#may these two fight every volume

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

[alexiswritingstuff]

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

Logan masterlist.

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed. 

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer. 

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in. 

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.” 

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.” 

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles. 

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss. 

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired. 

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,” 

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.” 

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.” 

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it. 

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.” 

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further. 

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

[dindjarindiaries]

Fight For Me

summary: When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

warnings: angst, strong language, mentions of trauma, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.175k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

You tugged on the hood of your poncho to conceal more of your face from view. “We’ve got a lot of eyes on us.”

“I told you.” Din’s modulated voice was low as he took a subtle step closer to your side. “We’re near Mandalorian Space.” You stole a glance over at him just in time to catch the quick tilt of his helmet. “The people out here aren’t fond of my kind.”

“I just…” You paused as the two of you passed another pedestrian, your chin and your gaze lowering until they were out of sight. “I thought you said Akiva was the first planet to pledge their allegiance to the New Republic.”

“They were.” Din’s gloved hand pulled into a fist at his side. You noticed it just as a bead of sweat began to trickle down your temple. “They wanted a change after years of the Empire ordering almost every Mandalorian warrior to do their bidding.”

“I see.” You exhaled and lifted your hand again to brush the sweat away. “It’s hot as hell here.”

Din huffed. “It’s known for its humidity.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And yet you let me wear this?” You gestured to the thick poncho that sat over your head and shoulders.

“Staying concealed is a bigger priority than staying cool. We won’t be here for long.” Din nodded towards a building on the right. “Here.”

You read the Aurebesh letters that hung overhead the building’s round entrance: cantina. That was the last place you wanted to be on a world where Din and his kind weren’t welcome, but there wasn’t much of a choice. It was your first, and so far your only, lead on finding the new location of whatever remained of Din’s covert.

Din led the way inside, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, the chatter dimmed. Hushed voices spoke as Din wove the two of you through the tables and other crowds, carrying through the cantina until each voice rose back to its previous volume. You tightened your jaw and remained vigilant. Din may not have been worried about the actions of others, but you sure as hell were.

You stayed at Din’s side as he reached the bar, his gloved hands settling on top of it as he instantly gained the attention of the bartender. The Zabrak man tossed his hand towel on his shoulder and looked at Din expectantly. “What can I get started for you?”

Din reached into the pouch on his belt and set down a handful of credits. “Nothing to drink.” He slid the credits forward. “Just information.”

The bartender gave the pile of credits a cautious glance. “What makes you think I have something worth knowing?”

Din looked left and right before he leaned forward, lowering his voice in a much gruffer way than he would ever do with just you. “Nevarro.”

The bartender did the same gesture as Din before he secured his hand over the pile of credits. “Hold tight.” He pocketed the credits into his apron and nodded. “I’ve got something in the back.”

Din returned the nod, assuming his previous posture as the bartender disappeared into a back room. You crossed your arms and set them upon the top of the bar. Your voice was a hushed whisper as you spoke. “Do you believe him?”

Din shrugged. “We’ll see.” He exhaled, as if attempting to release some of the invisible weight that hung upon his armored shoulders. Your heart ached at the thought of it. “There’s no other option right now.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” A booming voice disrupted any thought you were going to voice in reply to Din. Your head turned as you observed the Klatooinian who stood behind the two of you. Your blood both ran cold and red-hot at the same time as you watched the Klatooinian snarl at Din’s back.

Din’s helmet didn’t move, his visor instead focusing ahead of himself as he tapped his gloved fingers against the bartop. Your gaze slid over to him as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.

“You know what your kind did to us—to this entire system.” The Klatooinian scoffed, his guise of amusement failing in favor of his lethal anger. He raised an arm to gesture to the onlookers around them. “I speak for everyone here when I say we would take any chance we could get at killing you ourselves.”

“I don’t think your Republic would take kindly to that.” You couldn’t help yourself from biting out the words. Din’s visor slowly slid towards you, a silent warning you failed to heed.

The Klatooian’s vicious eyes found yours. He then laughed, a grating sound that stung you and made you curl your hands into fists on the bartop. “You’re on the wrong side of the planet if you want New Republic support, dustbreather.”

Din tensed at the insult the Klatooinian threw at you, but he still didn’t speak. Of course he wants to defend me more than himself.

The Klatooinian had since set his attention back on Din. “Your kind was eliminated for a reason.” He took another step closer to Din’s back. Your fists tightened even more, until the leather on your hands groaned in protest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your gaze burned through the side of Din’s helmet. His visor faced you as he gave his helmet a small shake, but you were already blinded by your rage. His way was not your way.

“Peel that armor off and what are you?” The Klatooinian scoffed and took one more step closer. “Nothing but a man who should’ve died with the rest of his—.”

You lunged in a movement so quick not even Din could have stopped it as you slammed your fist as hard as you could against the Klatooinian’s jaw. The entire cantina roared as every eye settled on you, especially as you shook out your stinging hand and faced the Klatooinian who was barely still standing. Din had whipped around at your side, but even he was frozen as you sized up the Klatooinian.

“Oh, you bitch!” the Klatooinian seethed as he swung towards you. You skillfully dodged his blow and elbowed his ribs, using the opportunity to hit him with an uppercut. The commotion amongst the onlookers rose more and more as you evaded the Klatooinian’s hits and dealt him more of your own.

It was all a blur of blood, sweat, and hot fury until two arms wrapped around your waist from behind and pulled you tight against a beskar barrier. You fought against the grasp, the hood of your poncho having long since fallen away from your face as you swung towards the Klatooinian who had to be supported by his peers. “Fuck you!” you spat at your opponent. “You haven’t gotten even half of what you deserve!”

You tried to push off of Din to lunge at him again, but Din’s grasp only got tighter as he pulled you back to him. “Easy,” his modulated voice gently warned you.

“That man deserves to be dead!” The Klatooinian points a weary finger in Din’s direction.

You fought Din’s grasp again, pushing even harder against him that time. “I’ll show you who deserves to be—!”

Din forced you against himself so hard that it stole the air from your lungs for a moment. “Easy, cyar’ika.” The lip of his helmet was just beside your ear as he went on. “That’s enough.” He freed one arm from your waist to hold the wrist of your bleeding hand, forcing your arm behind you. “We have to go.”

His words made you snap out of your state of bloodlust as you turned your head around to face his helmet. “But we haven’t gotten your information.”

“Doesn’t matter. Half this cantina wants to fight you, and…” Din paused, his grasp easing on your wrist as he looked down at your hand, “you’re bleeding.” His voice lowered in worry.

“I’m fine.” You faced your opponent with indignance again. “I can take them.”

“No.” The arm Din still had around your waist gave you a gentle yet firm tug away from the growing crowd around the Klatooinian. “We’re leaving.”

Trying to argue with Din about that would be a losing battle, and so you sighed and started to follow him out. Before you could get far, someone whistled from the bar area. Din’s visor locked on something behind you, and when your gaze followed it, you found the bartender nodding at Din before tossing something in the air. Din released you only to catch it. He then returned the Zabrak’s nod and continued on.

“What is it?” Your curiosity got the best of you even as you and Din had to shoulder your way out of the rowdy cantina.

“Coordinates.” Din put your hood back over your head for you and led the way onto the street.

You furrowed your brow and cradled your stinging knuckles. “To where?”

“We’ll find out.” Din was clearly navigating for another specific place as he wove you through the fray. With the adrenaline of your fight still pumping through your veins, it was hard for you to focus, and that was something Din had no doubt picked up on.

Still, there was a more sickly sensation that prickled at you like a thousand icy needles, the chill of it settling inside your chest even amidst the humidity of the planet. You made your concerns known in a voice much quieter than you would have liked. “Are you upset with me?”

You earned no response. Din’s visor continued to look from building-to-building, and he moved at a pace that was getting difficult to keep up with. The needles turned into one sharp blade that sliced through your heart as you ultimately stopped in your tracks.

“You’re upset with me.”

Din stopped just a few paces ahead of you, but in an instant, he had closed the distance between you again. For a moment, his gloved hands cradled your face. “No. Not at all.” His helmet lifted in realization of your surroundings, his hands soon following as they settled on your shoulders instead. “I just… I want to get you somewhere safe.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Now.”

“Here?” You lifted your brow in surprise. “Didn’t you hear what that guy said?” You shook your head at him. “Anyone here would kill you if they could.”

“But they won’t, because they can’t, and they know it.” Din tilted his helmet at you. “I told you these people aren’t fond of me, not that they’re a threat to me.” He nodded at your bruising hands. “Especially with you here to back me up.”

You began to smile at that. Din gave your shoulders a squeeze and turned away from you to continue on through the town. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for, a reliable source of lodging with a business owner who wouldn’t turn down any customer, not even a Mandalorian. He navigated the two of you once more to your own quarters and stepped through the threshold first only to be sure he could observe the room for threats before you followed.

As soon as the door was closed and secured behind you, Din slipped off his helmet and set it aside, his hands reaching for your face once again. This time, Din didn’t have to worry about eyes on you, and so he leaned fully into you and the bliss you two could share by pinning you between himself and the nearest wall and kissing you like his life depended on it.

Your arms wrapped around Din’s neck to keep him close as his mouth slotted over yours time and time again, his tongue lavishing praises onto you without having to speak a single word. You met his familiar rhythm with each movement, a pattern as familiar as your own heartbeat that thudded against your chest. It was a moment where the stinging in your hands faded and the worries of what Din thought dissipated completely.

He was making it clear how he felt about the situation, and you wanted to keep feeling it—at all costs.

Eventually, though, your lungs cried out for air, forcing your mouths to separate even as Din stayed close. His gaze, sparkling with affection even amidst his worry for you, found your own as he forehead rested against yours. His voice was a mere rasp from both its quietness and his lack of breath. “Thank you for defending my honor.” His thumb ran over your lips.

You smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb. “You never have to thank me for that.”

“I know.” Din returned your smile and brushed his lips against yours. “But I will anyway.” He kissed you again, but this time, he kept it brief. His concern no doubt got the best of him as he pulled away and lifted his hands to hold your wrists. He pulled them away from his neck and studied your hands, his smile transforming into a worried grimace. “Let’s take care of this.”

You continued to beam at him. “Sure.”

Din set one hand over your lower back as the other kept its gentle grasp on your wrist. He led you over to the single bed in the room, and you took your place on the edge of it, sitting just beside Din’s helmet. Din disarmed himself of his spear and jetpack before reaching into the pouch of medical supplies on his belt.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” You started by taking the leather off your hands, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from groaning at the way it tugged at your angry skin.

Din huffed, raising his brow in amusement as he took the pieces of leather from you and set them aside. “You’re almost as bad at lying as I am.”

You laughed at that, making room for him to sit beside you as he took one of your hands in his and started to work. Din began with your dominant hand, which was more beat-up than your other hand. You spoke to him as he worked, hoping it would ease some of the tension that knit his armored shoulders together. “How would you rate that fight?”

Din paused and looked at you with a wrinkled brow. “What do you mean?”

You offered him a mischievous smile. “I mean, how did I do?”

Din blinked at you for a moment. “How did you do?” He chuckled and shook his head, focusing on your hand again even as he responded. “Cyar’ika, he was barely conscious standing up.”

“So?” You tilted your head at him and smiled sweetly. “What do you rate it, then?”

Din smiled to himself while he traded a tube of bacta for a secure wrap. “There are no words for it.”

“Oh.” You feigned disappointment and looked away from him, your gaze settling on his empty helmet that was still nearby. “How else will you tell me your rating, then?”

Din’s gaze flickered up at you, but only for a moment. “I have ideas.” He lifted your bandaged knuckles to his lips and left a gentle kiss upon them before he exchanged that hand for your other one. “But finishing this is my priority.”

The sweet warmth of overwhelming affection and desire burned throughout your chest,and you gave yourself a few moments to recover from its powerful effects. Once you had waited long enough, you spoke in a softer voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?” When Din’s brow lifted in confusion, you elaborated. “To that guy at the cantina.”

Din sighed, his jaw tightening before he loosened it again. “You know me. I’m… not a man of many words.” He exchanged the bacta for another clean wrap. “I’ve always found that actions speak louder than words, anyway.” Din gave you an amused look. “You just beat me to it.”

You smiled to yourself. “I guess that’s what makes us a good match.”

“It’s one of many things.” Din paused to focus as he circled the wrap around your hand. “The way you can throw punches is…” Din had to stop again, but this time, his gaze raised to the ceiling as if he was summoning composure from some unknown source. You chuckled at him as he exhaled a soft breath and looked at your hand again. “It’s an advantage.”

You teased him by looking at him through your lashes, blinking them slowly as he finished with your hand and allowed his gaze to meet yours. “Yeah?”

Din lifted his hand towards his lips without breaking your shared gaze. “Yeah.” He kissed your bandaged knuckles and lowered your hand. His eyes studied it as he nodded in sudden severity. “Truly, cyar’ika, what you did… it means a lot.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had someone fight for me like that. No one except…” He trailed off. He didn’t have to say the name.

You raised the bandaged hand he wasn’t holding to caress the side of his face. Din’s gaze met yours again, and the deep admiration within it was breathtaking—but so was the deep longing hidden behind it. When you spoke, your voice was quiet yet meaningful. “I miss him, too.”

Din closed his eyes and nodded. After a long pause, he reopened his eyes and tasked himself with putting his medical supplies back in his belt. He exchanged them for the coordinates the bartender had given him. “Knowing the covert, this probably leads to the system they’re hiding in.” Din returned to business and you met him there, nodding at him to agree with his words. “It’ll take some more work to find out exactly where they are.”

“That’s fine.” You set a hand on his cuisse as you smiled in reassurance. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

Din’s gaze drifted from your hand on his armored thigh to your own eyes as he returned your smile. “I know.” He put the coordinates back in his belt and let his expression morph into something more mischievous as he faced you again. “So.” He cleared his throat, and you giggled at his clumsiness. He was smoother than you could have ever expected at some times, but this wasn’t one of them. “About that rating.”

You laughed, lifting your bandaged hands to the sides of his face to bring him closer to you. “You can just kiss me.”

Din chuckled with you until his amused breath became your own, one action that led to a long string of others proving exactly how grateful and proud he was of your actions that day.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

[herlondonboy]

arms tonite, clarisse la rue

summary: I cry in the afterlife I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive I try to escape afterlife I try hard to get back inside your arms alive VERY loosely based off of this request

warnings: mc death obviously, sad everyone, my lack of knowledge on the battle of manhattan because i read the books 7 years ago

wc: 1.7k

you sit against the ancient tree, the bark rough against your back, a painful reminder of the chaos that unfolded. your fingers clutch your stomach, the pain intensifying with each passing moment, a stark contrast to the distant roars of battle. your chest throbs where the drakon's claws had viciously slashed you moments ago.

the air is thick with tension as you watch your friends and family, armed and determined, engage in the fierce battle of manhattan. the clash of weapons, the echoes of spells, and the monstrous roars resonate through the air, creating a cacophony that drowns the world around you.

your gaze shifts from one familiar face to another, each caught in the chaos of combat. the weight of your injuries pales in comparison to the heaviness in your heart as you realise the magnitude of the conflict. the realisation that more lives are at stake than just your own sends a shiver down your spine.

tears blur your vision as you witness the sacrifices being made for the greater good. the ground beneath you trembles with the resonance of battle, a painful reminder of the fragile line between victory and defeat. you wipe away the tears, a silent vow to honour those who fight alongside you.

despite the searing pain and the exhaustion that threatens to consume you, you summon the strength to stand. your every step is a battle against your own limitations. as you move towards the frontline, determination replaces despair. the stakes are too high, and you refuse to let the sacrifices of those around you be in vain.

with each step, you feel the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. the tree, once a refuge, now seems like an anchor holding you back. but you press forward, driven by a desire to protect the ones you love.

the battlefield unfolds before you like a tapestry of chaos, but you find a rhythm within it. your own pain becomes a fuel, transforming into a relentless determination. you join the fight, your weapon cutting through the air as you face the challenges that threaten your world.

in the midst of battle, you catch glimpses of your friends, their resilience mirroring your own. the scars on your chest throb in sync with the beating heart of the battle, a constant reminder of the price of survival. yet, you fight on, not just for yourself, but for the future of those you hold dear.

the battle of manhattan rages on, a testament to the strength of the human spirit in the face of adversity. and as the dust settles, you stand amidst the fallen, a survivor, a witness to the sacrifices that define the heart of heroes.

locked in the chaos of battle, your eyes meet clarisse's across the tumultuous field. the concern etched on her face speaks volumes, a reflection of the scars left by the loss of silena beauregard. the memory of silena's sacrifice lingers, and clarisse fears history may repeat itself.

summoning every ounce of energy within you, you manage a reassuring smile for clarisse, a silent promise that you'll make it through. the connection between you two transcends the battlefield, a source of strength that fuels your determination.

as you let out a ferocious battle cry, it echoes through the turmoil, a proclamation of defiance against the forces that threaten your world. the resonance of your voice, joined by the battle cries of others, creates a symphony of resistance that shakes the very foundations of the battleground.

with renewed vigour, you charge back into the fray, your weapon slicing through the air as you engage with the enemies that stand before you. clarisse fights by your side, a formidable duo that refuses to be broken by the looming shadows of kronos.

the battlefield becomes a dance of blades and magic, each movement a calculated effort to turn the tides of war. your connection with clarisse strengthens your resolve, and together you weave through the chaos, fighting back the forces of darkness.

clarisse's concern transforms into determination as she witnesses your tenacity. the bond between you becomes a beacon of hope in the midst of despair. silena's sacrifice, though painful, serves as a reminder of the strength that arises from unity and love.

amidst the clash of weapons and the eruption of spells, you and clarisse carve a path forward. the battlefield is a canvas of struggle, but your shared commitment to each other becomes a driving force that propels you through the hardships.

as the battle unfolds, you find moments to lock eyes with clarisse, exchanging silent reassurances that you're still standing, that the darkness hasn't claimed you. the weight of her worry lessens with each shared glance, replaced by a growing confidence in your resilience.

the battle of manhattan rages on, but your bond with clarisse becomes a source of inspiration for those around you. the echoes of your battle cry reverberate through the hearts of allies, spurring them on to face the challenges that lie ahead. together, you fight not just for survival but for a future where love triumphs over the shadows that threaten to engulf the world.

tears stream down your face, mixing with the dirt and blood on your cheeks. the pain radiates through your body, each breath a struggle. clarisse's hands, stained with the battle's residue, continue to apply pressure to the wound, her movements desperate and unyielding.

"sorry," she mutters through her own sobs, her voice breaking with every apology. but despite the pain, you recognised the strength in her touch, the fierce determination to defy the cruel hand fate has dealt.

you wince as her hands press against the wound, the searing pain intensified by the pressure. your breath catches, and you find it harder to form words. finally, you manage to muster the strength to speak, "sto... stop!"

clarisse's hands fall to the side, and she looks at you with a mix of sorrow and regret. you can see the pain in her eyes as she watches you, helpless in the face of impending loss. "stop, please," you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the battlefield's cacophony.

she apologises again, her hands cradling your head as if trying to shield you from the cruel reality. you can feel her trembling, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. in this shared vulnerability, the world around you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, painful connection between two souls entwined by love and loss.

as the battle continues to rage, clarisse stays by your side, her gaze fixed on your face. the chaos unfolds around you, a stark contrast to the stillness of this intimate, heartbreaking moment. in the hushed pauses between your sobs, you confess the fear that grips your heart, the terror of facing the unknown, of losing everything you hold dear.

"clarisse, i’m scared," you admit, your voice a fragile whisper.

clarisse's eyes well up with tears, but she brushes them away with the back of her hand. "you're not going anywhere," she insists, though the lie hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet attempt to offer comfort in the face of inevitable tragedy.

the battlefield's rhythm continues, a cruel reminder of life's relentless march forward. you feel the grip of mortality tightening, each breath becoming shallower. clarisse leans in, her forehead touching yours, a final act of closeness in the fleeting moments that remain.

in the quiet between the clashes of war, your final breath escapes you. clarisse's hands still cradle your head, her eyes closed, as if trying to hold onto the fragile threads of your presence. the battlefield's chaos, now distant, becomes the backdrop to a heartbreaking silence.

clarisse stays there, lost in a mix of grief and disbelief. the world around her continues to turn, but in that stillness, she remains with you, holding onto the memory of love and loss amidst the echoes of battle.

clarisse, fueled by the searing pain of your loss, rises from the ground, her eyes reflecting the torment that lingers within. the battlefield, now stained with the blood of the fallen, becomes the canvas upon which she paints her grief and rage. without you to return to, her actions are untethered, reckless in the face of her newfound solitude.

she charges into the fray with a ferocity unmatched, each swing of her weapon cutting through the enemy lines. the air crackles with the energy of her relentless assault, a testament to the storm of emotions that rages within her. clarisse fights not only for victory but to drown out the haunting echoes of your final moments.

as she carves a path through the chaos, a determination burns in her eyes, a fire fueled by the memory of your courage. the world around her blurs, and she becomes a force of nature, unyielding in her pursuit of justice. her every movement is a declaration that your sacrifice will not be in vain.

the battle rages on, and as percy confronts kronos, the culmination of their struggles unfolds. in the aftermath of percy's victory, clarisse stands amidst the wreckage, alive but changed. the victory is bittersweet, and the reality of a world without you sets in.

chris rodriguez, battle-weary and scarred, kneels beside clarisse. he sees the turmoil in her eyes, the weight of a heart burdened with grief and guilt. without a word, he offers her a silent comfort, a presence that understands the scars etched into the soul.

clarisse, attempting to remain stoic, fights against the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. but as the battlefield falls into an uneasy silence, she crumbles. tears stream down her face, a torrent of pain and regret released in a torrential downpour.

"i couldn't do it," she chokes out between sobs. "the one thing i was born to do, and i couldn't protect them." the realisation of her perceived failure gnaws at her, leaving her vulnerable in the aftermath of the war.

chris, with a gentleness unexpected from a seasoned warrior, places a hand on her shoulder. he understands the depth of her grief, having faced his own demons. in the quiet aftermath, they share a moment of shared sorrow, acknowledging the harsh reality of a world that demands sacrifices, even from those who fight with everything they have.

as the first light of dawn breaks over the battlefield, clarisse rises from her emotional abyss, a survivor forged in the crucible of loss. the scars of battle may fade, but the wounds of the heart linger, a reminder that even in victory, the cost can be immeasurable.

you cried that night. because you died in the arms of your lover, and it couldn't have been more perfect.

[sunflowerwinds]

this love | chapter one [h.c]

summary: your prince suitors have been driving you insane. after a scene you make at a ball, the king and queen have decided to put their foot down and have a knight look after you. knight meets princess. princess has conflicting thoughts about knight.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: isabel being the sweetest girl, lonely princess who is misunderstood, knight!hazel, charming!hazel, king and queen are not the best and it won’t get better from here ://, hazel is readers gay awakening (real.), no y/n!

word count: 4.7K

a/n: everything will kind of start next chapter with hazel and reader’s beginning dynamic. this is just introducing how shitty the reader is treated and the royals beliefs.

The royal life.

The poor desired what came with royalty. Wealth, status, comfortability, security, love, and even. Whatever that may be. You envied those who weren’t a part of this life.

The corset underneath your, while stunning, uncomfortable gown suffocated you while you danced with yet another new suitor who had traveled across the seas to Rockridge Palace. Prince Jeffery Williams had been the sixth — hopefully final— prince to attend yet another one of these balls that the king and queen insisted they throw for you and your suitor to get to know one another.

Prince Jeffrey would not stop talking about himself as you slow danced and it was driving you up the wall. He was somehow incredibly louder in volume than the live orchestra.

On top of his ability to talk about all of his successes, which you were sure were entirely made up, he had wandering eyes… and hands. You shouldn’t have had to move his hands from below your hip back up to your waist as many times as you did.

After the third time and disgustingly cocky smirk, you had enough. Out of impulse, you raised your foot to slam it down onto his boot-covered one. Jeffrey let out a squeal that made you smile to yourself but quickly put on a feigned expression.

“Oh dear, Prince Jeffrey. I-I must have two left feet.” You place a hand over your heart, gasping as if you didn’t deliberately harm him.

Prince Jeffrey folded over to hold onto his now throbbing foot, face turning a beat red as he forced out a chuckle. Every other maiden and man that surrounded you both had stopped their dancing to stare and gape at the scene.

“I feel faint. I must go lie down.” Prince Jeffrey excused himself, smoothing down the front of his deep navy blue tailcoat. “Until we meet again, Princess.”

“Until then.” You bow with the fakest of smiles before clearing your throat.

Jeffrey scurried away to his guest room in the palace, his own personal guard following right behind. The music resumed, much louder than before as you locked eyes with your mother from across the grand room conversing with Jeffrey's mother.

You could feel her anger radiating through her heavy breathing and sudden excusing herself from the queen of Jeffrey’s kingdom. Other townspeople moved themselves out of the way as your mother swiftly made her way towards you.

There was a slight chance you may have gone a tad far with the aggression.

“Oh, sweet pea,” your mother sing-songs as she approaches you, hands folded elegantly in front of her torso, “Is it time for bed then?”

You knew there was a hint of anger laced in her sickenly sweet words. It wasn’t to fool you, though, but the surrounding guests. There was no fighting her, at least, at that very moment.

“Mother, I do feel quite drowsy. Would it be alright to head to bed?” You plaster on the same faux smile, sucking in a deep breath.

“I would highly suggest it. Now, go on then. I must tell these disappointed guests that the ball must come to an end.” Her smile unknowingly dropped as she ended her sentence.

You nod your heavy head, turning on your heels to make your way out of the grand ballroom to your bedroom. As you keep your head down to avoid the wandering eyes and whispers of: ‘Where’s the princess going?’ and ‘What happened with Prince Jeffrey?’. You hear footsteps trailing behind you, turning your head slightly to see the one person who could stand to be around in this entire palace.

“What did Prince Jeffrey do?” Isabel, your handmaiden and only friend, questions who as she sped up to walk side-by-side with you.

You sigh, retracting the groan that was threatening to escape.

“He was a conceited and handsy idiot just like Walter, Arthur, Abraham, Edmund, and Bennett. I couldn’t stand him, Isabel. They are quite literally all the same.”

Isabel visibly frowns, nodding along to your words. You tilt your head up to glance at the dulled hallways of the palace. Paintings of your family line hung up along the velvet red walls — four-time great-grandparents in order down to you and your elder sister; Moira.

“Well, this has already been the sixth suitor. The King and Queen already said that you had to decide by your twentieth.” Isabel carefully reminded you, fiddling with the string of the front of her simple yet beautifully fitting dress.

“That’s just it. I don’t have any desire to marry. Especially to men like that.” You seethed, approaching your high bedroom doors.

The divine vine and floral gold design decorate the dark wood. You wrapped your fingers around the handle to tug it open, grunting softly at how heavy the door was. Isabel quickly rushed to your aid, pulling the door backward. You thanked her quietly before marching into your room.

“Is there anything I can do?” Isabel kindly asked you, only wanting to make sure you were feeling okay.

“If you could just help me get out of this ridiculous dress.” You let out a groan which caused the green-eyed woman to chuckle.

“Of course, princess.” Her tone was teasing as she approached you from behind to begin undoing the laces that were keeping the corset tight on your aching body.

You huff out a soft laugh at the words as you insisted multiple times that you hated being addressed as Princess by the maidens, knights, guards, and kitchen staff that lived in the palace. Especially Isabel. She was more than just your handmaiden and personal attendant, she was your friend that you cared for.

Once she unraveled the last lace, you breathed correctly for the first time since your mother and the other maidens forced you into the constricting dress. She patted your tense back with a sigh.

“Better?”

Nodding through a soft pant, you say: “Incredibly.”

You both chuckle as you gradually sit on your large mattress.

“Anything else you may need?” Isabel questions as she stands next to you on the bed, torso meeting your temple.

Your eyes soften at her question, calming down as you take in a deep breath. You take her soft hands in yours, shaking your head.

“You’re too kind to me, Bel. I think I should just lie down now. You should rest as well before I have to endure whatever my parents will say tomorrow.” You nod, your voice is equally as gentle to her.

Isabel nodded, not having much more to add to the conversation. It was now entirely too late for either of you. The sun had been set since the ball began, the darkness taking over the once bright blue sky.

“Well, we’ll speak more in the morning.” Isabel nodded curtly, giving your hands a single squeeze.

“First thing.” You nod, releasing her hands.

Sharing one more smile, you watch as she leaves your grand room. A lonely feeling settles in your chest as you begin to undress for the night. You knew in the morning you were going to endure your mother and father’s scolding and lectures about how to not ‘embarrass their lineage’ and how ‘childish’ you were.

If you were silent enough and held your breath, you could hear the voices from the ballroom; disappointed and angry with the event ending early. Maybe you had gone too far this time with Prince Jeffrey.

No, he was not appealing by any means.

Left in your slip dress, you slowly crawl underneath the silky sheets covering your large mattress. Once your head laid down on the sheets, you fell into a familiar exhausted slumber.

You were awoken from an empty dream by the morning horns, the sun's rays beaming in through the tall windows near your bed. You sat up quickly, pushing your frizzy hair out of your face.

Without any sort of warning, you hear your bedroom door swing open. Following in were three of your usual maidens who helped you get ready in the morning. Isabel then trailed in soon after, flashing you a quick smile as you appeared extremely tired.

“Morning, princess.” All three of the maidens speak in unison causing you to quickly put on that fake persona.

“Morning, Mildred,” you nod towards Mildred; tall and blonde. “Vivian,” her baby face and dark skin shine as she bows. “Beth.” Her fiery hair shone in the sunlight as she, too, bowed in respect towards you.

“The king and queen have called you in to share some crucial news in the throne room,” Mildred speaks up, eyes boring into yours.

Your brows furrow immediately at the different choice of words. After incidents like last night, it would be the same from either of the girls: “The king and queen are requesting your presence.”

News? What news could there possibly be?

“Well, I should get dressed then. Can’t have them waiting too long.” You nod slowly, removing your now warm bed sheets from your body.

Isabel rushed to your wardrobe as Beth scurried to your side to help you out of bed.

You were exceptionally privileged and you were aware of it. Especially in these instances where you could easily dress yourself and make up your room but the maidens did it for you. It makes you feel lazy and useless.

“This dress should be perfect. Not too tight around the waist and flattering.” Isabel approached you with said dress in the palms of her hands, grinning kindly.

You trusted her so you thanked her quietly, allowing them to take over.

Within minutes, your tossed sheets were made finely by Mildred and Vivian. Isabel and Beth helped you into the dress, making sure your undergarments were hidden by the other fabrics.

The fit was quite pleasant, you must admit. The front was a bit lower than you had thought but you had rarely been so comfortable in your wardrobe without it just being those undergarments.

Your natural hair flowed down and over your shoulders, a black ribbon tied to keep half of it out of your face. A few flyways escaped but you enjoyed how it frames your face. The girls clamored around you, hands on every part of your dress to smooth out wrinkles.

God forbid the princess appear imperfect in any way.

Once they had finished getting you ready, they left the room, leaving you and Isabel to walk down the beautifully decorated halls to make your way to where your presence was requested.

“Do you have any idea what this news could be?” You mutter softly, eyes locked on Isabel’s side profile.

“I’m not sure if it’s true but apparently in the late of the night, the king and queen discussed assigning a knight to look over you,” Isabel whispered as her eyes darted to the line of knights that were passing by the two of you.

The metal clanked as they walked in an orderly fashion. You assumed it was for training as they tended to take about two hours to train before standing in their assigned places around the castle.

“Look over me?” You asked in disbelief.

You weren’t a toddler that needed to be looked after. You already felt your blood boiling as you were approaching the grand archway of the throne room.

“That was all I heard passing by Linda and Nina in the kitchen this morning.” Isabel quickly whispered.

Linda and Nina were older women in the kitchen who, although talented in the kitchen, gossiped about you constantly. You assumed it was jealousy of either your title or your youth.

Your eyes darted from the high marble archways to the gold-lined thrones that sat both of your parents. Your attitude was already set in place as you walked up just a few feet from them. The stomping of your everyday flats echoed against the floors, revealing how irritated you already were.

“Father—“ You began with annoyance laced in your tone.

“No!” His deep voice echoed, cutting you off as he slammed down his staff.

Out of the corner of your eye, Isabel flinched at the loud sound. Your breathing was heavy as you maintained eye contact with your father. He didn't scare you as he did his overly dramatic actions.

It only increased the amount of hatred you had towards him. Your mother remained silent, glancing at your father before flickering her eyes back to you.

“I am going to talk. You are going to listen and not interrupt me. I have had it with this… humiliating attitude you’ve decided to put on.” Your father seethed, a vein on his neck protruding. “Prince Jeffrey is a guest in our kingdom and you embarrassed him. This temper is childish. You will be twenty by mid-July and you’re behaving this way. Moira had not been so stubborn about her suitors as you have.”

You felt your nostrils flare as of course, he was blaming you for the way Prince Jeffrey had reacted last night. It was never a man's fault, no. Only you and your temper. Throwing you and your elder sister’s differences in your face as well wasn’t unheard of.

“You must formally apologize to both Jeffrey and the Queen effective immediately.” Your mother intervened, her tone rather calm in comparison to your father.

You remained silent, simply nodding to her words. There was no point in arguing as you knew they were going to shut you down. You watched as your parents exchanged a look before shifting in their thrones.

“Now, because of your rather upsetting actions the night prior, your mother and I have chosen a knight to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” Your father sucked in a deep breath before continuing his words. “Dame Callahan will be your knight.”

Your eyes narrowed as you heard ‘dame’ instead of ‘sir’. There were very few knights that were women so you were automatically expecting there to be a man. You knew of Sir Callahan as he was a noble knight that you’ve known since you were a child but not Dame Callahan.

“Sir Callahan has a daughter?” You question, folding your hands in front of you.

This was certainly news to you. You weren’t even aware that he had a wife to begin with, let alone a secret daughter.

“Indeed. Now, she’s only had her knight status for a year but hopefully, you’ll adapt to her professionalism. Learn from her.” Your mother answers, her brows raising at you accusingly. “She should be arriving any minute now.”

As if right on cue, you hear the horns from the guards outside echo faintly. You turn your neck to glance at the hallway that leads to the main entryway doors.

“Well,” your father cleared his throat, “Let’s go and properly greet them, yes?”

Your eyes locked with Isabel who was already peering down the hallway where you all were headed. You approach her with a forced grin, locking your arm with hers as you take your time walking towards the grand entrance. Her eyes soften as she knows you are feeling a range of emotions about this whole arrangement.

“How are you doing?” Isabel hums, trying to keep quiet as the king and queen are just a foot behind you two.

“Other than absolutely infuriated,” you suck in a deep breath, tilting your head at the freckled woman, “Alright.”

Isabel nods, not knowing what to do now. You knew you were being short but you didn't want to say something you didn't mean out of anger towards the kind woman. You simply pressed your head to hers gently to show you were listening.

“I’m sure Dame Callahan won’t be as difficult as your parents are.” Isabel sighs, keeping her volume quiet. “You might even like her. Make a new friend that isn’t me.”

You gape at her words, nudging her with your hip as you both chuckle to yourselves. You cherish these fleeting moments of joy, holding onto them to keep for your worser days.

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” Isabel shook her head, her laughter fading as the front door guards were now holding the heavy wood open.

You glanced at Isabel once more before releasing her arm to walk past the guards in their uniforms of the castle's flag colors, watching as they bowed as you and your parents passed by. You nod in response before stepping out on the open staircase, the sun’s beams burning into your skin.

Rounding the corner of the gates was a person on a dark brown horse — borderline black. You feel Isabel’s tense presence along with your father’s looming figure and your mother’s petite one.

You fixed your posture, taking in one deep breath as you awaited her arrival.

“Oh, sweet pea, this dress was not the most appropriate choice.” You hear your mother utter as she judgingly ranks her eyes up and down your frame.

“I can’t change now, Mother, so it’ll have to do.” You snarkily replied, eyes locked ahead of you.

You didn't have to be facing your mother to know she did not appreciate your response. Letting it go for now, you, your parents, and Isabel begin to wave at who you assumed to be Dame Callahan. The stranger knight tugs on the maritangle causing the horse to stop in its tracks right in front of the impressive stone steps.

Callahan begins to make her way up the steps, giving you a better look at her.

It had to have just been you, but you took in how perfect her skin appeared as she grew closer. You could feel Isabel’s eyes burning into the side of your head, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction to Dame Callahan.

First, she greeted both of your parents addressing them with their assigned greetings. Her voice was velvety, charming almost. You waited patiently for her to greet you, hands flexing anxiously by your sides. She didn't appear knight-like as all she was wearing were a pair of black boots, a simple commoner-appearing outfit, and a leather belt that held her sword in that same leather material.

“Princess,” she addresses you before kneeling on one knee, gingerly taking her hand in her gloved one. You tense as she leans her head forward to place her lips on the back of your hand.

Her eyes peer up at you, her dark lashes highlighting her alluring blue eyes. You hadn’t uttered a word yet, completely forgetting all the words you’ve ever known. Dame Callahan releases your hand once she notices how eerily still you’ve become.

“Princess, I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” Callahan speaks again, adjusting the belt on her waist to respectfully smile at you.

Has she already let go of your hand? You thought to yourself. You feel a sharp bone drive into your lower back which causes you to inhale, becoming aware of what was going on. You caress the hand that she had kissed before holding your hands in front of your hips.

“I hope they were all good things.” You reply, regaining your proper posture.

“Yes,” Dame Callahan replies, a small chuckle leaving her lips. “Though, they surely forgot to mention your beauty.”

You blink. Did she just compliment you? It could be an out-of-respect situation. Kissing up to you as you were certain that your parents weren’t that kind with informing Dame Callahan about being assigned to you.

“Oh, well,” you nod, feeling out of your own body. “Thank you, Dame Callahan.”

“Of course, Princess.” She, again, responds with such a poised attitude.

You were feeling extremely conflicted about Dame Callahan. A part of you wanted to get to know her; starting with her first name. Another part was admiring her side profile as she spoke to your father and mother. Why were you admiring her in the first place? You weren’t entirely sure.

“Well, Dame Callahan could settle into her new manor as we prepare the welcome lunch.” Your mother spoke up which caught your attention. “Sweet pea?”

You blink and turn to your mother to see her waiting impatiently for you to say something. Dame Callahan’s head was tilted with furrowed brows as you seemed to be zoning in and out of the conversation.

“Oh! Right! I can show you where you’ll be staying.” You send Dame Callahan a short grin, afraid to stare at her for too long.

The new knight nodded, respectfully bowing at both of your parents and Isabel before stepping to the side to allow you to go first. You begin to make your way down the steps as the manor for the knight's living space is a tower away from the main palace. The hot sun beeped down on your skin, a cool spring breeze brushing past your flowing hair.

The whole walk to the manor was eerily quiet. Neither you nor Dame Callahan were making any form of small talk. All you could hear were the horses huffing a few feet away in the stables, the clinking of metal from the other knights in uniform, and the chirping of the birds in the surrounding trees.

Your shoulders brushed for a mere second as she walked alongside you. You could see from your peripheral stealing glances at you like she wanted to say something but not uttering a word. To be fair, you were doing the same thing.

As you approach the large wooden door, you turn to her as you pause right in front of the entryway. She, too, pauses her steps with you, eyes locking on your face.

Why was her stare burning into you more than the sun? It felt so intense.

“This is the knight’s manor. I will see you around the lunch hour then.” You say.

Out of fear of flushing in her presence, you avoid pouring your eyes into her bright ones.

Dame Callahan nods, and a crinkle between her brows forms. “Is everything alright, princess?”

“Yes, of course. I think I’m just hungry.” You nod slowly, a nervous smile forming on your face.

Could she see right through you? It sure seemed like it. Callahan simply nods, knowing better than to press on such a matter, especially with a princess.

“Right, yes. I’ll just…” She trailed off, pointing to the door.

Your eyes followed her finger before a wave of embarrassment washed over you. A nervous laugh left your lips before nodding and waving your hand towards the door.

“Until lunch then.”

Dame Callahan’s lips quipped into a smile that seemed endearing. She placed a hand on the iron ring and tugged the door open. She bowed ever so slightly.

“Until then, princess.”

The door shut with a loud clunk, flinching at the sudden noise. For the rest of the morning, all you could think about was the way she said ‘princess’ towards you.

Lunch-time arrived in the middle of an etiquette lesson with Mrs. DuBois. The bells went off causing you instantly slouch in your seat. Your back was killing you from how aligned you were forcing onto yourself.

“We’ll continue this lesson tomorrow.” Mrs. DuBois sharply tapped at your back to get you to straighten your posture. “Though, I do not understand the point of this. You slouch so much, you are becoming a hunchback, princess.”

You send her a tight-lipped grin as you smooth down your dress. Isabel was waiting patiently for you in the corner of the room so she could walk you out.

“Lunch calls.” You force a laugh out.

Mrs. DuBois, unamused, nods before turning her back towards you and Isabel. You frown at her obvious attitude before motioning with your head towards the door. Isabel got the hint and gave Mrs. DuBois a quick goodbye.

Once they were out into the hallway, you began to chuckle with Isabel at how stuck-up Mrs.DuBois was.

“She said I have a hunchback, Bel. How dramatic is that?” You scoff, shaking your head.

“I swear, she’s never once felt an ounce of joy in her entire life.” Isabel added on, rounding the corner.

You two are giggling when you walk into the enormous dining hall. You could smell the delicious stew the staff had cooked for you all. You caught sight of Dame Callahan already sitting at the elongated table.

Right in front of your seat next to your mother.

“She’s sitting right across from me.” You slow down your feet, growing anxious to approach the table.

Isabel furrowed her brows, following your eyes to see Dame Callahan already conversing with your mother. Unable to comprehend what was wrong about that, she asks: “Is that bad?”

“No. Not necessarily. Just…” You trail off as you approach the table with Isabel.

You couldn’t even think of a valid excuse for how you felt about her place at the table. Why was she doing this to your mind? Maybe it was the thought that from this point forward, she was going to be quite literally around every corner, near you around the clock from dusk to dawn.

Sure, Isabel was already that but she had been around you for years. Dame Callahan was new and a stranger.

“Oh! Sweet pea, we were just discussing what exactly Dame Callahan will be doing whilst being your knight.” Your mother looked over at the intimidating knight, an overly friendly smile on her face.

You glance at your mother before taking your place right next to your father, Isabel sitting on the other side of you. All of the bowls of steaming hot beef stew thankfully distracted you as you patiently waited for your father to signal that it was okay to eat.

By that, you meant ‘the king always eats first.’ Once he took his first sip, you began to dig in shamelessly.

“So, Dame Callahan,” your father started, voice deep and booming.

“Yes, sir?” She perked up, eyes wide with patience.

“Your father never mentioned your name.” He plainly stated.

You, too, were curious about her first name, eyes darting over to her sharp features that were highlighted by the sun peeking in through the large windows. Her eyes flickered to you, strangely enough, before uttering her name.

“Hazel, your majesty.” She nodded, a smile forming on her perfectly pink lips.

Hazel. It suited her, you thought. Its simplicity was beautiful.

“It’s a lovely name.” You confess, sending her the least awkward smile you could muster.

Hazel’s eyes locked with yours. Her smile matched yours; genuine and kind.

“Thank you, princess.”

You break eye contact first, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of her stare. You continue eating, eyes dancing from person to person as they add to the conversation. After everyone listened to how Hazel’s journey was to the kingdom, it was around the same time that everyone was finishing up their bread and stew.

“Well, I believe this is the first time you’ve not spoken during a feast,” your father speaks up, eyes locking on yours.

“I don’t have much to say, father.” You quip.

“You’re not always that way, sadly enough.” His tone was quite obviously degrading and meant to humiliate you.

You prod your tongue into the inside of your cheek, wondering why he was starting this right now. Hazel had just arrived and he was already trying to pick a fight with you.

“Oh, your majesty, it’s alright. I think I’ve talked enough for now,” Hazel quickly buts in.

You glance at her, furrowing your brows at her unexpectedly. She was looking directly at your father for just a moment before sending you a soft look.Your father hadn’t replied back to Hazel’s quick words but you feared he might. You straighten your back and clear your throat as you stand up, smoothing down your dress

“I’m feeling full now. May I leave the dining table?” You stare expectantly at your parents, hoping they would just let you this one time.

Your mother simply nods as you turn to Isabel who had already finished her meal. She took that as a hint to leave as well, nodding respectfully towards your parents and Hazel. Her familiar arms lock with yours as you walk down the hallway to venture to your room.

“She seems nice.” Isabel spoke first, looking at you for confirmation that you felt that same way.

You didn’t know what to feel.

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[kiestrokes]

Day 3: Tell Me What to Do | NSFW

▸ Idol: Bang Chan of Stray Kids ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: active WIP, hired escort, smut, college au. ▸ Vibe: set in 2008, reader/OC (tbd) was on a lacrosse scholarship when she got severely injured, in order to continue attending she has resorted to charging the rich nerds that need a little additional sex education. Chan is the friend of Felix (one of her favorite clients) that hires her, although she is unsure as to why...he's incredibly likeable and attractive. They discover his issues and sexual hangups together. ▸ Warnings: probably some cussing, illusions to feelings.

Sexually Explicit Content: this is a smut excerpt that happens quite a bit later in the actual story! semipublic sex, Chan has reserved a private single studio for the evening, female ejaculation? squirting, intercourse (penis in vagina), clit stim, fingering, aftercare, dirty talk?

🗝��� Note: Like every other 2008 alt kid, metro station had a chokehold on me. Kinda a spin on the Avril Lavigne lyrics too "he was a punk, she did ballet" as Chan is our ballerina. This Chan has just been living rent free see May or June of this year, but I had other things I wanted (and still need to) complete. Just a reminder this is a WIP, it is not close to the finished product this is actually the first draft of this scene!

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Chan has her bent over the ballet bar moaning as he fucks her slow from behind, “shit this is so good.”

“You can speed up.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” you groan as he circles his hips.

“You like this right?”

“Yes!” You bite your lip, “fuck Chan I don’t think you need my help.”

His hand slips to your stomach, “maybe I just like fucking you.”

He speeds up making you moans climb in volume.

“Think you like fucking me too/” he thrusts hard, “right?”

“Fuck, yes, whatever Channie.”

Your eyebrows converge as he presses your stomach and quickens his stroke.

“Right there?”

His eyes find yours in the mirror and you almost come on the spot. Chan bites his lip, head tossing back as your body clamps down around him.

“Go ahead.”

You try to fight it off but he braces the other hand on the small of you back, sandwiching you between his palms. His hips pistoning until you’re crying out. Coming hard, arousal leaking down your legs and onto the floor.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you catch your breath.

Chans hands move to grip your hips, thrusts having slowed to help you come down. Slowly losing himself in the feel of you.

“You squeezed me so hard, did it feel good?”

“What do you think?”

Your body shake as he continues his journey to release, folding over your back to whisper in your ear.

“I think you want another.”

Your spine snaps your sagging body upright as he rubs almost harshly into the front wall of your cunt.

“Ngh Chan,” you grasp at his hands as his lips suck on your neck.

“You made a mess.”

You simply whine at him.

“Can I come on you?”

“Fuck Chan, yes.”

He moans picking up pace then he’s folding you over the bar again. Chan pulls out to rip off the condom and thrusts back inside you.

“Holy shit,” you say in unison.

“God you feel good.”

“Don’t come inside, birth control only prevents so much ahh-” you break off into a gasp.

“I won’t, oh wow, you’re so wet.”

Your brain errors at the feel of him raw, the skin to skin contact creating more drag along the sensitive nerves of your intimate walls. Chan is not doing much better.

He pulls out before you’re ready and comes on your back. His tongue tracing his top teeth in amazement as he sprays you.

You gasp, “ok back in.”

“What?”

You catch his panic gaze through your orgasm driven haze in the mirror but you brush it off. Nobody had ever made you come as hard as Chan and you were close to a level of addiction at this point.

“I’m so close,” you pant.

Chan thinks quickly, shoving two fingers inside you to the knuckle. Your head snaps back at the feeling and roll you hips back into him. Chan working his fingers the way you’ve taught him. Fingers curling slightly after a steady rhythm was established.

“Ahhh yes, yes!”

Chan reaches around to strum your clit with your other hand, and like that you’re go, over the edge.

“Oh god,” your knees buckle as you soak his hand, and he holds you up with a surprised laugh.

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[elementroar]

Question about Paracelsus, does he actually like aba? I’m guessing in the older game, he mostly tolerated her because she can fight (except for the fact he deliberately chooses not to control her) but in the new one, I’m pretty much confused. When he ends his transformation, He says “That’s my answer, ABA, As your partner.” Problem is that I have no idea which meaning of “partner” he meant. It could be just fighting partners but him having a whole emotional speech and transformation for a “business partner.” If I try to look at the view of actually going for ABA’s dreams for marriage, it feels incomplete and odd because she is slowly transforming him into what she sees fit. Please I really want to know what he meant!

Side note: ABA’s feelings of jealousy and abandonment are completely valid as Paracelsus has done that! To her face! WITH A RANDOM STRANGER TO HER!!! In night of knives volume 2.

Life partner, since Paracelsus no longer really wants to fight on principle, so 'fighting partner' like he used to regard A.B.A as and originally hoped she would regard him as, that's out of the window. So if he's still resolving to stay with her, it's as a life partner. The extent of what that means to him is prolly different from A.B.A, but that can evolve over time.

Because Paracelsus, as he has stated, is an axe. He understands relationships in axe terms, which is he acknowledges his wielder (which he did acknowledge A.B.A as at the end of Night of Knives) and he kills other people that threaten them. His whole situation-ship with A.B.A has forced him to be involved in roles he was never equipped to deal with and was forced to adapt to - being an emotional support, being an actual object of attraction, having to constantly protect his wielder from herself, having to be a counsel on social norms that he shouldn't know all that well to begin with as an axe but he's expected to, having to communicate on behalf of his wielder to navigate social situations and dispel conflict - quite literally none of these are on the checklist of 'being an axe that kills people real good.

Yeah he wanted to leave A.B.A in NoK, and honestly who wouldn't? From his perspective, she was hellbent on not treating him as the weapon he wanted her to treat him as. She was figuratively and literally emotion dumping on him constantly, what with the empathetic bond prolly not helping matters. And he kept trying to dispel every delusion and assumption she had about their relationship constantly. As he was being sexually harassed despite his protests and mid-battle, constantly.

But even back then, Slayer implied that Paracelsus never hated A.B.A personally, but her constant advances, the situations they got into, it was all frustrating to him when he really wanted to be 'just a weapon' back then.

We kinda skipped Paracelsus character development up till STRIVE but IMO, I think he figured out he had to be proactive with A.B.A, cause sticking with his "I'm a weapon, and only a weapon" principles wasn't helping. He accepted that he needed to be the responsible one of the two, that he had to kick his blood habit because it made him lose control and also got them into fights etc. He accepted that he had to change for the sake of A.B.A.

Thinking about marriage for them is kinda falling into the trap that A.B.A fell into IMO. Her theme hints that being bound by specific definitions of words or expectations may have prevented her and them from organically growing their relationship, whatever it can or would be.

Part of her major development is that she acknowledges she's been obsessed with the idea of love, but not actually truly understanding what it is. Her obsession with Paracelsus is more of her playing the part rather than understanding the feeling. Part of her growth was choosing to let go of Paracelsus for his own good, and in fact it was an expression of true love, even though she didn't realize it. Paracelsus is also learning about love and Elphelt suggested that looking out for someone is in fact a form of love, and that surprised him. He didn't seem to realize that the steps he's taken to take care of A.B.A are expressions of love themselves either.

As Paracelsus explained to A.B.A, he's not sure where their relationship will go or what the future holds for them. How their feelings will develop is still up in the air, but he tries to show A.B.A that if he could change so much, then she can too. The idea is that they're finally free to be whatever they're going to be, and they're choosing to stick together to that end, and that's the most important thing.

[gretavangroupie]

Errant

Word count: 16.0k

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Fighting, Name Calling, Toxic Themes and Behavior, Allusions to Cheating, Jealousy, Anger, Gaslighting. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Oral F!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Slight Masochism, Slight Humiliation Kink, Spanking, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.

A/N: Hey! Welcome back for the third installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my best pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy Josh's story! This may not be everyones cup of tea, so make sure you read the warnings! There's only one left now, and we can't wait to share Jake's story with you! See you real soon!

JOSH POV

You sit on the exam table, gently swinging your feet as the doctor scribbles on his prescription pad. The paper underneath you crinkles, your clammy hands getting stuck to it. 

“It’s looking like the perforation is healing, but I’m going to give you some antibiotics and ear drops. You’ll take the antibiotics for 10 days and the drops for 5.” He tears off the prescription and hands it to you. “Just be sure you aren’t drinking and you avoid getting any water in or around your ears.”

You scrunch up your nose when you hear the pointed reminder not to drink. 

“Thank you, doc. I’ll be on my best behavior.” You joke, hopping down from the table. Your sneakers squeak as you stick the landing. 

Navigating through the back halls of the ENT practice, you follow the signs that direct you to the check-out. It’s eerily quiet as you walk through the waiting room and out of the front doors. The sun nearly blinds you when you get outside, so you lift your hand to block it out while you search for your girlfriend’s car. 

Spotting her a few rows into the parking lot, you walk in her direction, knocking softly on the window once you’re close enough. She unlocks the door and you slip inside, the car next to her parked a little too close. She sighs, shifting from park to drive while you buckle your seatbelt.

“How was it?” she asks, her enthusiasm lacking. You look over at her as she cranes her neck to check that the way is clear before she pulls out of her parking spot.

“Well, it was fine.” You take a deep breath before continuing. “I have to take antibiotics and put in ear drops for a few days, so you might have to help me with that. I can keep taking the pain meds that the doctor I originally saw prescribed, but the pain should subside as I heal.” 

She nods, keeping the radio volume low. The only time she doesn’t sing in the car is when she’s upset, and you know the song currently playing is one of her favorites. So, you seal your fate and ask the dreaded question in every relationship.

“What’s wrong?” 

She huffs and thinks for a moment before she answers. 

“You know it’s Valentine’s day, right?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.” You’ve never put much stock in the holiday and you didn’t think she did either. The last two years, you hadn’t ever done more than get her some flowers or chocolates delivered, mostly because you weren’t around.

“I just… I don’t know, it’s the first one we’ve been able to spend together and we’re spending the day going to the doctor and the pharmacy…”

“Oh, so you’re mad that you had to bring me to the doctor?” you ask, a little defensive now. 

“That’s not what I’m saying, Josh. I’m just saying I wish we were doing more than running errands.” She speaks curtly to you, and honestly, it’s a little condescending.

“It’s a made up holiday anyway. I’ve never bought into all the hearts and candy and bullshit. I didn’t think you did either.” You rest your head on your hand, looking out the window as she drives a little too fast down the freeway.

“It’s not about that. You’re not getting it.” she snaps, her tone whiny and frustrated.

“Listen. I had my assistant send you chocolate covered strawberries to your office. I don’t really know what else you want from me.” you bite back. You’ve had enough of this argument and want to be home already so you can take something for your pain and try to get some rest. 

“I didn’t even know that, seeing as I had to call out and use a sick day to take you to the doctor.” she says, and you feel your scalp get hot, your temper flaring.

“So you are mad you had to bring me to the doctor.” 

“I just don’t understand what a ruptured eardrum has to do with driving!” she says, her voice raising a bit. “You didn’t take your pain meds this morning so you technically would have been fine to drive… I just don’t appreciate that I had to use my PTO on Valentine’s day and all I’m doing is driving Miss Daisy.” 

“I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m in a lot of fucking pain.” you grit out, and she scoffs a laugh.

“Yeah. I’ve heard.” 

You know you’re about to lose it, so you close your eyes for a moment, gathering your composure. Unfortunately, she just keeps going.

“I thought I was going to spend my Valentine’s day getting bitten and scratched by your brother’s awful fucking cat, but now that you’re all home, I get to spend my evening dealing with you while you’re miserable and in pain, and I’m not sure which is worse.” 

“You act like I’m home on some vacation… I have a work function tomorrow even if I’m not out at the shows, so–”

“Are you kidding me?! You somehow have MORE obligations now that you’re home? I guess I’m the fool for thinking we would have more than a few hours to spend together.” She cuts the wheel and turns sharply into your driveway. You grab the handle of the door and grumble under your breath at the way she’s driving like a maniac.

“Look, it’s not like I asked to go. Jake and Danny did the last one, so now Sam and I are stuck going tomorrow. It’s supposed to be nice. It’s a fancy thing, dinner and drinks. I figured you would be my date.” 

You watch her turn off the car and think for a moment, the word “date” appealing to her a little bit, which is exactly what you had hoped.

“Come on. I missed you and I feel like shit and you’re… you’re all prickly. Can’t we just have a nice night in? I’ll make it up to you. I just want to take a nap.”

She seems to be thinking about it as she gets out of the car. You unbuckle your seatbelt and follow suit, walking around to her side and reaching for her hand. Tugging her closer, you wrap your other arm around her shoulders and kiss her on the side of her head with some force. 

“Okay, okay…” she relents, leaning in to you. 

“I love you. You’re still my Valentine, right?” you ask, nuzzling your nose into her hair and squeezing her tighter. It works up a little giggle out of her, which means you’re in the clear. 

“I guess so. You didn’t even ask me.” 

You squeeze her again, this time digging your fingertips into her sides to tickle another laugh out of her. 

“It was on the card that came with the strawberries, obviously.” you quip, peppering her cheek and neck in kisses while she continues to soften up. 

“Oh, get out of here. Go take your damn nap.” she says with a smile, turning you by the shoulders towards the house and pushing gently. 

—

HER POV

You hear the soft padding of feet upstairs and the whip of the flat sheet as your bed is remade, pulling your attention away from your computer screen as you send off emails. The sun is set now, the room cast in darkness, and you figure Josh has slept off the fatigue that was a result of his medications. You gently close your computer, setting it next to you on the couch as you hear his feet walking slowly down the stairs. You turn to lay eyes on him, looking a little worse for wear in his low slung joggers, but still glowing as usual. 

“Hey baby, you feel any better?” you ask, resting your chin on the back of the fluffy leather couch cushion. 

“No. Not really, but it’s fine.” he pauses, reaching the landing and walking up to the back of the couch. He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time, “You want to get ready, we can go grab dinner?” he asks, running a hand over his messy curls. 

“I would love to, but are you sure you want to?” you ask, a little surprised that he actually wants to go out. 

“Yeah, I have to eat with these antibiotics.” he says, pushing off the couch, and heading into the kitchen. “How long do you need to get ready?”

“Um, I don’t know, twenty minutes or so?” you answer, standing quickly and grabbing your phone from the coffee table. 

“Alright, I’ll be up there to change in a minute.”

You take the stairs two at a time, rounding the corner into your bedroom, and dashing into the closet. You finger through your hangers searching for the perfect outfit, the idea not occurring to you that you’d need one since he wasn’t even supposed to be home for Valentine’s day this year. 

You pull a dark burgundy top from the hanger, the thick sweater material perfect for the cold snap that has swept over Nashville this week. You pull your t-shirt over your head and put it on while reaching for a pair of dark wash jeans. After shimmying into the denim pants, you find a pair of heels, kicking off your socks and securing the buckle at your ankle. 

You make a mad dash into the bathroom, doing a quick version of your normal make up and running a curling iron through your hair. You’re spraying your wrist with his favorite perfume just as you see him walk past the bathroom door and into the closet. You can hear him changing clothes, grabbing his coat and pulling it over his arms as he steps into the bathroom and meets your gaze in the mirror. 

“Wow, uh, you know it’s freezing out, right? Actually, colder than freezing.” he says, adjusting his sleeves. 

“Yeah, I’ll grab my coat from the closet down stairs, no big deal.” you answer, walking towards him and shutting off the bathroom light. 

“You sure you want to wear heels?” he asks, as he ushers you downstairs, a lilt in his voice.

You open the coat closet, grabbing your jacket and pulling it over your arms. “Yeah, why not?”

He throws his hands up, “Just asking…”

You grab your purse from the kitchen counter, following his lead out to the car. He makes a point to open your car door, shutting it behind you before skittering across the front of the car to join you. 

With the turn of his keys, his Jeep roars to life, his fingers quickly pressing the buttons to turn on the heat. He puts the car in reverse, backing up enough to turn around in the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath his tires. He lays his hand over top of yours on your thigh, clasping your hand in his. He licks over his lips and turns to look at you. 

“Hey,” he pauses, waiting until he has your attention. You let your eyes meet his, before he refocuses on the road. “I’m sorry about earlier… I just have a short fuse when I’m in pain. Thank you for taking me today, and thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, it’s– it’s okay, I know you don’t feel good. Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re here now, right?” you say, offering him a lopsided smile.

He pats your thigh as he drives down the road, leading you into town as he mouths the words to the songs playing through the speakers. Your heart flutters as you look at him, your head tilting back to rest on the headrest, just happy to be with him, and happy that he changed his mind about doing something tonight. 

You’re quickly pulled from your daydreams as he whips the car into the parking lot of Phil’s Tavern, a local spot that is not exactly known for its phenomenal cuisine, sitting a whopping 5 minutes away from your home. You sit up a little straighter, making sure you’re seeing this right, and that he really is parking the car. 

“Phil’s…” you question, turning to look at him. 

“...Yeah? Did you want something else…?” he asks, as if annoyed you’d question his decision.

“You said– You– I thought we were going to dinner, not picking up sandwiches from the fucking neighborhood bar?!” you shout. 

“I’m not getting a sandwich. I’m getting soup. You can get whatever you want.” he says, pulling his keys from the ignition, and opening his door. 

A huff leaves your mouth as your jaw hangs slack, watching in shock as he shuts the door behind himself and makes his way to yours. He opens yours and offers you a hand to step down, but you’re still sitting in shock that this is his idea of a romantic Valentine’s day date. 

“Josh…” you admonish, looking down at your heels and sweater. 

“What? I asked you if you wanted to wear that and you said yes!” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah! I didn’t think we were going to fucking Phil’s, Josh! It’s Valentine’s Day! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t a lot of cars in the parking lot?!”

He clicks his tongue, and looks around. “Perfect, then we have the place to ourselves.”

Your eyes close on their own and you take a deep breath to keep yourself from having a meltdown. You grab your purse from the floorboard and grab his hand, stepping out of the car and snatching it away from him as soon as your feet hit the gravel.

He shuts the door behind you and locks the car, the two of you walking quickly into the dimly lit bar and grill. You walk up to the counter to order, watching as the bartender throws back a shot with the guys at the end of the bar. You catch his attention and he rushes over to the order counter pulling a pen out of his pocket. “What can I get ‘cha?”

“Hey man, can we uh– I’ll take the soup of the day, whatever it is is fine.” 

“It’s ahh, it’s Chicken Tortilla.” he answers. 

“Yeah, that’s great, thanks.” he answers, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “Babe?” he murmurs, wanting you to order. 

“Okay, I’ll do a Cuban, extra pickles.” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He nods, “Outta Cuban bread, sorry sweets.” 

“Okay I’ll do the Italian then.” you concede, watching him scribble it down on the notepad.

“You want that hot or cold?” he asks. 

“Hot.”

“Think our press is down, but I can check.” he says, turning to shout towards the kitchen.

“It’s down, is cold fine?” he asks, him and Josh both staring at you. 

“Fuck.” you mutter under your breath. “Yes, fine.”

“$17.97.” he says, ringing the service bell for the staff. Josh swipes his card through the card reader and puts it back into his wallet, placing it back in his pocket before thanking the man at the counter. 

“Oh shit, I didn’t tell him it’s to go. You don’t care if we take it home, right? It’s a little loud in here.” he doesn't give you a chance to answer before stepping back up to the window.

You pull your phone from your purse, opening Instagram to mindlessly scroll while you wait for your food, seeing story after story of the dates your friends are on, fueling your rage all the more. You didn’t care that you weren’t at a fancy restaurant. You didn’t care that you were having a sandwich. You cared that he seemingly didn’t care about how you were feeling. That it was just any other old day to him, simply because he didn’t subscribe to the holiday. But that didn’t mean you didn’t. You tried to see the bright side, that he was home, and that you were at least together, even if he was in a sour mood.

He steps back over to you, pulling his own phone from his pocket and sending a few texts. You can’t help but notice how carefree he is, completely unbothered and oblivious to how you’re feeling as you stand right next to him.  

“You wanna watch a movie or something when we get back?” he asks, putting his phone in his jacket pocket. 

“What movie?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I don’t know, a documentary? We can find something, I’ll probably fall asleep watching it anyways.”

You huff out a laugh, “Of course. Yeah, whatever you want Josh.”

“What’s your deal tonight, Y/N, Jesus…”

You feel your blood boiling beneath your skin and just as you are about to unleash, the order bell rings and a brown paper bag is placed on the counter. Josh steps up and grabs it, pulling his car keys from his pocket and heading for the door, leaving you to follow behind him.

—

He pulls into the driveway rapidly, rocks flying as he throws the car into park. Shutting off the engine he pulls his keys from the ignition and grabs the brown paper bag from the center console. “Come on, let’s get inside. I’ll start the fireplace.”

You huff as you step out of the car, making your way up the walkway, pulling the sleeves of your coat over your hands. He unlocks the front door and places the to-go bag on the kitchen counter on his way to the living room.  

You take off your coat and hang it in the closet, pulling your foot up to release the buckles of your heels, letting you drop back down to your normal height. You can hear him mumbling in the living room, clearly having a hard time getting the fire lit. You walk into the kitchen grabbing a bottle of red wine off the top of the fridge, and searching around the junk drawer for the corkscrew. It’s no time at all before you’re popping the cork out of the bottle and pouring the Merlot into a bulbous green colored wine glass. 

He joins you in the kitchen, washing his hands in the sink before looking over at you, starting to take the first sip of your wine. “Really? You’re serious…”

“Serious, what? About this glass of wine? Yeah, I am.” you quip, swallowing down the first sip.

“You’re really gonna drink my favorite wine, right in front of me when you know I can’t have any? What are you playing at tonight, Y/N?” he seethes, pulling his plastic container of soup from the bag.

“What am I playing at? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that just because you can’t drink, meant that I had to follow suit! My mistake!” you shout, setting the glass down on the marble countertop maybe a little more forcefully than you should have. 

He shakes his head trying to rid the nasty thoughts you know are swirling around up there as he pulls a spoon from the utensil drawer. “Whatever, I’m gonna take this to the couch.”

You grab a plate from the cabinet in front of you, unwrapping your sandwich and placing it on the plate. You look over and see him tinkering with the TV remote, no doubt queueing up something the two of you have watched, studied, and rewatched a hundred times. You grab your wine glass and your plate and join him in the living room, setting your items on the coffee table before sitting at the opposite end of the couch. 

The tension in the air is thick, neither of you wanting to say anything for fear of it turning into yet another argument. So instead, he presses play on the remote, and as suspected, ‘Kubrick by Kubrick’ begins to play for the 77th time in this household.

“Josh, really…” you whine, your shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“I don’t want to get too invested in anything, I’m gonna pass out as soon as I finish this soup.” he answers, turning up the volume to effectively silence you.  

“Can’t we watch something, I don’t know… With a plot? With a shred of romance? That we haven’t seen a hundred times?” you barter, talking over the intro music.

“Can’t you just let me enjoy being home for once?” he snaps, pressing pause on the remote.

Your eyes dial in on his, and almost poetically, you’re positive he can see the reflection of the flames in the fireplace dancing across your infuriated eyes.

“For once…” you breathe, biting your tongue.  “Sure, sure. You uh– you just enjoy yourself, okay? I would hate to ruin your time at home with my presence.” you say, standing up from the couch with your wine glass in hand, leaving your sandwich laying there as you bound up the stairs. 

Before you even reach the top you hear the music blare back to life, and the slurping of the soup from his spoon. If you had a bedroom door you would slam it but fucking of course, you don’t.

You place your wine glass on your nightstand before walking into your closet ridding yourself of the wasted outfit. You pull a slinky black satin slip from your pajama drawer, dropping it over your bare body before padding back out to the bedroom to close the curtains. 

You draw back the fluffy flax colored duvet, thinking of nothing but positively melting into your olive green linen sheets; a Christmas splurge the two of you decided you couldn’t live without. Sinking down into the feather pillows you let out a sigh, finding yourself exactly where you expected to be tonight, before you ever knew Josh was coming home for a few days.

You settle in with your glass of wine and your kindle, reading love stories of men, who at this point, you were sure didn’t really exist. An hour or so later, when the wine was long gone, and the house had grown quiet you heard the front door lock, and the flick of the light switches downstairs. You switched off your lamp, hoping to avoid any further conversation for the night, placing your tablet on the nightstand and pulling the sheets up over your shoulders. 

His footfall is light as he pads up the wooden stairs, rounding the corner hesitantly as he catches sight of you in the bed. He slides his hand down the wall as he enters the room, walking quietly into the bathroom and shutting the door. You can hear the sink running and the sound of him tossing his clothes into the hamper as you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep.

It’s not long until you hear the door open and feel the dip in the bed as he slides in behind you, a  gentle sigh leaving his lips as he sinks into the sheets. You feel the brush of his knuckles as they glide up your spine. “I know you’re not asleep, my love…”

Knowing you’re caught, you turn softly to your back, “No, you don’t know. I could have been.”

A soft smile forms on his lips, a few misplaced curls falling over his forehead, “Not true. I know you fall asleep with your arms over your head every single night. And in the middle of the bed. You never sleep on your side of the bed.”

“Well maybe I want to tonight.” you quip, rolling back to your side and repositioning the sheets.

“Come on baby, don’t be like that.” he says, wrapping his arm around your waist. He pulls you towards him, his obviously nude body conforming to yours. You can feel him, hard against your back and you push away from him. 

“Josh…” you scold. 

“What, baby…” he asks, running his hand along the curve of your waist. “I miss you…”

“You didn’t an hour ago!” you sneer.

“Yes I did! I miss you all the time! Every single day I’m away from you. That’s why you moved in, remember? So I could spend every day with you when I’m home?” he pauses, “Every night like this?”

“Josh, I just– Tonight was… Well the entire day, really, was rough. I’m not exactly in a romantic mood at the moment.” you answer.

“Well that’s okay, you can just blow me instead.” he says, more of a demand than a question, his lips brushing against your shoulder. 

“Oh can I?! How generous of you to offer that to me! What a privilege!” you mock. “You really have earned it, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this myself!” you scorn, reaching for his hand and shoving it towards his dick. “Try that instead!”

“Goddamn you’re being such a bitch!” he seethes, throwing the duvet off of himself and snatching his phone from the nightstand. 

“Yeah! Happy Valentine’s day to you too, Josh!” you spit one last time as you watch him pull on a pair of boxers. He smooths his hand over his face and runs his tongue under his lips, looking at you one more time before stomping his way down the stairs. 

—

JOSH POV

It took you approximately fourteen seconds after you said it to know you fucked up. It took you two more seconds to realize there was no coming back from it, at least that’s what you deduced as you tossed and turned on the living room couch all night. You spent those sleepless hours racking your brain for ways you could fix this. You were a dick, admittedly, in pain or not, and she in no way deserved the way you treated her.

You pulled your sore body up from the couch, tossing the throw blanket over the arm as you made your way up the stairs. She was still sleeping, sprawled across the middle of the bed with your pillow hugged to her face. You wished you could take back what you said. You wished you had taken her somewhere nicer than Phil’s. You should have known that when you saw her in heels and smelled your favorite perfume. She dressed up for you. But you couldn’t see past your own selfish needs. You only cared about yourself and what you wanted. 

You kicked yourself the entire time you spent under the spray of the shower, knowing that of the three sporadic days you would spend at home with her, you’d let one go completely to shit. Then tonight, you’d spend the whole night schmoozing with label executives, where she would willingly stand in your shadow until it was time to go home. 

Unless…

A smile spread across your face as you formulated your plan, and as you shut off the water and wrapped a towel around your waist you hoped and prayed it would work. 

—

You rap your knuckles against the old wooden front door, peeking through the glass to see if there is any movement inside. It’s nearly noon and you know he’s in there, but whether or not he’s awake is the question. You shove your hands into your pockets, the cold air whipping through the porch a little too harshly for your liking. 

You hear his footsteps bounding down the stairs and you see him appear through the glass, a strange look on his face as he opens the door. 

“If you’re on my doorstep, you want something that a text wouldn’t cover.” he says, raising a brow.

“Can I not come visit my twin?” you ask, pushing past him into his warm house.

“No, I think your last words to me when we left the airport were ‘Fuck off, don’t call me, I’ll see you in three days’, but I could be mistaken.” he says, shutting the front door. 

“Listen…” you counter, flopping yourself down onto his couch with a huff.

He stands across the living room with his hands on his hips and a small smile on his lips. There’s something different about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Almost like a little bit of life has been breathed into him. 

“Why do you look different…” you ask, the intrusive thought pushing through.

“I don’t.” he says, putting his hands on his hips. His eyes flick up to the window behind you, before looking back at you. 

You cut your eyes at him, you can tell he’s not telling the truth but you let it go because you have more important issues to deal with. 

“I need a favor.” you say, cutting right to the chase. 

He raises his eyebrows signaling for you to continue. 

“I need you to go to this event tonight in my place, I–”

“No.” he shouts, cutting you off. 

“Jake, please. Y/N and I got in a huge fight and I have to make it up to her and I can’t if I have to go to this fucking thing tonight.” you explain, giving him the shortened version. 

“No. Actually, my answer is not only no, but fuck no.” Jake stood with his arms crossed across his chest. You let your head flop back onto his couch, a groan leaving your chest. 

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t fucking dire.” You plead. “I fucked up, and I have to make it right. Please Jake…”

“Jesus Christ, it’s Thanksgiving all over again. You know Josh, if you and Y/N didn’t fight like this every other day, I might be more willing to consider it. One day you’re gonna fuck around and lose her for good.” he says, shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his chin. “Hold on, you two fought on Valentine’s day? Fuckin’ poetic. What did you do, buy the wrong flowers? The wrong chocolates?”

“No, I… Didn’t get her flowers.” you mumble, hoping he didn’t hear you. 

“Okay, so no flowers. Did you take her out to dinner or something?” he asks, tilting his head.

“No, I mean, well, kind of.” you mumble again. “Didn’t really think about it.”

“Where did you take her Josh.” he demands, crossing his arms again. 

“We went to Phil’s…And got…To-go…” you answer, realizing again as you say it out loud how bad it sounds. 

“The fucking sandwich place Josh, you’re kidding me…” he spits, starting to pace around the room. 

“Don’t act all high and mighty Jacob, you sat home alone...” you retort, knowing this isn’t helping your case.

He lifts his finger to you, pointing at you with a scowl, “Fuck you. Also, it sounds like she was justified. Didn’t she take you to the doctor yesterday? Hasn’t she been catering to your ass since we’ve been back?”

“Yeah.” you answer. 

“And you didn’t plan a single thing at all…” he confirms. 

“Correct.” you say, over enunciating the ‘T’.

“Asshole.”

“Okay, so you agree, I fucked up and need to fix this.” you say, gesturing with your hands. “So go to the event tonight in my place and let me smooth things over with Y/N tonight.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. I have plans.” he answers, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Plans?! With who? You don’t leave your house!” you shout, seeing a blur of black fur and claws tear across the living room. “Jesus, I always forget you have that thing.”

“Yeah, I’m not keeping it.” he says, shaking his head. “And it’s none of your business. You’re going to that event. The label doesn’t care if you’re in a fight with your girlfriend. They are expecting you, and you are who they’re gonna get. Plus, Sam will be there so you don’t have to do all the talking. Take her with you, lay it on thick, and take her home. Things will blow over like they always do and you’ll be back to your 2AM facetime gushy bullshit in no time.”

“Fuck…” you sigh, laying down across his couch. “I just don’t think it’s gonna go that way. This was a bigger fight than usual.” you say, feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket. You pull it out to see your timer flashing, indicating it is time for your next dose of antibiotics. 

You reach into your other pocket, pulling out the loose pill, and grabbing the glass of water you assume to be Jake’s from the coffee table. You swallow down the pill as he watches in contempt, checking the time on his phone. 

“Do you need anything else?” he asks, pacing around his living room. 

“No. Guess fuckin’ not. What are you getting into today?” you ask, relaxing back into the cushions. 

“I have… some errands to run. And a few other things.” he says, dismissively. 

“Errands and a few other things? Who the fuck are you…” you ask, stretching your legs out on to the coffee table.

“I was about to take a shower, are you staying or going?” he asks, and as you lay your head back on the couch your eyes start to feel heavy.

“Just gonna rest my eyes for a minute.” you answer, getting more comfortable. 

“Goddamnit, Josh… Okay, but you’re leaving when I do.”

—

The sound of the front door closing is what wakes you, and as you come to you see Jake standing in front of you with grocery bags, clearly back from his errands. 

“Well, good morning.” he says, his tone a little snipped. 

“Shit, what time is it?” you ask, pulling your phone from your pocket and checking the time. Fuck. 

“Yeah, time for you to go the fuck home and get ready.” he says, making his way into the kitchen. 

“Alright, I’m outta here, good luck with your… plans…” you smirk, making your way to the door. 

“Don’t need luck, but sounds like you do. Fix it, Josh.” he says, pushing you out the front door and slamming it behind you. 

—

HER POV

As you leave the house, you think back on how many hours it’s been since you spoke to Josh. He popped into the bedroom when he got home and let you know that you had to leave by 6 to get to the event on time, but you don’t really count that as a conversation. You hadn’t actually exchanged words since your argument before bed. 

The two of you sit in complete silence as he drives, the radio turned down so low it’s barely audible. You hold your jacket close around you, unable to shake the chill from the awful cold snap plaguing Nashville. 

As you arrive, Josh quickly gets out of his Jeep, jogging around to your door to open it and offer you a hand to step out. You accept it, begrudgingly, and steady yourself on the asphalt. You opted for smaller heels tonight, a little scorned from the night before. You look at him and see his slightly forced smile under the streetlight. He’s in his favorite brown suit, his hair in perfect curls, three tiny, metallic dots painted on the apples of his cheeks. He looks sinfully good, and if you weren’t so upset with him, you’d kiss him square on the lips.

“I know you don’t want to be here. Just… at least try to smile in the pictures, okay?” He says, a hopeful lilt to his voice. 

You give him a little side-eye before starting to walk towards the front doors of the venue. He catches up with you after locking the car, his hand landing on your upper back as he ushers you into the front door he’s holding open for you.

The two of you wait in line for the coat check, your eyes scanning the lobby for anyone you may know. You don’t recognize anyone, so you shuffle ahead in line and keep your coat pulled tight around you. Once you’re a bit further up in line, almost to the front, you hear a familiar voice. 

“Heeeeey guys!” 

Sam’s arms wrap around both of you from behind, pulling you into a forced group hug. He unintentionally cuts the entire coat check line to stand with you and Josh.

“Hi Sammy,” you mumble, giving him a halfhearted smile. He looks to Josh, who forces a grin, his nose scrunching up in a way that makes it clear to Sam that the two of you aren’t getting along. It’s nothing new to Sam, so he shrugs it off. 

The line moves again and you’re finally at the front. A friendly young girl is standing behind the podium at the entry to the closet, a few guys running back and forth to take coats and put them in their assigned spots. She offers the three of you a smile as she looks down and tears a tab in half. 

“Can I take your coat, sir?” she asks Josh as you start to shrug your own off your shoulders.

“Ohoho, trying to get me out of my clothes, young lady? I just walked in the door!” he says, like he’s some sort of comedian. You roll your eyes so hard you think they may fall out of your head and fold your coat over your arm. She laughs, her cheeks turning pink as she accepts your coat instead. She dutifully hands the coat to the boy behind her, then offers the other half of the ticket up, between you and Josh for either to grab it.

“And now you’re trying to give me your number?” he jokes with a charismatic grin, seeing the number 107 on your ticket. She lets out a shameless giggle at that one and you can’t help but shake your head and walk away, uninterested in hearing any more of his god awful jokes. You arrived in a terrible mood and he’s already managed to make your night worse.

Passing through the entrance to the cocktail hour, you grab a glass of champagne and thank the server. Taking a big sip, you look behind you and see Sam and Josh approaching, Josh talking animatedly with his hands to Sam, but Sam is looking straight ahead. At you. 

His eyes scan over your figure- you’re in a champagne satin mini-dress. The cowl neckline is loose, but the waist pulls in due to the lace-up back. The shimmery color is brought to life under the light right above where you’re standing. Sam isn’t listening to a single word Josh is saying, just nodding and staring at you from a distance as his steps slow. 

It’s then that you cook up a terrible idea, if not the worst you’ve ever had. If Josh wants to treat you like he doesn’t care about you and put more romantic energy into the coat check girl than he’s shown you in days, you may as well give him a taste of his own medicine. Right?

Sam eventually pulls his eyes away from your body, nodding cluelessly at Josh. He can’t help it and looks back at you again, but this time, Josh’s gaze follows his. You sip your champagne, ignoring the way Josh’s eyebrows raise in surprise as his neck cranes forward slightly. You can read his lips as he says, “Jesus Christ.” and look away without giving him a reaction. 

The two of them make their way over to the high top cocktail table you’ve claimed as your own. Josh clears his throat and musters up the courage to speak to you. His voice sounds like it might crack. 

“I’ve never seen that dress. Where’d you get it?” he asks, giving you another once-over now that he’s closer.

“You sent it to me while you were in Paris for my birthday.” you answer dryly. “Or was that your assistant too?” 

He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, realizing he’s just dug himself a little bit deeper. 

“Come to think of it, Josh, have you ever bought me a gift yourself? Or do you just send the people that work for you on errands to ship me fancy baubles to keep me quiet and occupied while you’re away?” 

He steps a little closer to you, lowering his voice. 

“Do we have to do this here?” he pleads. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember. You look beautiful. Okay? Let me go get you a drink. What do you want?” 

You cut your eyes to Sam, who seems to be trying to occupy himself by staring up at the ceiling. Letting out a big sigh, you mumble back a tired, “Champagne,” to Josh. 

He nods and walks off, heading for the bar. In the meantime, you look at Sam, who’s giving you a nervous smile. 

“Sorry. It’s been… a rough few days.” You confess. “This ear thing has turned him into a jackass.” 

“Oh, yeah. He complained the whole way home.” Sam says, commiserating. 

“So it’s not just me?!” You laugh, Sam joining you. 

“No no. Not just you.”

You notice Josh is on his way back and decide to test the waters. Reaching forward, you step closer to Sam and adjust the collar of his shirt under his suit jacket, your touch lingering as you let your hand brush down the front of his chest before tugging his jacket into place and pulling your hands back to yourself. You’re in close proximity, so you look up at him with a little bat of your eyelashes. 

“Oh. Thank you!” He says, a little caught off guard, but he’s Sam, and he’s friendly, and you know he’s going to let you get away with it. 

Josh appears and somehow squeezes his arm between you and Sam, placing your champagne on the table. He’s noticed the mischievous glint in your eye and it’s game on. 

The event starts to pick up, more and more people roping Josh into conversations. It’s obvious that he’s the more recognizable of the two brothers there tonight, so you find yourself left standing with Sam on more than a few occasions. 

“Did you trim your hair?” You ask him, reaching out to twirl the end of his shiny brown locks around your finger. He chuckles softly, feeling a little bashful. Josh is at your side but deep in conversation with a man you’ve never seen in your life.

“Yeeaaaaah, I did, it was getting a little unruly. Just trying to keep it healthy. I’m surprised you noticed.” 

“Of course I noticed, Sammy. Some people may not notice you. But I always do.” Your voice is syrupy sweet. You feel a nudge from the other side of you and Josh is clearly eavesdropping, his brain working overtime as he nods at the gentleman talking his ear off while also listening to you and Sam. Sam doesn’t notice and gives you a soft laugh, shrugging. His cheeks are tinted a little pink. He’s too easy. 

“Why don’t we go find our table for dinner, hm?” Josh suggests, cutting his conversation short, which is just not in his character. You finish your last sip of champagne and leave your glass on the table. 

“You heard him. C’mon, Sammy boy.” 

You reach for his arm, linking it with yours. Josh gives you a look, but you usher him forward with a dismissive gesture. He glowers at you before walking toward the seating chart to see that the three of you are at table six. Sam follows along, his hand in his pocket as you hold on to his forearm. 

You settle into the chair between Sam and Josh. You opt for the chicken when the caterers come around, and both Sam and Josh go for the fish. There are a few speeches that go on before your plates arrive, so you sit politely and listen, Josh’s back to you as the speakers present. Since Sam is behind you, there are a few points where you turn around to laugh with him about something the presenter says. Josh stays facing forward, effectively blocking the two of you out. 

As your plates are delivered, everyone starts to eat, the table occasionally chattering, but it’s mostly quiet as some music plays. 

“How’s the chicken?” Josh asks, trying to make small talk. You take a bite, nodding. 

“Really good. And the fish?” You ask politely, but you don’t really care. 

“Delicious. Do you want a bite?” He asks, gesturing to his plate with his utensils. 

“Oh, no. No thanks.” You reply, turning away. He shrugs and goes back to eating his dinner, sipping his water.

“Do you wanna try a bite of the chicken, Sammy?” You ask, raising your eyebrows. You give him a soft smile as he nods, swallowing his bite.

Cutting a piece, you lift your fork towards Sam and he instinctively opens his mouth. Your other hand comes up under his chin to make sure he doesn’t get any sauce on his jacket. He accepts the bite from your fork and chews, nodding. 

“Oh, that’s really good. I should have gotten that.” He says, talking with his mouth full. It’s then that the stranger next to Sam interjects. 

“How long have you two been together?” She says, a nosey but well meaning woman. Josh nearly chokes on his dinner, pulling his cloth napkin up to his mouth as he coughs. It’s such a distraction that you don’t hear what Sam says to her. 

Once Josh stops coughing, he looks at you with a subtle anger behind his eyes. 

“Can you stop? I get it. You made your point.” Josh grumbles through gritted teeth. You feign innocence, blinking at him with bullshit doe eyes. 

“What point, Josh?” 

“You’re flirting with my brother so blatantly that strangers think you’re dating. What the fuck am I supposed to do, just sit here and let it happen?” 

Sam, realizing tensions are high, starts to stand up. 

“I’m gonna go get some air…” he says, departing from the table like it’s on fire. 

“I’m not flirting with him. I’m just being nice to him. You remember what that is, right? Being nice?” You say with an attitude, tilting your head as you wait for an answer. 

“Cut it out.” He tenses his jaw and his mouth barely moves as he scolds you like you’re some kind of dog. 

“Fuck you, Josh.” You’re not putting up with it for another second, so you push away from the table, grab your drink, and head in the direction Sam went. 

As you sneak through the crowds and the bar lines, you check to see if Josh is following you, but he’s still seated at the table. You see Sam through the glass doors, standing under a tent that’s doing little to nothing to stop the wind, smoking a cigarette. Gently pressing against the push bar, you slip outside and approach him tentatively. 

It’s quiet between the two of you as he gives you a smile that’s more of a grimace, though you know him and know that it’s not his intention. 

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know that, right?” He says, giving you a knowing smirk as he exhales some smoke. You sigh, kicking at a pebble beneath your feet. You hold your glass of champagne with both hands, your thumb nervously running along the side of it. 

“I feel like I do. But sometimes I can’t help myself.” You peer up at him, a coy smile spreading across your face. He lets out a laugh, shaking his head. 

“You two are a match made in hell,” he starts, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “But I can’t imagine him with anyone else.” 

You roll your eyes. Lately you’ve been feeling like Josh doesn’t even want to be with you anymore, but it’s not like you would have time to even discuss splitting up in person, since he’s hardly around long enough. Instead of divulging any of that to Sam, you lift your head and step closer. 

“Can I have a drag of that?” You ask, giving him a mischievous smirk. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You know how he is.” Sam says, well aware that the only thing Josh thinks it’s okay to smoke is not cigarettes. 

“Just one.” You bargain, looking out at the parking lot for a moment, then up at him with doe eyes. He can’t help but smile at you in return. 

“Don’t even touch it. He’ll smell it on your hands.” He jokes, turning it around in his fingers and holding it towards you. You tilt up your chin, smiling sweetly before he moves it closer to your pouty, glossy lips. Your eyes close gently and you start to inhale. 

Within seconds, it’s pulled from your lips, and all you hear is Sam’s thick Michigan accent as he whines, “OWWWW!” your eyes shooting open. 

“I will break every bone in your fuckin’ hand if you don’t get the fuck out of here right now, Samuel.” Josh threatens, suddenly outside with the two of you on the patio. Sam grabs the cigarette from his restrained hand with his free one, dropping it to the ground and stepping on it with wide eyes. 

Josh pushes his arm towards him as he lets it go and Sam nearly trips over himself, mumbling a startled, “Jesus Christ.” before adjusting his suit jacket and heading for the door.  

“And you.” Josh is positively seething, as he steps up to you. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

You nervously step backwards, leaning onto the railing behind you as he cages you in. “Josh, I’m–”

“Oh, it’s a little late for that, don't you think? I fucking warned you, Y/N.” His hand grips into your elbow, yanking your forward and dragging you behind him as you make your way back inside the building. “Get your fucking coat and meet me at the front door.” he says, releasing you as you enter back into the large crowd. 

You walk back over to your table, collecting your bag and your champagne before rushing over towards the coat check. You hand the same girl your ticket stub, and you anxiously sip your champagne as you wait. You may have pushed him too far this time. Seconds later she returns with your coat, and you take it with a smile, pulling it over your arms and making your way to the front door. 

Josh is waiting, chewing a piece of gum a little harsher than necessary. His jaw is hard set and his cheeks are pink and you know this does not bode well for you. As you approach him he offers a small wave and a smile to someone behind you, before letting his eyes drift back to yours, full of fury, the tension returning to his body. 

“Oh, so you can listen.” he says, yanking the large glass door open, both of you being hit with the cold outside air. You step out the door and begin the walk to the car, clutching your jacket close to your body. Your teeth chatter as the wind hits you, your whole body shivering. 

“What, are you cold in that slutty little dress?” he asks, walking a little too quickly for you to keep up with him. “Seemed just fine on the patio with Sam. Suck it up and keep walking.”

He turns his head looking back at you as you try to drink down the rest of your champagne. He reaches for the glass, ripping it from your hand and tossing it into the bushes. You hear the glass shatter and you’re a little taken aback. You’ve never seen him this mad before, and you hate that you kinda like it. 

“Josh!” you shout, you cheeks heating at his aggressiveness, and you think the alcohol in your system is to blame for that. 

“What has gotten into you, Y/N?! You think– You think you can just go around acting like a little slut at my work events? With my fucking brother? Do you know how that looks!?” he shouts, as you round the corner, steadily approaching the car. He is still chewing the gum too hard, hoping it will relieve some of the tension pulsing through his body.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Josh, I think the pain meds are making you crazy.” you scoff, completely brushing off his accusations, even though he is completely right. 

“Oh, fuck offff…It’s not the pain meds, it’s you! You’re making me fucking crazy! Running around like a little trollop just to make me irate for sport!” he yells, his midwestern accent peeking out in his anger. 

He reaches for the door handle, yanking it open to let you step in, regardless of how angry he currently is. As you position yourself in the seat you turn to look at him, ready to deliver another snarky comment but as you open your mouth he cuts his eyes and slams the car door closed. You huff and fasten your seatbelt as he joins you on the other side. 

He starts the car and peels out of the parking spot, spinning the tires as he pulls out onto the main road. Your hands grasp at the door handle for stability, his expression unwavering as he continues to blow down the backstreets of downtown Nashville. 

“Josh, I–”

“No. Silence. Don’t say another fucking word until I speak to you first. Got it?” he snaps, the fury is thick in his voice. 

You cross your arms over your chest, debating whether or not to taunt him further. As if he can hear your thoughts he turns to you, speaking through clenched teeth. 

“Not. A. Fucking. Word.”

The rest of the drive home was spent in silence, and you could tell he was compiling his list of your transgressions. You knew that the second the front door shut behind you he was going to unleash every bit of it on you, and to be quite honest, you couldn’t wait.

Once he tears recklessly up the driveway, he kills the engine and the headlights. Throwing open the door, he slams it behind him and makes his way around to the passenger side. Despite his burning anger, he’s still insistent on opening your door for you. He offers you a hand and when you take it, you feel how warm he is to the touch. Hopping down to the ground, he lets you steady yourself, then tugs your hand so you’re forced to walk in front of him. He lets go once he knows you’ve gotten the hint and start off wobbling through the gravel in your heels like a baby deer as he locks the car. 

You wait next to the front door, knowing Josh has his keys and you opted to leave yours at home to save space in your clutch. He ignores you, his jaw still working overtime on the probably stale gum in his mouth, turning the key in the lock and pushing into the house. He leaves the door open for you to follow him in, so you do, shutting it gently as you slip off your heels. 

He tosses his keys onto the dining table and you watch as they slide to a halt as he rids himself of his suit coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. You make a move towards the closet, ready to hang your own coat but as you walk he steps in front of you, snatching the thick black fabric from your hands to throw it over the same chair. He stares at you with a hardened jaw, his face and ears red as he prepares for his onslaught, and as a small grin turns up the corner of your lips you see his anger tip the scales to catastrophic. 

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up, Josh. If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re acting a bit jealous. Or threatened, maybe?” you pause, tapping your finger to your chin. “Yeah, I think threatened is the right word. Are you nervous little Sammy is gonna steal your spotlight and your girl?”

“Steal my spotlight?” he responds, scoffing. It’s clear you hit a nerve there. “You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut. Especially when it comes to things you know nothing about.”

“I know how many people were bumping elbows with him tonight, talking about his upcoming projects, barely even asking about the album. He’s got his own career now.” you double down, narrowing your eyes at him, twisting the knife. He steps closer to you, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath. You know he’s about to lay into you for that.

“You should be grateful I even let you tag along to these fucking things.” he snaps, his voice raising. “You know, there’s a hell of a lot you should be grateful for, now that I think of it. Do you know how easy it would be for me to find a nice, quiet girl who waits patiently for me to come home and doesn’t spend every waking moment reminding me of my shortcomings?” 

You don’t like the direction he’s taking this, and you’re realizing you may have pushed him a little too far. 

“I could go down the line and pick any one I wanted, but I still come home to you. And this is what I have to put up with?” 

“So do it then! Go ahead and take your pick!” you shout, throwing your hands in the air. His cheeks grow red, and his eyes narrow. 

“But you won’t, will you Josh... Because you know that not a single one of them will stick around once they find out how you really are. When they find themselves home alone night after night. When you don’t speak to them for days at a time when you’re writing or on the road. When you miss their birthday… and every major holiday for that matter. When they find out that your idea of love and romance is having your assistant buy hush gifts you can’t be bothered to choose yourself. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one texting me from your phone, too!”

He slams his fist down on the dining table, his keys rattling against the wood. “That is not true, and you know it!”

“But it is, and you know who puts up with it? Me, because I love you. And I can promise that you’ll be hard pressed to find someone else who is willing to deal with all of that.”

“Dare me?” he challenges, wincing slightly as the pressure builds in his ear. 

“I don’t know Josh, is that what you want? Wouldn’t say I’d be surprised with how you’ve been acting lately.” you say, pushing away from the kitchen table and walking further into the house. 

“How I’ve been acting lately?” he scoffs, following after you, hot on your heels.

“Yeah! Like I’m such a burden to bear. Like you’d rather I wasn’t here. I’m practically your glorified assistant, or arm candy when you feel like dragging me along.”

You start to climb the stairs toward your bedroom, needing to get out of your dress and away from him. Unfortunately, Josh isn’t one to ever let you have the last word, and he starts bounding up the staircase after you.

“Is that what this is about? You’re still mad you had to bring me to the doctor? God forbid I ask you to do something besides complain and spend my money. I needed your help, because if you haven’t noticed, something pretty serious happened to me, but for some reason you won’t stop giving me a hard fucking time about it!” That comment about the money stops you in your tracks, leaving you glaring down at him on the step below you. 

“It’s not about your money and it’s not about me having to help you. It’s about you not giving a shit about how I feel and blowing me off when I try to tell you. All I want is for you to care! Have we grown so far apart that seeing me upset doesn’t even phase you anymore?”

Josh runs his tongue over his teeth as he tries to conjure up a response. He steps up so he’s on the landing with you, a little bit of silence settling over you both.

“And you thought…” he starts, looking out the window behind you for a moment, then back to your eyes. “You thought the way to get me to care… was to behave like a little slut?”

The energy suddenly shifts between you. You know that in the silence, he must have had a realization that he’s not meeting your needs. You feel your mouth go a little dry and you take a step backwards, reaching to hold on to the railing. 

“I–”

“You know what I think…” he says, moving closer, caging you in with his arms. “I think that I’ve been gone too long…” his breath is hot on your cheeks. “I think you’re due for an attitude adjustment.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you grip into the bannister. You swallow nervously, as his hand moves to meet your satin covered waist. “Yeah, I think I need to remind you just how good you have it, don’t I sweetheart?”

The words are there, swirling through your head but as his eyes peer into yours, nothing seems to come out. 

“S’matter, baby? Nothin’ to say suddenly? No smart ass remarks? I’m right, aren’t I? You need me to fuck some sense into you?” he growls, his fingers gripping into the curve of your waist. He nods his head in the direction of your bedroom, a crooked smirk on his face. 

“Go ahead and take off your earrings, baby. Get out of that unbecoming little dress and wait for me on the bed.” he says softly, rubbing a thumb over the apple of your cheek before walking off and locking himself in the bathroom. 

The cocktail of emotions your brain is floating in has you dizzy. You want to be angry at him, but you’re starting to feel a little embarrassed as you think back on how you acted at dinner. Part of you wants to cry, his harsh words hitting you where he knew it would hurt, but another is so turned on by the way he just flipped the switch on the entire emotionally charged exchange.

You shuffle into your shared bedroom, sitting gingerly at your vanity and taking off all of your jewelry. As you take off your rings, you stare at the earrings and necklace in your porcelain dish, remembering when he had gifted each piece to you. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t care how long or how often he’s away…he just doesn’t know how to make it better. So he sends you trinkets from wherever he visits, reminding you that you’re on his mind. Your heart lurches as you realize that maybe all he wanted while he was away from home was a quiet dinner with you, his love, at Phil’s, and that’s why he didn’t take you out to an expensive steakhouse where you would undoubtedly sit awkwardly across from each other and make conversation. He wanted comfort. He wanted what he knows no other woman can give him. 

You hear the water start to run, which zaps you back into the moment. Standing from the velvet upholstered stool, you head for the walk-in closet and try to reach for the zipper on your dress. You can’t exactly get to it, stretching to try and pinch the zipper between your fingers. The bathroom door opens and you whip your head around, knowing he’s going to come looking for you. 

It’s only seconds before you feel his warm hands gliding across your hips, no doubt knowing you need his help with the zipper. Perhaps that’s why he purchased the dress to begin with. Knowing he would be the one to help you take it off. He moves your hair, laying it all to one side of your neck before pressing his lips to your skin. His fingers pinch the small zipper as he slides it down, letting the silk dress flutter down around your ankles. 

“Tell me you know that I love you.” he breathes, his lips brushing against your neck.

“I know you love me.” you answer, breathless as your chest heaves. 

His hands slide around to your bare stomach, pulling your body back until you’re flush with his own. “Now, tell me you’ll remember that.”

“I’ll remember.” you whisper, feeling him long and hard as he rests against your back. 

He grabs your hips and spins you around to face him, cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”

A gasp leaves your chest as your eyes meet his, dark and blown out. He drags his thumb over your lips, smearing the remnants of your pink lipstick across your chin. “Now get on the bed like I told you the first time.”

Reluctantly pulling away from him, you make your way back into the bedroom, kneeling on the bed, sitting on your heels. You nervously cover your chest with your hands, the room feeling a little cold all of the sudden. He steps into the room, his hand lingering on the doorframe. 

“Move your hands,” he says, his voice quiet but stern. “You wanted the entire dinner table to see them. Why can’t I?”

Your cheeks burn red as you lower your hands to your lap. He approaches, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he’s appraising you.

“He didn’t touch you, did he?” he asks, pushing your hair behind your ear. “My brother?” 

You quickly start to shake your head. Maybe a little too quickly. You watch him with careful eyes as he lets his hand gently graze your throat, then move further down, the gears in his head turning.

“I bet you wanted him to, though…” he adds, pinching at your nipple teasingly, wanting a reaction. You take in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“No.” you say defensively.

“You like Sam because he’s so sweet. He cares. That’s what you want, right? Someone to wipe away your tears when you cry about meaningless shit? You know that’s his specialty.” 

“I don’t like Sam. I just wanted–”

“Save it.” Josh snaps, grabbing harshly at your cheeks to shut you up. He stares at you for a moment before placing a gentle kiss to your squished lips. He pulls away quickly, but doesn’t release his grip on your cheeks.

“If you want to act like a little whore, I’m going to treat you like one. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll tell you.”

He pushes you backwards as he releases his hand, landing you in the pile of soft feather pillows behind you. He stands up from the bed, shimmying off his boxers before crawling back onto the bed in front of you. His eyes meet yours and for a second there is a softness there, almost as if he is asking if you’re okay with this. You offer him a subtle nod before he lowers his head and begins to drag his nose up the length of your leg.

“Did you have fun tonight, flitting around the place, drink in hand, practically begging to be fucked in the bathroom? Hm? Is that what you wanted?” he asks, pressing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh. 

You squirm beneath him as the filthy words leave his angelic lips. “Did you want him to take you away and fuck your stupid little brains out? Answer me.”

“No.” you reply, desperate to feel his lips on your body. “I… I wanted…” you stammer, your bravery leaving you with every shaky breath. He places an open mouthed kiss to your mound, but freezes once your words trail off.

“You never stop talking, but now you’re at a loss for words? Fucking say it, Y/N.” 

“I wanted you!” you cry out, your head falling back onto your pillow, a heavy sigh leaving your chest. He squeezes the softness of your thigh before he speaks.

“And you really thought that would work?” he asks, nipping at your soft skin, chuckling quietly. “You’re dumber than I thought.”  

You feel your skin grow hot at his words, your hips jerking upwards on their own accord.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I call you my stupid little girl?” he asks, sucking a mark into your thigh. “My dumb little brat?”

A whine leaves your chest as you feel his tongue slowly start to slide through your folds. 

He pulls away from you, “Ah, ah… Be quiet, remember? I know it’s hard for you to do as you’re told, but if I have to remind you again you aren’t going to like what happens.”

You stifle your moan and move your hips as his hands hold you in place, his tongue reconnecting with your core as he makes slow, languid laps against you. “Did I leave this pretty pussy too long? Does she miss me and need my attention?” 

He moves his hands to let his thumbs spread you further, swirling his tongue over your clit. “I think she misses me so bad that it’s got you acting crazy, my love.” His lips suction against you, sucking you into his mouth with a lewd slurp. His hands slide up to your hips, pulling you closer to his face. His tongue grazes your entrance, dipping in just long enough to tease you. He presses a kiss to your clit before pulling away again. 

“You must be crazy if you think my brother could do even half of what I do to you. No one, no one, treats this pussy like I do. Worships this pussy like I do.”

“Josh…” you whine, the word leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

You feel a sharp flick to your clit and you cry out, your body jumping in response.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.” he says, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit, as if to soothe the pain he inflicted. You feel a rush of warmth at your core, your body responding positively to his actions. 

“Oh, baby, fuck…” he groans, sliding his fingers thorough the wetness. “But you do like it. You love it.” He pauses, locking eyes with you. “Answer me.”

“I–Yes…” you breathe, feeling his smile against your core. 

“My dirty, sweet, baby likes a little pain with her pleasure.” he growls, sliding a finger inside of you. You clench around it, desperate for more. “Yeah? More? You want two or three?” he asks, his eyes flicking to yours. 

“T-Three.” you beg, breathless as you feel him slide in two more. 

His lips find your clit again, suckling the sensitive nub into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it again and again as his fingers work you from the inside. The pressure is growing and you know you’re close. He must feel you fluttering around him, so he pulls his fingers and mouth away from you quicker than you can blink. 

“Nu-uh. Not until I say so, and I do believe I’d like to get mine first tonight... You know, for my troubles.”

A huff leaves your chest as you look at him, sitting back up to rest on his heels. 

“You know baby, I think I’m feelin’ a little reckless tonight...I’m thinkin’ maybe we skip the condom, what do you say?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, Josh always having been completely adamant that you use protection. Always. Despite being on birth control. You can count the number of times you’ve gone without a condom on one hand over the three years you’ve been together. 

“Are–Are you sure?” you ask.

“Yeah, I think you need the full effect… need to really feel me so you can remember your place. Remember why you count down the days until I come home.” he says, fisting his base. 

“Although,” he says thoughtfully before pausing. “… if I’m going to fuck you like a whore, I’m gonna have to wear one. Standard procedure, you understand…” he mumbles, reaching over to his nightstand and pulling a silver foil package from the drawer. You feel your heart drop as he rips it out of the package and effectively rips the opportunity away from you. A quiet, disappointed whine leaves your throat.

He clicks his tongue as he watches your face drop, “Aw, what is it? Did you want my cock?” he asks, a smug grin on his face. “If you behaved yourself I probably would have given you what you wanted. It’s a shame, really.”

“Please…” you whine, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Oh she’s begging for it. God, you really are so sweet when you want to be.” he says, rolling the condom over his cock. 

“Josh come on, please!” it’s a pathetic whine as it leaves your mouth, but you don’t care.

His hand collides with the side of your hip, a loud smack ringing through the room. “Don’t be a little brat. You’ll take what you’re given.”

A whimper leaves your lips as the sting sets in. “That hu—”

“What? Hurt? That’s typically the point, love.” Your hips jerk up towards him, his abs peeking through as he leans towards you. “Now, do you understand?”

You nod your head as he lowers his, pressing his lips to yours. His perfect heart shaped lips capture yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth with fervor. Your hands come up to wrap around his waist, his skin soft and smooth beneath your hands. You feel his muscles tense under your touch as he ruts his hips, dragging himself against you, the sound of the latex audible as you try to angle yourself so he’ll slip inside you.

“So impatient…” he chides, sucking his teeth as he hovers his lips just above yours. He decides to take mercy on you, letting himself start to slide inside with ease. You cup his cheek, kissing him tenderly, a silent thank you. You feel the heat building in your abdomen again, half the battle won after the way he edged you previously. 

“Does that feel good, sweet thing?” he asks, pushing in to the hilt before slowly pulling out again. “You gonna settle down now that you’re feeling nice and full?” he asks, and you respond with a shake of your head. “No?” he questions, surprised. He fucks into you slowly, deeply. You feel every inch of him that you’ve missed… but it’s not the same.

“No…I wanted you to take it off…” you whine. He shakes his head, a little chuckle leaving him.

“You’re in no place to make demands. I’m gonna get mine, toss it in the trash, and leave you wishing it was dripping down your thigh. And if you’re smart, you’ll say thank you.”

You feel yourself clench around him at his cruel words, making him smirk. So he carries on, picking up his pace as he grips into the softness of your thighs.

“But you’re not, are you?” he taunts, lowering his head to kiss and suck at your collarbone. “Can’t be if you pretended to be interested in my idiot brother. You’re mine. What do I have to do to get it to stick in that little brain of yours?” 

You whisper his name, closing your eyes as your cheeks turn pink, his insults both embarrassing you and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“I told you I’m getting mine first. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns, his palm landing on the pillow next to your head as he rests his weight and increases his range of motion. As he moves faster, his thrusts become more brutal as he starts to knock the wind out of you. It’s getting harder to keep yourself from losing it, your thighs starting to quiver.

He feels it, because he always does, but you can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t want to stop. He curses breathlessly and pulls out, his hand leaving your hip and moving down to stroke himself, but he lets out a grunt and pushes up to sit on his heels, looking down at himself.

“...Fuck.”

He wraps his arm under your thigh and tugs you closer, urgently, and sheathes himself inside so quickly you cry out.

“Oh, baby. You feel like fucking velvet.” he moans, his head falling back, his moans bouncing off the ceiling. When he pulls back, something feels… different. “Looks like you got what you wanted after all…”

He sits back again and pulls out of you, resting his hands on his thighs as he takes a deep breath like he needs to get himself under control. Sitting up on your elbows, you look down at him between your thighs to see the condom has not just broken, but torn. It’s more than halfway down his shaft, which explains why he felt so slick and warm inside you.

“Oh…” you say softly, your lips parting. You stare at him above you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes heavy as they lock onto yours. He lifts one hand, motioning you forward with two fingers, and you know exactly what he wants. 

“On your knees.”

You don’t hesitate to roll onto your side and stand from the bed, dropping to your knees with your hands in your lap. He watches as you go, waiting until you’re in position to stand himself and approach, raking his hand through your hair almost affectionately. You keep your eyes on him, the way he’s hard and straining against the useless condom.

“Does being on your knees hurt, little slut? Or is that right where you belong?” he asks, resting the tip of his cock against your lips. “Open.” 

You stick out your tongue, dragging it against the bottom of his tip.

“More.” he demands, pushing his hips forward. You open your mouth wider as you move to reach up and touch him, but he immediately tells you, “No.”

Your eyes look up at him, brows furrowing in curiosity as you question silently whether or not he’s going to take the condom off.

It’s sudden and shocking when he answers your question, grabbing the back of your head and shoving himself in deep. You feel him against your tongue, tasting the lube and feeling the latex on the front end of your tongue. 

He starts to thrust so quickly, you reach for his thighs to try and push him back. He doesn’t seem to care, almost relishing in your struggle, his fist tightening in your hair. As a gag works its way up your throat, he pulls you off of him, gasping for air, saliva dripping down your chin and neck. 

“How’s it taste, baby?” he asks, tugging your hair, making you look up at him through bleary eyes, trying to catch your breath. As you open your mouth to answer, he fists himself, shoving himself back into your mouth. You gag immediately and he pulls out, your mouth open as you try to breathe. He doesn’t let you, though, grabbing your jaw and spitting directly into your open mouth. 

“You better think twice before you complain.” 

You snap your jaw shut, swallowing thickly, your eyes popping back open to look up at him in shock. He gives you a crooked smile, pleased with the way he’s managed to throw you off. It only encourages him as you look up at him with wide eyes and try to catch your breath. He quirks a single brow, then runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Nothing to say?” he asks, challenging you. You shake your head once.

He pushes the head of himself back inside your mouth, then spits again, making you flinch as it lands on your cheek. You squeeze your eyes closed, intending to hollow out your cheeks and suck, but he pulls himself out with a pop and drags his cock through the spit on your face, chuckling. 

“You’re starting to smarten up.” he mumbles. “Little brat.”

He taps the tip of his cock harshly against your lips and you can see the wheels spinning in his head as he plans his next move. “Back on the bed, all fours.” he says, snapping his fingers and pointing to the center of the bed.

You immediately pull yourself from your aching knees and scramble onto the bed, positioning yourself on all fours, just as instructed. You feel the bed dip behind you and you turn your head, seeing the remnants of the condom still intact around him. He makes no effort to remove it, wearing it like a trophy as his hands find your hips. His left hand slides up the curve of your back before pressing a palm to your spine, a silent order to arch a little further. 

“You’re trembling. You want it so bad don’t you…” he growls, his tip brushing against your entrance. “Want to feel my nice warm cock inside you…Nothing but me and you…You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby…”

“Yes.” you breathe, almost a whisper.

“I shouldn’t…I should put a new one on right now.” he says, the clench of his jaw audible. 

He thrusts himself inside of you, the barrier of latex gone between the two of you, letting you feel every ripple and vein of his perfect cock inside of you. It nearly takes your breath away as his hips slam into you. A groan leaves his chest as his hands grip into your hips, and you can feel his hot breath on your back.

His hips crash violently into yours, his pillow soft tip grazing your cervix with every stroke. He’s struggling to keep his composure, it's evident with his erratic breathing and the stuttering of his hips. 

You clench around him, a whimper falling from his lips in response, briefly breaking the facade he’s chosen for the evening. “Fuck, Y/N… I– I fucking hate you. You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

A pang shoots through your chest, you feel the tension in your stomach start to build as you flutter around him. “I hate that I can’t live without you. I hate how much I love you. You–I can’t deny you anything…Not ever…” he pauses, his chest heaving. “Can’t you see that?”

“Josh…” you beg through panting breaths. 

“Not yet, you’re gonna wait. Wait until I say, yeah? Can you wait like my good girl?” he says, struggling to stave off his own release. 

“I– I can’t…” you whine. 

“You will.” he demands, punctuating his sentence with his hips. “Fuck, you feel so good, swear to god I’m gonna– fuck…”

“Josh please, please!” you beg, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. 

“My little slut begging to cum, oh you’re a fucking vision… My angel…” he pauses, sliding his hand around your waist and pinching your nipple between his fingers. You tighten around him and you hear him hiss in response. “Oh goddamn, you’re not a fucking angel though, are you… You’re straight from hell.”

His hips start to falter, and you can tell he’s close. You turn your head to look at him, his hair wild and sweaty against his temples, his jaw hanging slack as he watches himself fuck you. His eyes flick up to meet yours, they are dark and his pupils are wide as a slight smile turns his lips. 

“I know I said I was going to get mine first, but you’ve been such a good girl for me. Go on, cum baby. Cum right on my cock, wanna feel you give yourself to me.” he says, nodding his head. 

His permission throws you right up into the sky, your release washing over you so forcefully that your arms give out below you, sending you tumbling into the sheets. His hands hold you up as he continues to fuck you through it, curses and praise falling from his swollen pink lips. 

As if your bliss fueled his own, you feel him pull your hips back firmly against him, a groan exploding from his chest once he can’t hold on any longer. You feel his cock twitching, his release beginning to spill inside of you as your name falls from his lips. You clench around him and he rapidly pulls out of you, fisting his cock as his cum continues to spill, painting hot white streams across your back. 

The room is quiet, just the sounds of the two of you attempting to catch your breath. His hand slides up over the curve of your ass, his fingertips catching a drip of his cum before it falls to the sheets below you. His hand reaches around smearing his fingers across your lips, and you can hear him snickering as he leaves his release behind. “A much better shade on you, darling.”

With a smack of your ass you feel him step off of the bed, padding towards the bathroom. “Stay there, don’t move. I don’t want a mess on the sheets.”

You stay put, frozen as you lean down on your elbows and rest your chin in your palm. He comes back out of the bathroom a moment later in his robe and saunters to the stairs. You hear his footsteps slowly descending the steps, the occasional squeak indicating how far away he is. 

You figure he’s heading to get you a towel from the dryer, so you just sigh and bide your time, feeling the wetness on your back start to get a little cold as the air moves through the room. In the silence, you hear a cabinet opening… then a cup being placed on the counter. Your lips part in shock as you realize he’s downstairs making a drink while he leaves you here, messy and exposed. The cherry on top of the punishment he’s dealt you this evening.

It’s a good, long while before he comes back up the stairs, again, at a leisurely pace. He softly pads across the room, then steps into your line of sight, putting a mug down on the nightstand. He made himself a cup of tea? 

You sigh, looking at him flatly, a little tired of the game at this point. He steps into the bathroom again, this time reemerging with a warm, wet towel. He approaches the bed and kneels over you, gently wiping you clean as silence settles over you both.

“I made you some tea. In case I was a little rough on your throat.” he says quietly. “I figured I owe you a drink after throwing yours into the bushes.” His tone conveys that he’s remorseful, his voice back to its unique, charming timbre. “Listen, I didn’t mean to get so… worked up. You were right when you said I was threatened by Sam, and I just kind of lost control.” 

You hum softly, resting your head on the pillow and looking at him over your shoulder, your eyes soft and tired.

“I’m sorry I pushed you that far…” you say quietly, your voice hoarse. He tosses the towel towards the hamper, standing from the bed. He leans down and places a kiss to your temple as you lay all the way down, just as your back starts to hurt.

You hear him opening your dresser drawer and soon enough he’s back at your side, placing a set of silky, cream colored pajamas and a pair of underwear near your head. He kneels at your bedside, resting his head on the bed to look at you where you lay.

“I picked these out for you when we were in Glasgow. There was this little boutique near the hotel that caught my eye. It was after dinner one night and I tried to call you but the time difference was making a mess of things…I couldn’t get ahold of you and I was just feeling lonely… so I took a walk and decided to pop in. I saw them and thought of you immediately. Thought of how they’d feel when I got back home and in bed with you.” he confesses, petting your hair the whole time he speaks. There’s almost a sadness to this story that makes guilt bubble up in your chest. You accused him of never calling, rarely thinking of you, and sending his assistant off to buy you meaningless gifts. The thought of him hand picking it for you while he was feeling lonely thousands of miles away breaks your heart.  

“I’m sorry I said all that stuff. About the gifts. That was admittedly pretty awful of me.” you squeak out, feeling ashamed of the way you acted and who you painted him to be. “I’ve been really hard on you.”

“Hard on me?” he asks, a breathy laugh rumbling through him.

“I just… I haven’t been really considerate about your ear and the stress you’re under and I think I’ve been feeling neglected in a way, so instead of trying to fix it, it was just easier to put all of the blame on you and lose sight of the sacrifices you make for me every day. For us.” 

He shakes his head, unwilling to let you accept all the blame. “I haven’t exactly made things easy on you…” he says, his voice a little small. “I think–no, I know I can do more. I will do more. I fucked up yesterday baby, and I’m sorry. I should have planned something nice. You deserve that. And I’m sorry about tonight, fuck, I’m just sorry for all of it. I love you and I need you and I’m just really, really sorry.”

He stands from his place on the side of the bed, watching you as you slide into your silky pajamas. He tosses his robe to your vanity chair and joins you on the other side of the bed, pulling back the linen sheets and sliding in next to you. 

“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I was a brat, and I’m sorry I used Sam to get under your skin. I just– I wanted your attention…and I know it was stupid and immature… I just needed to know you still cared, even just a little bit. I wanted to see it.” you pause, looking into his dark brown eyes. 

“And last night, you just wanted a night in and I was…less than agreeable. I wish we could do it over. You just wanted your comfort food and your favorite movie, home alone with me…but I couldn’t see that. I know you’re hurting. I know you’re doing your best and I’m sorry I was ungrateful. I’m happy that you were even home. I’m happy I can take care of you while you’re here.” you say, moving closer to him in the middle of the bed. “I missed you last night…”

He props himself up on his elbow, his cheeks still a little pink from earlier, and in the dim light of the lamp he is glowing. “I missed you too baby, I knew I fucked up before I even got out of the room. I should have never said that to you. Not ever. Can you forgive me?” he asks, letting his free hand slide across the sheets and grab yours. 

“Can you forgive me?” you ask, letting your glassy eyes meet his.

“Baby…” the word is a breath from his lips. You reach for him as he wraps his arms around you. You cradle his head in the crook of your neck as he breathes you in and you know all is forgiven between the two of you. You scratch his scalp and pet his velvety shaved sides, holding him close enough that you can feel his heart beating. 

“Can I make you that soup you like tomorrow? With the kale and the carrots…” you ask, a whisper against his temple. You feel him nod, a small hum leaving his chest. 

“And I still have that sourdough starter that Jake gave us… I can make some bread with it? Does that sound good?” you ask, feeling his grip on you tighten. 

“Oh my god, that starter. Have you been feeding it like he said!? I completely forgot!” he gasps.

You laugh hard enough that it shakes your chest, “Of course I have. He would be so sad if I let it die.”

You feel his body relax against you again, “Do you know how much I love you?” he asks, turning his head to face you. 

You feel your skin blush as he looks at you, his eyes full of adoration. “A lot?”

“More than that.” he smiles, his cheek dimple peeking out just a touch. You can hardly stop yourself from pressing your lips to it, your favorite thing. 

“I love you, alot.” you reply, peppering his face with kisses. 

“But there is something that I want to talk to you about…” he says, his voice growing a little more serious. 

“W-what?” you ask nervously, pulling away just a little. 

“I know you’ve been so excited about coming to Spain in a few weeks…And I’ve really been looking forward to it too…” he starts, and you feel your heart drop. Is it canceled? Does he not want you to come?

“Yeah…” you breathe, anxious to hear what he’s about to say.

“So, you know it’s been a long time since we’ve toured over there, and our normal coordinator isn’t able to make it, so we are using a secondary coordinator…It really throws a wrench into everything. Things are going to be really shaky those first few days with the jet lag and all of that. I just– I know that it’s gonna be super crazy, and I feel like we probably won’t be able to spend much time together while we get the tour stuff sorted out.” he pauses, and you feel your eyes well with tears. “I just don’t want you to come and feel ignored...”

“So I’m not–” 

His face softens as he brings his hand up to cup your cheek, “So, I went ahead and booked us flights to go a whole week early, just me and you. Found us a quiet little place on the water right outside of Barcelona. It has a big open porch and a giant bed. It’s so beautiful and I know you’re going to love it. We can do whatever you want, just you and I.” He kisses your forehead before he continues. 

“And before you ask, yes, your boss already knows. I wanted to surprise you when we left, but I figured you would be suspicious that the rest of the guys wouldn’t be with us in the airport. I was planning to tell you tonight when we got home, but we saw what happened…” he smiles, his eyes positively sparkling. “So, how does that sound, my love? Will you come with me?”

Tears rush to your eyes. You were so prepared to be disappointed again that they were already on their way and this sealed the deal.

“That sounds so perfect,” you manage to squeak out as he wipes away an errant tear sliding down towards your pillow. When he pulls you in for a tender kiss, you can feel him smiling against your lips. “My coworkers are going to kill me for going on a two week vacation during tax season…”

“I’m sure they’ll be okay.” he says, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “They probably ate your strawberries yesterday, so you can call it even.” You suck your teeth at that, lips parting in shock.

“They better not have! I’m out for one day and the wolves descend?”

“I’m sure they’ll be there waiting for you Monday.” He soothes, pulling the sheets and comforter up higher over the both of you, pulling you in close as his little spoon. “But just in case… Maybe we can get some melting chocolate at the store tomorrow and make our own for dessert?” he mumbles softly. 

“Oh, I’d love that…” you say, pleasantly surprised at his effort already. He holds you tight, nuzzling into your hair. His hands are soft and warm as they sneak up under the silky pajamas, a comforting touch after so many nights spent in this bed alone.

“It’s a date, my love.” 

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[sahrii]

Hai haiiii! I didn't know if ur requests was open rn or not (if they aren't feel free to ignore this)

But! If they are have you ever thought of something like this for baji?

Ok so imagine baji is walking around town with the rest of toman division leaders and he sees some manga(or ur favorite snack) and he almost admittedly stops everything to get it for you? Like......I would be the happiest soul ngl 😭💓

a/n: hihihiu yess!! my requests r open and im so happy u requested!! i hope u like iy tho !! im actually so happy u requested so thank u n enjoy <333

contains: Baji x Gn!Reader

——————————————————————

Despite the not very painful punches Baji was receiving yet the excruciatingly painful ones he was landing back, for a second, his focus wavered from the brawl and fixated on the cover of the Manga you’ve been talking about non stop.

The sounds of violence and the exertion of grunts faded away into the background as his attention was glued to the cover.

However, a particularly sharp jab brought him back to the reality of the fight, blood trickling down his face. But the image of your elated face, illuminated by the gift he was about to secure for you, eclipsed the pain.

As the skirmish intensified, he dodged and countered, his mind occupied by the vivid picture of you, fingers delicately flipping through the pages of the manga he was determined to obtain for you. His mind was suddenly fuzzy because of the erupting butterflies and flood of warmth caused by the thought of making you smile.

After a couple of punches and grunts, a brief moment of chaos allowed Baji to break free. Ignoring the throb of his body and the yells of his fellow Toman captains, he dashed towards the bookshop. He excitedly grabbed the manga and paid for it, finally emerging amidst a world of chaos and gang fights with the manga in his hand.

It really wasn’t like Baji to ‘back away’ from a fight, but the radiant smile he’d imagined drawn on your ethereal face that’d melt his hardened heart away. The mere thought made every drop of blood and every colourful bruise worth it.

——————————————————————

An interrupting knock invaded your peaceful night. Surely, it isn’t Baji as he told you that he has an important fight today, so who could it be, you asked yourself.

As you open the door, Baji’s tall figure flooded your vision, blood trickling down his handsome face and hinds behind his back. What caught you off guard though, other than the obvious vibrant bruises and cruel cuts that peppered Baji’s smooth skin, was the dashingly crooked grin that’s plastered on his face.

“Did you hit yourself on the head? Why are you smiling like that when you’re full of bruises and blood is trickling down your face? You totally look like a psycho, Kei!” You scrunch your nose, internally cringing at the horrendous state he’s in.

“You look like you came out of a war zone,” you added, furrowing your brows as you assessed his bruised appearance.

“I mighta been in a tussle or two— but I don’t really care—here, this is for you,” he shrugged as he so casually handed you the Manga volume you’ve been talking about for ages but couldn’t afford, making you gasp in surprise.

“Hold up—what? Kei, I’m so confused..what the hell is happening?! Why did my boyfriend show up in blood and then proceeded to surprise with the manga I’ve been talking about for ages—“ you couldn’t resist the smile that is making its way to your face. Such a small gesture truly made you feel like the happiest person on earth.

“Don’ know, it might be because you may or may not have the best boyfriend on the face of this earth,” he shrugged, smirking in a smug way.

You jumped onto your boyfriend, momentarily disregarding his injuries out of excitement, arms tangling around his neck as he snaked his hands around your waist. Although the embrace was truly comforting, he couldn’t help but wince as a sharp pain echoed throughout his body, but he ultimately refused to make it obvious.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you thanked him excitedly as your lips kissed his bruised face gently, a gesture that eradicated the pain away and made his blood dance in confusion.

A chuckle escaped his lips as you pulled away, offering to clean up that pretty face of his in which he refused because “There is no need, Mikey is probably gonna beat my ass up. You can clean up my face after that,”

“Shush—I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” you say as u lead him to the bathroom to gently tend to his wounds, a mix of tenderness and gratitude enveloped the moment, solidifying the bond between you two in a way words could never capture.

[communist-manifesto-daily]

Socialism: Utopian and Scientific - Part 1

[ Table of Contents | Next ]

1892 English Edition Introduction - 1

General Introduction and the History of Materialism

The present little book is, originally, part of a larger whole. About 1875, Dr. E. Dühring, privatdocent [university lecturer who formerly received fees from his students rather than a wage] at Berlin University, suddenly and rather clamorously announced his conversion to Socialism, and presented the German public not only with an elaborate Socialist theory, but also with a complete practical plan for the reorganization of society. As a matter of course, he fell foul of his predecessors; above all, he honored Marx by pouring out upon him the full vials of his wrath.

This took place about the same time when the two sections of the Socialist party in Germany — Eisenachers and Lasselleans — had just effected their fusion [at the Gotha Unification Congress], and thus obtained not only an immense increase of strength, but, was what more, the faculty of employing the whole of this strength against the common enemy. The Socialist party in Germany was fast becoming a power. But, to make it a power, the first condition was that the newly-conquered unity should not be imperilled. And Dr. Dühring openly proceeded to form around himself a sect, the nucleus of a future separate party. It, thus, became necessary to take up the gauntlet thrown down to us, and to fight out the struggle, whether we liked it or not.

This, however, though it might not be an over-difficult, was evidently a long-winded business. As is well-known, we Germans are of a terribly ponderous Gründlichkeit, radical profundity or profound radicality, whatever you may like to call it. Whenever anyone of us expounds what he considers a new doctrine, he has first to elaborate it into an all-comprising system. He has to prove that both the first principles of logic and the fundamental laws of the universe had existed from all eternity for no other purpose than to ultimately lead to this newly-discovered, crowning theory. And Dr. Dühring, in this respect, was quite up to the national mark. Nothing less than a complete "System of Philosophy", mental, moral, natural, and historical; a complete "System of Political Economy and Socialism"; and, finally, a "Critical History of Political Economy" — three big volumes in octavo, heavy extrinsically and intrinsically, three army-corps of arguments mobilized against all previous philosophers and economists in general, and against Marx in particular — in fact, an attempt at a complete "revolution in science" — these were what I should have to tackle. I had to treat of all and every possible subject, from concepts of time and space to Bimetallism; from the eternity of matter and motion, to the perishable nature of moral ideas; from Darwin's natural selection to the education of youth in a future society. Anyhow, the systematic comprehensiveness of my opponent gave me the opportunity of developing, in opposition to him, and in a more connected form than had previously been done, the views held by Marx and myself on this great variety of subjects. And that was the principal reason which made me undertake this otherwise ungrateful task.

My reply was first published in a series of articles in the Leipzig “Vorwärts”, the chief organ of the Socialist party [1], and later on as a book: "Herr Eugen Dührings Umwalzung der Wissenchaft" (Mr. E. Dühring's "Revolution in Science"), a second edition of which appeared in Zurich, 1886.

[1] Vorwärts existed in Leipzig from 1876-78, after the Gotha Unification Congress.

[ Table of Contents | Next ]

[alloftheimaginesblog]

merry christmas {peter parker}

plot: you and peter broke up around christmas one year ago but he heard that you've moved on and he comes to see you.

character: female reader x peter parker (tasm)

His body was on auto-pilot as he swung through the streets of New York; it was a second nature to him now to swing absent-mindedly and get to his required destination safely. However, his mind was not so clear. His mind reeled over the information he'd heard from Aunt May just a few days prior.

"I met (y/n) today, Peter. She looked good, really good actually... She asked about you."

Peter's heart thudded hard inside his chest at the mere mention of your name. Aunt May eyed him curiously, she hadn't brought you up in months because every time she did, Peter's face would drop and his volume grew loud. Today, though, seemed different. Peter swallowed hard, "Yeah?" He asked, trying his hardest to not sound interested, "How is she?"

Aunt May hesitated. She didn't want to tell him but she had to. You and Peter had been broken up for almost a year and he hadn't moved on; still blamed himself for you getting hurt and still regretted his decision of walking away every single minute of every single day.

"She's dating again." It was those three words which broke Peter's heart in two, "She seems really happy." And then those four words shattered the two halves into millions of little pieces.

For the last three days, it's all Peter could think about; the fact that you were dating again and... you were happy. You and Peter had been happy once a long time ago.

The two of you had grown up together though not very close until college, after Gwen... Your friendship was solid but there was always something more to your relationship and then three years ago, it transformed into something more. It was really good. You helped Peter to heal, he helped you let go of past traumas and then... he got stupid, careless and you ended up getting put in harm's way. You got hurt, badly hurt, and Peter couldn't live with the guilt no matter how much you tried and pleaded with him that it wasn't his fault. He pulled back and you had no choice but to leave. You wanted to stay and you tried - you tried so hard to fight but after months of coldness, of him pulling away... you couldn't do it anymore. You lost the fight and gave up.

"When you're ready, Pete... I'll be here."

He figured you would move on but he didn't realise that it would actually happen. He didn't think you would actually be able to move on. And yet, here he was swinging to your apartment on Christmas Eve as snow fell around him and flashing lights filled the night's sky and then, there you were... in the arms of your new boyfriend.

You were curled up together on the sofa watching - Peter released a breath he didn't know he was holding - Home Alone. You and Peter used to always watch it on Christmas Eve too. Jealously raged in his stomach, boiling hot and angry but it was the overwhelming sadness which poured down on him like a wave crashing into him that won the battle. He moved closer, landing on your fire escape though out of view. Your apartment was mostly the same though you didn't have the pictures of the two of you littered over the walls anymore... Instead the walls were bare, he hated that. Your Christmas tree decorations were the same, same gaudy tinsel that used to give Peter a sore head if he looked at it for too long and...

He stilled.

You still had the decoration that the two of you made together. It was clay which you'd imprinted both of your thumbs into the shape of a heart onto the surface. He couldn't believe that you still had it. He didn't think a new boyfriend would like that but he realised you'd hidden it at the back of the tree for that very reason - maybe so that if Peter were to swing on by he could see it and know that you still loved him?

He shook his head. You had moved on. You were over him. Done. Finished. But why didn't it feel finished? Why didn't he feel like he could move on? Peter knew he shouldn't but he needed to. He needed to tell you how he still felt even if it was to say goodbye but he couldn't just barge into your apartment when your boyfriend was here - that would be an awful first impression, wouldn't it? Instead, he jumped off of the fire escape and swung his way down the street to Sal's Corner Store.

There, he bought a cheesy Christmas card which looked like a three year old threw up glitter on it, "Can I borrow your pen?"

"Sure thing, Spider-Man!" Sal said chucking him a pen which Peter caught effortlessly. To serve Spider-Man in a store these days wasn't all that unusual. It usually meant quicker service so Peter often would pull his suit on when Aunt May needed groceries - it was just easier.

It took him a few minutes to write everything he needed to write down and then he handed the pen back, "Merry Christmas, Sal!" And he was off again, swinging back up to your fire escape.

You yawned, leaning into the embrace of your boyfriend when a flash of blue and red from your window caught your eye. No fucking way. Your heart suddenly quickened by about 100 times the speed as you stared frozen in your seat staring out the window. All you could see was darkness, no one was there but you had seen - you were sure that you had seen...

Slowly, you stood, telling your boyfriend some lame excuse about being too warm, and moved towards the window of the fire escape. It was empty but as you slid the window open you saw it... A red envelope which was stuck to the railing with... a web.

You could leave it there, leave it to disintegrate in the snow never knowing what he wanted to tell you, never knowing how he felt... Could you live with that? Knowing that he had stretched out his hand and you had ignored it, turned away and shut the window on him. You released a long breath and stretched out your arm and yanking the letter from the web and coming back inside. You excused yourself to the kitchen to read it as your heart beat faster and faster.

Dear (y/n),

It's Peter.

I know that you've moved on and I saw how happy you looked and I had every intention of writing you this card to try to win you back. I wanted to tell you that I was ready for a relationship, I was ready to let you in and letting you go was the biggest regret of my life but... I'm standing in Sal's and I can't write what I want to write. What kind of person would I be to ruin your current happiness in hopes of chasing a dream we once shared together?

I want to be happy... with you but you're so happy so... I guess I'm going to try and let you go. It's not going to be easy but I need to let you go, for your own good and for mine.

I'll always love you.

Merry Christmas, (y/n).

Peter

Your hands trembled as you read the card over and over soaking up every letter, every scribble, every scratch of ink on the paper; every trace of Peter. You had gone without any inkling of him in a year and now you had a taste and you needed to soak it up as much as you could. You were so focussed on the card that you didn't hear footsteps come up behind you, "What's that, babe?" Your boyfriend asked, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder.

"Nothing," you said quickly, closing the card and sliding it into the bin, "Christmas card from an old friend." You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to him, forcing a smile, "Ready to go finish the movie?"

You were happy, you were and you weren't going to throw your happiness away just because Peter wrote you a card. You couldn't. You wouldn't. You were happy so... with a breath and a smile, you walked into the living room and fell back into the arms of your boyfriend with the words of Peter's card still floating around your head.

[ghostboneswrites2]

A Mess - Volume 2

Part 3

Summary: How the Savior war and the loss of Rick affected your relationship with Daryl.

Warnings: profanity, loss, spoilers, character deaths, smut

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Chapter List

Note: man, one of the teasers I pulled from this chapter sparked some interest 😅

Well, @thesadcatt0, prepare for ANSWERS.

Anyways, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy ❤️

all banners credited on the masterlist!

        The lineup may have well been the worst day of your life. Two of your friends gone, and your lover taken against his will right in front of you. 

        The days without him we’re almost as bad as the day he was taken. You barely ate, never slept. You constantly found yourself crying in your shared bed, sniffing his pillow in place of him. It seemed so cruel to lose two loves in one lifetime.

        You had agreed to go to Hilltop with Rick and some others. You didn’t really know why you were going or what the plan was. You were just desperate to get out of Alexandria for a while. And, you wanted to see Maggie. You hadn’t seen her since the lineup, and she was pretty sick back then.

        You gave Maggie a big hug when you saw her, but before you could really catch up, the gates opened again and a loud engine echoed within the walls. Through the dust you could just barely make out Daryl and Jesus riding in on a motorcycle. 

        Daryl had barely stood up off the bike before you tackled him to the ground.

        “You’re okay.” You cried into the nape of his neck. He stiffened at the sudden human contact after days in isolation, but he relaxed as his arms snaked around you and held you tight against him. 

        “Yeah. I am.” He whispered into your hair, reminding not only you that he was okay but also himself. It had been a long few days at the Sanctuary, but now he knew things about them, and he had to report to Rick. They had to fight back. “C’mon.” He said softly as he tried to sit himself up off the ground. You rolled off him and stood up with him, gripping his hand tightly as he walked over to Rick to hug him. 

        That reunion was probably the highlight of the war with the Saviors. After that, there was nothing but more violence and death. You had begun to believe you were cursed. It seemed like you managed to end up with some kind of injury every time you had to fight. 

        When the final battle with the Saviors was over, you were left with a broken arm and a concussion. While your arm would take quite a while to heal, your head was fine the next day. The people that really needed healing were Maggie and Daryl. They both wanted Negan dead, and neither of them could let it go. But, Rick was unmoving on his decision to keep Negan alive as an example of what the communities all could have been. He was loyal to Carl’s vision, even at the detriment of those who had a score to settle with Negan.

        The inability to cope with Negan’s life being spared caused a bit of a rift between you and Daryl. You’d followed him to the Sanctuary for the short time he was in charge there. He hated being there, and he didn’t even really want you there in the first place. A lot of the Saviors were just people getting by, but a lot of them were also animals. He hated the way some of the men would check you out and lick their crusty lips when you walked past. It made him sick to his stomach to think what they’d do to you if they had a chance.

        The only time either of you felt any semblance of happiness at the Sanctuary was when you were both in bed.

        The frustrations of the work would often leave Daryl tense, and he’d take those pent up frustrations out on you in bed. The sex got a lot rougher in those days. 

        He’d turn you over so you were facing away from him. He felt too ashamed of himself to look at you, or let you see him. He was ashamed of the way he had failed people over time. He failed to get Beth out of that hospital, he failed Glenn when he threw that lunch that got him killed, he failed Maggie when he couldn’t avenge Glenn, he failed Rick every day he woke up to lead the people he hated, and he failed you every time you reached for his hand and he flinched away. 

        He’d grip the back of your neck with his thick hand. His cock would slam into you with so much force it knocked guttural sounds from within you. Your fingers would dig into the sheets when the bruising force of his thrusts got a little out of hand. 

        His mind would always be elsewhere. You’d rarely reach your climax, either of you. You’d both go to bed unsatisfied and you’d be sore the next day. Still, you were close to each other, intimate in privacy, and that was as good as it was going to get for the time being, so you both tried to enjoy it as much as you could. 

        When Daryl stepped down at the Sanctuary and Carol took over, you left with him to help work on the bridge. With the Saviors not always working well with others, things could get pretty hectic. Fights would break out, and often Daryl would be an aggressor. It was hot and sticky and bugs were everywhere all the time. The tent you shared was cramped and the nights were restless and uncomfortable. You couldn’t even have violent therapy sex without others listening in. There seemed to be no end to the suffering. Still, you remained by his side, no matter what.

        You stayed with him even when Rick blew up the bridge, when Daryl retired to the forest for six years. You’d often visit Hilltop or Alexandria to see old friends, but you stayed out there in that tent with him. Things were okay. He had become a bit softer, even in bed, but still he was withdrawn. You ate most of your meals in silence.

        Days dragged a lot of the time. When you got so bored you couldn’t stand it, you’d just take another trip to visit Maggie or Michonne and spend a few days away. He didn’t seem to mind, nor did he seem to worry about you taking care of yourself without him, so no harm done, you figured.

        One day you came home to see he had a dog. A dog, named Dog, apparently. 

        “Where’d you find him?” You asked as you patted and loved on the furry thing. 

        “Just out here.” He shrugged. He was holding something back, but you didn’t pry. You’d find out what it was soon enough, when you put the few tracking tips he taught you to good use, and tracked him on one of his hunts to find him at an old cabin. Another woman sat on the porch with him, long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder. 

        She noticed you as soon as you noticed her. She stood quickly, shotgun cocked and ready, barrel pointed right at you. You disregarded her completely, eyes trained on Daryl, who you didn’t think had any business at another woman’s house. 

        Dog stood pointedly at her side, growling and snarling at you. You realized he was her dog.

        Without a word, you just nodded, and stormed back to your camp. 

        By the time Daryl caught up, you were haphazardly throwing anything that belonged to you in your bag and rummaging around the campsite. 

        “(Y/N)—“

        “Don’t.” You cut him off.

        “It wasn’t—“

        “Wasn’t what?” You snapped, turning to face him, eyes blazing. “Wasn’t what it looked like? Yeah, right. Heard that one before.”

        Your body was trembling with rage. Considering the events that led to your relationship with him in the first place, you were infuriated that he’d be doing the same thing to you as your sleaze bag ex. We’re you eternally cursed to choose unfaithful men? 

        “No. It wasn’t.” He pleaded. You glanced down at Dog who sat idly by his side, tail wagging. 

        “Really? Cause I’ve never known a woman to loan anyone her dog without a good reason.” You glared. 

        “She didn’t. Dog found me. I followed him. That’s how I met her.”

        “Oh, cute. It’ll be a real nice story for your grandkids.” You rolled your eyes as you zipped up your bag and threw it over your shoulder. 

        “(Y/N) will ya just stop?!” 

        “No!” You shouted, throwing your hands up with frustration. “No, I won’t stop! If there’s anything you should know by now, it’s that I’m nobody’s fucking side piece.” 

        “It ain’t like that! If ya’d just stop and listen!”

        He pleaded with you as he stalked behind you, slapping stray limbs out of his face as he dodged through trees to keep up your pace. He found that he, too, was shaking. He felt so much anxiety in that moment — the possibility of losing you, especially over something so stupid — it was tearing him apart. He found himself blinking away tears as you tried to speed away from him. But, as he blinked them back, the pressure in his throat and chest just seemed to push more out. He was terrified. He couldn’t let you walk away. 

        When he caught up, he reached out and gripped your arm, pulling you back. You spun around and looked right through him, eyes wide and full of your own tears.

        “(Y/N), please. Just stop and listen.” He breathed. 

        “You have thirty seconds.” 

        “It wasn’t nothin’ like that, okay? I swear. Her dog follows me around. I bring ‘im home to her sometimes. We talk a little. That’s it.” He explained. 

        “Why don’t you just talk to me?” You asked quietly. You had a point. You two spent the majority of your time in silence, to the point where you’d leave him for days just to go have a real conversation with someone. You always came home, though, because you’d rather suffer in silence then be away for too long.

        “I just—“ He took a breath to collect his thoughts. “She don’t know about none of it, ya know? I just.. I don’t look at her and see somebody else I let down.”

        “Is that what you see when you look at me?”

        “No.” He shook his head. His gums were raw from how hard he’d been chewing at them. “I see somebody I’m afraid o’ lettin’ down.”

        “You never let anyone down, Daryl.” You said harshly. “And you’d know that if you’d fucking come talk to our family once in a while. I’m tired of telling them you’re doing fine, even if you won’t crawl out of your fucking hole and go see anyone.”

          “I just..” His lip quivered a little as he looked down at you. He hated that feeling. His fists bunched up at his sides, legs stiff, boots glued in place. He felt so awkward and vulnerable when he tried to be open with anyone. Especially you. All he wanted was to be someone you relied on, someone you felt safe with. Every time he opened up, he felt like anything but that. “I’m sorry.” 

        His voice cracked as he uttered the apology. You faltered a little at the sight of him, but you stood firm. 

        “Well, sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time. I need you to prove it. With actions.”

        “Like what?” He asked eagerly.

         “Like talking to me, for starters. Have a fucking conversation with me. Talk to me while we eat dinner. Touch me. Act like you want anything to do with me.” You spat. While his voice had softened the moment you gave him a chance to explain himself, your tongue was still sharp and jagged. All these things you had thought and felt and bottled up for six years were finally out on the table. 

        “Okay.” He nodded. “I will.”

        You glared at him. In all your experience with men, it had never been so easy to get the changes you’d asked for.

          “And…” You thought hard. “Sex. Like, good sex. I haven’t busted a nut in like six years.” 

        His lips curled a little. He’d almost forgotten how blunt you could be, given the chance to speak your mind. You crossed your arms.

        “Okay.” He nodded again. “So what first?”

        You cocked an eyebrow at that. It was actually a good question. 

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

        The bark of the tree scraped at your back as you gripped onto his shoulders. Lewd sounds filled the forest around you has he pumped his length in and out of you. You moaned and gasped, enjoying the familiarity of such intimate sex. It had been a long time since it felt that way. 

        Still, you weren’t reacting the way you used to, and he took notice. He wasn’t building you up the way he should have been by now.

        He slowed his pace down and broke the ongoing kiss to ask you; “What’s wrong?”

        “What? Nothing.” You panted impatiently, not understanding his sudden hesitance.

        “Somethin’s up.” He pressed.

        “I was starting to get close.” You insisted.

        “Nah ya weren’t.” He pointed out. “Hang on.”

         He hooked his hands under your thighs and dripped down to his knees, holding your legs up above his shoulders as his mouth found your mound. 

        You sucked in a breath of air at the sensation of his tongue tracing delicate circles around your clit. “Oh.” You breathed. “Shit.”

        He hummed against you, the gentle vibration making you twitch.

        Your nails dug into the tree behind you as you rocked against his mouth, relaxing your weight into the trunk as he held you up against it. 

        “Fuck.” You whined as your clit became more sensitive to his gentle laps. He sucked at your clit and fucked you with his tongue for a while, before he brought his attention back to your clit again and focused intensely on that sweet spot. 

        Soon your legs started to shake and your body began to buzz. The feeling washed over you quickly. A loud moan pushed past your lips as you came, writhing in his grip against the tree until you were twitching and jerking away from him. 

         With your orgasm finally out of the way, he was back on his feet, slapping into you, until his own high reached a climax and he was pumping you full of his cum. 

        When you recovered enough to pull your clothes back on and think a full, coherent thought, you realized something. 

        “Hey Daryl?” You asked as he buttoned up his jeans and adjusted his poncho.

        “Yeah?”

        “You didn’t pull out.” 

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[kymerawrites]

SIR SIMON RILEY EP 6

Warning: DOM SMUT

As Ghost listened to Price’s words, I could see the determination in his eyes. Despite the cold demeanor he usually carried, I knew that he was burning with the same drive to take down the Shadows. He lived for missions like this, the adrenaline and the thrill of the fight fueling his every move.

"But remember," Price emphasized, his tone leaving no room for doubt, "We’re not just after the Shadows. We need to bring in their leader, whoever it is. We need to dismantle their operation completely and make sure they can’t rebuild. If we take out the head, the body will fall. Let's make it happen."

The team exchanged determined looks, their resolve strengthened by Price's words. We were going into this mission with one goal in mind: to take down the Shadows and their boss once and for all. As we prepared to head out, I couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and excitement. We knew what we were up against, but we were ready for it.

I glanced over at Ghost, my eyes catching his for a brief moment. The intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. He was itching for a fight, ready to tear through whoever stood in our way. As Price finished his final brief, we stood as a unified team, ready to face the challenge head-on.

With a sense of determination, we geared up, each of us loading up on weapons, ammunition, and tactical gear. We had our orders, and we were going to execute them seamlessly. As we moved out towards the target location, the adrenaline surged through my veins.

We moved silently through the dense terrain, our footsteps barely making a sound as we navigated the rugged landscape. The sun rose higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. Our eyes remained focused and alert, scanning the surroundings for any signs of the Shadows.

I was walking on a roof having my comms on me, until I heard soap.

Soap: "I've got eyes on three hostiles, heading towards your position, Sergeant. Proceed with caution."

Medusa: “Roger that, soap. I’m moving to intercept. Over.”

I swiftly navigated the rooftops, my footsteps agile and silent. As I approached the location where Soap had spotted the Shadows, I hunkered down, using the shadows to conceal myself.

Through the scope, I saw the three Shadows moving through the area, their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning the surroundings. I took aim, my breath steady and my focus unwavering.

I squeezed the trigger, taking out the first Shadow with a single shot to the head. The body crumpled to the ground, and the other two Shadows immediately went on high alert, their heads whipping around as they searched for the source of the shot.

I quickly moved to a different vantage point, trying to stay ahead of them. "I've taken down one, still two more left," I reported through the comms. "Where are Ghost and Soap?"

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the comms, and then Soap’s voice came through, sounding more focused than ever.

Soap: "Ghost and I are moving in from the ground level. We’ll pin them down, you cover us from above. Let’s take these bastards out."

Medusa: “Gaz, roach, Joseph, Nikolai, yuri. Where are you guys located?”

Gaz's voice came in through the comms, his tone determined.

Gaz: "I'm in position, got eyes on the two hostiles. Waiting for my cue.”

Roach sounded equally alert, his voice steady. “I’m set up, ready to fire on your signal.”

Joseph and Nikolai both confirmed, “In position, awaiting orders,” and “Ready to move” respectively.

Medusa: “Captain price, Lieutenant Riley, where are the supporting members? I hear nothing from marlin, gridlock, crane, buck and the others..”

Price’s voice came through, his tone serious. “Marlin's team is providing cover fire from a distance. They've got a vantage point to take out any reinforcements that may come our way. Gridlocked team is covering the eastern side, preparing for any counterattacks. Crane and Buck's teams are providing backup on the other side. Everyone's in place, just waiting for our move.”

Medusa: “Do I have permission to shoot this bastard that is right under me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the comms, and then Ghost's voice came through, low and gravelly.

Ghost: "Do it."

I took aim, my finger on the trigger.

Medusa: “Target acquired... taking the shot."

I squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet straight through the Shadow’s head, watching as he collapsed to the ground.

Medusa: “I want chaos to erupt if I can intervene in this serious matter.”

Price's voice crackled over the comms, his tone firm. "Alright, you're clear to act. Let's give them hell."

With a nod, I stood up, my voice carrying through the open communication. "Attention, Shadows!" I called out. "Your days are numbered. We have you surrounded. Surrender now, and you may be spared."

Silence followed my demand. The Shadows clearly didn't care much for my words.

Within the instant, an explosion rocked the base, sending a shower of fiery debris raining down upon us. We all took cover as the chaos erupted around us, the sound of gunfire echoing off the trees, mixed with the guttural screams of soldiers caught in the crossfire.

I quickly ducked behind cover, my heart pounding in my chest. Despite the explosion, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. We'd hit them hard, and it looked like it was only the beginning.

"What was that explosion?" Ghost's voice crackled through the comms, his tone tense.

There was a moment of tense silence, and then Price's voice came through. "They're bringing in the big guns," he growled. "Get ready, we've got a fight on our hands."

The sound of distant gunfire filled the air, and I spotted several Shadows emerging from the smoke, their weapons at the ready. I quickly took aim, my mind focused despite the chaos.

I took out two more Shadows before ducking back into cover. "We need to keep moving forward," I reported through the comms. "We can't let them regroup."

Ghost's voice was tight as he responded. "I can hear at least a dozen more coming from the north. We're outnumbered, but we've got the element of surprise on our side. We need to press this advantage, hard.”

Before I could respond, a Shadow lunged towards me from the shadows of the building's rooftop, the glint of steel in his hand catching my eye. I barely had time to block his attack with my weapon, but the force of the blow sent me stumbling briefly. I quickly regained my footing and retaliated with a sharp kick to the Shadow's stomach.

Medusa: "Hostile on the roof, engaging," I barked into the comms. "I need immediate backup."

There was a flurry of movement as the rest of the team responded to my call. Ghost's voice crackled through the comms, his tone urgent. "I'm coming to your location now. Hold your ground."

As I continued to fiercely engage the Shadow, I heard the distant sound of Ghost's boots pounding on the rooftops, growing closer by the second. Just as the Shadow attempted to take another swing at me, I deftly sidestepped, creating an opening for Ghost to swoop in and neutralize the threat with a well-placed shot to the chest.

The Shadow crumbled to the ground, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Ghost landed beside me, panting heavily. "You okay?" he asked, his gaze scanning me for any signs of injury.

I nodded, my heartbeat gradually slowing as the adrenaline began to subside. "I'm good," I assured him, my voice regaining its usual steady tone. "Just caught off guard there for a second."

Ghost gave a brief nod, his eyes betraying a hint of relief. "We need to keep moving," he stated, his gaze scanning the surrounding rooftops.

“We need to get back down, the rest of them must be down there, and our team needs assistance.”

I swiftly scaled down the side of the building, Ghost following close behind. Once we reached the ground, we surveyed the chaos before us. The base was a whirlwind of movement, with Shadows and 141 team members locked in fierce combat.

I drew my weapon, ready to join the fray. "Which way?" I asked Ghost, my heart pounding in my chest.

Ghost gestured towards the eastern side of the base, where the thick of the battle was taking place. "This way," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Let's get in there and give em’ hell."

With determination in our eyes, we charged into the heart of the battle, guns blazing. The air crackled with the sound of bullets and explosions, and the ground shook with each impact. I caught a glimpse of Soap and Roach, their faces etched with intensity as they mowed down Shadows without mercy.

“We need to keep their leader alive! So we can find their superior!” I screamed at ghost

Ghost nodded, his expression grim as he continued fighting through the chaos. "I hear you, Medusa," he called back. "We'll make sure they don't slip through our fingers."

Until me and ghost got grouped by 4 shadows “fuck we’re outnumbered”

My heart raced as we found ourselves outnumbered, the Shadows closing in on us from all sides. I tightened my grip on my weapon, adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Ghost, cover my six!" I shouted, my voice strained.

Ghost, ever the composed professional, took up a defensive stance, his gun at the ready to shield me from any potential threats from behind. "I've got your back," he grunted.

I whispered “if we win this you’ll hear me moan ur name all night.”

Despite the dire situation we were in, a corner of Ghost's mouth lifted in wry amusement, his eyes never leaving the Shadows. "That's one hell of a motivation,shym," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of dark humor. "Let's make sure we survive this first."

With renewed determination, we stood back to back, facing the encroaching Shadows with unwavering resolve. "For the 141," Ghost called out, his voice filled with a deadly calm. "Let's show these bastards what we're made of."

Together, we unleashed a barrage of bullets and explosives, the sound echoing through the base as we fought with everything we had.

Our aim was true, and one by one, the Shadows fell to our onslaught. My heart pounded in my chest as exhaustion clawed at my limbs, but I pushed through, fueled by adrenaline and sheer determination.

"We did it," I managed to gasp out to Ghost as we took a moment to catch our breath. "We're still alive."

Ghost asked in a urgent tone “Get a message from the rest if they need backup and if the supporting teams are finishing off. We need the leader alive.”

I quickly contacted the supporting teams over the comms, checking in on their progress and requesting updates on the status of the Shadows' leader.

Soap's voice came through, sounding a bit winded but determined. "We've got 'em pinned down. We're not letting them escape. And we'll make sure their leader stays alive as per your orders, Lieutenant."

Roach chimed in, his voice tinged with a hint of triumph. "We've taken care of most of their forces, Lieutenant. The Shadows are on the run. I'm confident we'll track down their leader soon enough."

Marvin voice cracked on the comm “there’s no need for that, we got him.”

I frowned, my brow furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean, Marvin? Are you saying you've already apprehended the Shadows' leader?"

Marvin's voice crackled over the comms again, his tone almost smug. "That's right, Medusa. Our team managed to capture him earlier. He's in custody now."

I exchanged a glance with Ghost, my mind racing. How could Marvin's team have captured the leader without anyone else knowing? It didn't make sense. But there was no point in questioning it now.

"Understood," I replied, my voice steady. "Maintain custody of the leader until we arrive. We're on our way."

With that, we broke into a run, heading towards Marvin's location as fast as we could. As we drew closer, the scene that greeted us was one of disarray. Marvin and his team were standing triumphantly over a figure on the ground, his hands bound and his face obscured by a hood. They had indeed captured the leader of the Shadows.

The rest of the team quickly gathered around Marvin and his team, their eyes fixed on the hooded figure on the ground. Soap was the first to speak, his voice filled with skepticism. "Marvin, what the hell is going on here? How did you manage to capture the leader without our knowledge?"

Marvin shot Soap a cocky grin, clearly pleased with himself. "What can I say? My team is just that good. We found him trying to make a break for it and took him down before he knew what hit him.

Price furrowed his brow, his gaze never leaving the hooded figure. "Are you certain he's the leader? Did you identify him?"

Marvin nodded confidently. "Absolutely. We checked his fingerprints and confirmed his identity. This scumbag is the head of the Shadows, no doubt about it."

Marvin shrugged and reached down, gripping the hood and roughly pulling it off, revealing the man's face to the rest of the team. As the hood was removed, a collective gasp echoed through the air, as recognition dawned on each member of the 141.

My heart sank to the depths of my stomach as I stood there, frozen in shock and disbelief. It was unmistakably him, my scumbag of a father. He was supposed to be behind bars, incarcerated and imprisoned for his crimes. How had he escaped? How had he formed the Shadows? As questions and memories overwhelmed me, a sickening feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Soap, Ghost, and everyone else were equally stunned, their gazes locked on my father who was bound and on the floor. I could see the questions and confusion etched on their faces, mirroring the turmoil inside me. How the hell did my father manage to escape? How long had he been leading the Shadows?

“Mister medusa, I looked at him..” I walked towards him I felt pure anger “I’ll keep in formal infront my team.. dad” I whispered

My father, his face bruised and bloodied, looked at me with a mix of defiance and resignation. "Ah, my dear child," he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I always knew you'd show up eventually. It seems the universe enjoys playing its twisted games."

I clenched my fists, my anger and betrayal evident in my every move. "You should be in prison, dad," I muttered through gritted teeth. "How the hell did you escape? And why the hell did you become the head of the Shadows? Do you think this is some kind of sick joke?"

“You should be behind bars what you did to me and mom.”

My father sneered at me, his eyes glinting with a dark, unhinged glee. "Oh, my dear daughter," he spat, his tone dripping with malice. "You always did have such a one-track mind. But you should know, your mother was nothing but a pawn in my game. And as for your escape," he continued, a sinister smile creeping across his face, "well, let's just say I have connections in places you could only dream of."

I looked at price tears welling up in my eyes “kill him captain. We got the leader.”

Price's eyes flicked towards me, his gaze filled with a mixture of anger and understanding he was the only one who knows. He knew what my father had done, the pain he had inflicted upon me and my mother. With a firm nod, he turned his attention to my father, his expression hard as stone. "You deserve this," he muttered, his voice filled with a grim resolution. "You've caused enough pain and suffering, and it ends here."

Price raised his weapon, aiming it directly at my father. "Time to face the consequences of your actions, Mr. Medusa." And in that moment, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet straight through my father's heart.

I stood there, tears streaming down my face as I watched my father's lifeless body slump to the ground.

It wasn't a moment of joy or even closure; it was a bitter mix of sadness and grief, tinged with a deep sense of injustice. I had always hoped that one day I could confront him, make him pay for his sins. But now, as I stood over his lifeless body, the realization that he would never truly be held accountable for his actions hit me like a ton of bricks.

My team looked at me, so if that’s mr Medusa, and your last name is Medusa that means he was ur father? Soap asked

I wiped at my tears, my shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes," I muttered, my voice shaky and strained. "He was my father. The one who ruined my life, caused my mother's death, and who knows what else." I gestured to his lifeless body, the sight of it stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within me.

The air was heavy with the weight of my revelation, the silence broken only by my ragged breaths. I glanced around at my team, their faces etched with a mixture of shock, sympathy, and anger. They had witnessed the demise of their enemy, the leader of the Shadows, but now they were confronted with the dark truth of my connection to him.

Marvin begun talking “it wouldn’t surprise me if you took over the shadows or even work for them.”

My head snapped up, my gaze locking onto Marvin, a mix of anger and disbelief written across my face. "What the hell are you implying, Marvin? Are you accusing me of joining the same organization my father built?"

A tense silence hung in the air as the weight of Marvin's words sank in. I could feel the team's eyes upon me, assessing me, questioning my loyalties. I stood there, my fists clenched at my sides, my heart racing with a mix of defiance and hurt.

"Marvin," Ghost's gravelly voice cut through the tense silence, sending shivers up my spine. His masked gaze was fixed firmly on Marvin, and even though his face was hidden, the intensity in his voice was palpable. "You better choose your words carefully. Shym. has proven her loyalty time and time again. Don't ever question it again."

The sternness in Ghost's words left no room for doubt, and I couldn't help but feel grateful for his unwavering support. I could see Marvin take a step back, his expression a mix of surprise and chagrin as he realised he had crossed a line. And you should never cross lieutenant Riley’s line.

Marvin muttered a few incoherent apologies, his bravado seemingly shattered under the weight of Ghost's glare. Soap shot me a reassuring look, while Roach simply nodded in agreement with his lieutenant.

Price, ever the composed leader, stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Let's wrap this up, team," he commanded, his voice firm but measured. "We've got what we came for."

Back home I sat in my barracks until I got a text on my phone

Ghost: you still up shym?

I looked down at my phone, the screen illuminating my face as I read the text from Ghost. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I typed out a response.

Me: Still up, Ghost. Couldn't sleep. You?

After a moment, my phone buzzed with his reply.

Ghost: Same here. Mind if I stop by?

I felt my heart skip a beat, a mix of anticipation and nerves swirling inside me. I quickly typed out a response, trying to keep my cool.

Me: Sure, come on by. I'm in barracks 3. Just don't make too much noise, or you'll wake up the whole base.

After I while I heard a knock on my barrack I opened it to see Simon, still with his mask on and in a white tee with black joggers

“You know, I hope you haven’t forgotten our promise from today..”

I smiled when I saw Ghost at the door, feeling a flutter of excitement at the sight of him. "Oh, I haven't forgotten," I replied with a playful smirk. "But are you sure you're up for it? I might need proof of your stamina, lieutenant."

Ghost chuckled, stepping into the barrack and closing the door behind him. "Oh, don't you worry, Medusa. I've got plenty of stamina to spare." His voice was gruff and husky, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but admire the way he filled out his white tee, the fabric hugging his muscular frame in all the right places. He was a sight to behold, even with his mask still on.

I felt a rush of heat pool in my core as he stepped closer to me, his presence both dominant and comforting. I reached out, running my fingers lightly over the soft fabric of his shirt, tracing the contours of his toned chest beneath. "Prove it," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

Ghost's eyes darkened with desire as he heard my words. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the heat of his body through our clothes, his muscles tense and taut under my hands. I let out a gasp, my breath catching in my throat as he leaned in, his masked face only inches from mine.

His voice was a soft, husky whisper, laced with a mix of teasing and need. "Is this proof enough?" He asked, his gloved fingers grazing along my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I shivered against him, my own desires mirroring his own.

Ghost chuckled, a low, sultry sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "Challenge accepted," he purred, his voice a husky whisper. His gloved hand moved from my neck to the small of my back, pulling me even closer to him. "Tonight, I'll have you moaning my name like a prayer. But for now, we'll have to keep it quiet."

His masked face was mere inches from my own, his breath hot against my skin as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above mine. I could feel the tension between us, the desire that crackled in the air like electricity. I reached up, my fingers lightly tracing the contours of his mask, wishing I could feel his skin against mine. But instead, I focused on the sounds escaping his throat, the little whispers and sighs that spoke volumes of his own need.

His grip on me strengthened, his hands roaming over my body with a possessive hunger. His touch was both gentle and urgent, and I found myself surrendering to it easily, letting my body mold itself to his. I was lost in the sensations, the taste of him on my lips, the smell of him surrounding me like a heady perfume. He was a storm, and I was caught in his raging winds.

I caught air while we where making out “lay on the bed” I said hastily

Ghost's eyes gleamed with a mixture of desire and amusement at my command. "Is that an order, medusa?" He smirked, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent a shiver down my spine. With a swift, fluid motion, he obliged, stepping back from me and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His toned body, clad in the white tee and joggers, looked even more enticing in the low light.

I undressed myself while he was watching “patience riley.” I said him keeping himself sat trying to fight the urge to undress me himself.

Ghost's eyes widened slightly at seeing me undress, his gaze roaming over the lines and curves of my body as I revealed more and more skin. I could see the desire and hunger in his darkened eyes, the way his hands flexed slightly as if fighting the urge to touch me. The air was thick with tension, a heady mixture of arousal and anticipation.

"This is torture," he grumbled, his voice low and husky. But there was a playful edge to his tone, a hint of challenge in his words. He knew how much I enjoyed taking control, and even though it wasn't easy for him, he was determined to obey.

“I’m sin itself remember?” I only had my bra and panties on. I layed on top of his stomach and started kissing his neck

Ghost's breath hitched as my lips touched his skin, his head tilting to give me better access to his neck. His body was rigid beneath me, but I could feel the tension beginning to ease as he surrendered to the sensation. I continued to kiss and nip at his neck, my hands roaming over his broad shoulders and chest. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and the sound of his strained breaths filled my ears.

His gloved hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh, as if he was holding himself back from grabbing me and taking control. The tension between us was palpable, the air in the room thick with desire and need. I continued my ministrations, my lips trailing down his neck and onto his collarbone, relishing in the reactions I was getting from him.

Ghost's breathing grew shallower, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath me. "Damn you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with barely restrained need. "You're testing my patience, shym." His gloved fingers flexed against my skin, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he were fighting the urge to touch me more than he was currently.

I unzipped his pants slowly until he started doing it himself and got me off his stomach carefully like he tried to savor the moment

Ghost's restraint finally snapped, unable to endure the slow pace any longer. He quickly unzipped his own pants, pushing them down his legs and discarding them on the floor. He was left in just his boxers, the thin fabric doing little to hide the evidence of his desire. His body was taut and aroused, his breathing heavy as he stared at me with a mixture of hunger and desire. "You're driving me crazy, shym," he growled.

I couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, feeling a sense of power and control over him. I leaned in, my breath hot against his ear, and whispered, "That's the point, Lieutenant. I want you to lose control." I ran my fingers over his hips, feeling the muscles there tense under my touch. "I want to see you completely unraveled by me."

“You’re earrings are all with angel wings but your a devilish woman right now..”

I chuckled, my fingers tangling in the straps of his boxers. "Oh, Ghost," I purred, a hint of wickedness in my gaze. "You have no idea just how devilish I can be." I nibbled on his earlobe, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below it. "You think those angel wings on my earrings are just a coincidence?"

Ghost let out a low groan, his hips arching upward involuntarily as he sought more of my touch. His self-control was hanging by a thread, and I knew it. I continued to tease him, my fingers tracing lazy patterns along the elastic band of his boxers, my mouth trailing down his neck.

I could feel his restraint wavering as his body responded to my touch, his muscles taut and strained beneath my hands. He was putty in my hands, his usual dominance and control evaporating before my very eyes. He tried to speak, to assert himself, but the words came out in a broken gasp. "Damn you, shym." He croaked, his voice strained and breathless. "You'll be the death of me, you know that?"

Ghost's grip on me tightened, his fingers digging into my bare skin as he struggled to keep control. "You're a temptress, shym," he groaned, his voice husky and low. "But if you want to see how well the Lieutenant will do, you better hold onto something." I could feel the heat radiating from his body and my heart raced in anticipation.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, my hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance. I could feel the heat of his breath against my skin, the subtle shift in air when he put his mask up a bit and his mouth pressed against my skin with a possessive need. His touch was both gentle and demanding, his fingers exploring the curves of my body with a familiar ease. I couldn't help but let out a gasp as his gloved hands roamed over my bare thighs, sending shivers up my spine.

Ghost's mouth latched onto my neck, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His kisses were heated and fierce, a fierce need that left me breathless and dizzy. I arched into him, my body pressing tightly against his, seeking more of his touch to quell the burning desire that coursed through my veins.

I manouvred out of my panties and looked at him not knowing if I should ‘brace myself for impact’

Ghost's gaze darkened with desire as he caught sight of me discarding my panties, his body tensing slightly under me. He took in a sharp breath, his eyes roaming over my bare form with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "You're beautiful, shym," he murmured, his voice husky and low. He took a moment to simply admire me, drinking in the sight of my body laid bare before him.

But the self-control was wearing thin, you could tell from the way his fingers tightened around my thighs, his grip possessive and needy. He leaned up, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss that was all heat and desire. He didn't speak any further, his actions and reactions speaking louder than words ever could. He was done with restraint, he wanted me.

I felt his hands grip my hips, pulling me up slightly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine in a silent question. I nodded, my voice lost to the intensity of the moment. I knew what he was asking, and I wanted it just as badly as he did. Ghost's lips curved into a small smile at my response, a mix of satisfaction and desire dancing in his gaze. He shifted his position, aligning himself with me with a practiced ease.

And with one fluid motion, he pushed himself into me, filling me completely. My breath caught in my throat, a mix of pleasure and surprise at the suddenness of it all. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper, the feel of him inside me intense and overwhelming. I couldn't help but moan, the sound echoing through the room and mingling with Ghost's own

I began moving my hips in a steady rhythm, my body arching into his with each thrust. Ghost's hands gripped my hips tightly, guiding me as we moved together. His mouth latched onto my neck, trailing a path of kisses and bites down my collarbone. "Is this what you wanted, shym?" He muttered, his voice a low growl, filled with passion

I couldn't speak, my throat tight with moans and gasps. I gripped his shoulders tightly, my nails digging into his skin. All I could do was nod, my eyes meeting his in a hazy stare, filled with desire and need. Ghost's response was not verbal, rather a grunt of approval mixed with a low groan of pleasure. He kept his pace steady, his hips moving with a primal rhythm.

Ghost's grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more fierce and needy. He was losing control, the pace of our movements quickening as we both edged closer to release. My body thrummed with ecstasy, each thrust fueling the fire burning brighter inside me. I tightened my legs around him, pulling him closer as I felt the familiar wave of pleasure cresting inside me.

“Ahh.. oh fuck Simon.” I moaned

Ghost's breathing was ragged and harsh, his body tensing as he fought to hold back. But the sound of his name falling from my lips, the way it rolled off my tongue and reached his ears - it drove him wild. "Again," he commanded, his voice husky and rough. "Say my name again, shym."

“Simon… please..” I whispered

The sound of my voice chanting his name pushed Ghost over the edge, his body trembling as his release hit him with a force. He let out a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into me. The sight of him, undone and panting, sent my own wave of pleasure crashing over me, my body arching into his as I reached my own climax.

We remained locked in that position for a few moments, both of us trying to catch our breath and come back down from the high we had just experienced. Ghost's eyes were closed, his face relaxed with contentment as he lay under me.

“Next time… I want you on ur knees” he groaned to me.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, still catching my breath. "Next time, huh? Planning ahead, Lieutenant?" I mused, running my fingers lightly over his chest. His eyes remained closed, his breathing gradually returning to a more steady rhythm.

Ghost's eyes opened as I lit our cigarettes, his gaze locking onto mine. He watched as I took a drag, the smoke curling around us in a hazy cloud. His hand found its way to my hair, his fingers gently carding through the tangled strands. "You're full of surprises, shym," he murmured, his voice low and raspy from our previous endeavors.

We lay there in comfortable silence for a few moments, passing the cigarettes between us as we savored the afterglow of our passion. His thumb traced idle patterns on my hip, a sign of affection and contentment. "You know," he started, his voice a soft rumble, "I could get used to this."

“I think the same.” I said

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: Why Ray's reaction speaks volumes about his feelings for Sand, rather than his feelings for Mew

It's natural to think Ray reacted so strongly in the fight with Boston because of his residual feelings and loyalty to Mew. But let's be clear, this revelation doesn't adversely affect Mew in any immediate way if you read this as Ray being upset on Mew's behalf.

Boston's bombshell is instead targeted to hurt Ray specifically. An attempt to make Ray look like a villain and Sand to feel like a victim of Ray's 'deception'. Sand being the unwarranted collateral of this fight.

Why is Ray angry?

So let's break down all the reasons Ray is angry in the first place.

This wasn't Boston's story to tell. He saw and recorded the kiss without their knowledge or consent. He frames it like a 'dirty secret' that Ray intentionally hid from Sand. But it's Ray's right to choose when and if he felt it necessary to share this with Sand, depending on the progression of their relationship.

What Boston is claiming is only partly true. Yes they did kiss. But no, Ray did not 'take Mew's virginity'. Nothing further happened and Boston is embellishing, which implies more gravitas to a 'history' which doesn't exist.

Sand is being fed this information without full context. He doesn't have the benefit of understanding Ray's past (namely his breakdown), the nature of his friendship with Mew. Without it, Ray is going to look categorically bad, especially through the lens of his affectionate behaviour with Sand that day.

The revelation could ruin what potential future there may have been between Ray and Sand, if Sand is driven away. Ray's newfound happiness dashed in an instant.

The initial part of his Ray's reaction is defensive - the shock, the betrayal regarding such an invasion of privacy. Ray's first punch is thrown after "keep track?" The audacity and complete lack of justification felt as to why Boston would even do such a thing. Ray's second attempt to enact violence is when Boston says, "are you going to be two-timing?" I saw the following through his response: 'It's one thing to hurt me. I'm your friend. I know what you're like. But why on earth are you dragging Sand into this? How dare you.'

Attacking Ray's Weak Spot

We can't change our pasts. Whether it was one kiss or years of unrequited feelings - ultimately, nothing became of it. Ray can't erase the fact he did once love Mew (and probably always will in some capacity because of what Mew did for him). But if Ray were to eventually fall in love with Sand, then his romantic feelings for Mew would become past tense. So whatever he felt then would have no bearing on his here and now. Ray shouldn't be made to feel ashamed.

The progress Ray made with Sand this episode has essentially been unravelled through this one act. It's been hugely difficult for Ray to even consider loving anyone other than Mew. He only just started to display inklings of welcoming the idea. We should all be afforded the opportunity to move on. For Boston to use Mew (someone who means so much to Ray symbolically) as ammunition to hurt Sand (someone new he's grown to care about), is pitting his past and future against each other. And it's not fair to do so. Your past doesn't negate what you may do in future. Similarly the future doesn't discredit the past. Both are important for different reasons.

Ray has every right to value both Mew and Sand, because his feelings for each of them will be entirely different in their own right. But what Boston has tried to spin here is a comparison game. 'Ray loves Mew. He's always loved Mew.' The further insinuation being: 'Ray will never find you as important Sand. You're lesser than. You'll never compare in Ray's eyes'. It's simply not Boston's place to say that. How would he know? It's possible that one day Sand could match Ray's love for Mew, surpass it even. But Ray isn't to know that yet.

There's also a palpable air of derision in how Boston delivers this. He makes Ray's feelings out to be a slightly pathetic, sad little obsession, by wording it as "Ray's whole ass is owned by Mew". Reducing Ray's incredibly complex feelings for someone who saved his life to a more superficial pining. The nuances of which Sand won't be aware of.

Hurting Ray by hurting Sand

Not only is Boston trying to tarnish Ray's character by accusing him of misleading and lying to Sand - but in doing so he's humiliating Sand for not being aware of this. If he can tell that Sand has feelings for Ray, he knew this information would hurt an innocent third party. All 'disguised' under a feat of righteousness.

I'm sure Ray is more than aware of how Sand treats him. Sand has been nothing but kind and accommodating where he's concerned. Willing to bend to his will and soften to his demands. Sand absolutely does not deserve to be dragged into any unnecessary drama, (drama which involves a notable part of Ray's history). So Ray is forced to feel somewhat responsible, based purely on the fact that this very 'drama' concerns him.

It's because Ray cares about Sand's feelings, cares about Sand's opinion of him, cares about what Sand feels towards him, and is also concerned by Sand being caught in this crossfire - that Ray is so clearly flustered. No matter what he's done, Sand shouldn't have to suffer along by association. That's not fair on Sand. It's his past in question. It's his best friend doing the damage. And it's because of him that Sand is now getting hurt too.

He can't outright deny it, because part of what Boston is saying is true. (Trying to vehemently defend yourself can sometimes come across even more as an admission of guilt). He can't apologise to Sand, because he hasn't figured out who Sand is to him yet. (If Ray doesn't deem him as a boyfriend at present, then he can't be sorry for liking someone else). The kiss with Mew also relates closely to an absolute rock bottom period of his life, which he probably wasn't ready to share with Sand just yet.

Ray has been made out to be a liar and a cheat and he's just praying that Sand can give him the benefit of the doubt. There's absolutely no way he can possibly explain all the intricacies to Sand in such an instant, but he's allowing Sand to ask him should he wish to. It's the least he can do. But Sand is going through his own internal battle now, and both need time to process what this has led them to realise about how they feel about each other.

[moldycantaloupe]

Mushy May Day 21

Uncontrollable Laughter

Pairing; Rain/Aeon

notes; thanks as always to @forlorn-crows for putting together the prompts list! 10 more days of Mushy May!

The first time Rain heard them laugh, genuinely laugh, was nearly a month since they were summoned Topside. Everyone gathered around the dining table to eat, making idle conversation, when Dew went by Swiss and began cooing at him like a baby. Everyone chuckled at the antics, but when Swiss began fighting back and snapping his teeth, Rain’s focus shifted to Aeon, who was laughing at the pair. Eyes bright, grin wide, chest heaving. They couldn’t stop laughing for multiple minutes, everyone slowly following them into a fit of giggles. 

Rain made it his mission to hear that laugh everyday. He gets his chance the next day during Mass.

Rain wouldn’t be what you would call a devout follower. Yes, he joined the band and follows the rituals and beliefs, but Mass was just barely asking for too much from him. To sit in a room full of hundreds and listen to the Clergy and Papa speak for two hours? Not his thing. 

Aeon seemed to follow in Aether’s footsteps though, because they loved it. Every week since their summoning, they’ve listened intently to what Papa had to say, barely breaking away when someone tried to speak to them during. But even they had their limits, and that day seemed to be too boring even for them.

Their attention slowly dwindled throughout the first hour until they were fidgeting where they sat, crossing and uncrossing their legs, shifting their mask, trying to get Swiss to let them play with his fingers. But still, they seemed bored. 

Rain tapped their shoulder, and they glanced at him. He stared but said nothing, his hidden smile still plastered on his face. They stared back, no doubt confused. He tilted his head to the side, and they followed. He tilted it to the other side and they followed, with a slight shake of their shoulders. 

In exaggerated movements, he swished his head back and forth between Aeon and the front of the chapel, where Papa was speaking. After doing it a few times, he nearly jumped into Aeon, slumping his head against their shoulder and quietly faked snoring. 

Aeon’s shoulders shook harder, little squeaks of laughter coming out as they tried to contain themselves. Mountain tapped his shoulder and he sat back up, listening to the obvious sign of caution he was giving him.

That didn’t stop Rain, though. A minute later he turned back to Aeon and cupped his hand against his mouth as if to whisper something. Aeon began laughing quietly again, shaking their head. He tilted his and they gestured him over, his covered ear going to their mouth. 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Aeon giggled. 

Rain smiled and whispered back into their ear, pointing a thumb towards the front. “I said, ‘that’s the guy who committed tax evasion.’”

A random statement, even if true, but it seemed to snap something in the small quint. They flailed their arms in the air and doubled over themselves, their quiet giggles pitching in volume. Rain rubbed their back and giggled with them, only adding fuel to their fire.

Soon enough they began outright laughing, loud enough for the siblings a few rows down to begin turning to see what was going on. Aeon was in another fit of giggles, and Rain was helpless to stop them as he doubled over their back, his shoulders shaking. 

The talking up front paused for a moment as all eyes turned to the band ghouls in the back. Rain tried to look up at Papa to apologize, but it ended up as a cackle as he fell back into the laughing quint, who was now a pool in their seat, holding their hands on Rain for dear life. A few murmurs of laughter rung through the siblings and ghouls.

“I’m sorry,” Mountain’s voice rung out through the chapel before he leaned into Rain’s ear, “excuse yourselves before Sister does it for you.”

Rain nodded, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the balaclava. With great difficulty, he got himself and Aeon standing and stumbling out of the aisle, all eyes watching as the two giggly ghouls exited the church room. The doors boomed shut, and the band ghouls collectively sighed a relief. 

“Okay,” Papa cleared his throat and looked back down to his book and notes, “now that-”

A shrill but muffled noise of combined laughter was heard just outside of the doors, making all congregates laugh quietly. Papa chuckled himself and shook his head.

[crying-fantasies]

Medical play

Masterlist

Featuring TF: Earth Wars Game! Barricade, smut/humor, CW: reader putting a hand over the mech, dubious consent (both are drunk every time they get nasty), licking, implied oral, implied fingering and penetration, implied blowjob, messy make-out, Barricade is a menace and an afthole, the reader has a thing for praxian frames (who doesn't?)

There is just so much you can go around from one medical habsuit to the next, Ratchet and First were very serious on the topic of not exhausting yourself, a pair of complete hypocrisy as both are out cold after dual missions, you don't have more hands to help as Minerva is still recharging after a 39hrs shift, Knock Out and Wreck-gar are still out in the field, the first most likely requesting to come back already not due to worrying over you but his paint.

So there's only you when the Decepticons group comes back from a fight with whatever is coming from Cybertron, the big door opens and they see you, alone, they can't even get angry anymore as they practically toss some of their mechs on the floor, someone's arm strut almost crushes you and makes you scream, Tantrum has no much to say but “all yours, squishy doctor” as you get near to notice the two mechs tossed at you are Barricade and Waspinator; Astrotrain, bless his spark, stays longer than the rest of them, looking at you as Waspinator starts to cry out in distress, Barricade may still be rebooting due to his silence, he gives you an uncertain glance before asking “need a servo, doc?”

There is no more energy as the cries intensify, he is cringing internally from it, you can notice, especially when Barricade’s system crashes and he wakes up in intervals, shouting obscenities, “I would love some help, Astro”.

Being a doctor in the base has its pros, more than one Decepticon is indebted to you, and while not all are as nice or bearable as Astrotrain, well, you manage, the number of attempted murders against you has dropped significantly, that's progress, a constant mantra repeating in your head when Astro goes back to his barracks once both Decepticons are tossed on the medical berths, he looks at you, waiting, and you let him go as this is routine.

Monotonous, boring routine, almost every soldier and high command has already passed on your hands from a devastating blow through their spark chamber or a detailing session to calibrate sensors right and get the dirt out, you've seen it all, you've lived it all, at least for a human, Drift said you're an old soul and Ratchet told him to shut up.

Perhaps you are an old one inside, as you collect patience to shove energon candy to Wasp’s mandibles, letting him be concerned over his goodies and not his arm strut going back to where it belongs, his antenna does pick up in what you're doing when you're done, “Waspinator did well?” your tired smile speaks volumes, “You did great buddy”.

Takes time and a lot of effort to catch on to what makes them let you work, Waspinator tends to forget about the world with energon candy, others when you do part of a psychiatrist and listen to their ranting, some good tea, extra spicy in some occasions, some want you to be a “service drone” by just doing the work done, for those your hands and treatment get a little rougher.

You're proud to say that fewer Decepticons turn away from the med bay when you're in charge or alone.

Now, Wasp is entering the cryostasis pod for a recovery nap, that lets you with-

“You spawn of a glitch!”

Barricade, whose mind seems to still be in the war zone, his struts are a mess, has blaster openings on more than one side and one optic isn't working. Given that he isn't in a worse state then maybe Hook went with them on this occasion.

Still, all his wires are an utter mess.

“What-?”, takes a moment for him to run right, but once he does you are very close to overriding his system manually, “Oh, oh, nice day, doc”.

Your teeth are going to turn out into powder by how hard you're grinding them, “good afternoon, Barricade”.

This is the reason why you sent Astrotrain away and put Waspinator into the cryo pod, your reputation among the Decepticons has improved so well, that you feel proud about it and almost jumped on your feet when Megatron called you “beneficial flesh bag”.

You will not lose that.

Barricade chuckles, helm pressing to the medical berth, looking at you like he wants to take a bite, “Come on, told you to call me Barry ages ago”, his only good servo tries to touch under your lab coat, you try to keep it civil, but he is doing it so hard, pushing his digit away only has him scowling “thought I already fragged your stupid uprightness away last night cycle”.

That, you're trying to forget about that as your fingers start to move away the plating which is poorly mangled, and his panels are an utter eyesore, but at least his internals aren't damaged, you can do this fast and spare yourself the mortification of hearing him talk about the most recent drunken misstep, the many, embarrassing many drunken missteps, “Barricade, I’m a medical official, you're an enforcer, we must keep it professional”.

With an air of anticipation, he clicks his glossa, just as you had predicted, “Professional this, professional that, that’s all you talk about”, he has an arm twisted abnormally backward, wires and lines messed up, but all that doesn't stop him from trying to get into your pants while sober, “what happened to the doctor that reached a fleshy servo inside my valve to check, uh? Or the doctor who tested my transfluid and gave me the all-good?”

Memories flush as fast as the rush of your blood coursing through every vein and artery, there is never quite enough to make a full picture and you swear that there is not even an ounce of resolve that wants to remember as you put his plating out of the way, trying to concentrate on the task and welding machine at hand, but it's so hard when he is looking at you like that and doing obnoxious, heavy ventilations laced with groans and the occasional moan when you drag away plating with force, “just like that, doc, you know how I like it”.

Who could've known that he had this kind of interest, yet again, Runamuck said something along the lines of you being the primary reason for his curious awakening in new interfacing techniques, and even giving you the hint that maybe you two should make it official to this point, you don't have a friend to care about to give the news so what are you waiting for? He says it with sincerity, unbecoming from a Decepticon, still with the usual bite most of them have.

Most people tend to their friends or interests, leaving lonely you at a corner of the bar full of people and cybertronians, never having the time to make some bonding, friendship, or fraternity, glancing respectfully at a pretty praxian that seems to be the focus of many as he talks, surrounded by his friends. Drinking to have the courage to go there and talk with him isn't the answer, that much has been proved over and over, as your feet wobble and your brain is soon to fall asleep from the intoxication.

The first time it happened, it was a mistake. You were drunk, just holding onto the first servo you could find, searching for that telling chevron as you looked up, and in the way his door wings perked up by the contact, he was just as drunk as you, overcharged, but still had the decorum to get you into his habsuit before punching the close buttons in haste. You aren't proud of yourself, much less when his red optics look at your hand pressing over his chest plate, urging him to the berth, following your command not by force or by his weakened state, he wants to and even has the vulgarity to put his servos under his helm, expecting you to do whatever you desire and go along with him, like you were some service drone ready to do the job.

Barricade found himself unprepared for the sudden pressure of your fingers over usually unused buttons and crevices of his chest, you had the medical knowledge to override his self-protection protocol. Exposing his spark, shining hard, light flowing into your face, so pretty, so enticing, a literal star in front of you.

It's hard to believe you forced him to do anything, but yet again, the bastard remembers that night with a dreamlike smile.

It would be foolish to just let it be, but you also felt stupid waking up the morning after, your radio almost blowing up with 39 messages from First Aid, resuming them in “your shift started 6 hours ago, I’ve distracted Ratchet from noticing but now Ratbat is whining to be treated by your hands only, where the frag are you?” as your face, middle and lower body have the sticky feeling of semi-dried transfluid, your partner of the previous night recharging soundly by your side.

Only one look at him and you were running from that habsuit like it was a contamination chamber, no matter how many times you ran, you still, somehow, ended up on his habsuit, on repeated occasions, always brought by bad decisions, alcohol and high-grade, mixed with xenophilia, Barricade kicked out his habsuit partner without any decorum, both in a frenzied and drunken mist to even care when Runamuck tells him “hey, I'm happy you finally stopped to be an annoyance in the highway, but could you frag the flesh bag somewhere else?!”, still, you both know he won't say a word, just allowing him to go make a ruckus in the nearest street, leaving you both to your own and trying to feign ignorance when he wants to put an audio receptor in the door when you moan, leaving anyway when things seem to be too gross for him, more times than not that's when Barricade shoves his glossa inside your mouth, almost getting off by the way you try to suck it, earning a wicked groan as his servos grip too hard over your chest and ass, leaving pretty marks here and there.

Both of you don't care, hardly keeping at bay where hands or servos reached before you put him over the berth with a firm tone, urging him to show you his spark chamber for a quick examination, feeling a hot, fluid rush from head to toe when he does as requested, waiting for you to take place over his abdominal armor, fingers creeping over his array, opening it manually, the smell of ozone heavy in the dark habsuit, your hands hold your weight, telling him to show the resilience of his hips if he could haul your insignificant body in constant pumping so you could measure the electrical flow of his stabilizers.

Oh, and he showed off so well last night.

“Bet you wanted to treat another praxian”, at that side remark he can only yelp when you tug way too hard on his line, Barricade is soon to shout at you, stopping, realizing you have detangled the mess the others made on the war zone with a single pull in a movement, no leaking, no lasting pain, but a scorching, painful pressure over his interface panel when he compares this fed up and angry you to the one liking over his sensors and modules while calling him a “good patient”.

His optics and biolights flare, a telltale you've reluctantly become familiar with.

“Is that everything, Barricade?”, you're frustrated with his nonsense, trying to get him away as soon as possible when you catch on his ventilation fans overworking, he smells like ozone.

“Now that you are asking-”

“Fleshy doc!”

He gets away from you with outstanding force and speed, another batch of Decepticons is at the hangar door, knocking first, it gives you another source of happiness and pride as Gnaw does it in place of just barging right in, finally some improvement, enough time for you to catch on your canned shower and aromatherapy spray, using great amount over your body and Barricade, who isn't pleased in the slightest to smell like lemon and vanilla, again, "yeah, come in!"

You try your best to disregard his disapproving look, realizing that what you said didn't come out the way you wanted it to given the circumstances.

.

I love Bayverse Barricade but I love this interpretation of him a little more, very handsome, even when he doesn't look that much like the original, and very obsessed with the game once again, but in the variety is the pleasure.

@tf-kinktober2024