you can breathe in, where you don’t have to pretend.

“I had a fight,” you say, the words falling out of your mouth before you can stop them. “With my family. Again. They just... they don’t see me. Like, at all.”

Logan doesn’t look at you right away. He stares at the floor, his hands resting on his knees.

“Families are... tricky,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, like he's been through this conversation a thousand times before.

“Yeah, tricky,” you laugh bitterly. “They see my sister. She’s everything they wanted. Me? I’m... I’m just in the way.” You pause, wiping away the tear that managed to escape. “I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”

Logan lets out a sigh, a deep one that sounds like it’s coming from years of holding shit in.

“Charles and Caliban used to say I belonged. I didn’t believe them. Never really felt like I fit anywhere. Even with the X-Men.” He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess it don’t matter now. They’re all gone.”

The room feels colder after he says that. Charles... Caliban... they were more than just names to him. You can see it in the way his eyes darken, how his fists tighten like he’s trying to hold onto something that slipped away a long time ago.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against his hand. It’s an instinct, but it feels like the right one. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. Just stares down at your hand on his, his skin rough and calloused from years of fighting, from losing.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

He looks up at you, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he’s been hiding behind that gruff exterior.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, voice breaking just a little. “We’re all broken in some way.”

The room’s too quiet again. The kind of quiet that makes you feel everything at once.

And then, before you even realize what’s happening, you’re crying. Really crying. The kind of sobs that shake your whole body, the ones you’ve been holding back for too long. You don’t even know if it’s about your family or him or yourself—maybe all of it.

Logan shifts closer, hesitant, unsure, but then his hand is on your back, rubbing slow circles like he’s trying to comfort you, but he’s just as lost in this moment as you are. He’s not used to this—comforting anyone, being close to anyone.

“You’re not alone,” he says, voice almost a whisper now, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

His hand moves to your face, his thumb wiping away the tears. It’s the gentlest thing he’s ever done, and it hits you hard, how soft he can be when the world’s been nothing but cruel to him.

In that moment, something shifts. You look up at him, your faces inches apart. There's a rawness between you two, a vulnerability you both desperately need but are too scared to fully accept.

Before you can second-guess it, you lean forward, and your lips meet his.

It’s not passionate, not desperate. It’s fragile, almost broken, like two people who’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel something real.

His hand cups your cheek, and for a second, you feel safe. Like maybe, this world hasn’t chewed you up and spit you out completely yet.

When you pull back, you see it in his eyes—he’s as scared as you are. Scared to feel, scared to need. But here you are, in this broken moment, both of you barely holding on.

Neither of you says anything. There’s nothing left to say. But in that silence, you find something you hadn’t in a long time—a reason to stay.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Nate a the triplets sister get into an argument and he hits her, and she starts crying and gets scared so she runs to the triplets and can you make it so they make up

okayy!

“Lines You Don’t Cross”

Sturniolos + Nate x Sister

Y/N and Nate had argued before.

It was normal—fights happened in relationships. Usually, it was over small things, like him canceling plans last minute or her taking forever to text back. But this fight? This one was different.

They had been in his car, parked outside her house, voices rising as frustration bubbled over.

“You never listen to me!” she snapped, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.

“Because you’re always making a big deal out of nothing, Y/N!” Nate shot back, gripping the steering wheel.

“It’s not nothing! You blew me off for the third time this week, Nate! I feel like I don’t even matter to you anymore—”

“Oh my God, can you shut up for a second?!”

And then it happened.

It wasn’t a punch. It wasn’t even a full-force hit. But Nate’s hand came up too fast, too frustrated, and before she could react, his palm smacked against her arm—hard enough to sting.

Silence filled the car.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She blinked, staring at him in pure shock.

Nate looked just as stunned. His hand was still midair, eyes wide, regret flashing across his face. “Shit, Y/N, I—”

But she was already opening the car door.

Her heart pounded as she stumbled out, her vision blurred with tears. She didn’t even think—her body just moved, her legs carrying her up the front steps of her house as fast as they could.

She didn’t stop until she was inside, slamming the door behind her.

“Y/N?”

She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice, and as soon as she saw her three older brothers sitting on the couch, all their attention snapping to her, she broke.

Chris was up first. “Yo, what happened?”

She didn’t answer—just rushed straight into his arms, sobbing.

His entire body tensed. “Whoa, hey—hey, what’s wrong?”

Matt and Nick stood immediately, their faces shifting from confusion to concern.

“He—he hit me,” Y/N choked out, gripping onto Chris’s hoodie.

The room froze.

Nick’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Matt’s face darkened. “Who?”

Chris, still holding her, felt his blood turn to ice. “It was Nate, wasn’t it?”

Y/N didn’t have to say anything. Her silence was enough.

Chris pulled away just enough to cup her face, looking her over as if making sure she wasn’t hurt worse. “Where?” he asked, voice tight.

“My arm,” she whispered, sniffling. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t hard, but—”

Nick was already grabbing his keys. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Matt was right behind him. “Me first.”

Chris didn’t move. He kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, his grip tight but comforting. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”

Y/N hiccupped, nodding against his chest.

Before anyone could storm out, the front door opened.

Nate.

He looked like a wreck—his face pale, his hair a mess from running his hands through it. The second he saw Y/N, his whole body slumped. “Y/N…”

Chris didn’t let her go.

Nick stepped forward first. “You better have a good reason for being here, because right now, I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t break your nose.”

Nate flinched, but his eyes stayed locked on Y/N. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking, I was just frustrated, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve never—” He exhaled sharply, his voice breaking. “Please, Y/N. I know I messed up. I’ll spend forever proving that to you if I have to.”

Chris turned to Y/N. “What do you want?”

Y/N hesitated. Her arm still stung, her heart still hurt, but… she knew Nate. She knew he wasn’t that person.

Slowly, she pulled away from Chris.

She wiped her face before looking at Nate. “You scared me,” she admitted, her voice quiet.

Nate’s eyes filled with guilt. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, she took a shaky breath. “You have to promise me it’ll never happen again.”

Nate stepped closer, nodding frantically. “I swear. Never, Y/N. Not ever.”

She studied him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Nick scoffed. “That’s it? He just gets to be forgiven?”

Y/N turned to her brothers. “I’m not excusing it. And if it ever happens again, you guys can kill him. But… I trust him. And I know he’ll do better.”

Nate swallowed. “I will. I promise.”

Chris sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re lucky she’s more forgiving than us.”

Matt crossed his arms. “And you’re real lucky I don’t feel like hiding a body tonight.”

Nate winced. “Noted.”

Y/N exhaled deeply, feeling the tension in her chest finally ease.

And when Chris pulled her into another hug, whispering, “You still tell me if anything ever happens, okay?” she knew, no matter what, her brothers would always have her back.

[midnight-bay-if]

I read the ask about MC coming back to life and thought "How would they react if it was the opposite?". So the scenario is as follows, ROs died in MC's arms, MC begs them in their last moments not to abandon them and if they close their eyes they won't rest a day until they can see them back. ROs can't respond and die, BUT soon after they open their eyes as if they had actually just blinked. In fact they are in a completely different place, with a kind of drawing like a magic circle around them and naked without any wounds, then they look around confused and see MC, who even though hasn't changed in appearance, or is very similar to the last moment RO saw them, there is something arcane in their presence, not evil, but magical. Then MC takes a deep breath and says

"I had to fight five demons, two angels and read a cheap copy of necronomicon to be able to accomplish this without sacrificing anyone." then MC starts crying and jumps into RO's arms and hugs them with all their strength, as if they were afraid that RO would suddenly disappear "And all of this was worth it for this single moment! Don't ever leave me again you bastard!". How would the ROs react?

Sorry for the long ask, I got carried away.

(I will answer this prompt as it has come, but I thought I would throw in some lore here since it might provide a clue for a certain character. So, necromancy is actually outlawed in my little universe. The reason is that it actually always takes a sacrifice of some kind. There’s no getting around it. Death for life is always the exchange. Also, it’s very powerful magic that only a select few left know how to perform. Just a fun tidbit that some might find interesting. Now, for fun, I will answer the prompt as it is.)

S: They feel your weight press against them, inhaling the scent of you they have grown so familiar with. It takes a moment for their mind to catch up. S always knew you were special. It was obvious from the first moment you met. That tenacity, that strength, it was what drew them to you. But this? It scares them. Death should feel weightier than this. It shouldn’t feel like merely waking up from a long sleep. Their limbs are stiff, their throat dry, their skin tight… but otherwise, fine.

The moment of death comes back in flashes. A miscalculation, a moment of weakness, and that’s all it took. Life is a fickle bitch.

Regaining their bearings, S finally hugs you back, gripping your shirt so tightly it stretches. “I… fear what you must have gone through, darling. Words cannot express the depth of my sorrow. So, for now, I will remain quiet. I am here, love. I will not leave you again.”

Rain: They blink as if waking from a long sleep, but you are pressed against them tearfully, and everything hits them in a rush. Death. They died. So, how are they here now? They take a cursory glance around and see the ingredients, the circle, the book… Then, MC’s words as they regained consciousness… Oh, no.

Rain grips you tightly, one hand at your waist, the other buried in your hair. “I’m so sorry,” they whisper, tears in their eyes, “you are so strong. So strong. But you can stop now, okay? I’m here.” Rain pulls away enough to see your face, pressing a now warm hand to your cheek. "I love you so much."

Taj: They breathe sharply. Their chest feels strangely tight. They glance down at their hands, taking in the details as you hang off them, afraid to let go. Everything seems as it should, but after what you said… Shit like this shouldn’t be possible. It’s fucking nuts. You’ve always been so nondescript, so human… How could they have been so wrong?

Taj pulls away, both hands gripping your shoulders hard enough to mark. They stare into your eyes, soaking in the details, the evidence of how you have over-exerted yourself. “You fuckin’ idiot,” they whisper with evident affection. “Don’t you ever do anything like that for me again, you hear?” Then, they yank you back to their chest, holding you fiercely.

N: There isn't much that scares them, but this... They breathe heavily, still waiting for their hammering heart to reacclimatize to beating. They feel your nails digging into the skin of their back as you clutch at them with surprising strength. It all works to ground them.

Death for demons is a shameful journey. Demons are supposed to be powerful, controllers, and unparalleled manipulators. Demons are not supposed to be saved by their human lovers. Yet, feeling your weight in their arms and the tears you weep for them... all they feel is pride.

"There, there, my dear," they whisper, running a gentle hand through your hair. "It's over now. I am here. And it would take the destruction of cities to tear me from you again."

Umbra: The sensation is oddly familiar. But being uncomfortable in one's skin isn't a new experience for Umbra. At first, Umbra isn't even sure what happened. Their heavy eyelids open, and it takes your voice and desperate embrace to keep them from shutting again.

As you cling to them, Umbra glances around the space, and everything becomes clear. "No..." they whisper, gripping you back tightly. They dare not ask about it. They couldn't bear to hear you suffering in their name. For once, they don't move. They enjoy the closeness of your heat and breathe in the scent so distinctly yours. Just for a while. "I wish you hadn't... but thank you."

[d0vesgr4veyard]

Random Jinx Oneshot

Uhm yeah, Im shit at writing so.... Beware. This is a re-uplood now that I've prooferead it cuz i hated the other one 💜

If i re-read this later and find a mistake girl THIS IS NEVER. GETTING POSTED AGAIN 😭😭😭

MODERN AU (Both are college roommates, Fem!Reader)

Reader is a bit sassy...

The apartment was still. The soft hum of the fridge, the slight flicker of the hallway light. Despite the comfort of your bed you still felt cold... and lonely. So without second thought you pick up your teddy and unplug your phone. Making your way to the room next to you.

Jinx’s room was surprisingly quiet as she settled down, her colored fairy lights lighting the room dimly. Purple, blue, and pink consuming the room. Her room was slightly messy, rubbish strewn across the floor with scraps of her engineering coursework tossed around the room. Suddenly, the slight creak of the door opening caught her attention. Her eyes meeting yours, peering around the door. She pauses, staring at you with confusion spreading across her face. You then swing the door open, sauntering in like you own the place.

“What’re-.. What are you doi-...”

You plop down onto the bed. You’re well-worn teddy slightly smacking against her arm.

“Wha-.. Why are you in here?” Jinx queries

You deadpan at Jinx, as if she asked a stupid question. You turn away from her and open your phone, your teddy snuggled tight against your chest.

“I’m sleeping here.” You eventually answer. She relaxes a bit, laying back down.

“Do you not have your own room?” She pointed out, her protest not really having any heat behind it. You shrug, continuing to scroll through a few more tiktoks. Jinx scoffs at your attitude, her mouth opening and closing a few times. An attempt to come up with some quip to hit back with. “I- uhh- why do you have a teddy?”

“Because I like him.” You answered, holding up the teddy like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jinx’s face dropping into a scowl at the sight of it. “He also, doesn't ask dumb questions”

“Oi! Cool it with the sass, doll” Jinx rolls her eyes, leaning back against her bed. Getting comfortable again. She turns to you, admiring you a bit. Somehow, you always managed to be there for her.. even when you didnt need to be. Her expression softens, a small smile forming on her face. Growing to enjoy your sudden presence, while everythings calm.

“Need my charger.” You spoke suddenly, tearing through the quiet, hopping off the bed and padding off back to your room. 

“Gods… what’re you doing now?..” She squeaked, her voice trembling slightly.

Jinx watched you in disbelief as you returned, not only with a charger, but with; a throw blanket, a water bottle, and some snacks. Dropping your water bottle and snack onto Jinx’s bedside table. Reclaiming your spot on the bed, you plugged your phone in, slightly pushing back against Jinx’s side as you snuggled under the blanket.

“This isn’t a hotel,” Jinx grumbled

“Obviously, hotels aren’t this messy,” You quipped. Tucking your teddy under your chin, sighing in comfort.

Jinx settled back into her spot, trying her best to ignore you but every movement or squeak you made her attention was immediately pulled. She opened her mouth to say something until you turned over looking at her. Her jaw snapped shut. You looked so content,  She sighed.looking up at her with your eyes half-lidded.

“You’re so distracting’” Jinx stated

“Not my fault.”  You shot back

“You’re in my room!” You stuck your tongue out at her playfully, scrunching up your face. Then swinging your leg over her stomach, straddling her. You lean down, trailing your hands up her sides, your face finding comfort in the crook of her neck. Taking in her scent, you smile against her skin. Jinx’s face rapidly heated up as she nervously laughed.

“Getting comfy”

Jinx rolled her eyes playfully. “You're lucky i like you, doll”

She wrapped her arms freely around you, holding onto your body. She stilled, feeling you breathe against her. The rise and fall of your chest calming her. She leaned down, nuzzling her nose into your hair, as her hold on you tightened. You were gentle with her. You stuck by her, your loyalty making her weak for you, even when comes to you storming into her room acting like a primadonna. A smile tugging at her mouth.

“Love you too, J”

[qksxzo]

Levi with a female reader :)

Reader is feeling depressed and Levi tries to cheer her up in his own Levi way. You may choose what that is.

sorry for the delay in this ! trying to schedule out my posts while i’m on vacay 😋 i had to think hard about how i wanted to write this so i hope it does not disappoint 🙏💕 i would find a place to end it and think no… this won’t do… anyways, thank you for requesting!!

as the seasons come and go

wc: 0.9k

wrapped up in your comforter, you sigh as you look out your window, rain falling heavily against your window with a vengeance. gloomy winter days like this always got you down, your seasonal depression grabbing you and shaking you vigorously to remind you the sun wouldn’t be present as often as you needed. you sigh, continuing to stare out the window glumly as you squeeze your comforter tighter around yourself.

suddenly, a teacup is placed onto your nightstand with a soft thunk, and you shift your gaze to the male blocking your view before focusing on the steaming ivory cup.

“staying in bed all day won’t help you feel better.” levi says, his tone soft to offset the harsh reality.

the bed dips underneath his weight, and he rests a hand on your hip gently, rubbing his thumb against the thick fabric of your comforter.

“i just feel so down.” you say, the tightness in your throat trying to catch your words. of course, at the admission of your feelings, you feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes before you quickly unravel from your coziness to wipe them away.

“sit up.” he orders, though his voice is so gentle not even a mouse would be frightened.

you do as he says, shifting yourself so you have one leg bent while the other sprawls beneath your blanket. resting your arm on your knee and futilely attempting to bat your tears away with your other hand, you let out a shaky breath to try to contain the cries you want to let out.

lacking the words to comfort you, levi opts to reach out to grasp your occipital, gently pulling your head to rest on his chest, “you don’t have to hold back around me.”

with a short sob, what feels like a tsunami’s worth of tears floods from your eyes and you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him impossibly closer to you. he smells of woody bergamot and musk, and you take a labored inhale before returning to ugly crying all over his light gray shirt.

“i’m so sorry,” you cry, and his brows contort in confusion before you continue, “i’m going to ruin your shirt with my snot.”

he scoffs, “as if i give a shit about my shirt right now.”

you let out what sounds like a mix of a sob and a laugh before you return to both crying and snotting uncontrollably into his chest. he rubs your back soothingly as you catch your breath a few minutes later, your body heaving with exhaustion. truthfully, levi has never been good with dealing with emotions, but for you he gives it his best effort. he’s seen you depressed before, especially when the sun doesn’t shine for longer than ten hours, and though lack of cleanliness bothers him immensely, he doesn’t mind when it’s you.

even when your dirty clothes pile up in the corner of your shared closet with him, he picks them up without a word of malice. even when you leave your dirty dishes by your bedside, he cares so deeply that he repeats the process.

if it meant he got to be with you forever he would gladly clean up after you when you could barely get out of bed- a small price to pay for an eternity with you.

“do you want to talk about it?”

god, you thought, “i’m so embarrassing.”

“when you say stupid shit like that, yeah.”

“i just feel like such a loser, levi. i can’t even shower without feeling exhausted and drained after, then i just rot in bed again.”

he hits a wall here, how does he tell you you’re way too self-critical of yourself without coming off as harsh or uncompassionate, “you’re not a loser. far from it.”

“you’re not very convincing.” you say hoarsely.

“well, you’ll just have to trust me then.” he says matter-of-factly, dropping his hand to rub your thigh with his thumb. “listen, i’m not the best with words, but i won’t lie to you. i would never lie to you, especially about how i see you.”

“i don’t even know what you see in me.” you choke on your words, letting out a small and swift shit escape your lips before you turn to reach for the tea that you had neglected in the midst of your breakdown.

“i see alot of things, most- if not all- of them good.”

you sigh into the cup with a sense of relief, he’d made you a london fog- your favorite. your eyes widen, you had run out of earl grey a few days ago, and you had coffee this morning due to that fact. this meant that levi must have gone to your favorite tea trader almost an hour away just to make this for you.

just to make you feel better.

suddenly you feel like crying all over again, but this time out of adoration for the stoic man in front of you, “did you go out of your way just to make me some tea?”

he turns his head to look to the floor, “it wasn’t out of my way.”

was he… shy?

your heart swells so much you think it might burst behind your rib cage as you take another sip of the tea, “i don’t deserve you.”

“you’re right, you deserve more.”

“stop it!” you swat his chest, “you’re perfect for me. i love you.”

he looks back to you, a trace of a smile on his face as he places a hand on top of your head to ruffle your hair gently, “i love you, yn. now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

you take a deep breath taking a savory sip of your tea fusion before placing it on the coaster sitting on your nightstand. “promise you won’t judge me?”

“i would never judge the person i intend on marrying.”

with a blush and your trillionth sigh of the day, you open your mouth to relay your shortcomings to him, suddenly feeling as if you could breathe freely so long as he was around.

[stxrsniolo]

๑ ˓˓ crash and burn ㅤ࣭ㅤ ★

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : exchange student!reader x hockey player!matt

Chapter 12: the biggest fight

the night after the game was a restless void, the victory marred by a storm of unresolved emotion.

matt, driven by a desperate blend of determination and dread, left the gym with nick's words ringing in his ears like a haunting refrain; his search for y/n led him to the shadowed streets near the school, where he spotted her walking alone, her figure a fragile silhouette against the cool autumn gloom.

she was trudging back to the millers' house, her steps heavy with sorrow, her shoulders bowed under the weight of her anger, her cherry-dyed hair a vivid wound against the darkness.

matt broke into a jog, his heart slamming against his ribs, not just from the exertion but from the gut-wrenching need to reach her. "y/n, wait up!" he called, his accent raw with urgency, his voice cracking as he closed the distance.

she froze, her arms crossing tightly over her chest like armor, refusing to face him. "what do you want, matt?" her voice was a jagged edge, laced with pain and fury, each word trembling with the effort to hold herself together.

"i wanna talk, figure this out," he said, stepping closer, his tone softer at first, clinging to nick’s advice about consistency and care.

he reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder, trembling with hesitation. "i didn’t mean for that cheerleader shit to happen, i pushed her off, i swear—i swear on everything, y/n."

y/n spun around, her eyes blazing with unshed tears, her jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. "you didn’t see me leave, did you? you didn’t even notice i was gone while she was all over you!" her voice broke, a sob threatening to escape as her insecurities clawed their way out, tearing at her. "do you have any fucking idea how small that made me feel? like i’m just some pathetic nobody watching you be the big fucking star?"

matt’s chest constricted, his breath catching as her words hit him like punches. "that’s not what happened, y/n. i was looking for you right after, i didn’t want her near me, you’re the one i care about, not some random chick!" he stepped forward, his voice pleading, his hands reaching for her, desperate to bridge the gap.

but her pain was a tidal wave, drowning his pleas, her insecurities a relentless storm. "then why didn’t you come after me right away? why was it so easy for her to get that close? i’m always wondering if i’m enough for you, for this whole place, matt—if i’m worth it... and tonight, i felt like nothing!" her voice rose, cracking with anguish, her hands flying to her face as tears finally broke free.

matt’s frustration surged, his initial calm splintering under the weight of her accusations. "you’re enough, alright? i’ve been busting my ass to show you that! i’m here, ain’t i? chasing you down like some goddamn fool. what more do you want from me?" his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice shaking with the effort to keep it together.

"i want to feel like i matter!" she screamed, her voice a raw, guttural cry that shattered the night’s silence. "not like i’m some trophy you parade around and then forget when the crowd’s screaming your name! i’m not just here for your ego, matthew!"

matthew.

that snapped something in him, his patience unraveling, his voice turning cold and sharp, the boston accent biting harder. "you think i’m forgetting you? i just scored the winning fuckin’ goal for you in the stands, and you’re acting like i don’t give a shit! that’s bullshit, y/n, and you know it!" he kicked a loose stone, the sound of it skittering across the pavement a harsh punctuation to his rising anger.

y/n flinched, her eyes widening as his tone cut deeper than she’d braced for. "don’t you dare turn this on me!" she roared back, her voice quaking with a fury born of heartbreak. "you’re the one who let her kiss you, matt, you’re the one who didn’t see me falling apart while she clung to you! don’t act like i’m the fucking problem here!"

"oh, i’m the problem then?!" matt bellowed, stepping closer, his face twisted with rage, his eyes burning with a fire that scared even him. "you’re so fuckin’ wrapped up in your head, you don’t even see what i’m doing for you! i could’ve been anywhere tonight, but i’m out here begging you to see me, and you’re throwing it back in my face like it’s trash!" he slammed his fist against a nearby lamppost, the metallic clang reverberating through the empty street, his voice rising to a shout that echoed off the buildings.

y/n’s tears streamed freely now, her chest heaving with sobs she couldn’t hold back, her voice breaking as she screamed, "then go back to your precious rink, matt, go be the big shot with your teammates and your cheerleaders! i don’t need this and i surely don’t need you!" her words were a jagged blade, cutting through her own heart as much as his, her body trembling with the force of her pain.

matt’s anger turned icy, his cruelty surfacing as his restraint shattered completely. "fine, maybe you don’t! maybe i’ve been wasting my fuckin’ time trying to prove something to someone who’s too damn blind to see it!" he spun away, his fists shaking, then whirled back, his voice a venomous hiss. "you wanna push me away? you got it. i’m done chasing someone who thinks i’m just some asshole looking for a quick score. go ahead, walk away, i ain’t begging no more!"

his words were a brutal lash, each one dripping with the cold violence he couldn’t contain, his face a mask of fury and hurt.

y/n’s breath hitched, a sob escaping as his cruelty struck her like a physical blow, her insecurities roaring that she’d been right, he’d never truly stay.

"fuck you, matt!" she screamed, her voice raw and broken, her hands balling into fists as she turned on her heel and stormed off toward the millers’ house, her steps fueled by a mix of rage and despair, her heart splintering with every stride.

matt watched her go, his chest heaving, his anger warring with a gut-wrenching pang of regret that clawed at his throat as he kicked the curb again, harder, the sharp pain in his foot a fleeting distraction from the agony inside, then turned and marched in the opposite direction, back toward the school, his figure swallowed by the night’s shadows.

╭ ❝ my dears, i truly cherish the affection you show through your reposts, and for that, i’m grateful; however, let us be unequivocally clear: my narratives are my sacred domain, not to be borrowed/reshaped without my consent 

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒ㅤ: ㅤ @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy @mattswifeyy @oopsiedaisydeer @v4lsturn @pair-of-pantaloons @idkwhatthisevenislol @sturn777 @whore4mattsturniolo @mattchalattee @madifilipowiczisthebest @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo101 @ivysturnss @mattsatellite @sturnsblogs @izzylovesmatt @allisonclairee @m4gz-png @mr-wrinkleton @bluestriips @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @ariestrxsh

╰ ★ in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist. 

[tomshelbystitsfics]

Untitled Fic.

Eventual!Carmen x Reader

(this is just the beginning for the fic. its storyline/plot building. also the reader is midsize. not skinny but not plus. in the middle)

(im posting this its the beginning to a fic im writing & i just wanted to post this lil excerpt. hoping to get some feedback & see what people think! please, let it rip:)

Home. Home? What did that word mean to you? It was a noisy, dirty, yet charming city. An old house, at least sixty years old. Paint now peeling, gutters full of old leaves and shit. Home, a minute's walk across the road. Inside a warm dish of delicious food awaits. Michael hands you that first plate. There it was, the moment of truth. Determining if you were friend or foe. Not really though, just testing to see if you were a narc. (Later you would argue with Mikey that his logic made no sense whatsoever.)

You found a home in the dysfunctional, crazy ass Berzatto family. They quickly accepted you as one of their own. Having been Carmy’s best (and only) friend. Always so polite and sweet. Until Mikey or Richie pissed you off. They were always picking on you and Carmy. And sometimes they pushed hard enough to set you off. That is exactly why you’re all in this situation now.

“Fucking A. You ain’t gotta hit me that hard asshole! Seriously, it was just a fucking joke man! Lighten the FUCK UP!” Richie yelled. You sat across the island from him. Mikey was digging through the freezer. He was trying to find something to ice Richie’s face. You had given the bastard a black eye and a bloody fucking nose. Mikey was more than impressed. So was Richie, but he wouldn’t be telling you that any fucking time soon.

“I’m sorry Rick,” he scowled as you called him that. “I tried to warn ya that you went too far, but no, you just had to go there.” He just stared at you, deadpan. You sucked in a breath, cheeks puffed out. Head in your hands you let out the breath. Standing up and making your way in front of the man. A hand extended out, an olive branch.

Scoffing he smacked the hand away. Your chest tightened, Richie was basically your older brother. His rejection hurt, a fucking lot in fact. Not wanting him to see the tears starting to well up, you start to turn away. That is when you feel it. Two long, solid arms wrap around you. Twisting around, you rest your chin on his shoulder and grasp the back of his old ass hoodie tight. Fingers clenching the fabric.

“It’s all good Doll. I still love ya. Even if you broke my goddamn nose.” Richie held you, then after a beat, “I mean shit. My cheekbone feels like a grown man split it, kid.” The tender moment was over for now. Richie is trying to make a joke out of it. You smirk, shoving him by the shoulders into his previous seat.

“ ‘S what ya get asswipe! Quit fucking with her when she says. It’s called ‘boundaries’ cousin? Ever heard of the concept?” Mikey slapped a steak on his eye. The other man groaned.

“FUCK SAKES MIKEY! Please, could ya be a little more considerate or some shit? I already got rocked. Don’t need a worse fucking bruise.” Mumbling as he pushed Mikey’s hand away, holding the slab of meat.

“I am not eating that shit later Mikey, no fucking shot.” Giggling, you give the man a kiss on the cheek. “What’s for dinner anyways?” The dark haired man seemed to think for a moment, then said something similar to what landed Richie his shiner and fucked nose.

“Ask Carmy, I’m sure he has a few ideas for what he wants.” Wagging his eyebrows at you. The smirk was audible. Mikey seemed to be proud of himself for the quip.

“Y-You…motherfucker.. I swear I’ll end you, Berzatto. YOU BITCH, C’MERE.” You took off around the island to where he stood in front of the kitchen sink. Richie was screaming and crawling up onto the counter, “ You two fucks better watch out for me. My shit’s busted enough. Get the fuck outta here!”

The memories of Mikey and the family keep swirling through your head as you stand in front of the funeral home. It had been a year since you physically saw any of the Berzatto clan. Too many years since seeing your best friend. Carmen Anthony Berzatto. A name you desperately wanted to forget. The name felt hollow to say, a distant memory. A smoke show that never existed except only in the dark recesses of your mind. Brought up when you wish to torture yourself even more than usual.

Drinking in the cold Chicago air, you begin the trek up the stairs. One measly step at a time. Hoping to calm your racing heart. It felt like the organ was lodged in your throat, bound to come up in a grisly mess at any second. The walk into the foreboding building felt like it took light years and seconds all at once. Standing before the doors, hand hovering over the knob. Psyching yourself up you finally grasp the knob and starting to pull and-

“Fucking Christ! This is fucking insane.” A familiar voice barks out. The door was quickly and haphazardly thrown open. PANG! Jumping back it only caught your arm a bit. The pain was nice and a needed distraction.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry, I-I didn’t realize anyone…” a small gasp of surprise and a tearful chuckle. Then a slow shaky intake of air, “Doll, is-is that you? Or am I just fucking nuts?” Desperation paints his tone. His words crack and waver with emotion, no, sadness and grief. And a bit of hope.

“Hey cousin, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Your voice was thick with the tears ready to be shed. Before you know you’re shoved into his warm chest. All you smell is stale cigarettes, and his woodsy, Ed Hardy cologne. The aroma of smoke, along with bergamot and amber soothes you. There was a time you despised this fucking scent. It was always too strong and pungent. Telling Richie he smelt like a hooker, wanting to piss him off.

“At least one of us is shaking ass and making some cash Doll.” SMACK! Richie shook his hips at you.

“You made it inside yet? ‘Course not, fuck. I-I’m sorry Doll, my brain is fucking lost. I-I don’t have a goddamn clue about what’s going on.” Apologizing and rubbing his nose roughly.

“Can’t lose something you never had Rick.” You smirk, jabbing him in his ribs.

“Hardy har. You got fucking jokes, eh? Nice, real nice…Shit.” Richie let out a loud sigh and looked at his feet, “Don’t call me fucking Rick man. Shit wasn’t cool when you were a kid, sure as shit ain’t cool now pip squeak.” He smacked you lightly on the back of your head. Reaching into his coat he grabs a cigarette, and swings the pack towards you. You quit smoking, a year ago. But, fuck it.

It is a funeral after all. Might as well take the edge off somehow. Being sober was fucking awful at times. You both finished the cigarettes in silence. After stubbing the cherry out, you gestured to the door.

“Think we should, uh, ya know?”

Richie swallowed his nerves and gave a single nod. The man had a hold of the handle before you could even think about it. Walking into one of the absolute worst possible moments of your entire fucking life.

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where Tommy can take any hit — at the cost of feeling pain later.

It’s worth it. Tommy’s powers land him right in SBI’s team, surrounded by his favorite heroes. They *adore* him, and Tommy soaks it up without a moment’s hesitation.

Even when they hurt Tommy themselves.

It’s not on purpose, of course.

To them, it’s just training. They think he’s invulnerable, after all — and hell, Tommy flat-out tells them not to pull their punches. 

And… they don’t.

They’re not famous heroes for no reason — and Tommy should be elated they want him on their team so badly, spending every spare moment with him. 

Little chats. Games. Gifts. Non-stop affection—

—and non-stop training. 

“If it doesn’t hurt, why do you keep flinching?”

Tommy narrowly avoids Wilbur’s swing, stumbling back. “What?”

“You always look scared.” Wilbur frowns. “Why? It’s not like anything can hurt you, quit wasting your time by dodging.”

*Quit wasting /my/ time,* Tommy hears.

So he listens.

But he still tries to bargain.

“Do you have to hit so hard?” he says, trembling as he pushes himself off the mat. 

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” Techno says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, get up. The worse I can do is knock you over.”

And Tommy doesn’t say a word.

Because, no.

SBI can do far worse than hurt him. They could *leave* him — because what use is an ability like Tommy’s, if he can’t take the pain?

So he stays quiet, burying himself out of sight whenever the pain hits. 

Until one time, he can’t. 

It’s a chaotic battle, but Tommy’s not scared. Sure, he’s taken a hundred little hits already, and he’ll pay for them later. But he’ll be fine.

Until some amateur villain wrenches him into a grapple—

—and jams a gun into his gut.

“Let me go or I’ll shoot him.”

Tommy struggles frantically, heart stuttering as the villain’s grip stays tight. 

He’s never been shot.

He doesn’t know if it’ll kill him.

“Wil— Siren,” he chokes out into his comm. “Angel? Blade? Please, I need help, please—”

“Hold on,” Wilbur says, and Tommy’s heart leaps at the concern in his voice. 

In a heartbeat, he’s there. The villain snarls, pressing the gun deeper into Tommy’s ribs as Wilbur skids to a stop.

He tilts his head. Tommy’s heart soars—

—and then Wilbur starts *laughing.*

“False alarm,” Wilbur calls into the comm, still grinning as he turns away. “He’s fine.”

“No,” Tommy cries, fighting (maybe for his fucking *life*). “No, no, don’t leave, please—”

The gun goes off.

The villain drops him. Tommy crumples, clutching his stomach despite not feeling a thing.

And he doesn’t get up.

Fear makes him weak. 

Even as the battle rages around him, he can’t force himself to stand. Can’t even hear through the ringing in his ears, shaking as he braces for the pain to come. 

But he should’ve been listening.

“For fuck’s sake, Tommy.”

It’s Wilbur that finds him, still huddled in the rubble. Tommy uncurls, forcing his tear-filled eyes to focus.

*God, this is going to hurt so bad.*

“Where the fuck were you?”

Tommy blinks the tears away, shivering. “What?”

Finally, his vision focuses.

And he immediately wishes it hadn’t.

Wilbur’s bleeding. His mask is half-shattered, revealing a black eye, narrowed in fury.

And standing behind him, the Angel & Blade aren’t much better. Cuts, bruises, covered in dust and rubble.

And Tommy’s unharmed. 

Wilbur stalks forward, slamming a finger into Tommy’s chest — right above where the bullet landed.

“You’re our fucking *guard,* Tommy,” he yells, jaw tight. “We can’t take hits, that’s *your job.*”

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

Wilbur throws up his hands. “We called you, Tommy. You didn’t listen.”

*I called you, too,* Tommy thinks dimly. *You just laughed.*

But he still whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Get up,” Wilbur snaps, cradling his bleeding arm. “We’re going home. You can clean up this shit while we try not to *bleed out.*”

That shouldn’t be relieving. But it is. All Tommy needs is a quiet place to wait out the agony. He stands—

—and the pain hits him all at once.

(And SBI? They’re not out of earshot yet.

They may have never heard Tommy in pain, but that agonized scream is horribly familiar.

Even if it’s silent by the time they find him.)

.

.

.

“You asked me to stop, and I didn’t.”

It’s Techno that breaks first. Techno, with his inhuman, brutal strength. Techno, who’d forced Tommy to train the most, who’d never held back.

Who’s now crying at Tommy’s beside, head buried in the hands that’d never hesitated to attack him. 

“Why, Tommy? Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, voice thick with tears. “Why did you let me hurt you?”

Tommy curls in on himself. The bullet wound doesn’t hurt anymore, but the fear does. 

Because, desperate, he whispers, “I can do it again. It didn’t hurt that bad.”

*And you wouldn’t spend time with me if I didn’t fight,* he thinks. *Right?*

Because that’s who he’d taken the pain for — them. Shielding them with his body? Suffering under their own hands?

It was better than losing them. 

“Bullshit,” Techno says, voice cracking as Tommy flinches. “Tommy, I saw you. I heard you *screaming,* I can’t—”

He’s… shaking. Hands balled into fists (making Tommy’s stomach flip), face turned away & refusing to look at him (which is somehow worse).

“I can’t do that again.”

“Techno—”

Techno stands. He’s shaking less now, determination written in every feature.

“You’re done, Tommy, I’m never letting you fight again.”

“But I fucking *can,*” Tommy says, throwing the blankets off and gesturing at himself. “Look at me, Techno. There’s no marks, there never was, you didn’t even have to fucking bandage me—”

Techno’s jaw tightens, reaching out to push Tommy back into bed—

And Tommy flinches.

Techno’s face crumples.

And so does Tommy’s heart. 

Because even as his skin aches for Techno to just *hold* him, it also burns with every bruise that’d never formed, mind straining against its instinctual fear.

“No. I didn’t have to bandage you,” Techno says, voice wavering. “But I had to hold you. I had to listen to you crying, Tommy, you were begging us not to leave. ”

Tommy’s face burns with shame. “I— that wasn’t— I didn’t mean that.”

“But you did.”

Now Techno’s the one to curl in on himself. “I heard you. We all did. You sounded so *scared* when you called for help, I had to stop myself from running to you.”

Tommy shivers, stomach turning with the memory of the gun pressed to it. 

And the sound of Wilbur’s laugh. 

“But I didn’t,” Techno says, every word cracking. “I left you. I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t know,” Tommy whispers. “I never told you.”

“But how many times did you *try?*” Techno shudders. “How many times did I ignore you?”

*I can’t even count,* Tommy realizes. How many times he’d pleaded to skip training, for them to go easier on him, to have one day without suffering under their hands.

For them to love him, without feeling like he needed to be useful first.

“No,” Techno says, standing. “No, I’m not doing it. You’re done, Tommy, forever. You’re off the team.”

Tommy’s heart stops. That’s it. That’s the fate he’d dreaded, the end he’d fought to avoid. All that pain, just to lose them, just to get their affection taken away—

Techno takes a shaky breath, then sits.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

(And he doesn’t. None of them do.

There’s always someone at Tommy’s side — like *they’re* guarding *him.* 

There’s no more non-stop training. Only the opposite, unending affection freely and softly given.

It doesn’t take Tommy long to unlearn his fear.)