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togrowoldinv · 11 months

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One-On-One

Milf!Wanda x Female Reader

You’re Wanda’s pastor, so when her husband leaves her you reach out to offer her comfort. She tries to push you away on the account that she doesn’t like you, but that changes when she realizes what you could do for her.

Warnings: Kissing, cursing, public-ish sex, fingering (W receiving), oral (R receiving), Wanda being mean but hot

Note: I was just thinking about milf Wanda again lol. Enjoy this one!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

There is not a strong enough word to describe how much Wanda Maximoff does not like you.

She is outwardly against the way you perform your role in the church and is, in fact, the only member of the search committee that voted against you.

You tried not to take it personally, knowing that Wanda was close with the last pastor.

At first, you tried to make friends with Wanda. You knew you would have to work with her, so why not make things cordial? But Wanda fought against your every attempt to get close to her. Even months into your time at the church, she is still not approving of you.

You got word today that her husband had left her. She is left alone with her two children. Despite how she feels about you, you still have duties as a pastor to check on your congregation. So, you made cookies and drove to Wanda’s house.

Walking up to the door now, you knock and wait for her to open it. It takes a few minutes, but soon one of her young sons arrives at the door.

“Hello Tommy,” you greet him.

“How do you know my name?” He asks.

“I’m Pastor Y/n,” you tell him. “I usually wear a nice robe and am carrying a Bible.” He laughs and nods. He remembers you now. “Is your mom home?”

At that moment, Wanda walks into the living room. She rushes to the door.

“Tommy, what did I tell you about opening the door for strangers?” She lightly scolds him.

“Mom, it’s Pastor Y/n,” comes his defense. Wanda shakes her head, and Tommy walks away.

You’re left with Wanda. She looks you over. She hasn’t seen you in casual clothes before, and her eyes can’t help but fall to your chest. Your blouse is unbuttoned enough to reveal your soft skin. You try to catch her eye, and she snaps out of it.

“What are you doing here?” Wanda asks. Her tone is short.

“I just wanted to offer my condolences. And my grandma’s famous cookies,” you say, holding out the bag.

“I don’t really need your sympathy.”

“I know, but I still thought I’d offer it. After all, Jesus did ask what he could do for us, so we should too. What can I do for you, Wanda? I’m ready to help with anything you need,” you tell her.

“I- I don’t know,” Wanda says. Her usual stiff posture softens a bit.

“How about for now, I come inside, and we can talk or just sit?” You ask.

She steps back and lets you in. The boys run into the kitchen and take a cookie. They go play outside at Wanda’s suggestion they enjoy the nice evening. You recognize that she just needs a break.

It is quiet for a while before Wanda speaks.

“Have you ever been married?” She asks. You shake your head. “Count yourself lucky then.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I think marriage can be beautiful.”

“Maybe,” Wanda says. “Mine wasn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

“Ha,” Wanda says sarcastically. “It’s definitely my fault. I’m always the problem.”

“Wanda-”

“No. I am. You know that’s true. We don’t even get along, and it’s once again my fault.”

“I understand you don’t like me much,” you say. “But it’s not your fault. You just don’t want to be my friend. I’ve accepted that.”

“You’ve accepted it? But you’re here,” Wanda says.

“It’s my job,” you say simply. “And I wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

Wanda sighs. You know she’s not okay, but one day she will be. Maybe sooner than she thinks.

“So, what can I do to help you?” You ask her again.

Wanda thinks briefly before speaking again. “Would you consider a personal Bible study with me?”

“I’d love to do that, Wanda. My office tomorrow night?” You ask her.

“I can do that, yes.”

You smile and say your goodbyes to Wanda. The next day Wanda meets you at your office. She is wearing a dress that’s a little low-cut, but you’re not complaining. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to her.

“Welcome, Wanda,” you greet her. “How was your day?”

“Can we just cut to it, y/n?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, um- sure,” you say. You thought she wanted to start a friendship, but it seems all business with her today.

You open up your Bibles together to read and talk. Wanda doesn’t participate much, but instead you often find her looking at you while you’re reading.

Her eyes once again rake over your body. You’re wearing a more conservative shirt today, being in the church building, but she’s still looking.

You decide to say something about it after an hour of the Bible study.

“Wanda,” you begin. “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re really looking me over tonight. And I noticed it yesterday too.”

Wanda’s cheeks blush before she leans in closer to you. Her arms rest on your desk, pretty close to yours.

“Is it a bad thing?” Wanda asks. “I mean, don’t you like being seen?”

“As your pastor, I really should discourage you looking at me like this,” you say.

“And outside of your pastoral duties?” Wanda wonders.

She stands up from her chair and crosses your desk. Sitting on the edge next to where you are, you see her creamy thighs as her dress rides up.

“Outside of my pastoral duties, I’m very attracted to you,” you tell her. She smirks devilishly.

“Even with how mean I’ve been to you?”

You swallow and nod. Her meanness has only spurred you on further since you met her.

Wanda moves closer to you and you scoot your chair back from your desk. She stands upright and approaches you. One of her legs goes around each side of your waist as she lowers herself onto your lap.

“Wanda,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“Shh,” Wanda says, placing a finger on your lips. “No talking. I just want to fuck you.”

You open your mouth to speak again, but Wanda’s lips quickly shut you up. Her lips on yours ignites a fire in your entire body.

Wanda’s hands pull you closer. One grips your waist under your shirt while the other holds your neck tightly. You never realized how perfect her hands are before.

You move to lift her dress further up her legs. She’s wearing light pink, lace panties. You groan at the sight as Wanda kisses your neck.

Your fingers dip into her center and feel the wetness through her panties. The thin material doesn’t prevent her from feeling the way you’re dragging your fingers over her pussy lips.

“Wanda,” you try to speak again. This time, she puts her finger into your mouth to stop you. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it.

Her eyes darken with pleasure at the sight of you being so submissive for her. She takes her hand and unbuttons your pants.

You move her panties to the side as your fingers push into her. She takes your fingers so well. You want to tell her that she takes you so well, but you just kiss her instead. You get the no talking message.

Her moans when you move your fingers in and out are enough to keep you motivated. She’s enjoying this.

“Fuck,” she whimpers when her hips still. She’s coming against your fingers.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” you say.

Wanda responds by kissing you hard and biting your lip. It’s harsh, but it feels so good. She slides off your fingers and then kneels on the ground. Her eyes tell you what she wants.

She finishes undoing your pants and pulls them along with your underwear down your legs just far enough to access you.

“So fucking wet,” Wanda says, breathily. “You love how much I despise you, don’t you? You still get so wet for me.”

“Fuck, Wanda,” you groan out. You guess the no talking rules only apply to you.

She leans in and licks at your pussy. It doesn’t take long for you to feel close to your peak. Wanda’s definitely done this before. She hums with her own pleasure when she feels you start to come against her tongue.

“Oh, god, Wanda!” You shout, probably too loud for a public church. Hopefully your secretary didn’t hear you.

“So good,” Wanda says as she cleans you up with her tongue.

She then stands back up and pulls her dress back down. You pull your pants back up. Wanda sits against your desk again.

“Same time next week?” Wanda asks.

“Wanda, we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And yet, we just did it, didn’t we?” Wanda asks, a glint in her eye. “Come on, Pastor Y/n, a little casual sex never hurt anyone.”

You want to disagree, but all you can think about is what she might taste like. So instead, you stand up and kiss Wanda. She’s taken aback, but responds quickly.

When you pull away, there is a knock at the door. Your secretary, Natasha, is at the door.

“Your next appointment is here,” she says once she’s opened it.

You nod and Wanda steps outside. She leaves with blushing cheeks and a secret smile.

“Can you schedule Wanda again for next week?” You ask Natasha.

“Sure. And I’ll cancel anyone’s appointments you have after her,” Natasha says, a smirk on her lips.

“You’re the best,” you say.

“You don’t pay me enough to listen to you fuck milfs,” Natasha jokes.

“Well then, maybe next time you’ll just come in and join?” You ask, only half seriously. Natasha chuckles, but you secretly hope she considers it.

Until then, you’ll dream about Wanda and how she felt against your lap. And how her tongue felt against your body.

Until then, you’ll be glad that you reached out to Wanda that day.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #milf!wanda #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff comfort #wanda maximoff fluff

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hippolotamus · 5 months

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thought i planned for everything (just didn’t count on you) | 1.6k | E (BuckTommy)

Earlier today I promised my wife @bidisasterevankinard an incentive for studying in exchange for making her think about too many WIP ideas. Since husband @diazsdimples is also going through it with schooling, this is for both of you 😘 ps: idk anything about what certs and licenses and stuff Tommy would need. Just roll with it and be nice, yeah? Also, this is unbeta’d so if you see any mistakes, no you don’t.

Tommy scrubs at his forehead, blowing out a frustrated breath. He’s looked at the material in front of him for months now, determined to ace his recertifications. And it had been going well. Really well, in fact. He had a study schedule mapped out, accounting for his shifts and time with friends. He even left a small margin for the unexpected. There was just one factor he hadn’t accounted for. Evan.

The past few years of dating haven’t exactly gone anywhere serious. Some casual dates, one that he thought could go the distance but only broke his heart. So the expectation of having that feeling again? Of having someone thoughtful and caring, who gives him butterflies and makes him want things? Pretty much zero.

But then a hurricane happened. Actual and metaphorical. It tore through his life, upending the idea that love – or anything close to it – just wasn’t in the cards for him. And when everything settled, there was Evan. Evan, who asks how his shift was, tells him when he gets back from a call, and turns a pretty shade of pink as he blushes and says ‘I missed you’.

Tommy doesn’t regret any of it, but he does wish the universe’s cosmic timing could’ve held off just a little longer. At least until the state of California tells him what he already knows and says he’s fit to pilot an aircraft.

A knock on the door gets his attention, but he seriously contemplates ignoring it. He didn’t order anything and he doesn’t have plans. Unfortunately, the first responder in him can’t help wondering if one of his elderly neighbors needs something.

Fine. He sets down the pen he’s been chewing on and reminds himself it’s been too long since he stood up and walked around anyway.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, surprised to see him standing there. He instinctively looks him up and down for obvious injuries or signs of distress, but finds nothing. Only his gorgeous boyfriend, smiling coyly. “I didn’t forget about a date, did I?”

“No, uh, nothing like that. Because you are supposed to be studying.” Evan raises one eyebrow like Tommy is in the wrong for answering his own door after somehow manifesting Evan’s presence.

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Evan says shyly. “I know I’ve been taking a lot of your time lately and wanted to help.”

For the first time, Tommy notices Evan’s got his hands behind his back and wonders what his definition of ‘help’ is. He’s dressed down, soft and adorable in a hoodie and joggers, so it’s unlikely to be a booty call. Though not completely out of the question. And not that Tommy would complain either.

“Did you bring flashcards or something?”

“As a matter of fact…” Evan steps over the threshold, past Tommy, like he owns the place. While shy, demure Evan is a favorite, confident Evan is by no means a turn off. Especially as he whirls around and proudly holds up a set of blue, yellow and pink index cards. “I did.”

“Evan-”

“A few nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I might have taken some notes of my own. And, like I said, thought I could make myself useful for my hot, pilot boyfriend.” He rocks up on his tiptoes, capturing Tommy’s lips for a chaste kiss before he meanders to the kitchen.

Tommy pushes the door closed, following Evan where he lays the cards down on the table, opposite the books and manuals Tommy has scattered. Evan walks to the cabinets and helps himself to a glass, filling it with water before returning. Next he makes himself comfortable in a chair, sitting slightly back with his legs spread apart.

“So, can I help?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in the way Evan looks at him now that has his heart racing. Like helping is the last thing Evan plans to do.

Tommy gathers himself enough to sit down in his own seat and flashes Evan a confident smirk.

“Do your worst, kid.”

“I’ll start with an easy one. What is the atmospheric gas composition?”

“Twenty-one percent oxygen, seventy-eight percent nitrogen, one percent other,” Tommy rattles off.

“Well done.” Evan flicks the card down then casually leans over to untie one shoe and slip it off.

“What are you-”

Evan clicks his tongue, tutting in fake admonishment. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, baby. Next question. Each one hundred meter climb in elevation causes a temperature drop of what?”

“One degree Celsius.”

Evan simply grins and removes his other shoe, leaving him in socked feet. Tommy would be lying if he said his dick wasn’t taking interest now that he’s caught on to Evan’s game. It is thoroughly unhelpful.

“PAIP should be implemented how many minutes after an aircraft fails to give its position report or is overdue for arrival?”

“Fifteen. Got anything harder for me?”

Evan’s tongue darts out, licking along his lower lip. “Oh, you bet I do.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and think about… anything except bending Evan over the table. If only it was that simple.

They repeat the process, volleying questions and answers back and forth until Evan’s stripped down to his boxers, his cock obviously hard and leaking beneath the tented fabric. It’s distracting as hell and Tommy doesn’t know how he’s supposed to concentrate.

“Come on, old man,” Evan teases, palming himself lazily. “Lives are on the line here. You need to be able to think under tense conditions.”

“You’re such a brat.” Tommy’s jeans press uncomfortably on his own straining erection and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from mirroring Evan’s movements.

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” Evan applies more pressure, letting out an obscene moan as he strokes himself. “Or I could be – ahh – if you get this – mmph – question right.”

“Fuck, Evan.” Tommy undoes his belt and zipper, creating the tiniest bit of relief.

“That’s the idea. Even – oh, fuck – wore the new plug I told you about.”

Christ, Evan’s gonna kill him before they get the chance to see this all play out. And that’s unacceptable.

“Don’t stop,” Tommy orders, stalking off to grab the lube stashed in the couch cushions. When he returns, Evan is still stroking himself exactly like he was instructed. “Good boy, Evan. Doing what I told you.”

Tommy grips his chin and crashes their mouths together in a filthy kiss, delighted as Evan makes the most beautiful whine.

“But, you – ah – didn’t answer me,” Evan protests when they separate.

“Myoglobin.” He leans close to Evan’s ear, nipping at the lobe. “Lesson’s over, kid. Face down over the table. Naked. Now.”

Evan nearly trips over himself, leaping up from his chair and shoving his boxers down. He drapes himself over the piles of papers and index cards, wiggling his ass like he’ll die if he has to go one more second without being fucked.

“Gotta say, I like your methods,” Tommy murmurs, starting to work the plug in and out, tracing his other hand along Evan’s bare skin. “But now I think it’s time for your reward. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yes. Please.”

“So desperate, my Evan,” Tommy coos. “Thought you would be in control, getting me all worked up. And here you are, laid out so gorgeously for me, just begging for it.”

Tommy pulls the plug out completely, discarding it to the floor. Evan keens and clenches around nothing, just waiting to be full again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” Tommy shoves his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. He slicks himself up with the lube and smears a generous amount on his fingers, fucking them in and out of Evan’s hole. Just enough to ease the way.

“Tommy,” Evan pants, practically crying when he pulls out.

He lines himself up, gripping Evan’s hips and pushing in without additional warning. He doesn’t pause for adjustments before he sets a relentless pace. It’s unlikely either of them are going to last, but he’s not going for longevity here.

Evan curls his hands around the edges of the table, leveraging it to fuck himself back against Tommy’s cock. It’s stunning and breathtaking, the rhythm they’re creating. A symphony of moans, squelches and skin against skin.

Soon the familiar heat pools in his belly, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Ohfuuuuck,” Evan moans, purposely tightening around him.

Tommy digs his fingertips into Evan’s sides, the world around him being reduced to static and white noise as he comes, filling Evan up. He thinks he might shout Evan’s name, but he’s not really sure, nor does he really care as he slumps forward, draping himself across Evan’s glistening skin.

“Gimmeasec,” he mumbles. “I’ll take careayou.”

“No need,” Evan murmurs back. “All good.”

Tommy presses a lazy kiss to Evan’s spine, enjoying the resulting small shudder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He kisses another ridge, and another, before answering. “For taking notes. For caring. Wanting to help out. For being you.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Evan whispers, hesitantly.

“Never,” Tommy assures him, dropping gentle kisses over his neck and shoulders, mindful of the mess forming between them as he maneuvers to properly reach. “Never too much, baby.”

He bites back words that are too early to say, even if he definitely feels them. Has felt them building in his chest, creating a near endless chant. He wonders how long he’ll be able to smother them before they burst forth. Hopefully long enough. Enough for Evan to feel them, too. For Evan to want to stay.

“Clean up and nap?” Tommy asks instead.

“Sounds good. Earned it.”

Tommy huffs an amused sound against Evan’s skin before pressing one last kiss there. God, I hope so, kid.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #hippo writes #tevan #tevan fic #what can i say #i love my spice #di tag 💙💍#james tag 💍#fic: thought i planned for everything

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talktonytome · 3 months

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could i ask for "paitently helping them put their shoes on" please?

“Hey, you ready to go?” Evan asks, walking back into the living room, as he pulls on his jacket. Tommy, who’s still sitting on the edge of the couch sighs in frustration. His shoes still aren’t on, on account of the shooting pain in his ribs every time he tries to bend down to pull them on and tie them.

“Almost, except- I can’t get my stupid shoes on,” he admits, hanging his head in embarrassment. “The stretch hurts my ribs every time I so much as think about it,” he mumbles.

He listens to the fall of Evan’s footsteps, as he walks over to him, feet coming into view; Tommy keeps his eyes on the floor. He feels Evan cup the side of his face and gently tilt his head up. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, fearing he’ll see pity, but he should know better. When he finally does open them, after a deep breath, Evan’s looking at him with nothing but concern and affection.

“Tommy,” he murmurs. “You can ask for help, you know? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I thought I could do it by myself. I mean, a couple broken ribs, no biggie, right? We’ve both had worse,” Tommy huffs, but leans into the comfort of Evan’s touch.

“Oh sure, no biggie,” Evan shakes his head incredulously. “But that’s beside the point. You don’t have to be injured for me to take care of you, baby. I like taking care of you, just like you do for me,” be rubs a gentle thumb across Tommy’s cheekbone. “And it doesn’t make me feel weak o- or ashamed- the opposite actually. You make me feel so loved and cherished, so let me do the same for you,” he pleads softly.

Tommy’s throat grows tight with emotion. How he can he argue with that? Evan’s right; it’s what they do, take care of each other.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he turns his face to kiss Evan’s palm. “Sometimes, I forget I’m not on my lone wolf bullshit anymore.”

Evan laughs, throwing his head back. “Damn right. You have me now, and that won’t change, if I can help it. So, get used to it!”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Sunshine,” Tommy wonders, “but I sure am glad I have you.”

“I ask myself the same thing about you, so we’re even,” Evan declares. “I think the universe knew what it was doing, bringing us together.”

Tommy smiles at that. He doesn’t put much stock in predetermination, not the way Evan does. But, if soulmates are real, Evan is his. And the kind of thing they have, he doesn’t take for granted, knows it’s something they both work at, to make it.

When Evan kneels down and lovingly slips socks on Tommy’s feet, Tommy feels the waves of reverence in the action. He tries to hold back tears when Evan guides each foot into its shoe and ties the laces into neat little bows. A tear manages to slip free and rolls down his cheek, but Evan’s back on his feet in an instant, wiping it away before it hits his chin.

Evan doesn’t say anything, he just wraps those big arms around Tommy’s shoulders and drops a kiss to his hair. Tommy knows he just gets it, gets him and isn’t it beautiful, to not even need words?

#i made myself tear up a little with this one ngl #bucktommy #tevan #kinley #bite size bucktommy #prompt #my fic #ask #anon #dailykinley

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kidvoodoo · 4 months

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Solitaire

The long drive from the airport passed by with a dizzying blur and Joost found himself barely taking in the scenery of the snowy streets, preferring instead to be captivated by the man in the back of the limo with him.

Käärijä. The upstart his own ex-boss had been complaining about not even a year ago. This was his savior and temporary bodyguard. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘He’s so much different than I pictured…’ he thought to himself. The man couldn’t be older than his early thirties, he was expecting some grizzled Fin with hard eyes and an even harsher demeanor, not an eccentrically stylish man with eyeliner, silver piercings and a bowl cut…

But the man, for all his oddities, was surprisingly warm.

He patched Joost up without question, risked his life and the lives of his people just to get the Dutchman out of danger. Joost doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand even in the slightest. He barely has a chance to process anything from the last twenty-four hours.

“Um,” he softly clears his voice, “I was gonna ask, where is a good place for me to lie low for a while? I have some cash I can use to pay rent…”

Käärijä looks at him with a puzzled expression, Joost shrinks a little under the stare.

“Why you need to rent? You coming to my place of course.”

Joost’s eyebrows shoot up and he nearly drops his glass of brandy.

“Wha-ah wait, I couldn’t do that, I would be bringing danger directly to you if I’m found out!”

The other man snorts a laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“You think I scared of old Dutch gangsters? They are afraid of me! Besides, you try and go into hiding and they probably find you anyway.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just declared war on the entire Western Mafia.

“They always gonna find you, but they are stupid to try and take you while I’m watching,” he grins, those sharp canines giving his expression a vicious edge.

“Not the first time they try and cross me, now their men underneath a frozen swamp in pieces.”

Joost swallows, he forgot for a moment this isn’t just an excitable newcomer with a deathwish, he’s the Nordic Crime Lord for a reason. You don’t get far in the Underworld if you can’t get your hands dirty and bare your teeth.

“Still…it’s an imposition. I can’t in good conscience accept more help from yo-“

“Shh! Enough.” He silences Joost with a sharp word. “I say you are coming with me, you are staying at my compound. It is safest place in Finland I promise.”

Käärijä leans forward and fixes his gaze on Joost, much softer than before.

“Tommy doesn’t vouch for a lot of people. I hear you take two million from your former boss. I don’t know why you did it, maybe you need the money, but I do know a clever money man when I meet one.”

He smiles, he looks almost too sweet and genuine to have just been talking about butchered people and tossing their remains in a swamp.

“It take a lot of guts to do what you did Mr. Klein. We need people like you in the Union, if not as members, than at least allies.”

Joost drops his gaze to the ground.

“I didn’t steal the money for myself,” he says under his breath, ‘Am I really going to admit this right now?’

“What you do with it?”

“I emptied sixteen accounts and forwarded it over to INTERPOL, the two million is what the investigation is willing to discuss publicly.”

He looks up into Käärijä’s eyes and almost bashfully admits it.

“The total sum is around two Billion.”

<><><>

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, Käärijä seemed to adopt a more thoughtful demeanor as he no doubt was processing the depth of Joost’s gambit. He doesn’t blame the man, it still sounds absolutely absurd when he says it out loud.

Absurd, dangerous, stupid…

But does he regret it?

The scenery changes and it’s a while before Joost realizes they aren’t in Helsinki proper anymore. His abysmal grasp of the Finnish language isn’t helping as they pass sign after sign, the only one slightly recognizable is a larger sign displaying the name ‘Vantaa’.

Käärijä must have caught his puzzled look, as the man is beaming with pride when Joost turns to face him again.

“My city, my rules.”

Joost manages a shy smile of his own.

“I’ve always wanted to see Finland…didn’t think it would be like this of course.”

The gangster chuckles, Joost is caught off guard by the casual openness of it all.

“No worries, you gonna have a good time, a lot of fun things around here!”

“Have a good time fearing for my life you mean?” He means it in a joking way, but the concern on Käärijä’s face is evident.

“Hey, I promise you I keep you safe okay? I don’t break promises, and if I do? You can steal my money, I give you 10 seconds head start.” He winks and Joost can’t help but smile at the man, for someone supposedly so dangerous, he jokes around a lot.

A little while later the vehicle descends deeper into the city, the sky had quickly fallen dark and the twinkling lights of the streets and buildings illuminate the snowy walkways. The people are scarce on the streets, the occasional gaggle of pub-goers making their way around town seem unaffected by the cold and icy night.

“Here,” Käärijä says, tapping the glass of the window and gesturing outside. “This my place.”

Joost looks out the window at an imposing high rise building, towering twelve stories at least above the snow covered streets; It’s bright blue lighting casts a cold glow over the block, it’s massive, illuminated and worst of all, highly visible.

This…this is the hideout?!

The Finnish gangster grins and before Joost has a moment to process his now increasingly troubling situation, he’s being ushered out of the back of the car and into the frigid wintery night, up the short flight of stairs to the entrance where another bald gentleman in a black suit is waiting to open the door and welcome them inside.

His eyes adjust to the bright lights of the…lobby? The floors are a white marble and the walls equally as stark. Aside from a couple of comfortable and trendy looking leather couches, the ground floor is empty of any decorative features. At the back of the large room is a double set of silver elevator doors and sat in front of them is a concierge-type of desk. Its matte black surface stands out against the stark white room as does the figure sitting behind the desk.

Another bald man…could they be triplets? No, on further inspection Joost realizes they all seem to resemble each other, but not perfectly, not identically.

Brothers?

Joost startles and lets out an undignified yelp as the bald man who let them through the door grabs his shoulders and begins patting him down without a word.

“Hey! What are-“

“You really should have done this before he got in the car, Jere…”

Another presence startles him further causing the bald man to squeeze his shoulder threateningly.

“Be still.” The man growls. Joost freezes.

His attention is drawn back to a tutting noise, a taller blond man casually strolls up to the three, his hands in the pockets of his navy blue suit pants. He’s wearing a relaxed style shirt in crisp white and sports an easy grin. Around his neck is an expensive looking black camera, the man’s face looks…similar to-

“Jakko, relax. I don’t think Jere would let a spree shooter in the building, no matter how much of an air head he is.”

“Fuck off Mikke,” Käärijä snarls beside him, petulantly crossing his arms. “I know what I am doing.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” the blonde man winks at Joost and holds out his hand expectantly. “It’s lovely to meet you Mr. Klein, I’m Mikke, the boss’s older brother, welcome to the Union headquarters.”

The man grasps his hand for a firm albeit friendly greeting just as the bald man, Jakko apparently, digs out the meager belongings Joost had somewhat hidden in his suit’s inner pocket.

“H-Hey! That’s-“

He’s doesn’t have time to react before his wallet, phone and little vial of pills are passed off to Käärijä.

“We get you set up with secure phone card yes?” He says matter-of-factly, checking the edges of the device for any obvious tampering or bugging. “You smart to not turn it on yet.”

“Thanks I guess, but-“

“Mr Klein,” the blond man interrupts. “Look over here.”

Joost does, and is for the moment blinded by a flash of white light, having had his photo taken by the man’s black camera completely unexpectedly.

“Hey, wha-“

“For your fake ID, we’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow, also we can get you anything else document-wise within the next three days so please let me or any of the staff know! Good to meet you!” And without another word, the blond man is gone out the door behind him.

What the fuck is happening?!

“Come, let’s get upstairs okay? We have a lot of things to do before the night is over.” Käärijä says to him, passing his phone back but holding onto the wallet and pills.

He doesn’t have a moment to breathe or process anything as they make their way over to the elevators, a quick nod from the bald man at the front desk relays some unspoken information to the mafia boss and the sound of the elevator dinging echos in the empty lobby.

Loading into the elevator, Joost takes in the panel of floor numbers . Thirteen floors in total, one labeled as a basement beneath the building, the top floor button has a number pad next to it, off limits to anyone without the code.

“Fifty Euros? That’s all you have?” Käärijä asks in a shocked tone, he’s digging through Joost’ wallet now. “You say you have money for rent? This not enough!”

Joost moves to yank the wallet out of the Fins hand but one look from Jakko behind his dark shades and his hand lowers. He still resolves to clear his throat and holds out his palm in a gesture of polite request.

“May I please have my wallet back? There isn’t anything dangerous in there I promise, I shredded my ID and bank cards. I was planning on fencing some information for additional funds.”

Käärijä cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at that as he pulls out the only other thing in Joost’s wallet, an old folded up Polaroid.

“Wait! Please don’t-“ he begs, the gangster takes one look at Joost’s face and his desperate tone must have struck something, because the man is carefully tucking the photo back in and returning his wallet and phone.

“Sorry, Mikke was right I should have checked sooner.” His tone is apologetic and Joost sighs, pocketing his phone and wallet again.

“It’s…it’s fine, really. I understand you can’t be too careful in this business. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” He offers a shy smile, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Käärijä pats him on the shoulder and the elevator dings to announce their arrival to the eleventh floor, the silver double doors parting to reveal new space.

The space is huge, penthouse sized with clean looking floors and expensive, elegant furnishings. The lighting is studio style with the sliders able to accommodate whatever level of visibility is needed, for now it’s a soft glow that doesn’t strain the eyes. The windows are large and have a breathtaking view of the cityscape below, there is a full sized kitchen, an alcove off to side where the bedroom and bathroom must reside, a comfortable looking leather couch, a desk, dinner table and chairs, a frankly ridiculously large flatscreen tv…

It’s…very nice.

“Here it is!” Käärijä claps his gloved hands together and practically drags Joost into the space, his excitement evident. “We getting you a new laptop and there is plenty of food if you are hungry, oh! Here is the bedroom, you have a great view of the river, we get your phone working tomorrow don’t worry-“

Joost can’t help but sputter in amusement a little at the man’s energetic enthusiasm, for a moment he forgets he’s being hunted by the most dangerous gangsters in all of Western Europe and instead lets himself be whisked away by the gangster. He forgets he’s in the company of the man upheaving one hundred years of underworld tradition, he forgets, as he looks out the window of his new bedroom at the glittering lights of the city below, dots of yellow and gold reflecting off the snowy cityscape. He nearly gasps at the beauty in the night.

“You want to hang onto these?” Käärijä asks from behind him, Joost turns and sees the man holding his little bottle of pills, a soft yet sad look on his face.

“Oh, I…I guess I should.” Joost stammers, staring down at the two little pills. He nearly forgot he had these. His just-in-case. Last resort.

“You know,” Käärijä says quietly, taking a second to choose his words wisely. “I hope you can be comfortable here. I am sorry this all happening.”

“But my place is right above, you can use call button by elevator if you need anything, okay?”

Joost feels almost guilty in this moment, it’s obvious Käärijä knows what is in the bottle but he won’t say it aloud. The man has risked his life for him, taken him in and is using all his collected resources to protect him. And here Joost is taking back the bottle.

Like he would thank the man with the gift of his corpse.

“Um,” Joost begins, taking it all in. “I really do want to thank you. I don’t have…many friends out there, at least not many who would go out of their way to help me like this…”

You don’t have any friends anymore, you robbed them blind and put a target on your head.

“So if there is anything I can do to repay you, please let me know. I don’t want to just take something without returning in kind.”

Käärijä looks into his eyes and a smile blossoms on his face though the sadness in his eyes stays. He squeezes Joost’s hand, the bottle of pills a barrier between them but the warmth in there radiating through the leather glove he wears. Joost can’t help but blush a little.

“The only thing you need to do is relax now, we gonna take care of this okay? Tomorrow I give you actual tour of the place, we get your phone secure and get you ID card.” He gives Joost’s hand one last squeeze and then he’s heading towards the door, Jakko standing vigilantly by the elevator waiting for him.

Joost watches him go, the bottle still clenched in his hand. The glass is warm as is his palm.

The man gives one last wave goodbye before the elevator doors close and it begins to descend, leaving Joost in the quiet of his new residence.

He takes a minute to let it all sink in. In twenty-four hours, his life has completely shattered and was simultaneously reconstructed in an instant. From the moment he ended the phone call with Tommy, his heart hasn’t stopped pounding and the eventual adrenaline drain finally begins to make his body tremble.

He needs to sit down.

He all but collapses on the bed, his bed, with the dark blue duvet cover and soft looking white pillows and stared at the ceiling, feeling the manic fight-or-flight instinct dissolving in his blood.

Minutes passed, maybe hours. Joost’s mind calms and he takes in his surroundings properly. There is a bedside table with a small reading lamp, next to it is an ashtray with a pack of unopened cigarettes and a lighter.

It’s his usual brand.

He should probably be more concerned about that, how could Käärijä know that? If Tommy is their only mutual contact, a man he has only ever communicated with long distance, who did Käärijä have in place to know this information?

He’s too tired to care as he reaches over and opens the pack, shrugging off his suit jacket and carelessly tossing it on the floor. Lighting up a cigarette, he stares at the bandage on his hand, the non-functioning phone on the bed, the little bottle of pills…

The photo is old and creased, the edges of the Polaroid turning yellow with age. There is a skinny boy with a head of bright blond hair and a huge smile on his face, his front left tooth missing, his second baby tooth to go that year. His glasses are busted on one side, held together with tape and willpower alone. He sports a striped polo shirt that has grass stains all over it, a result of his recent roughhousing in the field behind his home. Behind him is a man giving holding up two fingers behind the boy’s head, a mocking bunny ears gesture and a jovial expression on his face. He shares the same jawline as the kid, same smile and same joy.

Joost exhales a plume of smoke and looks out into the darkness of the night, the sea of lights below seemed miles away.

What have I gotten myself into now?

<><><>

Hey! I am now posting this story on ao3! Come check it out and leave a comment if you like!

#my art #kidvoodoo #my writing #käärijä #jere pöyhönen #joost klein #jeest #jeest infection #bojan cvjetićanin #bojere #tommy cash #käsh #mafia au #Jere has all the boyfriends but this will focus mostly on the budding relationship of him and Joost <3 #thank you for all the kind messages and comments #it really helps motivate me

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lemotmo · 2 months

Note

🤣😬 yeah they're just unlike anything I have ever seen.

Q. Still think they aren't trolling? They're so embarrassing around one another and the fact that you all find it cute and not highly unprofessional and gross tells us all we need to know about you all. As inappropriate as their behavior is they still must be so mortified by you all and that says a lot. Yes podcasts and journalists and the marketing team love them but they are not canon. But try harder to intimidate people into submission.

A. Okay I'm going to answer this and then no more from you all because you're truly a level of deranged that I have never encountered in all my years of fandom life. Seriously, intimidating? Who am I trying to intimidate? I don't care that you're offended by the fact they're friends. I don't care that you believe they're trolling you (they aren't. I promise they don't think about you all). I don't care that you all feel 'attacked' by the content we got last week. I get it. It was a bad week for you all. And you finished the bad week with confirmation that your guy wants absolutely nothing to do with you. He thinks you are just as unhinged as the rest of us do. And instead of taking the hint you all decided to double down on your crazy and go after his sister. Proving he was correct in deciding to ignore you all. Nothing the show is doing is about or for Tommy. I know it. You know it (which is why you all are spiralling all over our ask boxes). Nobody cares. And that's the real problem for you all. We don't care. Oliver doesn't care. Ryan doesn't care. The show doesn't care. You are going to get to see him in season 8 in some capacity but then he's going to be gone. I don't like a single thing about the man but I will be forever grateful that his pathetic attention seeking weeded you all out of the fandom. I have no doubt that you all will try to make things as miserable as possible once his character is shown the door, but I won't care about you then either. I'm done giving you attention. Episode 7x4 was about Eddie. Everything that came after was about how differently Eddie sees and deals with Buck compared to all the other people he has dated. And every single one of you knows it. And that is pure satisfaction on my part. You know it. You see it. You try so hard to pretend it's anything else that you end up proving all of our points even further. Everyone is done with you. And now that even includes the man you all started all of this for. Which is absolutely hilarious. Bye now. I'm going back to enjoying my show.

Thank you Nonny.

I swear, each time I get one of these asks I am more baffled. How is it gross that two actors on a TV-show genuinly like each other and like spending time together? What planet do these people live on? This is called 'friendship'. Look it up in a dictionary if you have never heard of it.

Oh and the anon asker is right, Buddie aren't canon... YET. Give them some time. They'll get there. ;)

As for Ali's answer to this truly bizarre question?

Mic drop once again! All the way!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

#anonymous blog I love #BT fandom #insight into 911 fandom & season 7 and 8 #911 abc #ryan guzman #oliver stark #nonnies galore

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babygirl-diaz · 4 months

Text

Eva (Omegaverse Mpreg)

Buck paced back and forth in the waiting room. The alpha inside him was as restless as Buck and he was glad he was the only room in the room or he would have driven other people up the wall. He would have also growled at anyone who dared to get close to him because his alpha just wanted to make sure his omega was okay.

Buck stopped when the waiting room door opened, thinking it was the doctor with an update but instead, he saw Bobby walk in.

"You okay?" Bobby asked, obviously sensing Buck's worry.

Buck let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "Nope, I'm worried about Tommy and the baby."

"I will not trivialize your worries because they are completely valid, but I do want to say that I truly believe Tommy will be okay," Bobby told him.

He sat down on a chair and patted the chair next to him. Buck hesitated before taking a seat beside the other alpha.

"Now tell me, is this just about the delivery or is there something else?" Bobby asked.

Buck hated how well his boss, friend, and surrogate dad, knew him. "I am terrified... what if something happens to Tommy?"

"Nothing will happen to him, he is getting the best care in the world," Bobby assured Buck and put a hand on his shoulder.

Buck paused for a long minute and bit his lips. "I am also worried what if I- I am not a good dad. What if I end up like my own parents and fuck up my kid?" He asked after a while.

The other alpha removed his hand and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and putting his hands together like a prayer. "You are not your parents, Buck. And you will be a great dad. You know how I know that?"

Buck shook his head.

"Because you're already a great dad... To Christopher," Bobby replied. "He's not even yours and you love him like he was, so I can only imagine how much you will love your own kid."

"But I didn't have to raise Christopher. What if I fuck up with this kid?" Buck asked worriedly.

"Then you'll learn from your mistakes, move on, and do better," Bobby told him. "You're being too hard on yourself, kid."

That eased some of Buck's worries. "Thanks, Bobby."

"And you're not alone, Buck. You have a wonderful omega and partner who will hold you accountable and make sure you do good," Bobby told him. "I won't tell you not to worry because I remember what a nervous wreck I was when I was about to have my kids. But once you see her, everything will automatically fall into place."

Just as Buck was about to reply, the door opened and the doctor walked in. "Mr. Kinard-Buckley?"

"Yeah, that's me," Buck replied and immediately got up from his chair. "How's my husband?"

"Thomas and the baby are both fine," the beta doctor replied. "Thomas still hasn't woken up but the anesthesia should wear off in the next 20-30 minutes. We've moved him to a room and will bring your baby there if you want."

Buck perked up upon hearing that. "O-okay," he replied nervously.

"If you want, you can follow me now," the doctor told him.

Buck turned back to look at Bobby who gave him a reassuring smile. "Go, I'll be right here," he told him.

"Thanks, Bobby. For everything," Buck told the other alpha and hugged him.

"Congratulations, Buck," Bobby said, hugging him back.

Buck followed the doctor to the room and found Tommy fast asleep. He looked so pale and it worried Buck.

As if sensing his worry, the doctor said, "He'll be fine."

The door opened behind them and Buck turned around to see a nurse pushing in a bassinet.

Buck's mouth went dry and his heart started to race once again.

"Would you like to hold your baby?" The doctor asked.

Buck went over to the bassinet and looked inside to find his newborn baby girl swaddled in a light pink blanket. She looked so tiny and fragile and Buck was terrified of picking her up.

The nurse picked up the little bundle instead, and Buck's alpha tried not to growl. "Here, I'll show you how to hold her," the nurse told him.

She helped Buck take the baby in his arms and Buck was so scared of dropping her. He watched the baby in awe, taking in her rosy cheeks, which resembled Tommy's. In fact, everything about her was like Tommy.

"She's perfect," Buck mumbled.

***

Buck sat there on the chair with his baby girl, refusing to let her go. She woke up and cried at one point and Buck panicked, calling the nurse. The nurse chuckled and helped him calm the baby down.

The baby fell asleep again and Buck kept holding her.

He soon heard a soft groan and became alert. Buck saw Tommy open his eyes and was immediately out of his seat. He went over to his omega, and whispered, "Hey baby."

"Hey," Tommy replied hoarsely.

Buck watched as his eyes widened slightly. "Is that- is that her? She's fine?" Tommy asked, worry evident in his voice.

"Yeah, baby, she's perfectly fine," Buck replied.

He called for the nurse again who helped Tommy sit up on his bed.

"Do you wanna hold her?" Buck asked

"Y- yeah," Tommy replied and Buck could hear the same nervousness in his voice that he was feeling earlier.

He gently placed their baby in Tommy's arms and watched them.

"She's perfect," Tommy whispered.

"She is," Buck agreed. "Have you thought of a name for her?"

"I have," Tommy replied. "Eva..."

"Eva," Buck mumbled. "That's a beautiful name."

"That's not it. I have a middle name for her too," Tommy informed him.

"Oh yeah?" Buck asked. "And what would that be?"

"Bobbi. Eva Bobbi Kinard-Buckley."

Buck was taken aback by that and his eyes filled up with tears.

"I know how much Bobby means to you so it would be nice to have our daughter have his name too," Tommy replied.

"God, why are you so perfect?" Buck asked and leaned down to kiss him. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Tommy replied. "And I love Eva Bobbi too."

"So do I," Buck replied and looked down at the sleeping baby in awe.

#evan buckley #bobby nash #tommy kinard #bucktommy #tevan #kinley #911abc #911 fic #911 fanfic #omegaverse #mpreg #omega tommy kinard #alpha evan buckley

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wildbluesorbit · 8 months

Text

Wounded II || JTK

…A Continuation of London

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: It’s arrival is finally upon us… so sorry it only took three weeks:( I promise the wait was worth though; out of the whole series, this installment was my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE to create !! Shoutout to @tommie-gvf for editing:) I am beyond excited to hear what y'all think!

i didn't notice the last 2k words cut off (x)

Summary || Navigating through the aftermath of your argument, you can’t bring yourself to face Jake.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, agoraphobia, haphephobia, explicit depictions of night terrors/panic attack, brief mentions of anger and physical aggression and bodily harm and murder/death and sexual assault, verbal aggression, reckless/distracted driving, brief mention of drug use, unsolicited touched, allusions to depressive and isolative episodes, [non-aggressive] unannounced entry into readers bedroom, a very brief boner lol

Word Count || 7.2k

— JAKE —

You wince at the strain of your stiff muscles propped against her bedroom door, eyes accosted by the morning light. The sequence of how the cold hard floor became your bed for the night is less than clear. Your only clues, the taste of liquor and guilt still bitter on your dry tongue, you are most likely the asshole.

You will your aching body upwards, the pounding in your head follows your first step. You accomplish the odyssey that is the hallway to your bedroom and start on your appearance for the studio; the account of the night before depositing itself moment by moment as you ooze about your room.

Still couldn’t get your puppy out of her little cage?

You cringe as you brush your teeth and fight your tangled tresses to loop into a low bun, a tangible distraction to repress the clawing conviction.

I heard she won’t even let you pet her.

A huff escapes you as you slip on your socks and step into your boots. You grab your coat, intent on heading downstairs, but you instead find yourself not strong enough to withstand the gravity and accomplish your trek to the stairs; slave to the magnetic field of her bedroom door. You try to sketch out some impression of last night’s details, but clarity refuses to reveal itself to you. You study the ridges of the wooden frame and grumble to the clueless girl you pray is comatose on the other side.

The sound of your older brother calling you from downstairs breaks your spell as you shuffle towards the source.

The guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me.

Don’t you think you’ve carried this weight way too far?

Thick eyebrows furrow in your direction as a baffled Josh canvasses your face for any indication as to why you struggle to recite a simple breakfast order; your disconcerting recollections jerking you by the reins in and out of disassociation. You almost wish you could remain inviolable in your amnesic ignorance.

When are you going to stop being so apathetic towards this?!

You shake off your shame as you put aside the freshly delivered food on the kitchen counter for her to find after she wakes up. You lock the front door after Josh walks through and take a deep cleansing breath before you step into your car, knowing you can’t take this baggage to the studio with you.

You don’t get to speak to me this way.

I’ll be out the door.

Your twin yells over the roar of the rumble strips from the passenger seat as you stray into the shoulder, “Jake?! The road!”

Fuck you, Jacob.

Just another thing you have yet to do.

You plug in at the studio, butchering and tripping over riffs of your own design.

The completely broken and mortified look you painted on her face.

The vision curses you blunderingly dumbfounded.

“Okay, let’s take a quick five,” Josh says over his brother’s instruments while silently interrogating you from across the booth.

You mentally rewind to realize you had completely missed your entrance.

An aggravatingly tone-deaf Sam challenges the sudden hiatus, “But we just started?”

Josh blusters his youngest brother a look that threatens unbridled rage.

A sympathetic Danny steps in to rescue a clueless Sam from Josh’s wrath, “Sam, want to go get high?”

Like dangling shiny keys in front of a toddler, Sam’s attention is now fixated on Danny’s proposal. The two giggling men giddily scurry out of the booth up to no good. As soon as the exit door swings shut Josh stomps over to you, rolling his eyes.

He unpacks his authoritative older sibling's tone as his hands wildly comb through the air for your confession, “Okay, enough moping, out with it.”

You don’t even bother armoring a defense. You know very well you would end up confiding in Josh sooner or later. You ineptly unload every detail you can extract from memory in an iniquitous admission to your twin.

You haven’t even finished speaking your closing statement when a pinching sting burrows against your skin as a result of Josh’s backhand assailing your bicep. You hiss through pressed lips and rub over the infliction with your opposite hand, yet you don’t dare challenge the considerably clement treatment.

“You are such a prick sometimes, I swear,” Josh professes through gritted teeth.

You’re so consumed by your guilt you can’t even concoct an offense.

“Do you think she's going to leave- Fuck, I would never speak to me again,” you answer your own question.

Your pleading eyes frisk over Josh’s identical features, hungry for some kind of reprieving answer. Yet his same honest spirit that knots and kneads your stomach is the same one that always gravitates you towards Josh for counsel in the first place.

“I can’t answer that for you, but I think it's important you at least give her enough distance to think clearly,” Josh dismally warns.

Your thumb and middle finger start at the crease of your eyebrow and rub outwards to your temples, tugging at your skin till your fingertips reach your hairline and fall through your tied-back strands, “Did I fuck this up, Josh?”

You almost wish you couldn’t read his expression of pessimism as Sam and Danny reenter the studio, bursting at the seams with a laughter that you can’t even fathom in this moment. Their giggles cut right through your exchange with your twin. Josh squeezes your shoulder and gives you a smirk of consolation before resettling himself in his designated portion of the booth. His way of wordlessly telling you to keep your chin up and you’d discuss it later.

You try your best to adjourn your sins for now as you know it is time for studio work and studio work only, yet still stumble and topple through every note without a hint of grace until the very last beat of the session.

—YOU —

”Went to the studio, will be back late. Enjoy your day -J “

Jake’s handwriting on the cardboard coffee cup sleeve informs you of his whereabouts. You inhale deeply, allowing the sweet soothing aroma of your favorite roast to sweep you to a better day. You are also embraced with an alluring savory scent. You restively snatch the small paper bag on the kitchen island that rests against your drink to discover an entirely different note.

“p.s. Jake bought you a muffin too but I got hungry :) - the other J”

You smile to yourself and unfold the crinkled brown bag to discover the comfort of your favorite grilled chicken caprese sandwich. You giddily scurry back to your room to start your day.

You’ve found that making lists and organizing your time usually helps your mind from wandering where it shouldn't. So, you do just that. You make your lists. You order things low in stock around the house. You check your emails.

You know you should close your laptop once you finish your clients’ work. Yet you find your mouse hovering over a new search bar. Foolishly, the hunt for apartments has begun with only a few clicks; knowing damn well you threatened your leaving in anger and don’t plan on going anywhere.

But as you scroll through listing after listing you begin to feel like maybe it could be time to leave and move on. Maybe you are suffocating everyone, but they can’t bring themselves to tread through your undoubtedly trauma-infested waters, hoping sooner or later you’ll fall off like a rotting limb. Or maybe the problem isn’t you but your lack of a clean slate. Maybe Jake ties you to the root of the tragedy just as much as he shelters you and grounds you in its aftermath.

Instinctively, your monitor is slammed shut as your breath begins to flee from you. Even if this is true you can't make a decision based on some childish blurt. This would take genuine rumination. Which you are incapable of, considering you aren’t a hundred percent sure this isn’t some impulsive ammunition aimed at Jake.

You sweep your consciousness clean and distract yourself with other productivity. You journal and read and wander around till you’d find a guitar. You do whatever you can to keep yourself busy.

Before you know it, the day turns into a week. You had been going to bed early before the boys got home so you really hadn’t spoken to anyone. You hadn’t even been purposely avoiding Jake, but space is what you keep telling yourself is best for the both of you since the other night.

It is only five in the afternoon when you hear car doors slam in the driveway from where you have been stuck in the same book for hours in the library. You instinctively shut the hardback with a smack and fly upstairs.

Even though it has been over a week, you aren’t yet ready to talk to Jake. You have certainly forgiven his assailment but you hadn’t yet figured out how to face him or his words. So you tuck yourself away in your room, never to be seen.

That is until you hear a light knocking at your door a few hours later.

You freeze, careful to not make a sound. You hope that silence will discourage whatever suitor is on the other side, enough to leave you alone.

“It’s just me,” you hear Josh’s voice travel through your room.

Still cautious, you impugn before moving a muscle, “Yes?”

“It's okay, Jake’s not here,” he says flatly.

You exhale in relief but still inch the door open slowly. You guardedly investigate to discover it is, in fact, Josh and only Josh. You still greet him with narrowed eyes.

“You can relax, sunshine, the man is on a liquor run,” Josh reassures you.

You are accosted by his bugging eyes till he gestures to the slight gap in the doorway, “Can I come in or-?”

You ostensibly inspect him, “All right but I’m going to have to pat you for any wires.”

Josh throws his head back in a quick sharp laugh as he welcomes himself into your room, “Ha! Don’t threaten me with a good time, sunshine. But I would not spy for Jake. I’m strictly here on third-party business.”

He makes himself comfortable on your bed and sits resting against your headboard; something you’ve always admired about Josh is his ability to make home anywhere and draw close to anyone.

Once he settles, he sets your pillows against the wall next to him and smacks his hand against your comforter a few times, ushering you to join him on your own bed. You roll your eyes with a smile and jump onto your designated spot next to him.

You force a cheeky smile, “So to what do I owe this displeasure?”

He places his hands over his chest and feigns an offended gasp, “Well, I was just coming to check on you.”

You remind yourself that you are safe with Josh and it's only his way of showing he genuinely cares when he places his hand over yours. It's like running against the wind, but it's all you can do to not shudder and immediately pull away.

His speech carries concern as he lightly squeezes your hand, “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Is that on purpose?”

You tense a bit at the directness of his question, “Not really. You have just been going into the studio early and staying out late recently.”

“Well, just remember isolation isn’t good for anyone and-”

“Josh-,” you start but he sings over you to finish his sentence.

“...and we miss you,” he lovingly interjects.

Your words come out sharper than you intend, “We? Who’s we?”

“Yes, we.” he mimics your satire, “Me, Danny, Sam, and especially Jake.”

“Well, obviously not too much if it's you here and not him,” your tongue instinctually retorts.

“He doesn’t want to suffocate you is all, believe me, he certainly misses you,” Josh rolls his eyes, making you curious about Jake’s behavior after your argument.

“Sunshine,” Josh cuts directly to his inquiry tired of tip-toeing, “What happened the other night?”

“Please,” you almost snort, “I’m convinced you and Jake secretly compare bowel movements. Don’t act like he didn’t already tell you every detail.”

“I mean he did,” Josh confesses, “I just want to hear what you have to say and see how you’re feeling. It might help you to talk about it.”

“Also, you’re gross,” he blurts and narrows his eyes.

“As much as I totally want to relive your brother’s cruel words, Josh, I trust Jake told you everything like it happened but-,” you hesitate, the realization you might not like the answer just now seeping heavy into your bones, “what happened at the bar? Between Danny’s call and Jake's temper, I can tell something wasn’t right.”

Josh’s features drop with his shoulders and an exhale, “He didn’t tell you?”

You see an indiscernible visage dart across his features after you shake your head no. You recognize it as condolence as he carefully recounts that night in every stomach-knotting detail; depicting a very doleful Jake, a “bitch-for-brains loudmouth” as Josh put it and her insolent tears at Jake, followed by his solemn exit and dodged phone calls.

Your heart writhes from its relocation in the pit of your stomach, almost sick at the thought. Your inability to leave the house is now bleeding into all aspects of his life and polluting his liveliness you loved so; a light that has seen you through the ugliest dark.

Josh frees you from the quicksand of your spiraling thoughts with a fragmented one of his own, “He waits for you, you know?”

He must read the confusion on your face as he rephrases, coloring in the empty lines with a bit more context, “Every night- Jake- He’ll always have this stupid giddy look on his face when he tells us the good news that you should be joining that evening. And I know my brother, he genuinely believes it. I can tell he’s not being optimistic or even humoring himself, or you. Then when he shows alone, he’s never angry or upset. He’ll just tell us you were too tired or weren’t feeling up for the outing. But I swear to you- his eyes never leave the door. Even if distracted, his body is always facing the entrance. He’ll never admit it- I’m not even sure if it's a conscious habit, but he always holds out hope that you’ll show up. We all do- just can’t hold a flame up to him. I have yet to hear him speak a bad word of you or complain of your absence. He has such faith in you, more than I think you realize, and I have yet to see it dim. I’ve never seen Jake so far gone in love with someone and he only wants to see you grow.”

Your mouth opens to speak but all words seem 10,000 miles from your horizon. Your eyes begin to pool as you try to grab at any response, his last words poisoning any other ideations. Neither Jake nor you had spoken a word of “I love you” to each other since that harrowing night, much less did he mention being in love.

You want to ask Josh a thousand questions of what he meant by that. What has Jake said? What has Jake done? How does he know for certain? You have to leave now, right? Wouldn’t that be the selfless thing to do? Yet, you can’t vocalize one.

The debut of your salty streaming eyes ushers Josh to reel in his sermon, “Look- you don’t have to say anything- unless you want to. I definitely want to hear but I don’t want to pry. And I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad, I’m just trying to give him some credit and it's something I thought you should take into consideration. Just in case you felt as if that might be impeding you. So when you do return, that's one less thing off your plate. I promise no one will look at you differently. We're all just so eager and ready to have you back by our side again.”

His immediate addition is an exact echo of his brother, “No rush though. You do what feels right, sunshine.”

You swipe at your glossy cheeks and only nod in understanding, still unable to grasp a word.

“Alright, I also just wanted to let you know we have a flight in the morning and we’re out of town for the next few days,” he steers the conversation in a less hazardous direction.

“So you’ll have the house to yourself,” he playfully wags his finger in your face, “and no ragers, young lady. I mean it!”

“No promises, but I’ll see you when you get back,” you pucker your lips, caperingly blowing him a kiss.

“Unless you want to be a stowaway? No one would stop you,” his eyes grow wide along with his smile; the same one that always grants you such safety when it appears on his twin.

You lark, “But then when would I have my party?!”

“Ah, clever girl,” he accepts his defeat.

Josh takes liberty and scoots down to lay cozy in your bed, indicating he is going to regale you with his illustriously dazzling conversation. And he does. You catch up with each other on your weeks and he tells you what they plan to do on their trip. You ask him how Sam and Danny are doing, and then Jake.

Just as he's illustrating an anecdote of some embarrassing and eccentric stunt Sam pulled to infuriate Jake today, you hear the heavy steps of tired boots coming up the stairs.

Josh’s story is totally derailed by his twin, “He sure is heavy-footed for someone so small.”

“You know you’re just as-” you start.

“For my whole life, unfortunately,” he shakes his head in a faux grief.

“Well, we have an early start and I was told I can’t be late this time,” he rolls his eyes, “I better head to bed.”

Josh exuberantly springs from the mattress to his feet and theatrically bows in a goodbye, knowing better than to attempt any sort of embrace.

He pulls away to make eye contact, “Be right back, call if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you throw him one last jest, “Have a safe flight and don’t forget Sam’s leash!”

“Please, he’s Danny’s pet, not mine,” he scoffs and saunters towards the door, “goodnight, sunshine, love you.”

You tell Josh goodnight and return his love before he winks you goodbye and gently shuts your door, disappearing behind it.

You giggle as the sounds of him dramatically stomping down the stairs in a motion to Jake’s prior thuds through your room.

That night, sleep hides itself away from you. Josh’s words chase each other, crashing and rattling around your head like a pack of rabid wolves. With each passing second you can’t help but think of the warm-bodied man down the hall from you.

Is he fast asleep, unbothered by you? Is he awake? Is he thinking of you too? Does your presence burden him? Is he fighting the urge to come see you? Is your name on his lips?

Your racing thoughts are broken by the trudging of a sleepy, no doubt grumpy, Jake.

The footsteps travel from his room and seem to concentrate as they get closer to your door, until directly in front. You hold your breath as you hear Jake mutter something and hiss in frustration. You’re only able to make out his last words as they barrel from his throat.

“Please, just- be here when I get back,” he implores the silence of an empty hallway.

Your chest pounds erratically, your heart threatening to escape its cage. It’d only been a week but you don’t realize how much you ached for him until your bones entered a state of conniption at the sound of his slumber-rasped voice.

You know he assumes you’re asleep and these words aren't yours to hear. You can’t help but wonder if this is the first night he’s addressed your inanimate door. Your malaised heart sings a mourning song to the resentful tune of Jake’s boots dragging him towards the stairs and away from you.

A decent night’s sleep still refuses to slip into your covers with you, so it's the sun that puts you to bed. The next few nights prove the same. You try your best to fix your sleep pattern, performing laborious tasks during the day to tire yourself out but it renders useless.

You refuse to take any kind of relaxant, as the haze always takes you back to a sensation you never want to return to. You aren’t sure if it's Josh’s words or another bad storm on your horizon, but you have become an insomniac.

It has only been 4 days, but each one is a bit more challenging than the previous; today rains over you like a hailstorm.

You don't want to get out of bed. You don’t want to get up to use the bathroom. You don’t want to shower or get dressed. You don’t even want to eat.

You have no wants, only musts.

You must get up, must relieve yourself, must shower, must dress, and you must eat. Or you will not survive. You will die here, swallowed whole by nothingness. No one is here to tell you what to do. No one is coming to your rescue.

Something different. Routine is a consistent companion until it is your cage.

A break. You convince yourself you need an unfamiliar happening to overwhelm your senses. An affair to shock you back to your feeble bubble of fleeting stability. A change in scenery.

You find yourself in a hysteric pace around that front door. There is nothing to lose at this point. No one here to witness if you fail. Everyone’s words run through you.

There is no rush.

But there is. You are already behind. This house is running out of oxygen. You are already rotting here. This habit will soon blur into home.

You take a deep breath and turn the knob. Not daring to chart with eyesight first, you fling yourself through that open door as if at any moment you might be sucked back inside.

The air enwraps you, brisk and cool. The undeniable fragrance of a distinct autumn breeze interrupts its commute, reminding you of how miserable you’ve been without it. Your sight is allured by your new porcelain shade in the sun; you have prodigiously neglected your melanin to a pallid skin tone you’ve never worn before.

You propel forward, telling yourself to just keep moving. You secure your place at the end of the extensive driveway and unwisely decide you can make it down the sidewalk.

You should know better than to think you could outsmart panic without strategy. You feel storm clouds roll in thick all around you; and wherever there’s rain, thunder is sure to follow.

Suddenly the boundless reaches of the stratosphere isn’t enough to save you from the suffocation of the world crumbling fast around you. You pivot until you’re barreling back down the path you came. You almost lunge through the door and lock yourself back inside.

You gait about the living room performing your breathing and self-soothing exercises. All children’s play in the wake of your hijacking terror. You eventually catch your breath but the tremors bond with you.

Whatever was eating at you earlier was only amplified by your brief spontaneous journey outside of the house. But you had foolishly led the demon inside with you, it is now clawing at the walls and howling throughout the halls.

You search for sleeping pills having no hope to rest organically tonight, accepting their necessity to your survival. You only look at your bed before deciding it's not even worth the noble fit of tossing and turning. You make sure you are ready for bed before scurrying into Jake’s room and crawling under his sheets. Yet you still can’t shake the feeling of a lurking apparition.

However, the ingested medication now emanating throughout your bloodstream is impervious to your stalking condemnation. You anchor your antidote to the soothing aroma of Jake present in his bedsheets as you are shoved into void.

You recognize the alley as soon as you are there. Beads of frigid rain pelt against your pink achy skin. The crying sky creates a misty halo against neon lights and coats everything it dances upon with a bleary gloss.

You are pinned against the wall in an instant by that vicious and nauseating smile. You try to fight but all at once you are being poked and prodded and beaten into an involuntary submission. Until your rescuer arrives.

Too enervated to attempt escape as your oppressor is distracted, Jake lunges forward. Yet he never makes contact before he falls to the ground, a dark red dye seeping from his center into his clothes. You somehow escape your attacker to see him wielding a blade.

You run to where Jake is withering away on the glittering asphalt. You attempt to cradle him, but he hisses at your touch.

Despite his wounds, he is the one to console you, telling you you’re perfect like he always does. Your only power remains in a helpless squeeze of his hand as he pours out onto the slick black top and you see his light flicker out.

– JAKE –

The headlights of the car illuminate your home sweet home as the chauffeur pulls up the driveway. The incline of the path almost causes light to leak into her bedroom window, where you hope she is fast asleep, deep enough that she won’t be bothered by the slight brightness.

You got home two days earlier than expected and you plan on surprising her in the morning.

God, how you have ached for her, lit yourself on fire for her; all to let it sift through your grasp over some drunken slurs. You wanted her to have space, but hope tomorrow will hold mercy for you as you can’t restrain yourself any longer.

The driver reaches the house and Josh and you exhaustedly crawl out of the vehicle. You retrieve your luggage before sluggishly dragging it and yourselves to the front door. You swear you grow weary with each second of jangling keys as Josh absentmindedly sifts through each metal shard; standing helpless till he feels the right shape in his hand. The click of the lock barely registers as you are greeted by the cool A/C of the foyer and the smell of home.

All vitality spent on your journey, neither of you has spoken a word since you landed. As you start to head your separate ways, you bid each other goodnight through a silent nod.

Only for it to be ambushed by her petrifying heart-grating scream, “JAKE?! JAKE?!”

One might only assume you’re prey to predators the way you instinctively soar to the stairs, up to your level, and towards her room. Without a word, you hear Josh’s footsteps apace behind you.

You almost slam into her door moving so fast. You swing it wide open, mouth agape as she is nowhere in sight. Your heart pounds in your temples as panic now starts to clamp tight around your chest. The only other time you recall this measure of a corrosive dread being the night you couldn’t find her anywhere at that party.

“JAKE?!”

Another scream immediately reveals her location to you. You dart out of her room, down the hall, and into yours.

There she is. Under the warm glow of your salt lamp-lit room, wrapped in your covers, leaking eyes scrunched shut, a lump of muffled indiscernible murmurs and whimpers, and visibly shaking.

“I think she is just having a nightmare,” you authoritatively order Josh out of the room, “I’m going to wake her, but you should go, I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

You pad towards the bed and caress whatever limb you contact first, buried underneath your blankets. Gently, you begin to coo her to consciousness.

She springs to life, petrified by your unrecognizable silhouette under the poor lighting and only just emerged from her dream state. Clumsily, she slips off the bed and tumbles to the floor, disoriented and gasping for air.

The thud from her spilled limbs on the hardwood floor nearly syncs with yours, as your knees plunge to the cold surface the moment you register her fall.

You place your palms visibly out to her, indicating her safety, “Hey- It’s me. It's Jake. I’m home.”

“No- Jake- you- he- he’s gone,” she bewilderedly sobs out almost in a question.

You aren’t sure if she is referring to your trip or something she saw in her dream and is convinced is reality.

You keep trying to rip her from whatever hallucination has its jaws around her, “No, baby, you're safe. You’re home with me, in Nashville. I got in early.”

She finally seems to digest your words, her glassy eyes [partially] pacified by your newly registered presence before whispering your identification, “Jake?”

When it comes to her, your first instinct is always a consoling touch, but you have learned an unsolicited embrace only runs her further from your protection. However, you have to try.

“Yes, babygirl,” you reassure before you approach, not wanting to spook her, “can I come near you?”

You’re astounded when she only responds by leaping into your lap and wrapping herself around your torso.

Within an instant, your arms have gratefully found their seal around her waist. Your calloused fingertips ever so slightly sink into her buzzing flesh, wrestling with every muscle, willing yourself not to tear her apart. How have you starved for the shape of her, the weight of her, the warmth of her very skin. Fuck- to finally hold her again feels so fucking good.

“Jake- this time- and- he got you- then you-,” she fights through stuttering breaths.

“Hey, no more of that,” you gently assert to sedate whatever terroristic figments are plaguing her in your arms, “I’m here now. I've got you.”

Still trembling, she nuzzles her face into your neck and hysterically rasps out, “Jake, please don’t leave me. I can’t- Jacob, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t take it!”

You have no idea as to what she saw in her nightmare, only that you have never seen one leave her this rattled. You can feel her at war with her own breath as her panic continues to steal it from her.

A trick from the therapist resurfaces and you take the dips of her waist within your firm grasp to briefly withdraw her from your embrace, “Hey, I’ve got you, but I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on what I’m saying, okay?”

You don’t wait for her to respond before taking her hand and running it across the material of your blue corduroy jacket, “You feel that? It's your favorite jacket of mine, the one you always steal when we go for a drive.”

You ever so slightly draw yourself back in closer to her, “I need you to take a deep breath. Smell that? It’s the cologne you bought me for my birthday?”

She concentrates on her inhalation, occupied with taking an exaggerated breath. She slowly begins to nod.

You can see the sensory stimulation starting to ground her so you attempt to redirect her focus, “And what did I promise? I need to hear you say it.”

She takes a long shaky breath, “You- You said no more leaving. You promised.”

You place her jaw safely within the shelter of your palm and press your forehead to hers; without warning, you’re captivated by a time of exigency to live off the same breath as her.

“That’s right, and I’m here now and I’m not leaving you again,” you vow.

You scoop her back into your arms and off the floor. She clings to you as you turn off the lamp and cradle her back into the fortress of your bed, curling up around her for safekeeping.

You caress and console and coo until finally, her quaking stops and breathing evens out as she is welcomed back to slumber. The rhythmic rising and falling of her rib cage underneath your touch lulls you into your own dormancy.