#which surely isn’t that fucking high a number

[bylightofdawn]

Holy shit for this pay, you only have to sell your soul to the literal devil or have already sold your soul and are a dead inside husk of a human being with zero empathy for your fellow human beings.

Collections draws a unique type of person but collecting the on behalf of the insurance company WHO FUCKED UP AND NOW WANTS YOU TO PAY THEM BACK????!

Wooooooow

[buckymorelikefuckme]

fri(end)s

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 3.8k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** friends/roommates to lovers oh my god they were roommates, smoking weed, brief mutual masturbation, frottage (i think that's the right word idfk i'm all out of practice), p in v sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that), reader has nipple piercings bc i said so, slight pain kink? mayhaps? ok pls let me know if i’ve missed anything!

a/n: i made this fic my bitch tonight. this is absolutely not proofread or beta'd, you're just gonna have to take it for what it is, sorry not sorry. anyway, it’s been too long since i wrote for this beefy man :’) i really hope you like it. this was originally very loosely inspired by a scene in what’s your number? but it quickly gained a mind of its own to become what it is now, so. there ya go. title is from the song of the same name by V of bts thank you very much. any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged!!! xoxo

bucky barnes masterlist || main masterlist

Bucky’s introduction to weed was something you’d been supremely proud of.

When the two of you became roommates, you both had been kind of quiet and kept to yourselves at first, which isn’t too unusual, but you noticed that Bucky almost always had a frown etched into his handsome face. A frown that only ever softened after a night out with his friends and, you assumed, a decent hook-up. It never took long for that frown to reappear, though.

You didn’t know what could have been so stressful for him, but you knew he needed a way to relax, and not just for himself, either. The sight of him glumly moving around the apartment—honestly, you’ve never seen someone make fixing a bowl of cereal look so fucking sad—was beginning to weigh on your own nerves.

So, naturally, you thought of asking him if he’s ever tried weed. Somehow, his frown had deepened at that question. He said no, shocking absolutely no one, and then you asked if he wanted to try it. Admittedly, he was a little hesitant at first, but he eventually agreed.

The way his body, all two hundred and whatever pounds of muscle and angst, sank into the recliner like a ragdoll when the high really hit him made you grin. Though, to be fair, you were already smiling, what with you also being high. It was the first time you saw a real, genuine smile from Bucky, and you were immensely pleased to have given him a way to decompress from whatever kept him so tense all the time.

It became a sort of thing for you two. Saturday nights were for getting high, binge-watching Love Island (UK, because you both have class, thank you very much) and raiding the pantry for all the good snacks when the munchies hit. You’d never tell anyone, but those nights quickly became something you looked forward to every week, something you could cling to when your own life got a little difficult. Who knew smoking weed—and on a few special occasions, doing edibles—with your roommate would make a friendship blossom so prettily?

***

After how late Bucky got in last night, you knew he’d be sleeping in and would more than likely have a hangover. So, for this particular Saturday morning, you get up and quietly start gathering your laundry while Bucky snores loudly into his pillow from his bedroom. You were getting behind on it anyway, down to your last pair of clean shorts.

Before you put them on, though, you purse your lips in thought, staring at your pile of dirty clothes. You didn’t want to put on clean shorts with the panties and shirt you slept in last night. It would be smarter to wash them with the rest of your clothes, right? But that would leave you topless, which, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to it, but you’re not sure Bucky would appreciate waking up to you walking around with your tits out. Or maybe he would? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and then remember that Bucky did his laundry yesterday, and knowing him, he probably left at least some of his clean clothes in the dryer. Surely he wouldn’t mind you borrowing a shirt.

With that plan in mind, you dump your clothes into your laundry basket and make your way down the hall to the doors where your washing and drying units are (a major selling point of the apartment, if you’re honest). Just like you thought, Bucky’s left a load in the dryer, and even some of his button-downs are hung up on the drying rack. You quickly pull your t-shirt off, shivering against the cool air, and reach for one of the hangers, slipping his shirt off of it and onto yourself. For a dress shirt, it’s actually quite comfortable, obviously one of the shirts he wears more often with how soft and a little worn the fabric is. You shimmy your panties down your legs and add them to your pile, grabbing your clean shorts and tugging them on, too.

You make quick work of starting your first load of clothes, closing the doors to muffle the sound of the washer, and head back to your room to do your morning routine. By the time you’re done and have also cooked yourself breakfast, Bucky is staggering down the hall and into the kitchen, hair a tangled nest atop his head and eyes bleary.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you greet with a teasing smile.

He flips you off and beelines for the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup and not speaking a word until he’s downed at least half of it. Part of you is concerned for his esophagus, but you’ve long since come to the conclusion that Bucky’s probably got a thing for pain—both physically and emotionally.

“Remind me to tell Sam he isn’t allowed to bring Natasha on our nights out anymore,” he grumbles, voice rough from both sleep and a long night of drinking. “I’ve never taken so many shots of vodka in my life.”

You hum. “Sounds like my kind of woman, actually.” He cuts his eyes at you, silently judging while taking another sip of his coffee. “Want me to fry up some bacon and eggs for you?” You almost laugh at the way his expression immediately switches to pleading.

The rest of the morning is spent finishing your laundry and putting it all away, even gathering up Bucky’s clothes that he’d left and dumping them on his bed. You’ll leave the folding to him, though; your generosity only extends so far, after all.

Lunch rolls around and you both decide to order takeout from the burger place down the street, Bucky shushing you when you keep insistently whispering for him to order extra truffle fries (which he does order, after you’ve sworn pain of death if he doesn’t) and once it arrives, the two of you settle around the coffee table in the living room, putting on a random movie to watch while you eat.

And of course, when the sun begins to lower on the horizon, you start pulling out your stash and getting everything ready. Bucky’s already got the windows open in the living room to let the smell air out as you smoke, and he also has Love Island queued up and ready to go.

While you smoke the first joint, you make the conscious decision to bake a small batch of brownies for later. Bucky sits on the counter beside you, passing the joint back and forth as he quietly watches you work. Wordlessly, you hand over the bowl and spoon to him after you’ve poured the batter into the awaiting pan. No matter how many times you’ve tried to warn him about salmonella he always insists on licking them clean.

Sometimes, in these moments, you forget how surly he used to be with you. Not that he was ever rude or anything, but he never would have pouted about not being able to eat raw brownie batter before you helped him break down some of those walls of his.

***

“He’s such a dick,” Bucky mumbles a while later, face impassive and tone bland as he refers to one of the islanders of the show, slouching so deeply into the couch he’s practically become one with it.

The high from the first joint is finally kicking in fully, doing its job of releasing every ounce of tension from your bodies. It’s also making your mouth dry and tummy rumble for snacks. Thank god you made those brownies and Bucky unearthed some candy from past movie nights and lots of chips out of the pantry cabinets.

You hum at his comment. “Most men are.”

Bucky turns his head in your direction with an affronted expression that has you snickering. He goes to reply, giving you the sassiest once-over you’ve ever seen, but his eyes doubletake on your torso and he pauses. He stares for a moment.

“That’s my shirt,” he states.

You look down at the shirt in question, of which you’ve worn all day long and somehow he’s only just now noticing.

“Wow, you’re like Sherlock Holmes or something,” you drawl.

Bucky stares some more, and then, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“Because I had laundry to do and I needed something to wear while all my stuff was washing,” you say in a “duh” tone.

“But…” He frowns. “It’s my favorite.”

You snort inelegantly. “Bucky, you literally have, like, at least four other white dress shirts.”

“So? What, I can’t have a favorite one just because I have more of the same color?”

“Christ,” you say on an exasperated exhale. “I’ll give it back before bed, okay? I don’t wanna move right now. I’m scared I’ll bump into stuff again.”

Bucky huffs a laugh at that, which turns into a full-blown giggle fit that is contagious. Soon after your shared laughter dies down, the conversation moves back to the illicit love triangles among the islanders. You trash talk the couple that Bucky likes, just to see him get riled up and rant about how they’re the most real couple of the season and everyone else is just jealous. He gets red in the face and pouty when you remind him that this is a heavily produced show about pretty people getting a chance to get famous for being pretty people by hooking up with each other and playing stupid games that mean nothing in the grand scheme of it all. Really, it’s quite cute.

To placate him, though, you get a second joint rolled and let him take the first hit.

***

Turns out this second one hits you rather harder than normal. It feels like your head is a balloon and your neck is the string tethering it to the rest of your body. Everything feels much more sluggish compared to all the other times you’ve gotten high with Bucky. Somewhere in the depths of your hazy brain you remember that you’d gotten a different brand this time around; perhaps that’s why.

On the tv, the islanders are getting ready for bed, and once the lights go out in their room, some of the couples engage in some serious heavy petting, lifting their comforters for a semblance of privacy. The sounds start next, sighs and low moans, and it all begins to settle into your subconscious. Between one lazy blink and the next, you realize you’re… actually kind of horny. It’s not enough for you to really pay attention to it, not at first, just a little sprinkle of it, a tiny twist in your core that briefly has you pressing your thighs together then relaxing again.

But then the arousal builds up inside you so slowly and easily that you don’t even realize your hand has apparently grown a mind of its own and found its way down your shorts. You inhale sharply at the touch of your fingers against your clit, lashes fluttering as the sensation registers. The sound gains Bucky’s attention from where he's been lounging on the opposite end of the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed.

They’re not closed anymore. Out of your peripheral, you see his head shift in your direction, feeling the weight of his stare like a physical thing. Your mind is both connected and disconnected from your actions, half-aware that this is probably not the smartest thing to be doing, that you’re absolutely crossing a major boundary. Touching yourself in this way in front of your roommate, your friend, is so not normal.

Yet, for some idiotic reason, you leave your hand down your shorts, continuing to lightly pet at your clit, neediness rising steadily. Even though you know he’s watching—and suspiciously quiet—you can’t help but let your fingers slither down to where you’re beginning to drip to gather some of your slick and bring it back to your clit and swirling your fingers at a sedate pace, sighing as your nipples tighten underneath your shirt.

Bucky is as still as a statue, gaze honed in on the movement of your hand, on how your thighs ease open more and more the longer you play with your pussy.

It takes very little time for your eyes to wander over to the man just a couple feet away, and to then notice and fixate on the growing bulge in Bucky’s sweatpants. The weight of his stare is almost a physical thing and you swallow roughly as you think about what he might look like, if he’s at all how you’ve secretly imagined when you’re alone in your bedroom, in much the same position as you are in now.

His hands creep towards his thighs and smooth down the expanse of them and back up, slowly, over and over, like he’s teasing himself. Like he’s teasing you. Your fingers don’t stop as you lift your other hand to tweak and pinch at your nipples through well-worn cotton, a tiny noise slipping past your dry lips.

Bucky pulls the hem of his shirt up, exposing part of his toned stomach and only hesitates for a split second before he lowers the waistband of his pants, pulling his cock out and matching the pace of his strokes with the pace of your fingers. The head of his cock is pink and precum makes it shine under the low light of the lamps in the living room.

You bite your lip as your arousal increases from the sight alone, and you decide to follow his lead, just a bit. You whine from the loss of stimulation when you remove your hand to shimmy your shorts down and off your legs, letting them fall to the floor carelessly. And now, Bucky has an unrestrained view of your glistening cunt as you sink two of your fingers inside yourself and use your other fingers to rub all around your clit. It has you gasping, eyelids threatening to close through the pleasure that sparkles throughout every vein in your body.

It’s good. Amazing, even. And it’s only making you want more. Bucky, it seems, feels much the same.

“C’mere,” he rasps, tone leaving no room for arguing, never mind that you wouldn’t have argued anyway.

You sit up on the couch, knee-walking over to where he’s still in his slumped position, never pulling your hand away from your clit because it feels like you’d cry if you did. Bucky curses under his breath and lets go of his cock to firmly grab you by the hips and tug you onto his lap. Your pussy ends up aligned perfectly with his cock, and you both shudder as you begin gliding back and forth across it, small movements that only increase the suspense of what likely comes next. He meets your eyes, red and glazed over from both the high and the toe-curling feeling of his cock along your wet center.

The kiss, when it happens, tastes like weed and the peanut M&M’s you both were snacking on just a little while ago. Bucky's tongue licks into your mouth like he can’t get enough, nips at your bottom lip to hear you whimper, gets a fistful of your hair and pulls and guides you until you’re pliant for him.

He knocks your hand away from your clit, but before you can complain about it he’s nudging the head of his cock against your entrance and you’re gasping all over again, grinding sloppily as you try to get him inside you. He finally sinks the head in and you allow gravity to aid you in taking the rest of him, moaning brokenly and high pitched at the stretch of him inside you. Bucky groans deep in his chest, hands clutching your waist like a lifeline as you slowly circle your hips, getting used to the feeling.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breath and Bucky’s mixing hotly between you, and then you finally start fucking yourself on his cock. He grunts when you clench around him on the downstroke. You decide you like the sound, and you really wanna hear it again, so you repeat the action, moaning when the grunt is accompanied by a curse and his fingernails biting into your skin.

It takes what feels like ages for you to realize your thighs and knees ache from riding him, the weed making everything feel like it’s floating, including yourself, but Bucky sees the furrow in your brows and the shaking strain of your legs, and in the next second, he’s got you both moved from the couch to the floor. Time ticks on glacially slow like molasses as you stare up at him whipping his shirt off from where you’re sprawled on the carpet, your limbs shifting lethargically when he spreads your legs to better fit himself between them.

He fucks you hard, but not fast. you’re both much too high for anything fast, yet it still feels like your heart is going to pulse out of your chest, rabbiting away like you’ve run a marathon. Bucky buries his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin while he thrusts almost lazily.

Suddenly, his large hands encapsulate your hips, fingers pressing into the fleshiest parts of them as he sits up, getting his knees under him so he can rest on his haunches. He keeps your ass in his lap and your legs spread on either side of his waist. It makes your back arch and hips tilt up into a position that has you shuddering and sobbing when he begins to grind his thick cock deeper into you.

“I could stay buried in you for hours,” he mutters.

He reaches for the throw pillows on the couch and puts them under your hips, and then he fucks into you so hard it steals the breath right from your lungs, your mouth hanging open on a silent cry. His thrusts are sharper now, angled to perfection and making your toes curl so hard you fear them cramping and body jolt when he glides all the way back in. You gasp when Bucky rips open your shirt (his shirt, your mind helpfully supplies) and sends the buttons scattering across the floor. Those will be a bitch to find and clean up, but that’s a problem for much later.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he sees the piercings glinting in your nipples. “I fucking knew it,” he continues, squeezing each of your breasts in his hands and pinching your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making you gasp again, pushing up into the sensation.

“Knew—“ You cut off with a whine when he pinches harder. “Knew what?”

“You walk around here wearing those goddamn cropped tank tops as tight as possible with no bra. Thought I was going crazy when I saw what looked like piercings underneath them,” he confesses as his hands travel back down to grip your waist, never losing his rhythm while he pulls you down to meet his thrusts.

At the sight of your tits bouncing with the movement of his hips, he groans, gravelly, his top lip curling as he grits his teeth and squeezes your hips so hard it hurts, and it only adds to your pleasure. With the way your skin is tingling, your pussy fluttering around him nonstop, you’re not sure if it’s because Bucky is fucking you that well or if it’s the weed. It’s probably both, and you have a split second thought that you’ll just have to test that theory once the high wears off.

It’s almost ironic, you think, how wet and messy your cunt is compared to how dry your mouth feels. It probably doesn’t help that your jaw seems to be permanently slack as you’re unable to stop your gasping inhales, only to exhale sounds you might be embarrassed about if you were clear-headed. Alas, your mind is a lot more focused on the way Bucky is splitting you open and carving a space inside you all for himself.

“So much better,” you whisper absently, fingers clawing at the carpet beneath you.

“Better than what?” he wonders, shifting to grip under your knees and push them up, changing the angle.

You cry out sharply, writhing uselessly in his hold. “My imagination,” you whimper.

Through bleary, tear filled eyes, you glance up at him just in time to see his lips pull into a boyish smirk.

“Mine too,” he confesses and sends you reeling.

You whine and reach down quickly to rub your throbbing clit, your whole body jerking as your pleasure mounts higher and higher. Bucky moans as he watches, stare trained on where you’re joined. His speed does pick up then, the slightest bit, a shudder wracking his frame as you clench down on him, head tipping back and exposing the long expanse of his throat for a brief moment before he suddenly leans over you, letting your legs fall into the cradle of his elbows.

“Won’t you be good for me and cum?” he asks, breathless, hips never letting up.

You open your mouth to reply but all that comes out is a strangled cry of his name, your fingers keeping their pace as your climax swells until it overflows, bursting like a firework and pleasure like you’ve never felt before sparks through every vein, muscle, and bone within you. Bucky curses in such a way it would make a sailor blush as you pulse around him. The sounds of your orgasm and his thrusts meeting your hips are the filthiest things you’ve ever heard, and it doesn’t stop for several moments, dragging on and on. It leaves you trembling and shaking and trying futilely to gather air in your lungs as he refuses to let up.

With great resolve, you bring your wet fingers away from your sensitive clit and up to his panting mouth. He groans at your taste, licking and sucking on your fingers as he chases his own release.

“Please,” you whisper, tears finally escaping your lashes and trailing down the sides of your face, and that seems to be his undoing.

Bucky moans, something high and broken, fucking into you rough enough that you’re worried about carpet burn. But then he pauses, gasping as he finally lets go and rides out his high.

Your hand slips from his mouth and falls to the floor like a deadweight. The only noise in the room now is the both your and Bucky’s harsh breathing and the television still playing that stupid fucking show. Bucky doesn’t move right away, of which you’re very thankful, because you’re not ready to feel the emptiness you know is coming, and it feels nice in a weird way to have him buried in you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breaking the relative silence.

It makes you giggle, a small thing that turns into something uncontrollable, and when you manage to look at Bucky, he’s grinning in a dopey way that sets you off even more.

This is definitely something the two of you will have to talk about when you’re both sober, but like the buttons, that can be handled later. Although, something tells you it’ll all turn out just fine.

[rottenblur]

Post workout pump|A.ANDERSON

Abby x fem reader 2.3k

Summary: Your gym rat Tinder date isn’t one to not kiss on the first date, a coffee date is much more interesting with her.

WARNINGS: public shit, public fingering??? Dirty talk, Abby being bold as hell, head!! Fingering, quick mention of that liquor. Fucking on the first date.

Abby’s Tinder profile was simple, a couple of gym rat pictures, and a couple cute candid ones someone had taken of her with a background of beautiful scenery. The one that made you swipe on her was a picture of her smiling in the forest, normally you wouldn’t go for “outdoorsy” people, you wanted someone you could comfortably rot away with.

It was her fucking smile. The way that her hair practically glowed in the sunlight peaking through the trees, how her freckles complimented every feature on her face. It wasn’t just her looks though, you weren’t that shallow. Her bio was simple, simple in a way it didn’t seem like she was faking it for people to like her.

“Will fight for you.” And you believed it with every inch of your body, she looked like fought off bears for a living. She could break you in half, part of you wanted her to.

Your conversation on the app was short, you gave her your number pretty fast, I mean she asked for it.

You got a text from a random number quickly after you gave it to her.

(7xx) 8xx-6xxx: Hey beautiful.

You replied quickly.

You: Hey.. this abby?

The typing bubbles popped up immediately, she responded fast and used punctuation, which was rare. In your experience, and probably rare to everyone on dating apps. To be honest, this was your first time on a dating app, you had too much on your plate to even think about dating since high school.

Abby: [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Abby: Sure is.

The picture was a live photo in a gym mirror, she had dumbbells resting by her feet, her body covered in a tank top and loose basketball shorts. Her muscles were huge, you didn’t think someone could be that strong, the sweat making them shiny didn’t help how hard you were staring right now.

You: oh my god…

That’s all you can get out, you have no thoughts.

You: i’m blushing

You throw your phone, you’ve only been talking to her for maybe an hour and yet she already has you wrapped around her finger.

The text bubbles pop up, she’s typing.

Abby: Aw, such a sweet girl, already blushing for me.

If you weren’t blushing before, you were now. You couldn’t stand another minute not being with her.

You: are you busy today? I need to see you

Text bubbles pop up, then disappear, come back then disappear again. Read, for ten minutes. Were you moving too fast? You put your phone down, tidying up your room to distract yourself from the stress. You get into the shower, your phone on the sink counter for music. You wash your hair when your phone starts ringing, fuck.

You grab the towel hanging up, drying off your hands and step out of the shower to pick up your phone, it’s her. You press the green accept button and put the phone up to your ear, pushing your wet hair out of the way.

“Hey.” She says. Her voice, oh my fuck, her voice. It was gentle but so heavy with intent, she sounded like she only spoke if she meant it.

“Hi.” You respond back, wrapping the towel around your body and stepping out of the bathroom to make sure she heard you well.

“God, you sound adorable. I’m not busy, just at the gym right now but I’m free in thirty minutes if you wanna go for coffee.” She says, you can hear the dumb bells banging in the back now.

Your mouth falls open, she really wants to see you? A date? Today? You forget to speak.

“Yeah, yeah please. Where to?” You respond back.

You hear her laugh slightly, then take a breath. “I’ll text you the address beautiful, you’ll like it I know you will.” God people making decisions for you was suddenly so hot.

You agree and giggle, uncontrollably. “Bye bye.”

“See ya.” She says then hangs up. Fuck you were nervous.

You get a text from her, the address was a small locally owned coffee shop just down the street from you, maybe she lived close. Surprisingly you had never been there before, maybe you could have met her sooner if you stepped out of your comfort zone more often, you would have met her sooner.

Twenty minutes had passed, you got back into the shower, finishing it and getting ready. Drying your hair and throwing on a cute fitting outfit, something easy, or just easy access, hey you weren’t against doing stuff on the first date, especially not with her.

You walk to the coffee shop, texting her when you arrive at the front doors, her assuring you she was already there. She was early, you liked that.

You walk inside and that's when you see her. She was in the back, in a booth manspreading under dimly lit lights. You walk over towards her, her hands set on the table, fiddling with a stir stick. She looks up and sees you, her blue eyes light up. She stands up, she towers over you. You look up at her, her freckles are even cuter in person.

“Hey beautiful, you look you know..beautiful.” She says looking you up and down. You smile at her muttering a greeting back. You were almost shaking, she was perfect, everything you could have ever wanted.

“You want a drink? I’ll order, just finished mine.” She says, placing a hand on your upper arm, it engulfed your arm in full. You nod and tell her your order. She smiles at you and walks off to order, you sit down scooting to the inside. A one-sided booth, leaving no choice but to sit right next to her, her boldness was attractive.

She comes back, placing your drink on the table in front of you, scooting herself right next to you placing hers next to yours. You pick up your drink taking a sip, as she lays her arm on the booth behind your back spreading her legs, getting comfortable. “Was that picture from today?” You refer to the picture she sent you earlier. She nods turning her head to look at you.

Her strawberry blond hair slightly damp presumably from a shower, her blue t-shirt clung to her arms, her jeans tight to her legs. God.

“You like what you see?” She says tilting her head at you, looking you up and down in return. You nod shyly looking away as you fiddle with the end of your skirt. She catches that, flicking your hands away, replacing them with hers. “You wear this for me? I like it, looks really good on you sweetheart.”

God the pet name, her hands on you, on your clothes. Her compliments, she has you melting. “I wore it for you Abby.” You say looking at her, she looks up from your legs to your eyes. She smiles, rubbing your cheeks, keeping one hand on your thigh. “God you’re adorable, I got you blushing already.” She takes her hand off your cheek and takes a sip of her drink.

“What made you want to talk to me?” She says as she rubs her thumb on your engulfed thigh. You’re fighting to not squeeze your thighs together. You look at her lips, and her eyes then respond. “You’re pretty, I mean you’re hot, you’re intimidating it’s attractive.” You say. She nods, humming a response to you.

“Well, I thought about how fucking cute you’d look with my head between your thighs.” She said it so innocently, her hand moving up under your skirt, you couldn’t handle it your trap her hand by squeezing your thighs together.

She clicks her tongue at you tapping your thigh with her free thumb for you to open your legs. You submit to her order, opening your legs for her. Her finger grazes your clothed clit, your panties wet from her teasing. You look at her and finally respond. “I’d like that, alot.” Your cheeks were burning up, your whole body was burning up with need.

She leans in closer to you, whispering into your ear. “You’re so perfect, so fucking ready for me, so beautiful.” A whine falls out of your mouth, uncontrollably. Her fingers continue dancing from your clit to your slit, teasing you no, torturing you.

You place one elbow on the table, the other gripping Abby’s thigh, you were dripping onto your skirt it was unbearable. You finally mutter out exactly what you need to say.

“I need you Abby, I need you.” You say. She pulls her hand away, awwing in response, turning your head towards hers with a grip on your chin. She smiles and shakes her head. “Ask nicely beautiful.” You lick your lips and nod. “I need you please, please Abby.

She lets go of your face, standing up and holding out a hand for you, you take it letting her pull you up out of the booth. Your legs were weak, even trembling, she noticed this and smirked at you.

She drove the two of you to her apartment, so fucking close to yours, her hand on your thigh the whole way there, her glances never made you blush any less each time. She parks her car and guides you up to her apartment with your hand clutched all the way there.

She unlocks her door, leading you in first, she walks in behind you, and kicks off her shoes. She grabs you, pushing you against the door connecting your lips with hers, locking the door with one hand, the other wrapped around your waist.

She pulls away, looking at you with those lustful blue eyes, they looked much brighter when you first met her but now there's nothing darker. She locks lips with you picking you up and carrying you towards her bedroom, her hands full of ass.

She’s mirroring your whimpers into the kiss with grunts, your arms wrapped around her neck. As she enters the bedroom with your legs wrapped around her, you fiddle with her braid, undoing it and running your fingers through the loose strands.

She throws you down onto the bed, the plush duvet sinking behind your back. Your quick breaths are loud in the quiet room, Abby stares are you eating you up with her eyes. “What do you want beautiful?” she says to you, stripping her jeans off revealing her grey boxer briefs, a wet spot that catches your eye. Apparently, you're not the only one worked up.

When you don't respond she hums a “hmm?” to you pulling you from your thoughts. “I want you, I want to feel you everywhere Abby.” A quiet grunt comes from the back of her throat. She leans to you, putting her knees on the bed and caging you in with her arms. She kisses you, her tongue tangled with yours. She pulls away to strip her shirt from her body, tossing it aside.

You admire her body, stripped from her tight t-shirt her muscles look even bigger. She places your hands on her shoulders pulling your shirt off. She leans down to unhook your bra and kisses you.

She scans your body, her eyes make you want her even more. She kisses your lips, pushing her knee in between your thighs applying the perfect amount of friction as she moves to make out with you.

She kisses down your bare chest sucking purple spots all the way down your stomach, your neck to your hips littered in hickeys. “So fucking good for me.” She mutters out as she flips the hem of your skirt up onto your stomach. She kisses the inside of your thighs, whines and whimpers falling out of your mouth with need.

She leaves marks leading up to your panties, now even wetter with want. She pushes them to the side, taking a quick lick and sucking on your clit then looking up at you. Her eyes, her face from the angle could make you cum right there and then.

“You taste so fucking good beautiful.” You were melting. She attaches her mouth back to your clit spiralling circles with her tongue, holding your hips down with one hand.

She rubs your hip as you fight to ride her face, take control. She sucks your clit and pushes two fingers inside, filling you so well. Her fingers found places inside you, you never knew existed.

Her tongue quickens it's pace as so does her fingers pumping in and out of you. Moans fall from the back of your throat, you can hear Abby’s grunts vibrating against your clit.

She disconnects her mouth, pumping and curling her fingers to the perfect spot at a brutal pace, she looks up at you, arched back gripping the blanket. “Such a good fucking girl.” Her praises push you over the edge. She connects her lips back pulling you quickly to your climax. You look down to her, as your thoughts dissapear.

You pulse all over her fingers, and she pulls them out, kissing your thigh. She looks back at you, as she sucks you off her fingers. “So good sweetheart, so goddamn good.” She crawls her back up to your lips kissing you gently.

She whispers into your ear. “You make such pretty noises for a slut.” That shocked you, after all those praises, she degraded you. It had you ready for round two all in eight words.

She lays next to you, looking you up and down. “Want a drink?” She asks.

You nod, she gets up tossing you her t-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear from her drawer, a pair of black boxers. They were loose resting on your hips as the shirt went to mid thighs.

She walks out of the room, and you follow her sitting on the couch as she pulls a bottle of dark liquor from her bar cart. You lay down, she sits down placing your legs on top of hers passing you the drink. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Wanna stay the night?”

A/N: AHHHH I wrote this really fast if there are any spelling mistakes/ grammar mistakes LOOK AWAY. I love Abby thank you.

[celesteleoves]

“BACK OFF AND LOOK AWAY.”

ೃ࿐ KATSUKI BAKUGOU X FEM!READER

summary: katsuki HATES when others attempt to ask you out on a date, unless they are himself.

warnings: jealously, protective katsuki, soft!reader, you’re pretty it’s hard for people not to stare! fluff.

a/n: i love me some jealously drabbles. TYSM FOR 300 FOLLOWERS 🤍

-

no matter how many years katsuki had known you for, he would never be able to get over the suffocating beauty you held, you yourself sometimes didn’t even understand it.

it was in katsukis nature to be protective of those he loved. he was known for his high guard he held around those who he was not fond of, often coming off as intimidating and standoffish. you on the other hand, meant way more to him than anyone else on the planet. (besides his mom, of course)

he simply just could not stand it when someone’s stare lingered on you for too long or a group of childish boys giggled too hard at the sight of you.

with katsukis angry, looming figure beside you, not many dared to come up to you in fear of people crushed to shreds by bakugou katsuki.

today had been different apparently. a boy, around katsukis height (maybe even shorter) had walked up to you at a cafe you and katsuki were frequent customers at.

you sat at your table alone, waiting patiently for your boyfriend who was a bit late to the cafe due to his mother wanting him to help clean up her kitchen, which he groaned about while on the phone with you.

your eyes were focused intently on your phone as you laughed quietly at a post mina had made. it was you and katsuki sitting in the U.A. dorms snuggly on the couch as she captioned it ‘grumpy stole my sunshine.’

your attention was swiftly brought away from your phone as a cough was heard from above you, looking up, you caught eyes with a boy who seemed to look nervous. his eyes were dark and he had a backwards hat on. basically, he looked like a fuckboy.

“hey! um, i was wondering if i could get your number.” he nervously scratched his neck as he turned around slightly. you furrowed your brows and followed his gaze, finding a group of boys sitting in a booth close by, phones out on display as they laughed.

you smiled, “i’m sorry but i’m actually waiting for someone.”

your tone was polite and endearing, hoping to not come off as rude or to embarrass the boy.

your boyfriend, who had been parking while this went on thought otherwise. he was ready to make a scene.

“come on, just let me get your number yeah? the person your waiting for isn’t worth it obviously if they aren’t here on time.” the boy had now leaned over you, practically climbing his way to sit beside you.

you looked at him like he had two heads and he immediately stiffened up.

the boys ears had turned red from embarrassment of being rejected by you – who sat uncomfortably in your seat.

“he is worth it, he’s just running late-” you had barely gotten your sentence out of your mouth when the boy was pulled away from you by his collar and a figure had casted a shadow over you.

“i’m fucking here, who’s this douchebag?” katsuki paused and raised a eyebrow. “let’s keep this civilized, yeah?”

katsuki turned the boy to face him with a scowl as the boy slowly realized you were in a relationship.

“shit, i didn’t realize.” the boy had pulled katsuki’s hand off of him and was starting to back up before katsuki took a step towards him.

“sure, back off and look away from my girlfriend. tell your little group that too.”

the boy nodded and jogged back to his friends that sat in their booth, jaws dropped.

“kats! i’m sorry i should’ve just toughened up like you told me too and rejected him more bluntly..” you sighed as you rethought the whole situation.

katsuki took a seat infront of you and let his expression become soft as he stared into your eyes.

“nah, don’t apologize, y/n. let’s just forget about this and talk about how good you look right now.” katsuki smirked at the end of his sentence as you blushed and laughed while reaching forward grabbing his rough, scarred hand that squeezed yours back tightly.

you knew you could always rely on katsuki.

-

a/n: heyy. it’s been a while, around like what? a month or so since i last posted :’) IVE BEEN SO BUSY WITH SPORTS, SCHOOL, ETC! i’m back though and will probably write on the weekends because why not? please send in requests for mha (cough cough, my hun bakugou and more!)

[dycefic]

Tom Saves The World

Everyone knows that it’s super-heroes who save the world. They fight the aliens, or the monsters, or the bad guys. And mostly, that’s true.

But not always.

I’m a psychic. The thing is, my range isn’t that great. I don’t have much detail more than about 36 hours out, 48 for something really big. I’d had a nebulous sort of bad feeling for about a week before this one finally hit, and it was big. Something very tough and very supernatural was going to come up out of the harbor of Nova Roma, and the death-toll was going to be high. Crazy high.

I did all I could. I told the Unaligned Supers Job Placement Agency, and they put the word out to everyone on both sides of the Line. The Henchman’s Union don’t like natural disasters any more than anyone else, and they’re often quite helpful against eldritch horrors and stuff like that. Things that don’t hire henchmen and ruin the property values.

The trouble was, nobody big was around. The only really big team of heavy hitters on the West Coast were away dealing with some sort of doomsday cult - I never was clear on what that was about - and Guarde and Dog Fox were out of touch and even Mx Frantique was out of town at someone’s wedding. It was going to happen in less than two days and we couldn’t find anyone to help and I was seriously considering calling in some kind of bomb threat or something to get people away from the docks, at least.

And then, about eighteen hours out, it just… went away.

Which never, ever happens.

My powers might be short range, but they’re reliable. I don’t get stuff wrong, and I hadn’t been able to find any way to prevent what was going to happen, or even been able to identify anyone who could. But someone did. Someone had done something to stop the threat, something that happened literally while I was opening my car door. When I reached for the handle, thousands of people were going to die. By the time the door was open, there was no threat at all.

At first I thought it must have been a ranged thing. Like, whatever I’d been seeing (all those teeth, I saw them in nightmares for months after) had been distracted by something tasty on its way here and gotten off track, that it’d come up somewhere up or down the coast. My range isn’t that big, either. Anything outside about thirty miles might as well be on Mars for all I know about it. So we kept a watch out, and warned the chapters of the Union and the Agency in other cities.

But nothing happened. Nothing at all. I couldn’t explain it, and I was really unpopular for a while. Supers do NOT like people who cry wolf. There’s enough freaky shit we have to deal with without someone panicking everyone with a dire prophecy that fizzles out.

Thank all the gods that Tunny showed up. Nobody’s really sure what Tunny actually is - sentient fish creature, some kind of really mutated human, an alien, or what. She changes her story a lot. But she’s pretty friendly, especially for a twenty-foot-long horror-movie-mermaid-thing with four arms, so when she came into harbor to pick up some supplies a guy from the Agency went out to tell her what I’d seen. I’d gotten a wharf and dock number, so she went down to check.

I don’t think anyone had ever seen Tunny scared before. Her English wasn’t good enough to really explain what she’d found hibernating down there, but it was something very old and very powerful and very dangerous, and if it’d been woken up my vision would just have been the start of the crisis.

She rounded up a bunch of whales to help her move it, once she was sure it hadn’t been agitated and wasn’t likely to rouse if moved carefully. They towed it out before dawn, not wanting to scare the civilians, and when I saw the footage from the helicopter the Union sent up, when I saw how big the swell was, how many whales were pulling, I swear I nearly crapped myself. No wonder I’d been getting hints a week in advance. Somehow we dumbass humans had built a whole fucking city almost on top of some kind of Ancient Old… THING, and eroded the sea-bottom until it was exposed, and if someone hadn’t done whatever it was we’d all have been dead long before Tunny arrived. And not just all as in ‘all of Nova Roma’, it could have taken out half of the continent... or all of it.

It took me years to find out what happened. YEARS. It turned into a kind of hobby, tracking everything that might possibly have come into contact with Wharf 38 on that particular day.  

And what I found, eventually, was a city employee named Thomas Briggs.

I’d found out early on that 38 wasn’t in good repair. Not that bad, but not great. It was old, things were getting a bit saggy in a few places, but there’d been no sign that anything was likely to fall off on the day. It had sat there for a couple of years after the crisis that never happened,, doing its job without problems then been rebuilt without any drama at all.

Entirely, completely, and totally because of Thomas Briggs.

The story, when I finally pieced it together, went like this.

There’d been some project or other to build some sort of high-budget science project over on the other side of the harbor, hanging it off’ve Pier 8, the furthest out on that side. Something about tracking sea-life or ships or something. My conversational English is near perfect, I’ve been here for years, but I don’t speak science nerd in ANY language. It’d all been approved, some university was covering most of the cost, it was all gonna be fine. And it was gonna be over on 8 because that side of the harbor is the shallow end. It’s where the sailboats go. All the big stuff that would block visual sensors and deafen the thing with engine noise was over in the thirties, in the real deep water.

They were almost ready to install the thing when a bunch of rich dudes suddenly got their panties in a bunch over having a big sciency tower thing ruining the view from their yachts, and tried to get it moved.

To, and I’m sure you guessed this, Wharf 38.

Which was completely insane. It wouldn’t be able to do its job over there, it’d be way more in the way, and (although they couldn’t have known it) the installation would definitely have woken up the Thing sleeping by the wharf and we all would have died. But rich dudes with yachts don’t care about that stuff. They’d bitched out and bribed up their friends on the city council, and those friends had done their thing, and the scientists had been left in the dark, and it’d almost gone through. They’d figured to install it right away, so that when the science guys found out it’d be too late and they’d either have to pay a lot to move it or just use it where it was.

Enter Thomas Briggs.

Mr Briggs, Tom to his friends, didn’t give a crap about the yachts or the science. He was a senior money guy for the commercial wharfs, the one who figured out things like how much money they’d take in in a quarter, and what the repair budget should be, stuff like that. He found out about this thing two days before the disaster would have happened, and sat down and did the math.

Then he sent out an email to the guys trying to push this through, and he ripped into them like they’d threatened to knife his mother. I got my hands on that email, and I didn’t understand a lot of it any more than the council guys would have. It was ALL numbers. But at the top he wrote it out in plain English. Pier 8 was new, and rated to handle the weight of the thingy. Wharf 38 was going to be scrapped in a few years, and it was NOT rated for that kind of structure. Pier 8 had plenty of room around it. Wharf 38 was already a tight fit for the big commercial ships, and adding a structure sticking out on one side would block off at least half of the wharf to those ships completely.

Bottom line, putting the thing on Wharf 38 would cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars more per year than putting it on 8, AND the city would have to eat the cost if 38 collapsed under it which it could easily do, AND the city would have to pay to move it in a couple of years anyway when 38 was due to be rebuilt.

And he cc-ed every important person he had an email address for, including the mayor, the anti-corruption people, and several reporters.

He must have sent that email right when I was opening my car door.

The whole plan collapsed right there, and some people got fired. There was no news story because the whole plan got killed before the reporters even got to the right office. The installation was started on Wharf 8 a few weeks later and I never connected it to a commercial wharf on the other side of the harbor.

One email, and a man who I never could have located in time, a man who had no powers at all, a man who was just conscientiously doing his job looking after the city’s money saved the city, and the continent, and maybe even the world.

Who could have predicted that? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

I can’t deny that I went home and got drunk off my ass that night. Just thinking about how close that had been made my hands shake. One man. One honest man who’d done the math.

I put the word out, once the hangover wore off. What had happened. That Thomas Briggs was the reason we were all alive and everyone better make his life real nice from now on, because he’d done what none of us could do and nobody but the supers would ever even know it.

He’s got a lot of luck coming to him, I can tell you. We don’t forget debts like that.

And I knew that’d freak him out, because honest men don’t like it when people start doing them a lot of favors for no apparent reason, so I tracked him down at the little bar where he likes to have a quiet beer on Friday nights before he goes home. Hell, I was the one who’d gone through it all, back then. I should get to tell him.

I sat down beside him at the bar and looked at him. I saw a thin, small, balding man who looked like he worried too much and didn’t get enough sleep, with lines around his eyes. Yeah, he looked like a man who’d do the math. “Thomas Briggs?”

He blinked at me through his glasses. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Barkhado Omar, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” I offered him my hand and he shook it, still looking confused. Which was fair, ‘cause I doubt a lot of seven foot tall Somali women came up to him in bars even when he was young. He’s got to be close to retirement now.

He frowned. “Looking for me? Why?”

I smiled at him. “Tom, let me buy you a drink and tell you about the day you saved the world.”

It’s usually us who save the city, or the world. We have all the intel, all the advantages, all the powers.

But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s someone like Tom Briggs, doing the right thing at the right time and never knowing that he changed the course of history.

Wild, huh?

--

This story is a direct result of me and my ex chatting about how different the entire Marvel Universe would have been if Jean’s first ‘resurrection’ - being found in a life pod under a wharf, IIRC - had happened at like... any other time. Earlier. Later. It would have changed SO MUCH.

And we speculated about how it could happen, how someone just puttering around in middle management might have unknowingly saved countless lives, prevented Madelyne’s corruption, the legacy virus, all of it, just by postponing that particular set of repairs a bit longer.... and I couldn’t resist writing a version of the story in which Tom does, in fact, save the world.

[cevansbrat0007]

A Friend in the Dark Part II

Summary: After receiving an unexpected call from you in the middle of the night, Ari's not going to let anything stop him from getting to you. But will he make it in time? Takes place directly after the events in A Friend in the Dark: Part I.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, References to Home Invasion, Scared Reader, Pet Names, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Special thanks to my creative consultant, @curls-and-eyeliner, who helped me come up with the opening. Part my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari Levinson’s P.O.V.

Although it feels like hours, it’s really only a matter of minutes before Ari finds himself pulling onto your street. Not wanting to call attention to himself, he immediately kills his headlights before throwing his truck into neutral, quietly gliding down the block. 

He already knows which home is yours – the one with the rose bushes out front. Stopping a couple houses down, the bounty hunter swiftly exits his vehicle. After triple-checking the gun in his waistband, he knows it’s time to make his way to you. 

Ari moves with lethal grace, his corded muscles tense and ready to strike should an enemy make the mistake of crossing his path. As he gets closer, he spots Milton’s cruiser parked a ways down the street.

Perfect.

The burly lawman tosses a brief glance over his shoulder, just to make sure he isn’t being followed – the last thing he needed was someone sneaking up behind him. A blow to the back of the head could be deadly, even for someone as big as him. 

He does a swift scan of your front yard, noting that nothing appears out of place. Holding his breath, Ari tunes his ears to the silence, quieting the sound of his own heartbeat as he wills his military instincts to take over. During his brief conversation with you, you’d said that the intruder had been at your back door.

Which meant that was exactly where he needed to be. Heaven help the fucker if he was dumb enough to still be there, scaring the shit out of his girl. 

He draws his gun and dispenses the safety, holding it low with both hands as he stealthily makes his way around the side of your house. It was time to confront whoever was out there, hiding in the dark like a coward. 

“Gotchu, motherfucker!” He barks, aiming his weapon in the air. 

Except there’s nobody there. 

Although he’s surprised, he remains on high alert. Keeping his head on a swivel, he slowly climbs the steps leading to your back porch. He takes a moment to examine the door, smoothing his fingers along the cracked, splintered wood. The frame itself is also bent and hopelessly warped.

It didn’t take an expert to see that someone had indeed been here at one point. Most likely trying to kick the damned thing down. The whole thing appeared to be hanging on by a thread as it was.

“Shit.” Ari hisses under his breath. Raking an agitated hand through his hair, he pulls out his phone and dials your number once again. “C’mon, baby. Answer the fucking phone for me.”

Why the fuck weren’t you picking up? Had the intruder managed to make their way inside some other way? Ice fills his veins at the prospect of someone holding you captive inside. Scaring you. Hurting you. 

If that something happened to you because he hadn’t gotten here fast enough, Ari would never be able to forgive himself. 

And just where the fuck was Milton? Out in the woods somewhere holding his dick?

At that moment, Ari makes a snap decision. He was determined to get into that house. Frankly, he’d already wasted enough time out here hemming and hawing as it was. Taking a step back and leveling the door with the most powerful kick he can muster, sending it flying open with a loud thunk. 

Taking no time to celebrate, the bounty hunter goes to make his way inside only to duck when he notices an object come flying at his head at the last second. Thankfully, it connects with the door frame instead of his skull.

Your P.O.V.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” You screech, swinging your bat wildly at the large figure that just tried to break their way into your home. “I’m crazy and I’ll kill you! Lord, help me, I’ll do it!” You continue swinging, attempting to keep the intruder at bay on your front porch until help arrives. 

“Wait – stop!” The intruder pleads, throwing up a hand in the dark as his weapon goes flying. 

“I’ve called the cops, you pig-fuckin’ bastard.” You spit, raising your Louisville Slugger high. They’re on their way and –”

“Goddamn it, baby!” Ari roars, scrambling away from the assault. “It’s me! I am the cops!”

That’s enough to knock the wind out of your sails almost immediately. Blood roaring in your ears, you belatedly realize that you’d almost just turned the very man who came to rescue you into a frickin’ vegetable. 

“Ari?” You whisper, finally allowing the bat to fall limply at your feet. “Oh…oh God.”

For a brief moment, all you can do is stare at each other. You, relieved to see him here. Him, relieved to see you unhurt. And it’s only as that feeling of relief begins to settle in is that you begin to shake. Covering your mouth with trembling hands, you watch the bounty hunter stand and collect his gun, before turning on the safety and tucking it back into the security of his jeans. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” 

You don’t think. Don’t question. Instead you just launch yourself into his arms, praying that he’ll catch you.

Of course he does.

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone?” He growls after a beat, pulling away to assess you for injuries. His large, warm hands make quick work of checking you out before gently cupping your face. “Huh? Why the fuck did you go quiet on me like that?”

You rest your smaller hands atop his as Ari brushes a feather-light kiss along your brow. His big body feels so tense beneath your touch. He’s wrapped so tightly, you’re almost certain he’s bound to go off at any moment. 

“I…” You swallow thickly as you will yourself to stop shaking. “I was trying to use the element of surprise. I took my phone with me but…when he started really trying to bust down the door I knew I had to do something, so I –”

“FREEZE!” A new voice yells, taking you both by surprise. Your bounty hunter immediately spins on his heel, pushing you behind him to protect you from view. 

Fucking Milton had finally arrived. A day late and a dollar short. 

“Jesus Christ, asshole.” Ari snarls, briefly raising his hands in the air long enough for the officer to recognize the fact that there was no discernable threat. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Got held up on the way here. I’ll, uh, tell you about it later, Levinson.” Is all he says, holstering his weapon. “You okay there, darlin?”

Later he would pull the lawman aside and let him know that someone had tried to hold him up. Make it difficult for him to get here as fast as the situation had warranted. It wasn’t quite suspicious, but still odd nevertheless. 

“She’s fine.” Ari answers on your behalf, circling a possessive arm around your waist. “Fine as can be, anyway.” He continues when you nod at his side. “Almost took my head off with a baseball bat before you got here.”

“Well, I reckon I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of The Creek’s champion softball players.” Milton responds with a tired grin, his hand coming up to massage the back of his neck. “How bad’s the damage to the door?”

“Eh…” Your bounty hunter attempts to shoo you inside with a guiding hand. “Whoever our guy is did a pretty good job damn near kicking the thing off the hinges. I just finished the job. I just wanna get her indoors so we can – wait.”

Ari stops cold, his entire body going stiff as if he’d only just realized something. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, turning to face him, briefly halting his attempts to move you along. 

“You said you just got here?” You know the question is meant solely for Milton. 

“Yeah.” The officer responds, clearly perplexed by where Ari seems to be going with this. “Why?”

“Baby, you ain’t wearin’ nothing’ but a gown and slippers.” He murmurs, his lips hovering just above your ear. “Stop fightin’ me and go inside where it’s warm. Please.”

It’s an order, that much you can tell. But as much as you want to protest, you decide to do as you’re bid, leaving the two lawmen alone. 

Just this once.

“Good girl.” He praises you, still keeping his voice low even as his words warm your belly. “We’ll be along in a moment.”

Ari’s P.O.V.

“What’s up, Levinson?” Milton tries again once you’re safely out of earshot. 

“When I pulled in, there was a cruiser already parked halfway down the block. Assumed it was you and kept it moving.” 

“That’s awful strange.”

“I know.” Ari grunts, hands on his hips. “Did you call this out over the radio?”

“Well, yeah.” The officer shrugs as he wracks his brain for more details. “But nobody responded. Figured it would just be me and you and that would be enough.”

“Well, clearly someone else heard it.” Your bounty hunter snaps. “You didn’t see anyone when you pulled up? They weren’t still parked there?”

“No.” Milton scrubs a hand along his jaw. “I came the opposite way you did. Only saw your truck.” Turning on his flashlight he flashes it towards the woods beckoning along the edge of your property. “And did you see anyone trying to break-in when you got here?”

“No. But the damage was already done.”

“Think you chased ‘em off?”

“Maybe.” Ari murmurs, his tone rife with suspicion. “But I doubt it. Somethin’ tells me the fucker dipped before I even stepped foot on the lawn.” 

“Fucking. Awesome.” The officer blows out a tired breath. Turning off his flashlight, he lightly claps the other man on the shoulder. “Look. We ain’t gonna get anywhere with this shit tonight.”

“Yeah.” He drags out the word. “Yeah, I know.” God, he needed a fucking cigarette.

“It’s late. I still need to get her statement. We…we can pick this up in the morning.” 

With nothing else left to say, the confused and frustrated men head for your front porch. Regardless of wherever Milton stood on the subject, Ari vows to get to the bottom of this bullshit. 

But first he wanted – no, he needed – to see to you.

Your P.O.V.

It’s nearly 5:00am before Officer Milton walks out your front door, leaving you alone with the one man who had the power to keep you off balance. Right now the two of you are sitting in your kitchen, each sipping a mug of hot tea with an added splash of whiskey. 

Ari had been quiet for most of your conversation with the young officer, only interjecting where and when he felt it necessary. He’d also fetched you tissues when you started to cry, and even held your hand during the…more harrowing portion of your evening. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper when you finally break the silence. “For coming tonight.”

He wants to tell you that he’ll always come, whenever you call. But he can’t quite seem to summon up the words. So instead he simply settles on: “You’re welcome.”

“You…you don’t have to stay.”

“I know.” 

But Ari makes no move to get up. He’s not sure he’s capable of it. Not with you sitting here looking every inch the fragile little bird that you are. Now he knew that you, his woman, had two sides.

You were either his firebrand of a Duchess, or his sweet, soft little Bird. But what you didn’t know is that he was absolutely willing and wanting to keep you. Both of you. 

Clearing his throat, your bounty hunter leans back in his chair, his turbulent blue gaze clashing with yours. “You’re gonna need someone to fix that door.” His tone comes off a little more gruff than he intends.

With a sigh, you come to rest your head on your hand. “I’m afraid it’s too early for me to call the insurance company just yet.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

His response catches you completely off guard. You stare back at him with wide eyes, silently wondering how much the whiskey was talking. 

“Sweetheart.” Once again you find your hand encased in the warmth of his, squeezing gently. “It’s gonna take the insurance company days, if not weeks, to handle this. You and I both know you can’t go that long without a proper door.”

“But I still need to report it…” You protest, hating the fact that you can’t get your brain to work as fast as you would like. 

“So do that. But in the meantime, I’ve got a buddy who owes me a favor. I’ll get him and his boys out here and we’ll get you fixed up good and proper.” 

“I can’t afford that.” 

“Did anyone ask you to pay?” He responds, making it known that he had it in him to be just as stubborn as you. Releasing his grip, he scoots away from the table. Standing up, he picks up your mugs before depositing them in the sink. 

“Ari.” While you mean to sound firm, his name comes out more like a whine, making him smile. 

“How about you get on up to bed, hm?” He murmurs when he sees your head start to dip. Now that all that adrenaline had run its course, you were plum exhausted. “I’ll close up down here. Maybe find some tarp to put over that back door until we can get you the real thing.” 

“You’re so bossy.” 

“Hmph.” Ari grunts as he helps you stand. “Afraid it’ll only get worse the more I have to repeat myself.” 

Your sweet, yet incredibly stubborn lawman runs an affectionate hand over your curls. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, burying your face in his chest to inhale his scent. And even though part of you is waiting for him to push you away, you struggle not to melt on the spot when you feel him press a tender kiss on top of your head. 

“Off to bed with you, little Bird.” He rumbles after a minute, knowing this has already gone on longer than it should’ve. “Get a move-on, now.” 

You’re in such a haze that you don’t even bother to call him out over yet another stupid nickname. First Duchess and now this? You were gonna give this handsome jerk a piece of your mind after you got some sleep. Perhaps you’d threaten to peck his eyes out or something…

Leaning on him even as you plot, you don’t balk as he leads you toward the stairs. Nor do you complain when you feel a territorial hand settle on your hip as he guides you to the foot of your bedroom where he watches you climb into bed. And you decide to ignore the way your belly flutters when you hear him calling you his “good girl” one last time. 

END

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[chleem]

Not a big deal pt2

miniseries; basketball player drew x high scl student reader

Summary: You lose your virginity to a random guy at a frat party miles away from your home. A few days later, you find out that he’s your brother’s competitor, for the regional colleges’ basketball tournament. 

Genre: strangers to lovers, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: cursing, age gap (18 & 24), protected sex, etc.

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ p1 | p3

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Can I have your number?”

A guy from the WCU team came up to you, while you were waiting for Luke. Your parents left due to a job emergency, and left you with your 'responsible' older brother. But currently, he was taking forever in the men’s locker room, and you were getting hit on by a guy from the WCU basketball team. 

He wasn’t ugly, but not handsome either. He was tall (duh) and…just, not your type. He said his name was Gus, and forced some small talk with you, which resulted in him asking for your number. 

“Um, sure,” you awkwardly smile, even though deep down you didn’t want to give it to him. When you reach for his phone, he purposely makes his hand brush against yours, which just gives you the ick. 

Huh. Let’s give him Luke’s number. That would be funny as fuck. 

You type in Luke’s number, giving him a smile as you hand it back to him. “Thanks,” he smiles, gross, and then texts something. “Did you receive it?”

You pretend to check your phone, and nod. “Yeah.”

“Great, um, then… I’ll text you,” he bites his lip, slipping his phone back in his pocket. Is it the end of this conversation? Please, let this be it. But of course, it isn’t. “We have a party, going on tonight.”

“Really?” You pretend to be intrigued. 

“Yeah, to celebrate the winning team. You should…you should come,” Gus invites. 

Oh shit. You really didn’t want to go, especially if you were going with this guy. Please, make something happen so you can reject this guy. 

And as if God heard your prayers, he sends an angel to your rescue. Just, not the angel you expected. 

The door of the men’s locker room opens, and both of you glance to see who it is. 

Drew. He comes out in a fresh set of clothes, wet hair, towel around his neck, and duffle bag hanging on his shoulders. Fuck. He looked soooo good. 

“So are you up for it?” Gus asks, turning to you. You literally had to force your eyes away from Drew. Plus, Gus says it loud enough for Drew to hear, who’s not even a meter away from you. 

You get ready to reject him, when Drew suddenly joins the conversation, wrapping an arm around Gus. Your eyes widen at his interruption, him smiling as he glances between the two of you. “Gus, who’s this you’ve got here?”

His blue eyes stare into yours; bringing you back to that night. 

His question lingers in the air, and he squeezes Gus’ shoulder to get an answer out of him. “Um, y/n. This is Drew, our captain.”

You didn’t know why, but you hoped that Drew would tell Gus that he knows who you are, and that you’ve met before. He doesn’t; instead, he says, “Nice to meet you,” followed by a wink. A wink that Gus doesn’t notice, too busy staring you down. 

Oh. Oh. You feel yourself get a degree hotter, physically. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Drew asks, glancing at Gus. 

“Um, just the party tonight. I’m asking y/n if she would like to come with me.”

Drew turns back to you, his eyebrows furrowed. Fuck. What did that expression mean? “It sounds very interesting,” you say, faking a smile at Gus. “But uh, I support the ECU,” you joke, pointing to the jersey you were wearing. 

The two guys' eyes scan your body, but only one of them really got to see what was underneath the jersey. “It’s open to the public,” Drew says, his eyes still lingering on your body. 

You bit down on your lip, trying to suppress your smile. Okay, so maybe he would like to see you at the party. “Where is it?”

“The hotel next to ECU, where we’re staying. Room…302, I believe?” Gus turns to Drew for confirmation, who just nods, forcing his eyes back to your face. 

You stare at Drew, who’s got a small smirk on now. “Open to the public,” he murmurs again, the smirk turning into a small smile now. 

God must hate you, because he sends the devil to your side during the crucial moments. The door to the locker room opens yet again, and when you glance at who it was, it was Luke. In fresh clothes, just gotten out the shower, and looking like he wanted to murder someone. 

His expression turns even meaner when he sees you with the WCU team members. He goes and stands closely beside you, his presence very pressuring. “What- what’s going on here?”

Fuck. Luke sounds like he wants to pick up a fight. You glance between Gus and Drew, who looks alarmed but confused at the same time. “Nothing; you took forever,” you tell your brother instead, hoping he can brush it off. “You should go get a cab.”

You push his shoulder to get him moving, but he doesn’t budge. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, before turning to Drew. Your brother wasn’t born yesterday; he knew they were hitting on you. “She’s a minor.”

Your brother always said that, whenever he found guys hitting on you. It scares them away, but you didn’t want Drew to be scared away. 

“I’m not,” you say firmly, trying to meet Drew’s eyes. “I’m 18 already.”

“Shit,” Gus comments, shocked. “I didn’t- I wouldn’t have hit on you if I knew you were so young-"

“So why are you still standing here?” Luke rudely comments. 

You just focused on Drew’s reaction; he’s looking elsewhere now, his other hand now scratching the side of his face. He’s definitely in shock, because you didn’t tell him that you were 18. But, what’s wrong with being 18? You’re a legal person now, so, was it that big of a deal? 

“Yeah, so sorry,” Gus apologizes, which doesn’t make you feel any better. You feel much worse. Wow, thanks a lot, Luke. 

You don’t miss how Drew’s eyes flicker over your body, while shock is still written on his face. 

“You should be. She’s still a kid,” Luke continues to say. “Didn’t know you were jerks off and on court.” Okay. Now your brother was just being petty about losing. 

“Could say the same about you,” Drew suddenly speaks up, his eyes turning to Luke. He stops scratching his face, biting on his lips now. 

Right. You’re suddenly reminded of Luke’s push at Drew towards the end of the game. Fuck. You wanna ask if he’s okay or not. You don’t even glance at Luke; he’s probably even more upset now.

“We gotta get going though, we’ve got stuff to do,” Drew adds, squeezing Gus’ shoulder again. 

“What stuff? Hitting on more minors?” Your brother gives them a nasty smirk, thinking his comment ate. 

“Actually, the local news are interviewing us,” Gus says, which comes out as a flex to your brother. “But, again, so sorry.”

“Yeah, we’ll, see you around,” Drew says, awkwardly glancing between the two of you. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment; and it was filled with shame and guilt. 

It doesn’t take an expert to analyze that look: he regrets sleeping with you. 

They walk outside the building, Drew taking his arm off Gus. Your eyes can’t help but follow them, watching their every move. You see Gus showing Drew something on his phone, and he grabs it out of his hand, examining it. Huh. What did he show Drew?

“They didn’t deserve to win,” your brother’s comment makes you pull your eyes away from them. Right, you’re reminded of this fucker that you’re unfortunately related to.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Is the first thing you say, genuinely pissed. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“What? Sorry for trying to protect you,” Luke says back, the anger in his voice matching yours. “Seriously, I don’t get enough credit for being a loving brother.”

“‘Loving brother’?” You laugh, as you walk towards the door, pushing it open. “No, you were just being a jerk. That was purely for your ego.”

“Ego my ass,” Luke follows behind you, the two of you walking side by side but not looking at each other. “You think I want to spend my time worrying about you?”

“Well, that’s exactly how you spend your time,” you angrily reply. 

“Can’t help it; I’m your brother, y/n. Nothing will change that,” Luke says. You roll your eyes, stopping at the cab sign, hoping a random cab will drive by. “But y/n, can you promise me one thing?”

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows, turning to your brother. 

His expression softens, and he lowers his voice. “Don’t- don’t get involved with the WCU guys, okay? Can you promise me that?”

Too late. “Why?” You ask, curious. 

“Imagine if I became friends with someone you hated a lot,” Luke says, and you imagine him with your classmate that you found annoying as fuck. Yeah, that image pisses you off. “Same goes for WCU. That…if I won, that would’ve been the turning point for me. But I didn’t. And I have every right to be upset.”

You stay silent, biting down on your lip. Shit. “Any guy, y/n. I wouldn’t care. Just, not them. Promise me that.”

How can you promise that when you’ve broken it in the first place?

A cab drives by, saving you from having to answer. “You got money?” You ask instead, holding your hand out to gesture the cab to stop. It stops, and you open the door. 

A small smile appears on his face, shaking his head lightly. “You owe me a lot,” he says, as you get in. 

“And you don’t complain, because you’re my ‘loving brother’,” you throw his words back at him, as he gets in the cab. 

He shakes his head again, before telling the driver the address to home.

Shit. This was awkward, you think. No involvement with WCU guys. Impossible, when you lost your virginity to one of them. And not just any one of them, the captain of their basketball team for god’s sake. 

——

How did you end up alone with Drew, in his hotel room?

Despite what your brother said, you still showed up at the WCU party. A very rude thing to do. But you figured, as long as no one from his team saw you here, it would be safe. For all he knows, you’re at the library studying. 

It went well at first; you showed up at the hotel room Gus told you, wandering around awkwardly. A few minutes and couple of drinks later, you bumped into Gus. He's definitely more flirty and pushy now, under the influence of alcohol.

It was Drew that saved you, butting in and forcing Gus to refill his drink. 

And now, you were in his hotel room, sitting at the foot of his bed. Drew leaned against his small kitchen sink, staring at the floor. This was more awkward than talking to Gus. 

You take the chance to look around; his washed clothes hanging by the window, unmade bed, messy dining table with his textbooks, and his luggage opened, some items just spread onto the floor. 

You play with your fingers, looking everywhere but Drew. Why did you agree to be alone with Drew, in his hotel room? It was weird, and very dangerous. 

It felt like time had stopped, until Drew spoke up. “So…you’re 18?”

“Yeah,” you nod awkwardly, your gaze turning to Drew. He bites down on his lip; looks of guilt written all over his face. You did not like that. “Been 18 for a very long time. So…”

Silence. Again. 

Drew seems to be in a spiral, trying to process everything. 

The silence was nerve-wracking; what was he thinking about? 

“Wait…” he starts, running a hand through his hair. He looks at you with furrowed brows, his eyes squinted slightly. “You…you’re…were you a virgin that night?”

Shit, shit, shit. 

“Tell me the truth, y/n,” he seriously says, scratching the corner of his mouth nervously. 

Something about his blue eyes make you want to surrender everything to him. You look away; focusing on the floor. “Yes,” you breathe out, “that was my first time.”

“Fuck,” Drew curses, and you glance at him. He’s clearly stressed, even starting to walk back and forth in front of you. “Fuck…I asked you that night. Why did you lie?”

“Would you have fucked me still?” You ask, sounding way bolder and rude that you expected. “Even if I told you-“

“I’m 24, y/n,” he interrupts. 

Drew’s 24? That’s…six years older than you. Oh wow.

But for some reason, you just can’t find yourself hating this age gap. It was one night, and both of you consented to it. So, was it that big of a deal?

“Do you wanna…sit?” You start, seeing how stressed Drew was. Drew hesitates; but eventually sits down on the spot you patted. You lick your lips nervously, glancing between his lap and yours. “Do you regret it?”

You ask; only because you need to get it off your chest. It was suffocating you; wondering it he regrets or hates that he slept with you. “No,” he answers almost instantly. You look up at his eyes, behind the stress, was softness and admiration in them. “I don’t. I enjoyed it, I…I enjoyed it.”

That makes you smile, and you shyly look down at your lap again. “Me too,” you whisper. And you can’t believe it, but you admit to him, “you set the standard high for me.”

That actually makes him laugh, and he covers his mouth in attempt to remain serious. You smile even wider, butterflies in your stomach that are proud you made him laugh. He shrugs, “Pretty easy when I have no competitors.”

You poke the side of his ribs, causing him in flinch in pain. You furrow your eyebrows, “are you okay?”

He rubs the part you poked, but shrugs, “just fell on my back today. Wasn’t bad.”

Oh. Luke pushed him. That must’ve hurt like hell, yet he’s acting careless. “You’re lying. Lemme see,” you reach for his shirt, and surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you. Instead, he leans down on the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. 

Woah. This angle of Drew, was crazy. You gulp, trying to ignore how hot he looked in his position and focus on examining his lower chest. You lift his shirt, and see some bruises that you didn’t see the last time, all over the side of his abs. Shit. “I’m gonna kill him,” you threaten, anger building up at Luke.

“Happens all the time,” he says, hooded eyes looking at you. “Really; this isn’t the worst that’s happened to me.”

“Hard to believe,” you look at him, your head slightly tilted. You couldn’t help but trace your hands on the outline of his abs; what a perfect body he has. 

“Broke my arm two years ago,” he says, and you gasp, to which he just nods. “Yeah, and the guy refused to pay for the bills. Really, your brother’s not the worst.”

“Did I tell you he’s my brother yet?” You suddenly rethink, wondering how he knows you’re related to Luke.

“You guys look identical. Almost thought you were twins.”

Very offended, you press on his bruise, causing him to flinch, hard. You giggle, putting your hands back in your lap. “Don’t say that, ever again.”

“Yes ma’am,” his eyes land on your lap. “Keep doing that.”

“Do what? Press on your bruise?”

“No; the thing you did earlier,” his voice suddenly drops lower.

You trace on his abs again, “this?”

“Yeah,” he says.  

The sudden urge to kiss him is strong. And the way Drew looks at you, he wants to kiss you too. 

“I want to kiss you,” he admits as well, a small smile on his lips. 

You kiss him lightly as a response, leaning onto his body. Drew seems to miss you, because he kisses you urgently and hungrily. One of his hand wraps around the back of your neck, flipping you over. Now, you were under him, the feel of his dangling necklace was against your throat.

You kiss him, trying your best to show him how much you’ve missed him as well. But, it seems like Drew was winning, with his boner pressing your lower stomach. You couldn’t help but laugh, and Drew pulls away from you with a confused expression. “What?”

“Awww, does kissing me turn you on?” You tease, feeling bold and confident with Drew on top of you. You run your hands through his hair, feeling how soft it is. 

“Insanely,” he admits, a small smile on his lips now. He returns to kissing you, before moving his lips down your neck. He sucks on the skin there, causing your back to arch in pleasure, your lips moaning his name. 

His hands slip under your dress, playing with the fabric of your underwear. But just as his hands get ready to slip in, he suddenly comes to a stop. He rubs your inner thigh, resting his head against your neck.

Then, he gets off of you, laying on the spot beside you.

What? You’re really confused, and you sit up, looking down at him. He’s covering his face with his hands, and you ask, “Why did you stop?”

“I… I don’t have a condom.”

Fuck.  

“Plus, this isn’t right.”

Excuse me? “What, what are you talking about?” You laugh nervously, wondering where he was going. His hands were still covering his face, so you had no idea if he really means anything he says. 

“You’re 18. This isn’t right.”

“Wow,” you scoff in disbelief.

You thought that when he kissed you again, it meant that he was okay with this. But he isn’t. In fact, he’s nowhere near okay with how young you were. Then why did he kiss you again? Why get hard at the simple act of kissing you? “Unbelievable,” you murmur, looking away from him. 

This age gap is a bigger deal to him than to you, it seems.

“I just…this isn’t right,” he says, coming out unclear since his hands are covering his face. 

You furrow your eyebrows even harder. Why won’t he look at you? Is it that shameful? Having involvement with you? “Why are you covering yourself?”

He doesn’t respond; so you admit, “now you’re making me sad by not even looking at me.” 

That makes him take his hands off his face, and you meet his blue eyes. He’s trying to not express it, but it’s really evident; Guilt. Guilt for wanting to sleep with you. “This isn’t right,” he repeats again, more softer this time.

You look away from him, biting down on your lip, “good to know.”

Drew sits up now, and he wraps his hand around yours. You quickly pull away; you feel disgusting now. Disgusted, by how he’s disgusted by you, by your age. You’re so stupid, thinking that Drew was going to want to sleep with you again.

Silence. Again. 

“I really like you,” he suddenly admits. 

“But you don’t want me,” you say, finding his sudden confession really stupid, not at all flattering to hear. 

“Don’t say that.”

“But that’s how you feel, isn't it?”

"No. Not even close," he murmurs, so low that if the room wasn't dead quiet now, you wouldn't catch it. “Do you like me too?” This question, he asks much louder, and you feel his stare burning down the side of your face.

“Does it matter? ‘This isn’t right’,” you throw his words back at him, which makes him lick his lips awkwardly, looking back down at his lap. Why can't he make up his mind? God knows you have, but what about Drew?

You roll your eyes, standing up.

“Where you going?”

“Leaving. I’m so stupid for even coming here in the first place.”

You look down at him, expecting some kind of reaction at least. But no. His eyes stay glued to his lap. And still no reaction, as you walk out his hotel room. He doesn’t follow you, call your name, nothing. He does nothing, nothing to try to stop you from leaving.

——

“Where’ve you been?”

No answer.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

No answer again.

“Y/n.”

Luke grabs onto your arm, stopping you from escaping to your room. 

You look up at his eyes, seeing the concern in them. 

And you don’t know why, but you cry. You cry, and Luke just brings you into his arms, hugging you. Being in his arms make you cry even harder, the tears flowing out like a waterfall. 

Luke doesn’t question it; simply just hugging you. 

You didn’t know that a boy from West Carolina would effect you this much. Affecting you physically and emotionally. Weird. 

Do you like me too? Yes, you think. I like you, even though I know nothing about you. I like you, even though you’re years older than me. I like you, even though I’ll never see you again. 

I like you, which is not a big deal. Not at all.

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

word count: 3.4k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: 😶‍🌫️ y'all prob hate me for this ending... BUT im open to making a third part ! imo, at the end of the day, drew will still feel weird for being with an 18 year old, despite being crazy attracted to her. idk, depends, would you guys want a third part, or is this a good end?

anyways, thanks for reading and enjoying the first part! flashing lights ch5 will be out this week <3

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + nineteen

authors note: this one has....some surprising twists and connections. that's for sure....

cw/tw: angst, fluff, and characters using dark humor to discuss mental health

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

Roman’s never been the type to really push things off. Not important things, at least. And seldom in his life has his to-do list ever really consisted of non-essentials. There’s always something to be done, a task to be handled, body or bodies to drop. 

But always at the top of the non-essential list has been his appointments with Dr. Michaels. They’ve always been more annoying than anything, annual routine check-ups that are required with his role as the Tribal Chief. To make sure he’s healthy and equipped for the job. Appointments the Elders are sure to stay on top of, which is also a large reason he hates them.

The Elders tried so hard at the beginning to stop and prevent him from taking his rightful place at the Head of the Table once he turned 18. Questioning his readiness, his eligibility (largely to him being afakasi), and even more, his capability. 

To be honest, it’s a major reason as to why Roman will never really respect them. For men who are supposed to uphold tradition, they seemed to throw that out the fucking window and jump through every available hoop to prevent him from fulfilling his father’s role. To stop a generational dynasty. 

It’s largely why Roman was so focused and dedicated at the beginning of his reign to prove them wrong. To prove them all wrong. 

Something he continues and will always do.

A knock on the door is followed up with the entrance of the man Roman could go the rest of his life without seeing. “Well, congratulations.” Roman maintains his bored expression, mentally going over the next items of his to-do list rather than entertaining his doctor. “You have the sperm count of a man in his twenties.”

That’s another annoying thing. The yearly tests to continue to monitor his ability to reproduce. Something he, like most things in life, passes with flying colors. 

“I’m sure the Elders will be thrilled to hear that.” Probably. Not that Roman gives a flying fuck. “What I’m not pleased with is your blood pressure.” Roman is slightly more present and engaged in the conversation at that. “Your numbers came back even higher this time, Roman. And while you’re not in the danger zone just yet, you keep this shit up of not taking this seriously, you will be.”

Yeah, the attention is fully present and focused now. Roman maintains a leveled voice while asking, “what the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Michaels sighs heavily, moving to sit on his stool, explaining carefully. “You have hypertension. It’s chronic, so it’s not going to go away by avoiding it. You have to take your medication as prescribed. That’s the only thing that will keep it managed.”

Roman looks away, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t fucking take it.” And that’s the truth. When Roman remembers, he does. Or when he actually cares enough to, he’ll pop the pill in his mouth and down it with one of his energy drinks. 

“Every day?” Roman doesn’t bother with a reply, growing irritated at being scolded like he’s a fucking child. “Continue to fuck around with this, and you’re putting yourself at high risk for heart disease or stroke.”

Those two things seem almost impossible, like they shouldn’t even be used in the same sentence or paragraph as him or anything related to him. Roman is in excellent shape, works out at least twice a day, eats relatively well, doesn’t smoke or do drugs. Rarely drinks. All the good shit. 

All the healthy shit most medical providers recommend. Isn’t that enough?

It’s like the old man has uninvited access to Roman’s thought process, adding, “Hypertension is hereditary. Your dad had it. Your uncle had it. So, it only makes sense, especially with who you are and what you do, that you got it as well.” Jaw clenching, Roman refuses to comment on that. Refuses to discuss anything regarding his family. “You were technically in the prehypertension stage before, hence why I put you on meds to keep it from progressing. But, now you’re in the stage one hypertension range. Do you really wanna know and see what stage two would look like?”

Thankfully, Shawn doesn’t wait for a reply, continuing his long ass spiel. “You take such good care of yourself physically, but this one thing seems to be an issue for you?” When Roman still says nothing or even makes eye contact, Dr. Michaels goes for a different angle. “If you’re not going to do it for you, at least do it for that wife of yours.” That is when Roman’s sharp gaze lands back on his doctor. “She was a nervous wreck that night you were shot. Imagine what something happening to you that was avoidable would do to her.”

Damn him. 

For all intents and purposes, Roman does an excellent job at hiding the fact that Dr. Michaels found it. Found the thing that truly catches Roman’s attention. Solana always worries so much about him, especially this high blood pressure shit. He doesn’t even want to think about how she would react if she knew his numbers had gotten worse, that he’d slacked off a bunch on medication adherence since she’s been gone, since everything went down. 

She’d freak the fuck out, be an emotional mess, and it’d be all because of him.

Roman can’t have that. 

He won’t.

With a newfound purpose and reason to actually switch this topic from irrelevant to relevant, he relents, “fine. I’ll take the damn medication.”

“As prescribed?”

Smiling without an ounce of humor, Roman nods, reminding himself that it’s probably not a good idea to kill the doctor he’s had since he was 14. Michaels can be annoying, but he’s effective and hasn’t been a problem for the Tribal Chief. For the most part, at least. “Yes.”

Dr. Michaels chuckles. “Thank you.” He then stands up, looking down at his tablet and starts tapping around. “Unfortunately, because your numbers have jumped as much as they have, I need to up your dosage. I’ll send the script over to the pharmacy and make sure they have it filled today so you can pick it up today. Start tomorrow morning. Not next week. Or next year. Tomorrow. Alright?”

Not bothering to reply, Michaels walks over to him, smile almost sympathetic. “Good seeing you, big guy.” Roman scowls with borderline disgust at the light pat on his shoulder. “I’ll follow up with you in a month.”

Roman’s irritation spikes again. “A month? Why so soon?”

Hand on the door, Dr. Michaels shrugs and explains. “Gotta start monitoring your numbers more closely now.” He smirks a bit, taunting almost. “See if you’re as good at following directions as you are at giving them.” 

It’s when the door closes that Roman releases the heavy sigh. Always fucking something. Yet another thing added to his list. 

Of course. 

Roman stays annoyed, even as he’s escorted back into his office, the only thing keeping him from being completely vexed is the reminder that pops up on his phone. 

Visit with Sol

He’s scheduled to drive down to the treatment facility and spend the evening with Solana this evening. Something he’d never openly acknowledge to anyone other than her that he’s been looking forward to all week. 

Today marks two weeks since she transferred to residential treatment, and despite much more lax policies regarding personal items and even visitation, this will only be his second time seeing her.

And not because he hasn’t wanted to. 

No. Solana herself requested they stick to visits once a week versus more. Citing she wants to do this “on her own” as much as possible. The initial wording concerned him. He never wants her to feel like she’s alone in anything, but her follow up explanation provided him clarity on just what she meant. 

“You believe in and support me” A light shrug of her shoulders and gentle gleam in her pretty brown eyes as she adds with a determined nod. “I have to believe in and support me too.”

He checks in on her throughout the week, of course. And she keeps him updated on things like her individual and group therapy, even sharing photos of art she creates during down time. It helps that she’s allowed her phone this time around. Not that it would have made a difference if she wasn’t. There’s no way in hell he would allow her to be that far away without a way to directly communicate with him. Sure, Bautista is there, but still. 

Not enough.

But, it’s as Roman walks back into his office, any excitement at the thoughts of seeing his wife in person, being able to hold her and kiss her is dashed away. 

Replaced with well-hidden shock and irritation.

“What the fuck are you doing here?

There are two people in his office. Two uninvited people. One sits in his chair at his desk. The other sits on the edge of his desk. He recognizes one of them, but not the other. It takes a second for that recognition to dawn. It’s been years since he last saw him. He looks older, obviously, but outside of that, not much has changed.

Including his disrespectful ass disposition. 

A broad smile appears on the bearded face of the man who just doesn’t know today is the absolute wrong day to try to surprise Roman. To surprise a man who hates surprises in the first damn place. 

“Good to see you too, capo.”

There is nothing good about this. Roman already has seven million other things on his plate. He doesn’t need anything else thrown at him.

Especially this.

“Why are you here?” If there was anyone to come and pop up from the Cosa Nostra, he would have bet any money it would be Dwayne. And that would be a much better option than the bastard before him.

The woman on the desk chuckles. Roman can at least acknowledge her beauty. Breathtaking. Her features are almost too perfect to be real, her deep complexion free of any markings. A fine woman. Not Solana. Not in the slightest but still beautiful. She looks over at her co-intruder and speaks in Italian. “While the resemblance, physically, is undeniable. Personality wise is where it stops. Thank God. His bedside manners leave a lot to be desired.”

If she wasn’t a woman, Roman would have her laid out by now. To speak ill of him is one thing, but to do it in front of him is entirely different. Truth be told, if he wasn't already having a shitty day, a small part of him might be impressed at her balls. But, it’s not a good day. Far from it, so now he has to push back thoughts of murder.

Glare focused on her, he switches to Italian. “You have 1 minute to get the fuck out of my office, or else the only way you’ll be leaving is in a body bag.”

“Careful, Roman.” Matteo’s voice is light and surface level calm, but Roman knows better than that. Knows that it’s also a warning. If only he cared. “This is my wife.” 

“What makes you think I give a fuck?” Is Roman’s leveled reply. “I want her gone. Now.” Roman can’t decipher why this man would bring her in the first place. This doesn’t concern her. 

Matteo is smart, whispering something to long legs as she kisses his cheek and plops off the desk. Her smirk pisses him the fuck off as she walks past him, completely unbothered, remaining silent even as the door closes behind her.

Smug ass, prissy bitch. 

Roman doesn’t waste any time jumping back to the topic at hand. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”

Matteo sighs and sits forward, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?” Roman is just about to lose his shit at having to repeat himself when Matteo smartens up. “Dwayne sent me.”

Roman eyes him. “What?”

Matteo sighs, shrugging and rolling his shoulders. Roman’s mind quickly travels back to his last conversation with his cousin just a few weeks ago. Outside of the usual asking when he’ll fly out to Italy, he gave no indication that something was wrong. 

And yet Matteo, who Roman hasn’t seen in years, who is second to only Dwayne and lives in Italy full time, sits before him saying he was sent. 

“It’s as Dwayne has been telling you. The Administration grows restless of a leader who lives in a completely different continent.” 

This is nothing Roman hasn’t heard before a million times, but each time, his already limited patience continues to wane. “Is the business not successful?”

That’s an easy answer. “It is.”

Well then. “So why the fuck am I needed there?”

“Because they’ll do and find anything they can to delegitimize your reign.” A sort of frown falls on his face as he adds in a lowered voice. “To create a case.” 

Roman’s gaze narrows, his nose snarling as he catches on to what’s being shared. “They want you to clock me?”

Matteo nods, asking, “you remember our cugino, Luca?” Roman also nods, still trying to settle his anger that these bastards actually have the audacity to want him followed. “Well, he’s not that same scrawny punk anymore. He’s older, stronger, clever. Sadistic. They think he would be better suited to lead.”

It’s not that Roman cares, he’s just trying to get into Matteo’s head, see where his thoughts are. That’s the only reason he asks, “do you?”

Matteo doesn’t appear to think about his answer, which Roman finds a bit surprising. It’s almost as if he’s being honest. “No. Not at all. He doesn’t have the strategic mind to be capo. He leads with his emotions. Is irrational and strong headed. Even more hot headed than you are. He’ll run the business into the ground.”

It’s been years since Roman has spoken or interacted with his cousin, but the description provided seems aligned with everything he’d already pegged. Luca isn’t fit for this role. The weight that comes with being the boss. 

He would most definitely ruin the empire.

“How long are you here for?” 

“Not sure.” Matteo shrugs, running his hand through his hair. “That’s why I brought the wife and kids.”

The wife thing briefly took Roman off guard, but the kids thing especially surprises him. Not that Matteo is even remotely close to being someone he’s close with, it still stuns him a bit. Then again, most men around their age have a family of some sort by this point. So, it really shouldn’t be that much of a shock.

Matteo must catch on to Roman’s expression. “Three of them. Set of twin boys and a girl. Not exactly something I broadcast. Safety reasons and whatnot.” And that, Roman most definitely gets. Matteo looks down, an almost bitter scoff leaving his mouth. “We both know how they feel about us mixed breeds.”

Another thing they can relate on. In more than just the obvious way. Roman’s mother’s racist ass side of the family hated his father being Samoan but ‘accepted’ him, arranged the union solely because of who he was. Because of the Bloodline. But, Matteo’s Turkish father, an essential commoner, never stood a chance.

His mangled, tortured remains that were pulled from the bottom of a lake was an outcome that was always bound to come. 

Roman shakes his head. “And you wonder why the fuck I don’t want to be around any of them?”

Matteo chuckles darkly. “Not at all.” He grabs a paper weight on Roman’s desk and starts tossing it up and down. “You should be lucky it’s me here and not someone else. Dwayne had to fight tooth and nail for them to select me to spy on you. As I’m sure you already know, yet probably don’t care about, there aren’t many on the Administration who are exactly…..fans of yours.”

“And they never will be.” 

Matteo lifts his chin, calmly adding. “Of either of us.”

Silence. 

It’s not uncomfortable. Not comfortable either. Just….silent.

Until Matteo places the paper weight back down and stands up, slowly walking over to Roman. 

“Roman…..” Right away, the Tribal Chief knows he’s not about to like wherever this conversation is going. “I know….I know we’re not close for a lot reasons, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we are brothers—”

Yeah…..as always, he was right. 

He doesn’t like this shit at all. 

“We are nothing,” Roman snaps, practically growling, Matteo managing to tap into such deep rooted insecurities and so carefully tucked away traumas. “Sharing the same mother makes us biological siblings, but it does not make us brothers.” 

For the briefest second, there’s something that flashes in Matteo’s brown eyes. Something akin to hurt. But, it’s quickly pushed away, shoved to the back of the bus. He lifts his head and instead takes a step closer. 

“Whether you believe me or not, Roman. My loyalty is to you. You are the rightful capo. The Capo di tutti capi, and I will fight for and with you to the death.”

Roman says nothing, because he has nothing to say. Nothing he wants to say, at least. The statement lays heavy, joining the other pile of weights that have seemed to settle and make themselves comfortable in his head.

And his heart.

Matteo extends a hand, placing it on Roman’s shoulder, giving an almost comforting squeeze.

“You are mio fratello.” The word being repeated, however, is enough to make the Tribal Chief ready to resort to violence when Matteo, wisely steps back. “As I’m sure you’ve figured, while I’m here, I will need to be present for any and all meetings or discussions regarding the Cosa Nostra.”

Yes, Roman’s not a dumbass. Of course he has to. He needs something to report back to those bitches. It’s just how much of the actual truth will get relayed that he’s unsure about.

Roman continues to stand there, anger and twenty different other emotions boiling as the older man walks toward the door, readying to leave, but not without one final departing statement. 

“See you tomorrow, brother.”

—-------

“Is it true he’s packing an almost 10inch dick?”

Solana nearly chokes on the water she was in the midst of downing at the most unexpected, wild, flabbergasting question she’s almost ever received. 

And her expression of complete and utter shock is shared with the other two women who sit with her. 

Cam is the first to speak though, instantly chiding the other woman, “Mickie!”

“What?” Mickie, however, doesn’t seem to see the issue. Pulling one leg up on the sofa, she shakes the bottle of nail polish and starts applying the pretty lilac color. “Remember my ex-friend Layla? She fucked him one time and said it was the biggest one she ever had. That he could barely fit it in.”

“Mickie, for the love of God, shut up.” Melina cuts in, her voice less shocked and more irritated. She motions to Solana with her free hand, the other one in Solana’s lap as she designs the butterflies for her. “That’s her husband.”

“Well, she has to know he’s a hoe. Or used to be?” 

Cameron shakes her head, finishing up her own nail polish application to her short nails. “Seriously, Mickie, you’re out of line.” 

“It’s okay.” Solana finally decides to make her two cents known as she caps the bottle and places it back on the sofa beside her. “I—I know he….he had a reputation.” That seems like the nicest way to say it, the nicest way to acknowledge that her husband has probably slept with more women than she’d like to ever know. 

“That wasn’t an answer tho—ow!” Mickie winces when Melina punches her in the arm. “Bitch.”

Melina just chuckles, focus back on Solana as she jokes. “You see why we’re all here?”

It makes Solana smile.

To anyone else, the scene would be quite difficult to fully understand. Four young women chatting and joking amongst each other like they’re not all currently admitted and receiving treatment at a residential facility for women. They should be sad, moping, disconnected, unstable. And they have been all of those things, hence their current placement.

But, they’re also so much more than that. They’re human beings who hurt and feel like everyone else. They’ve just been hurt a lot more than some other people and have not responded or processed or even healed just yet. 

Emphasis on yet. Another thing Solana has picked up in therapy. 

“Did you guys do your assignment for Lilian?” Solana asks, partially wanting to redirect the focus from off herself and Roman’s…..anatomy, but also genuinely curious about their experiences completing the homework provided in group therapy.

Cam is the first to answer, shaking her head. “Yeah. It was…..not the best time.”

“Agreed,” Mickie chimes, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, I tried to not be too depressing but ….considering I’ve tried to, as the kids say, unalive myself three times now, there wasn’t a lot to go off of.”

Solana winces. This is something she’s still getting a bit used to, if she ever fully will. How sometimes dark humor is so easily weaved into conversations. She’s seen and realized it’s a type of coping mechanism, but it’s still a bit difficult, nonetheless. 

The assignment being discussed consisted of the ladies being tasked with coming up with at least 10 chapter titles to represent their lives. Five from the past and five for the future they hope to have. Solana can agree that the ones for the past were a bit challenging and definitely sad, but her future ones managed to feed that hope she’s determined to not lose this time around.

“I kind of cheated and used song titles for some of them,” Melina admits with a chuckle.

“I used songs for all of them,” Cam counters with a small, sly smile. Of the three women, Solana seems to relate closely to her. They’re the same age and have the same quiet disposition that’s only shed away ever so slightly once they become more comfortable.

Which, clearly, has already started to happen.

“Have ya’ll ever heard Mama’s Hand by Queen Naija?” Almost everyone says no or shakes their head to signify no being their answer. Melina goes on to explain, “it’s this really pretty song she wrote about her son. I used some of the lyrics for my titles for my son.”

Solana, who was just about to switch to a different skin marker to start on the next butterfly, pauses. “You have a son?”

Yes, they’ve all grown rather close over the past few weeks, starting with their simultaneous hospital stays to where they all now room only doors down from each other in residential treatment. However, Melina having a child is news to Solana.

She nods and pulls the arm back that Solana was drawing on to reach in her back pocket, pulling out a folded photo. Considering Melina only reaches it to her, Solana takes a guess that Mickie and Cam already knew. Makes sense.

A smile naturally falls on her face at the sight of the curly haired little boy playing in the sand. 

Melina also smiles, though hers is clearly weighed down with sadness. “I took that just two months ago. We went to Isla Mujeres to go visit Santos aunt. She lives down there.” 

“He’s beautiful, Melina. What’s his name?” The mention of the island also captures Solana’s attention. “Roman and I were just there not too long ago, actually. He took me for my birthday.”

“Santos. Go figure.�� She rolls her eyes, as Solana giggles. She thinks it’s actually cute he was named after his father. “And really? It’s so beautiful.”

Breathtaking. “It is.”

“Thank you.” Melina’s smile deepens as she takes the photo and tucks it back into her pocket. “We had a good time there. It almost feels too nice to be unreal, huh?”

Solana nods. “My mom used to tell me about it all the time, which is why Roman took us. He bought us a house there, so we can go back and visit.”

“Damn, what’s it like being married to someone so rich?” Mickie almost moans, head thrown back for a second before she gasps. “Could we do like a girls trip there or something? You know, assuming we don’t all get locked up again on grippy sock trips for trying to kill ourselves.” 

Cam rolls her eyes but admits, “outside of the suicide joke, that does sound kind of fun.”

“We can stay at your house,” Mickie suggests to Solana. “If Roman is okay with that, of course.”

Solana thinks about it. Something tells her he wouldn’t protest. Not if she really wanted it. He’d probably stay somewhere else, not wanting to be around a bunch of women, but she can’t see him saying no. Matter of fact, it kind of aligns with the idea she had brought up to Roman before the incident. An idea of a girls trip with Naomi and Bayley, who she still needs to talk to actually. 

She hasn’t interacted with them since that night. And not for any reason other than wanting to make sure she’s emotionally ready for that, no doubt, heavy ass conversation.

There will definitely be a lot of tears.

“I could talk to him,” she finally answers, looking over at Melina. And she will. It could actually be really nice having all of her now friends together for a nice getaway trip. “You should bring your son too.” 

Melina looks surprised by this. “Really?” She then looks down, chuckling sadly. “That’s if Santos trusts me enough.”

Given that their rooms are right next to each other, both here and at the hospital, Solana has found herself talking with and to Melina more than Mickie and even Cam. Melina is also Mexican, fluent in Spanish, which allows them to sometimes converse in the language only the two of them understand. But, in some of those conversations, they’ve gotten deep, which is why she’s slightly surprised this is the first time she’s hearing about a child.

Melina had disclosed a lot of her relationship with Santos Escobar. How they’ve known each since they were kids, shared some of their best and worst moments with each other, how he’s loved her through it all. 

Solana can still remember the heartbreaking look in her teary eyes as she shared, ‘he just wants me to love myself as much as he loves me’. And Solana related to that so deeply. It made her think of Roman and how he could never love her back most likely but how the way he cares about her and takes care of her probably feels just as good.

She knows what it’s like to be with someone who thinks the world of you when you can barely find reasons to justify as to why you even exist. 

They relate a lot in that regard. 

It’s why Solana reaches a comforting hand and places it over Melina’s hand, voice soft but sure. “You’re gonna get better, Melina.” She looks over to Cam and Mickie. “We all are.”

There’s a comfortable silence among the group that is welcomed and moving. A silent agreement between women who were once strangers and now friends. Sisters, even.

Mickie caps the bottle of nail polish and carefully places her foot back on the ground while reaching for Solana’s water bottle, lifting it up as if giving a toast. “To mental stability and finding rich men with big dicks to spend the rest of our lives with!”

“Mickie!”

—-----------

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Solana’s soft voice manages to snatch Roman away from that sunken place in his head where he’s sat deep in his thoughts for a variety of reasons, largely all due to the unexpected things that have been thrown at him.

He’d tried his best to put all of that into his visit to Asylum where he continues to extract his gruesome vengeance against her family and rapists. And it did help. A little, but clearly not enough where he’s able to hide the fact that he has a lot on his mind. 

“Come here.” Roman motions her over from where he sits propped up in the middle of her bed and she stands at the edge of the bed, notebook in hand. He watches the almost nervous way she places the book down on the bed and climbs over to him, Roman helping her straddle him. Kissing her exposed shoulder, he murmurs an apology into her soft skin. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes shut when she moves her hand to his hair, fingers almost massaging his scalp. “You want—do you want to talk about it?”

He can’t help but chuckle. The irony. “Isn’t that a bit counterproductive?”

She shakes her head, continuing to provide him soothing relief like nothing else can. “No. I—I told you before, you can talk to me too.”

It’s strange. If the situation was different, if he wasn’t still cautious regarding her mental health and the state of it, he might….he might take her up on it.

The Matteo situation though…..it’s complicated and layered and messy, and she doesn’t need any of that.

“I know.” Roman moves his hands to her hips. “But, I’m fine. Just a long ass day.”

Her eyes light with something. “Wasn’t your appointment today?” Shit. “How did it go? How’s your shoulder? What did he say about your blood pressure?”

Roman hates lying to Solana. He really does. She’s probably the only person in his life he’d prefer to not keep secrets from. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s been through more than enough shit to not deserve it.

But this…..he has to lie. 

Roman can’t think of one good thing that’ll come from telling her the truth. Solana seems to be doing well at this place, gradually improving day by day. Laying this on her will only hinder that progress and make her freak the fuck out. He doesn’t want that for her. 

He refuses to contribute to any type of regression.

Thus leaving him with only one option.

“It was fine, Sol.” To lie. “Shoulder’s practically healed. Numbers were fine. I’m good.”

That last part isn’t a lie, because Roman is determined this time around to actually do what Michaels said. To take his medication as he’s supposed to. 

For Solana.

He owes her that much.

She sighs, clearly and visibly relieved. “Good.” Roman feels like shit lying to her, but it’s for her own good. “C–can I show you something then?”

“You can show me anything, Sol.” Anything to take them off this damn topic is more than welcomed. 

He’s also reassured by the relieved smile on her face as she reaches back for her notebook, opening it, clearly looking for a certain page while talking. “One of the things I’ve been working on in therapy is goals. Like….setting goals for myself that are attainable and doable.”

“Okay.” Roman doesn't really know where she’s going, but right off the bat, whatever she needs might as well already be done. He’ll make it happen. 

“I…..” She trails off, biting down on her bottom lip, most likely trying to figure out how to say it. “I made a list of things I want to do when I get home. Some….some sooner, and some later.” Handing him the notebook, he starts reading off her neat handwriting, slightly taken back by the first thing on the list. 

Get back into training 

“Solana…..”

Roman is not opposed to Solana continuing to train. He thinks she should. Believes it’s been good for her. He just doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that it’s the number one thing on her list. Her mental strength, in his mind, should be the priority. 

She must detect and pick up on his hesitancy, eyes traveling to meet his. “He tried to take my life, Roman.” She cuts him off, her voice much lower and quieter than before. “In….in more than one way.” Roman can tell there’s another story there, but he won’t push it. Just keep it in mind the next time he’s hacking into her piece of shit father’s body. “He told me that because—because he wanted to break me, but I won’t—” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “He didn’t. I’m not going to let him take away all the progress I’ve made. I know I—I regressed, but I am going to get better. I am better.” 

He respects that. Respects her so immensely. It hasn’t been the easiest thing for Roman to see her go up and down as much as she has over the past month. She’s had her highs and her lows, the lows being so much heavier than most people’s. 

And that’s just been for him. He can’t imagine how it’s been for her having to actually deal with all these things.

So, while a part of him wants her to just focus on her mental health, if she truly believes getting back into training will help aid that. He’ll support it. 

“Okay.”

She smiles, adding on, “did you—did you find a man for me to train with?” He did. In fact. He just hadn’t thought she’d want to jump right back into that either. “Also, I—I wanna learn how you do that thing you do.”

It’s the way she words it, the almost nervousness in her voice that makes him smile a bit. “Thing?”

She nods, shifting a bit on top of him. “You did it at WarGames. When you like…..ram into people. You knocked out whoever that was unconscious with one hit.”

It’s the added sentence that makes him realize what she’s referring to. “A spear?” And Solana nodding only widens his smile. Her innocence at the whole thing is adorable. “Baby, who you trying to spear?”

She shrugs, pushing some of hair back, cheeks reddening. “I don’t know. It just….it just seems effective.”

“It is.” When done correctly and done with proper training. It’d take her a while to get there, but if it’s what she wants, he’ll support it. “If you really want to learn though, I’ll teach you.”

Her smile is genuine and appreciative. Roman stealing a second to take it in, take in her happiness in this moment before moving onto the next one.

Host welcome home party 

At this second goal, Roman frowns, emitting a giggle from Solana. He looks up at her, clarifying, “does this mean you want people at the house?”

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ro, I do.”

It was going so well. Training. He could get with. A bunch of people at his house though? Hell no. “Who exactly do you want to invite?”

“Jimmy, Jey, Naomi, Bayley, Melina—”

“Who the hell is Melina?” So far, there’s not a person listed that he’s in agreement with. “Baby, you know I hate people—”

“I know, but…..” She moves her hand to the bottom of his shirt, crumpling it while trying to plead her case. “They’re our friends….our….our family, and that….that means a lot to me.” Fuck. She’s too good at that shit. Tugging at his heartstrings. “Gail has been teaching me a lot about trauma and how it works. How connection is the way to heal. And that….that makes sense because you have been the biggest part of my healing, my connection with you, my—my love for you.”

Roman closes his eyes. Of course. Of course she would drop that word on him. The love word. The word that he can never voice to her and about her but feels with everything in him.

Taking in her heartfelt words, he nods, slowly. “Okay. Just…tell me when you want to do it and what you need. We’ll make it happen.” Thinking about something else, something important, he stipulates. “Jey’s not bringing them bad ass kids though. Or Nicki.” 

Solana rolls her eyes again. “Ro…..”

“Solana, I’m not about to have those failed Plan B’s destroy our house. And Nicki is a fucking arsonist. She’ll burn the place down.”

His wife pouting almost as she crosses her arms would make Roman chuckle if not for the fact he’s thinking about the last time Jey brought all his mistakes over to the property. Those little assholes caused over $50,000 in damages. Sure, it was of no financial consequence to him, but it was annoying as fuck to have to have people in his house doing the repairs. 

But, of course, his sweet saint of a wife lives up to her reputation. “Roman, that’s mean. They’re just….they’re just kids.”

“No, they’re vermin.” And he means that with everything in him. But, the minute Solana leans over and lays her head on his shoulder, a soft, desperate ‘please?’ leaving her mouth, it’s a wrap.

Damn her persuasiveness.

Or maybe it’s just his lack of resolve that seems to disappear when it comes to her.

Sighing against her, he mutters, “you know I can’t say no to you.”

Solana giggles, hugging and kissing him on his cheek. Meanwhile, Roman makes a mental note to have a shit ton of them kid leashes and fire hydrants ordered ASAP. 

Roman grunts as Solana murmurs a ‘thank you,’ and he moves onto the next one.

Get tattoos

This shifts the conversation a bit as he asks, “really?”

Nodding, she gestures to her inner right forearm where the colorful butterflies remain. Something she seems determined and focused to keep up. “I want to get the Hummingbird. For my mom.” She ghosts her fingers over her truly impressive artwork. “Butterflies. And….a semicolon.” Roman is grateful when she explains the last one on her own volition. “It’s….it’s for people who’ve survived depression and trauma and….and suicide.” She swallows, adding. “Something comes after a semicolon just like something comes after our darkness.” And before Roman can even comment on that, voice his agreement, she continues. “I want a lotus too. That’s for….for sexual assault.” 

She doesn’t say anything beyond that, and he doesn’t push it. Just brings her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “Just tell me when.” He’ll reach out to his tattoo artist and get her scheduled the same day if that’s what she wants. Whatever she needs. 

Solana smiles, licking her lips. “I—I want one for you too. I just—haven’t figured out what exactly.” 

She’s just full of surprises tonight. He understands all of the desired tattoos that she’s listed thus far. They all have such deep, profound meanings, so for him to be included in that list feels almost wrong. For her to want to put something permanent on her body for him seems wrong. “Solana, you don’t—”

“But, I want to.” 

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Everything else she described was fine and made sense, but this one is a struggle for him. Regardless, he doesn’t push it further. Doesn’t question her.

He just continues to read through the list, the rest, for the most part, presenting no major issue. Things like continuing to work on her confidence, going back to Isla Mujeres, taking up pole dancing (he definitely wants the backstory on that as well as see if it can be moved up the list), moving all of her journals and books into the home library, etc.

However, Roman is a bit confused when he reaches the last numbered item that’s written in Spanish. She knows he doesn’t speak or understand practically any of it.

10) un bebe o una bebe

His confusion is evident, and it grows slightly when Solana almost gently takes the notebook from him and carefully places it on the bed beside them. She swallows, eyes focused on him as she moves her arms around his neck. “Roman…..I….”

Seeing her trepidation, he moves his hands to her hips, holding her. “Solana, talk to me.”

The reassurance seems to help, as she nods and blows out a deep breath. “Just…..promise me you’ll think about it before you give me an answer?”

This, however, doesn’t help him much. It only makes his curiosity grow at just what she’s talking about. Still, he won’t deny her request. “Okay.”

She moves even closer, gaze falling down to her lap. “When…..when I get better and….and more stable, I—” She lifts her eyes, voice steady and soft. “I want to have a baby, Roman.” Fuck. “I want us to have a baby. I—I want to be a mom.”

Of all the things to come out of her mouth this evening, some more than surprising, this has to take the cake. It’s the last thing he expected to hear her say.

Ever.

“Solana….”

“We have to make an heir anyway. I know….I know you’ve been taking care of that for us, but—but we can’t take forever, and—I’m ready. I know I need to focus on my mental health, and I am. I will, but…..Roman, I really want to have a baby with you.” She adds on, almost desperate and needing him to have all of the information so he can make the best decision. “And I talked to Dr. Stratus. She said all of my medications are safe to take while pregnant. We might have to change something if I decide to breastfeed, but she said that won’t be a huge issue either.”

Well, shit. Roman finds himself asking in a low voice. “You already talked to someone about this?”

She nods, almost nervously. “I just—I needed to know what she and Gail thought. If….if I’m stable enough for it.”

“What they say?”

She looks down, chuckling a bit, eyes watering. “They think I’d be a good mom.”

There’s something almost sad about the way she seems almost surprised by this. Like she didn’t think she’d be good at it until receiving their approval.

When, in actuality, he thinks she’d be the best damn mom a kid could ask for. But, she’d have to be…..with him as the father. 

Roman is not….he’s not built for that life. He doesn’t know or understand the first thing about kids other than they need and deserve all of the things he can’t and doesn’t know how to give. That’s why he’d have to lean so heavily on Solana, on her soft and gentle nature. And how would that be fair? To give her a child that she more or less would have to raise by herself because any overt involvement from him would probably increase the chances of the kid ending as fucked up as Roman is.

“You would, baby.” He finds himself agreeing, voice still low, gentle almost, even in the midst of such self-loathing thoughts. There’s so many things Solana is insecure and self-conscious about still, but this shouldn’t be one of them. “Amazing.”

The way her expression softens so deeply does something to him. “Really?” Her eyes watering is the icing on the cake as she grabs his hand, tracing the lines on his palm. “Y–you really mean that?”

He’s not sure he’s ever meant anything more. “Of course.”

Solana throws another curveball at him with the next soft admission to leave her mouth. “I think you’d be an amazing dad too.”

Fuck.

Keyword of the day it seems. 

Because just what in the hell is he supposed to do with that? How does he tell her that she’s wrong as hell? That someone like him really has no business being anyone’s father. That he’d just fuck up any kid of theirs. That despite recurrent dreams he’s been having about this, about fatherhood, that Roman in the dreams has to be someone else.

Can’t and could never be him. 

He’s good at a lot of things, maybe more than the average person, but that?

No.

Just…..no.

But what difference does all of this make when Solana is right about the fact that he has to have an heir. A child needs to be produced, whether he wants to or not, and this discussion is making him realize that while he’s spent his whole life feeling indifferent to fatherhood, the entrance of Solana, of having her be the mother to his kid, has thrown a wrench into everything. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck to think now. 

So, he expresses as such with as much carefulness as he can.

“I just…..I gotta think, Solana.” About more than just this. About everything. This day has been….a lot, to say the least.

“Of course.” She nods. And if she’s disappointed by his answer, she does a great job at not showing it. Roman welcomes her when she moves her body to lay on top of his, her face pressed against his chest. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

It’s a statement that stays with Roman for the rest of his visit, oscillates in the back of his head as he sits in the middle of the SUV while being driven home.

Everything feels like it’s all been happening at once, almost too fast, like the speed is something he’s somehow unable to keep up with. Newfound territory for the man who’s always prided himself at always being so in control.

But, he’s not. 

He’s not in control of damn near all the things right now, his emotions, namely. And it’s fucking miserable. 

His love for Solana that he can’t act on because he doesn’t know what the fuck that would even mean.

Not being able to help her to the extent she needs and not being there for her when she needed him the most. Not being there to stop her the night she tried to kill herself.

Not telling her the truth about her father and leaving her to find out in the most traumatic way.

Now there’s the matter of his health, his blood pressure that he once thought was insignificant, now a moderate to major issue. 

Couple on the unexpected reintroduction of his mother’s firstborn re-entering his life.

And to top it all off, Solana wants to have a baby.

With him. 

Fucking hell.

It’s not until mentally listing all of these things that Roman becomes aware of a tightness in his chest, a sensation he hasn’t felt in years. Not since….not since his last panic attack.

Fuck.

Realizing what’s about to happen, Roman rolls down the tinted windows and uses the passing, speeding cars as the source of distraction. He picks the color red and starts counting how many he sees, and when that’s not enough, he switches to cars vs SUV’s, mentally listing those off. 

He continues to do that until that dastardly feeling entirely dissipates. But, it’s only when he rolls up the window that he punches the headrest in front of him.

This can’t happen again. Roman has too fucking much on his plate and stands to lose way too much. He can’t experience his own kind of regression. But, that’s exactly what’s happening. The thought of which allows him to acknowledge for the first time, in a long that, that he’s overwhelmed.

Roman feels overwhelmed. 

It’s just too fucking much. His head is cloudy as shit, and he needs to just get away from it all.

Grabbing his phone, he puts Rikishi, Jimmy, and Jey in a group text and types out a message. 

Roman: I’m going to see her this weekend. 

Less than two minutes later, the phone dings with a reply. 

Rikishi: I’ll make the arrangements.

Expecting that answer, he moves to the next part of his messages. 

Roman: Jimmy, I need you and Naomi to keep Dulce for me. I’m gonna put you and Jey down as emergency contacts if something happens with Solana while I’m gone. 

Roman: And if it’s not in regards to my wife, don’t fucking bother me.

Roman switches to his thread with Solana, uninterested in anything else anyone has to say right now. He just needs to communicate with Solana.

He can’t tell her the truth, of course, but he does need her to know he won’t be as readily available. 

She deserves that much.

Roman: A work situation came up, so I have to go out of town this weekend. I’m going to leave Dulce with Jimmy and Naomi. If you need anything, call me, and I’ll come back home.

Roman places his phone on the seat beside him and tilts his head back, running his hand over his face. 

Then his phone goes off.

Solana: Roman….

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t have to do that. I’m safe. I’m….I’m feeling happy again. Just focus on yourself. You have so much on your plate right now. I can tell. I wish you would talk to me, but I get it….

Solana: Just please take care of yourself. Be careful.

Roman reads over her texts at least three times, really honing in on the ‘I wish you would talk to me.”

He’s starting to wish he could too.

He really is.

Solana: I love you. ❤️

Another ding, and he swallows. It’s getting harder and harder to have her be so vulnerable with him and not be able to reciprocate that. It feels cruel to ignore her, to say nothing when she tells and gives him everything.

It’s why after going back and forth in his head for a good two minutes, he eventually says fuck it and sends out a simple but telling reply.

Roman: ❤️

[hyewka]

ⵌ. txt’s favorite places to mark you

totally based on an extensive and objective analysis.

➥ yeonjun | neck

something about yeonjun makes me think (believe) he’d be the type of person to transition a very heated kiss—having you grind on his lap, catching little breaths —to trailing his wet lips to your neck, vacant flesh all for his to color. gently sucking on your neck that you bare for him, older faded sore spots being his favorite to revisit. bringing the swell back up as his hands squeeze your ass, getting you so needy, a literal mess on his lap, dazed and lightheaded, only for him to just…end it there. like, literally… that’s it. because yeonjun loves marking you, especially where it’s extra visible and you have to fumble around to make an attempt of hiding them with your color corrector, the cutest furrow of your brows of concentration as you carefully dab concealer on all over your neck. he’s quiet when he notices you accidentally let one or two peek through, the light purple hue beating the rushed light cover of concealer spurs him on. like, going outside with those hickeys unknowingly showing with his fingers intertwined with yours— it’s basically screaming to the world that you’re his. and to yeonjun, that might just be the hottest thing in the world. he’d definitely get some sort of ego boost when seeing someone that was checking you out finally take notice of the marks and almost immediately averting their gaze. even those damn questioning raised brows and prying eyes gets him in the mood. his dick’s pathetically twitching in his pants to finally get you home and completely ruin you, while keeping in mind to make sure of occupying the naked space you have for him on your neck </3 (definitely loves to touch them once in a while, he’s seriously mesmerized)

( ;´꒳`;) other members under the cut!

➥ soobin | tits/chest

having soobin buried in your tits while you cockwarm him :/ … yeah, he’s going to be rough. dumbly just kissing all over your chest, drool trickling down as he makes a mess of spit all over your chest because the man just can’t control himself. head so cloudy as he struggles to crane his neck to suffocate himself further in your tits, not able to think clearly with the way you’re practically dripping on him, the warmth of your pussy doing nothing but make him rougher against your poor nipples, suckling onto them like life depended on it. your chest is almost always sore and entirely covered with hickeys when you’re done with soobin— there isn’t anything particular about hickeys that he enjoys, he just seemingly almost always finds his mouth attached to your tits when fucking.

➥ beomgyu | inner thighs

there is a possessive side to beomgyu similar to yeonjun— he loves to suck hickeys all over your neck and he also tries to convince you of showing them off (of which he fails) but he’s also a man made to eat pussy so his actual number one spot to give you love bites is somewhere near it. it’s when he’s teasing you endlessly, making show of his pink tongue slowly darting out to lick and then slightly suck, all while making eye contact— so so close to your heat but not quite there. other than relishing in the way you struggle before finally giving in and with a bratty whine asking him to finally fucking eat me out! he’s also just quite obsessed with your thighs. like, he’s obsessed. when you wear the flimsy white lacy thigh highs that ride up all the way to over your knees that god, he loves so much, he’s practically begging to have you wrap the soft flush around his head. beomgyu definitely likes the satisfaction of ripping them up only to see the faded purple splotches of messy hickeys from a few days ago, feeling the smirk on his lips as he kisses around them, fluttering his pretty lashes knowing they’d soon get wet with sparkling tears ^_^

➥ taehyun | collarbones, under ear

taehyun is possessive, but in other ways that don’t involve hickeys. he’s especially private about his sex life, to the point friends around him are convinced that he has the most boring sex known to mankind (probably the furthest from the truth). he just prefers to keep it under the covers. and under the covers does he keep it. having you lay facedown on the mattress, ass slightly raised with the help of his hands, god darn near blowing your back out. snapping his hips so deep into you, you’re gurgling and choking on your spit, some of it grossly seeping into the sheets, making so much mess as he mercilessly ruins you. leaning down to your ear to whisper the dirtiest shit ever, he’s so nasty with it i’m telling you!! but when you reach the too-fucked-dumb-to-even-process-what’s-going-on stage, he resorts to dipping his head to your shoulder’s, laying sweet feathery kisses…before he bites down, waking you right the fuck-up from your dazed state </3 he sucks, but he definitely does a lot more biting—teeth grazing your collarbones, just shy of the more-revealing option of going for your neck. but sometimes, if he’s feeling particularily threatened out in pure daylight, he’d pull you aside to somewhere slightly private for a quick session of having you stand there to get the swell under your earlobe to flair up again, little visible purple reddish splotch to show that you’re taken.

➥ hueningkai | tummy

body worship and hueningkai is honestly the realest, most sense making talk i’ve ever heard. he is a tummy lover to the core, have him quite literally splayed on top of you just on your bare stomach, and he’s whining. what can he do when it’s so squishy and stretchy perfectly to his liking? everything all too innocent as you absently play with strings of his hair— until, well, you feel something poking against your thigh. it’s honestly cute how random it is at times; hyuka’s boners. but the way he fucks is absolutely nowhere near ‘cute’, it’s damn near animalistic, unhinged crazy shit that you literally find yourself sore for an entire week, not in the state to have a cock inside you, rearranging your guts. huening’s understanding of when you’re not feeling it, the reason why he completely ignores the tent in his pants…that’s what you seem to believe until…yeah, not completely. it starts off with him suddenly raising his head, startling your hand out of his disheveled hair, and a mischievous smile creeping up. you basically have it all memorized— your boyfriend tickling you to absolute hell, getting both of you giggly and your eyes watering from laughter, then he starts playing with the ends of your shirt, before ‘accidentally’ riding it up and then ‘innocently’ laying ticklish pecks on your tummy, making you chuckle while you watch him with starry eyes. to his credit, it is mostly innocent, in the sense you don’t really do anything further unless you want to. sucking on your flesh, he’s gentle, darting his tongue to lick then suck before moving to another spot on your stomach, doing the same thing a few times until he gets too caught up into it, the exhales through his nose fanning against your skin as his dick starts leaking through his pants because yup, hueningkai’s definitely getting off of this. ‘so pretty’ he’d murmur when he pulls away, turning out to be the one most affected with his droopy lust filled eyes and blood rushing up to warm his cheeks as he stares at your tummy covered with his spit and pretty hickeys all over the expanse—he’s the first in line to blush and admire the work hes done on you.

[kaiserthread]

shopping spree pt.2

clothes/accessories the bllk boys buy you! characters: nagi, oliver, rin content: pro players, established relationship, f!reader, slight implied nsfw in olivers part (nothing graphic but just in case) part 1 here! tysmmmmmm for the love on part 1!!!!! this one was so much fun to write

NAGI SEISHIRO - couples pajama sets 

loves sitting around the house with you on his off days

values every minute he can get with you 

buys it with the express purpose of seeing you wearing one of his shirts

gives you the shirt from his set and lazes around shirtless

seishiro’s free time has always been very precious to him, even more so now that his schedule is jam-packed with matches, press appearances, traveling, so much practice, and most importantly, you. he’s perfectly content with spending all his off days with his lover. which is exactly why he couldn’t resist buying the cute couple pajamas when he was supposed to be buying groceries. you can’t even find it in yourself to scold him for forgetting the frozen blueberries when he pulls the pajamas out of their bag and presents them to you with a small smile on his face. “i’m letting you off easy this time, sei. only because you’ve been gone for a while.” you say, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “mkay, i’ll remember next time, promise. but only if you match with me tonight.” he says as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “alright fine, since you asked so nicely.” you huff, grabbing the pajamas and making your way towards your bathroom to shower. seishiro is lounging around in his new pajama pants when you step out of the bathroom. “sei, what happened to matching?” he turns his attention away from his phone, passes you his pajama shirt and says, “you always look better in mine, sweetheart.”

OLIVER AIKU - bikini

he likes looking at women in swimsuits, trust he’s gonna know the latest and most flattering styles

he just wants you to look your best when y’all go on vacay together!

reminds him of how you two met

“oliver! come tie the strings on this for me.” your voice rings out and oliver comes running to help. he takes the strings and gently ties them into a neat knot. “you look so pretty, baby.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck before wrapping his arms around your waist and admiring you in the mirror in front of him. “doesn’t this remind you of how we met?” you giggle, turning in his arms to rest your forehead against his. “how could i ever forget?” he questions, thinking back to that incredible summer several years ago. high off his first big win in the pro leagues he’d found himself on vacation at the beach. you were there for a friend's wedding, fresh off a disastrous breakup with your ex. he’d charmed you with compliments and the two of you stumbled into bed together on several occasions before parting ways, but not before swapping numbers and promises to keep in touch. the two of you made things official the following summer and ever since then going to the beach every summer has become a tradition. “meeting my summer fairy was the best thing to ever happen to me.” he says before pressing a searing kiss to your lips.

ITOSHI RIN - evening gown

you're his princess ofc he's gonna buy you a dress to fit that title

studies your wardrobe for a while to make sure he’s getting one with a good color and a fabric that doesn’t bother you 

he browses for so long that he just says fuck it and goes to a designer to have one custom made

rin honestly can’t believe this, isn’t paris supposed to be known as a fashion powerhouse? the fact that he can’t find something perfect for his princess is beyond ridiculous. he gives up after weeks of browsing and calls in a favor from a manager at the club who has connections to a renowned designer who’s willing to make him exactly what he’s looking for. a few weeks later he’s handing you an extravagantly wrapped box, “an early christmas present.” he explains. you open it and pull out a beautiful floor length gown. “rin it’s stunning!” you throw your arms around his neck before rushing away to try it on. “come zip me up?” you ask, and rin complies, walking over to you and zipping the dress up. “it fits perfect rin, did you get this tailored?” you question. “i had it made just for you, the stores didn’t have anything nice.” rin responds, sweeping you off your feet. “only the best for my princess.”

[mypoisonedvine]

virgin neil lewis with 11: “fuck, do that again... please."

your work is so fucking good i LOVE it

thank you so much love!! i got so many amazing neil requests but I love the idea of virgin neil c: kinda made him an incel lowkey...

warnings: noncon sexual content (18+ only!!), perv!neil, grinding, neil being a creepy nice guy with 0 stamina (aka my exact type)

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

Neil could be a little bit... well... touchy.

You mostly didn't mind it. It was just his way of being friendly and he usually made you laugh with the way he would randomly hug you from behind or tickle you or playfight you just to hold you down.

Every once in a while it would get weird, but not too weird; just his dorky, goofy sense of humor taking a jokingly-horny turn.

Well, you thought he was joking.

Like, for example, today—when you were on the couch arguing over what to watch (a common occurrence).

“No way,” he shook his head, “it’s shlock!”

“Just because it had a big budget doesn’t mean it’s shlock!” you defended.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged with a smirk.  “Just read the box!”

He snatched the DVD case out of your hands, flipping it to read the back as you tried to pull it away from him.

“In a world,” he began reading the synopsis in a deep, dramatic voice.  “See?  No good movie starts its premise with in a world—”

“Shut up!” you whined.  “Reading the back is cheating!  Gimme it!”

You leaned over him, trying to grab it, but his arms were longer; he held it up high and tilted his head back to keep reading: “In a world devastated by nuclear war—”

“You’d like it if you gave it a chance!” you insisted.  You couldn’t reach as high as him from where you were sitting, so you thoughtlessly hopped into his lap and lifted yourself up to get closer.  He yanked it away again, leaning to the side and watching you as you laughed and groaned and tried to get it away from him.  “You just need to see it, then you’d like it!”

Three things happened at once, right then: you moved to try to get the DVD from him, twisting yourself in his lap; his other hand grabbed suddenly and tightly onto your hip; and he stopped laughing.

You didn’t really notice it at first, just happy you managed to snatch the case from him.  You only really realized something was different when you looked at him with a smug grin which fell quickly.  “Neil?”

His lip was between his teeth, and his face was a little flushed.

“Neil, what’s wrong?” you wondered, relaxing on top of him, which only made you put more pressure against his— oh.

“Fuck,” he breathed, holding your hips with both hands now, “do that again… please.”

“What the fuck?!” you snapped.  “Are you— is that—?”

You tried to get off of him, but he was holding you down.  Your face flushed as you suddenly felt self-conscious about everything you’d done— about wearing these tiny lounge shorts, about getting in his lap, about coming over to see him at all.  He rocked his hips slightly under you, and you whimpered as you understood, without a doubt, that he was rubbing his erection right against you through his pants.  You could feel it throbbing, even.  You weren’t sure what was worse: the possibility that he got that hard that fast because you were in his lap, or that he’d been hard before when you two were just hanging out.

“Let me go, Neil,” you demanded, but your voice was weak and shaking; he ignored you, looking down at you in his lap as he moved you on top of him.  “Neil, stop—”

“Fuck,” he sighed, “you’re warm.”

He did it again, again; you felt sick and strange and sort of numb as he held you tighter, groaning under his breath.  “This isn’t funny,” you whined, “this is—what the fuck, dude—”

“Sorry,” he panted, moving you faster over him, and you grimaced as you were forced to feel the details of his cock against your pussy.  It was disturbing, really, how well you could feel it with these clothes in the way: you could feel the ridge of his head, the shape and thickness of his shaft…

You swallowed, blinking quickly, not really believing that this was happening—this couldn’t be happening, right?  Not to you, not with Neil, it just didn’t make sense.  “Stop,” you begged again, quieter yet more desperate than ever.

“I will, I will,” he promised, “I’m so close— I’m almost done, then I’ll stop— fuck!”

He tossed his head back, and you felt it flexing.  You watched in shock, confusion, and disgust as a small stain began to form on his shorts, hot come soaking through the fabric as his chest rose and fell quickly while he caught his breath.

You were speechless, and confused, and you had pins and needles all over as you tried to convince yourself that didn’t just happen— that your ‘friend’ hadn’t just used you to come, holding you down and rubbing you against him.  You’d felt so helpless and dirty… so why was there a wet patch in your own shorts, not from coming but from unsatisfied arousal?

His grip relaxed on your hips, and you could get up, but you were still frozen.  If you moved now, you might have to acknowledge that this was real. 

“Okay,” he smiled, still breathing a bit heavy, eyes still shut with relief, “we can watch your movie now.”

[yournowheregirl]

Eddie used to be a pretty fearless person.

He ran red lights almost on the daily, provoked his bullies while his bruises from the last run-in were still healing and agreed to shady drug deals in the dead of night.

Having a kid changed all that.

As soon as Hayley was born, Eddie found himself riddled with anxiety every waking moment of the day. Scared to drop her, scared she’d get sick, scared she’d break something, scared that someone’d take her from the playground if he looked away for just one second. Even Wayne had to pry Hayley out of his arms when he had to go back to work and assure him that everything would be fine.

Lucky for Eddie, none of those fears ever came true. Until today.

They’d just gone through Hayley’s night time routine - reading a chapter of that Narnia book Jeff had gotten her, singing her good night song together, kissing her forehead and sharing I love you's - and Eddie’s about to close her bedroom door when Hayley’s squeaky voice suddenly speaks up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

“I wanna join the soccer team.”

And just like that, with six little words, one of Eddie’s personal horrors suddenly becomes a reality.

His daughter is a jock.

“Uh, let’s… let’s talk about that in the morning, okay? Sleep tight!” Eddie says quickly and closes the door behind him.

As soon as he knows Hayley’s fast asleep, he dials one of the two numbers he knows by heart.

“Hello?"

“What have you done to my daughter?” Eddie seethes.

“Well, hi to you too, Eddie.” Chrissy says on the other side of the line. “What’s up?”

“Hayley wants to join the soccer team and it’s all your fault, Chris!” Eddie is pacing up and down his living room now, trying to calm himself down without reaching for his cigarettes - he quit when Hayley was born and this is not going to be the reason that’ll end his seven year streak.

“And how is that my fault, exactly?”

“You- you have poisoned her mind with your jock ways! Hayley isn’t a jock! She likes dragons and castles and fantasy worlds, as is her right as my daughter. I mean, her middle name is Arwen for fuck’s sake, being a nerd is in her goddamn DNA!”

“Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Chrissy says calmly. “Hayley’s always been a curious kid, it’s in her nature. She always wants to try new things and then move on to the next big thing. Remember how she wanted to become a drummer after she saw Gareth play? And then she abandoned the drum kit after two weeks?”

“Right.”

“Maybe this is just another phase, maybe she overheard some classmates and wanted to join in on the fun.” Chrissy says. “Just take her to try outs and see what happens, there’s always a chance she doesn’t like it.”

Eddie lets himself fall onto the couch. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in defeat. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, Eddie, how have you not learned this yet?” Chrissy giggles.

Which is how Eddie finds himself waking up at the crack of dawn that next Saturday. Well, he was supposed to sleep in for another thirty minutes or so but Hayley was so excited about try-outs that her high pitched screams and jumping on his bed woke him up regardless.

Hayley’s excitement carries on during breakfast and she barely keeps still as Eddie braids her hair. She’s even dead serious about the color of her hair ties, saying that they have to match the colors of the soccer team (aptly named the Purple Cobras, so obviously the hair ties have to be purple as well).

And any other morning, Eddie is trailing behind his daughter, making sure she hurries up so they’ll get to school on time, but not today. Now, she’s already got her coat on and bouncing from one foot to another in the hallway and calling him out instead.

“Dad, come on!” Hayley whines. “We’re gonna be late.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Eddie huffs as he puts on his trusty leather jacket - if he’s gonna freeze his balls off by being outside all morning, at least he’s gonna do it in style. He can’t help but laugh at Hayley, who’s now jumping up and down from excitement. “Geez, you better save some energy for the try-outs.”

“Can we go now?” Hayley sighs and scrunches her nose in annoyance and yeah, she really is his kid.

“One ride in the Munson Mobile, coming right up!”

Hayley doesn’t shut up about the intricacies of soccer the entire drive to the local soccer club, apparently Chrissy (the traitor) had helped her read up on the rules and now obviously Eddie had to know all about them as well.

Half of what Hayley’s saying flies over his head, partly because he’s never really cared for sports but mostly because he can feel his anxiety growing with every passing second.

What if Hayley gets injured? What if some tackles her and she breaks her leg? Or worse?

What if she is an amazing player and she needs all these fancy soccer supplies and training clinics and Eddie’s forced to get another job to just to keep them afloat?

What if she’s weak at sports, just like Eddie was while growing up, and all the other kids will make fun of her and laugh behind her back?

What if-

“Dad, look, we’re here!”

The van barely comes to a screeching halt and Hayley’s already halfway out the door when Eddie grabs her by the collar and pulls her back into her seat. This obviously annoys Hayley, judging by the furious look on her face. If Eddie was a weaker man, he would’ve cowered in fear, but he invented that look so he barely feels a thing.

“Sweet pea, listen to your dear old dad for a minute, alright?” Eddie says softly. “I know you really wanna be on the soccer team but it’s still okay if you don’t make the team, you know that right? I won’t love you any less if you don’t make it or you don’t like it, just try your best, okay?”

Hayley’s face turns serious, as if the words are slowly sinking in. “Okay.”

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asks, holding out his pinky finger. Within a split second, Hayley’s tiny finger links around him and she sends him a toothy smile.

“Pinky promise.”

“C’mon, let’s kick these kids’ butts!”

Hayley giggles. “You’re supposed to kick the ball, dad.”

“Oh, right, silly me.” Eddie grins and follows his daughter outside.

But right as his anxiety has died down, it comes flooding right back as soon as Eddie lays eyes on the soccer field. There are so many kids. So many balls being kicked at full speed, with no time to duck. So many sneering soccer moms who look at him like he’s the devil incarnate. So many dangers just waiting around the corner and Eddie just want to turn on his heel and run. Hayley’s inevitable temper tantrum be damned, at least she’ll be in one piece and-

“Hayley Arwen Munson?”

Both Eddie and Hayley whip their heads around at the same time, only to be greeted by one of the coaches and shit- Eddie’s suddenly very interested in soccer.

With a chiseled jaw, soft hazel eyes and broad shoulders, the coach looks like he belongs in a Calvin Klein ad rather than a little league soccer field. He’s wearing a wind breaker, white knee socks and bright purple shorts (that cling deliciously tight around his thighs), which shouldn’t work on him but it does and Eddie just can’t look away.

Hayley (thankfully) doesn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil and instead happily waves at Hot Coach. “Over here!”

The coach writes something on the clipboard and walks towards them, crouching down in front of Hayley. “Hi Hayley, I’m coach Steve, nice to meet you. You here to try out for the soccer team?”

“Yes!” Hayley replies brightly.

“Well good, you can say hi to coach Robin and the other girls and I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”

“Okay.” Hayley nods and turns to Eddie. “Bye dad!”

“Hold up, hold up, hold up.” Eddie says quickly, once again grabbing the back of her t-shirt to keep her from running off. He kneels down in front of her, trying to look her in the eye. “Be careful, okay, baby? And if you don’t like it you can just yell and I come and get you, no questions asked. And if your laces get loose, you can yell too, literally if anything goes wrong you can-”

“Dad…” Hayley interrupts him and puts her tiny hand onto his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Eddie laughs and ducks his head. God, this is like kindergarten all over again, when Hayley just skipped to Miss Coleman without a care in the world and Eddie was sobbing into Wayne’s shoulder as he watched her go.

“I know it will be, sweet pea.” Eddie says softly, pressing a kiss to Hayley’s forehead. She takes that as her cue to go, skipping across the field towards the gaggle of girls that surround another one of the coaches.

Eddie feels his heart burst as he sees Hayley smiling as she greets the other girls, she seems to fit right in. He sighs deeply and stands up, trying to keep his eyes on Hayley, when a voice suddenly speaks up.

“Arwen.”

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps because shit, he totally forgot that Coach Steve was still there as well. “Yeah, she’s named Arwen. What about it?"

Eddie wants to eat his foot as soon as he utters the words. He’s always been defensive when it comes to Hayley, being a single dad who doesn’t look like your standard suburban dad next door will do that to you. But to do it in front of a cute guy like that? It makes him want to kick himself. Repeatedly.

But much to his surprise, Steve doesn’t seem to mind all that much. In fact, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips. “That’s from Lord of the Rings, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie replies dumbly. He feels his walls lowering down - holy shit, this Steve guy is hot and he knows Lord of the Rings? If they weren’t around a bunch of kids right now, Eddie would’ve dropped to his knees already.

“Cute.” Steve chuckles and are Eddie’s eyes deceiving him or is Steve actually checking him out? Before he gets a chance to wrap his head around all that, Steve gestures back to the field. “Well, I gotta jet. Soccer waits for no one. See you around, Mr. Munson.”

“Ew, no. Mr. Munson is my dad.” Eddie winces, remembering all the times his neighbor growing up came by to help Wayne out and refuses to call him by his first name. “I’m Eddie.”

“Well then,” Steve smirks as he walks backwards. “see you around, Eddie.”

As Eddie tries to look like a normal human being instead of a total creep - which proves to be terribly difficult when Steve turns around and puts his ass on fully display in those damn shorts - he slowly begins to realize one thing.

Maybe Hayley’s decision to join the soccer team is the best idea she had in a long time.

[hotchfiles]

❝ ['CUZ YOU'RE A NATURAL] ❞ — a in this house of mine prequel ; MDNI!

pairing: aaron hotchner x rossi!reader. summary: not having a crush on your dad's friend and co-worker should be rule number one. but what are rules when said friend is aaron hotchner? content warnings: this is suggestive at best. foul language? still let's go with MDNI! age-gap flirting. word count: 1k. a/n: might do a pt.2, i just needed to get this out of my brain.

He’s just pretending not to notice it at this point, which isn’t easy coming from a person who notices everything. Coming from the man who helped build the unit that literally analyzes people for a living. 

Granted he wasn’t the most present of fathers and he wasn’t even sure if your mother was his second or third ex-wife anymore, but he knew human behavior, and human behavior clearly showed there was no reason for you to be there, “Kid, I’m sure you hate sports of any kind.” David comments, observing as you make sure Jack’s shoes are tight and won’t get in his way. 

“Well dear father, actually, I was a cheerleader for my last three high school years. And the first two college ones.” He knows that, and you know he knows it, but your best way out of the mess you were purposefully getting into right now was to appeal to the guilt you knew he still had from not being around much. “Base of the pyramid, very important, sporty, love sports.” You noticed you were going on for too long and shut your yapper.

Lucky for you Aaron didn’t seem to mind the two of you discussing, busy watching his baby boy with the most sweetest look on his face, he looks ethereal, his smile the most enchanting you’ve ever seen. 

You can feel your father’s glance going from you to Aaron slowly, he’s observing, analyzing but trying hard to ignore the signs. The signs that you weren’t there for some dad and daughter bonding.

Unless the dad in question was Hotchner.

The sole reason you had put yourself in short rounded skirt, sports short underneath, gym sneakers and shirt, and an old baseball cap to make it look like it wasn't so out of the norm for you to be at an event like that. It was. Your dad was right, you didn't like sports, you liked cheer squad and the parties and the players, not the game. But you had your eyes set on the coach today which is why you were there instead of working on your masters' assignments.

You couldn't even pretend to know what was going on, if it was football you had some experience from watching and hearing past flings talk about it, but soccer? You could only cheer for Jack and bicker with the soccer moms around as they talked about how much better their children were.

"Hey, lady if your son gets that close to Jack again I'm gonna jump him." You point your finger at one of them, decorum almost goes to hell as she begins walking in your direction, Rossi stepping in the way to apologize for your behavior.

Oh. You can't just threaten to hurt kids. That's not okay. "Sorry, just used to fighting with guys' girlfriends to defend my team. Cheer squad reflex memory." You say lowly directly to Aaron, not even bothering to apologize to your father. Your cheeks tomato red, a combination from the embarrassment and the sun that was making everyone sweat.

"It's fine, she has to teach her son fair play anyway, he's not gonna go far like that." His expression doesn't show even one single sign of being mad at you, you notice it, Rossi notices it. Aaron's actually smiling, completely amused by the situation.

It was nice to have someone sticking up for his boy like that.

And to have someone look at him with those eyes. Not the aw you're such a good dad eyes most mothers gave him when he's around for matches. Nope. The please fuck me eyes you always shot at him even if your father was around. For the sake of his loyalty to Rossi he pretended not to see it, as he knew Rossi did too. He hoped David didn't notice the eyes he himself gave you though, or that if he did, he was kind enough to ignore it, Aaron would never act on it. Never. He was twice your age if not more even if he weren't friends with David.

Still, he enjoyed the touches, the stolen glances, the way you wore your short dresses and skirts around him, the way you showed you cared above the desire for the unobtainable. How you sent him cute videos with show Jack as a caption, how you remembered to bring a towel not for yourself, but to pat his face dry, delicate as ever.

"People will think you were the one playing sweating like this." You go through his face and his neck with it, handing him a water bottle after. You brought those yourself too, you wanted to be useful.

Before he can hold it back, a smirk deliciously mischievous takes grip of his lips, "What can I say dear, I tend to sweat a bit when I'm doing any type of exercise." You're not sure if you wished you hadn't caught the innuendo of his reply, as you were now fighting hard not to squirm in front of him. Oh you wanted nothing more than to be the one making him sweat.

"Good thing your bedroom has an A.C then." You say almost mindlessly, panicking just a tad when you grasped the idea that maybe remembering that so easily wasn't the most normal thing to do. Did you just sound obsessive? Stalkerish? You think not when he chuckles, nodding in agreement.

You both just look at each other for a minute, breathing patterns completely irregular, being interrupted only by your father loudly coughing from some steps away from you both, tired of having to deal with the obvious tension between his daughter and his co-worker, his friend! Rossi doesn't say anything else though. And neither does Aaron or you, deciding to just go back to paying attention to the match.

But Hotch had just got you an in. If he hadn't flirted back you might just keep it as a crush, but now?

Now you needed him.

[nofingjustaninchident]

hi, I’m not great at requesting things but if this makes sense could you write a high school au where Jason is a football player. I think it would be cute cause he’s definitely tall enough and strong enough but then add in him being kind and wow he would make the BEST high school football player boyfriend. Thank you

⛧° Jason Grace x Nerdy! Reader hcs °⛧

content: jason grace x reader, college au!

warnings: cursing, allusions to sexual stuff (not much tho), stupidtly fluffy and corny.

a/n: bby if i tell you i dreamt about this, would you believe me? like, i swear to all the gods, i dreamt with this and woke up thinking about writing it… well, here ya go. oh, and i also made her a brazilian, i hope you don’t mind? if you do, just ignore it, please 🫡

⛧° 。 ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆༺♱༻⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ 。°⛧

Of course, he’s a great football player.

Like, i know no shit about football, i’m a soccer girly, but he’s the best quarterback in the city. like, he’s really really good.

And obviously everyone believes he’s such an asshole and a womanizer.

But in reality he’s so so nice

Sure, he sleeps with some girls and all, but not as much as his teammates.

He’s also the only jock that sticks with a girlfriend. Not for long, but still more than the other guys ig

So when he was having trouble with maths, he needed a tutor, cause he had to have a back up plan of he didn’t went for the pros

Such a nice boy, fr.

And he went talk with the teacher to ask who could teach him.

And that’s when he found you.

You weren’t exactly a super nerd. You just liked to study.

But you had a lot of friends, since being the only exchange student did bring this sort of popularity around the university.

And when he first came to you, you were kinda bitchy.

You know, you had a bit of hatred towards football players. No idea why, it was just there.

Even with that, you were too kind-hearted to don’t tutor him.

And when you got to know each other… you kinda started liking him.

On your first study session, the library was too full, so you went to the outside

Which was really working out, till Jason found a little bird that probably fell from his nest

The guy was so worried that he almost took the bird home

He would’ve done it if you didn’t stop him

But he found the nest and put the little bird back there

And you just stood there, like “what the fuck? isn’t he supposed to be a douche?”

It happens that he’s not.

And you became pretty good friends with the frequent study sessions and all.

Not to mention he was pretty offended when you told him you didn’t like football.

And you were very offended when he asked if the spoke Spanish in Brazil.

He knew it didn’t, he just did it to piss you off.

He really wanted you to go to one of his games, but you never said you were really going.

So, one day, when his team was having a match against Harvard University, he was more than surprised to see you at the stands, right in the front.

With his jersey. With his number and name on your back.

He honestly felt he was gonna cry right then and there.

He got so happy he made a touchdown. They won.

And you were there, cheering for him and pretending like you understand anything that was going on there.

When the game ended, he came rushing towards you.

“Congrats, Gra-“ Before you could even finish your sentence, he kissed you.

Oh, and it was heaven.

After this, you started dating and it was the best thing you ever experienced.

He was such a gentleman.

Doors? Don’t even touch that. Dates? He’s paying, duh. You’re tired? He’ll carry you, bridal style.

You get the point.

You started liking football because of him. And he started liking soccer because of you.

a/n: i don’t know what to feel about this lol. idk what you’ll think of the brazilian thing, but if you don’t like it, i’ll remake it, promise!

[canarysage]

…make a psd look interesting?

aka, how to fuck up a psd no glue no borax. have you ever looked at your psd and gone, damn, this shit doesn’t fuck? happens to the best of us. here are easy ways to spice up your psds so you don’t end up with the editor equivalent of communion bread

for example purposes, i made a simplistic psd to test these methods on. they should work with most psds, but, as always, fuck around and find out on your own for best results <3

i. threshold + gradient map

this one is an easy way to add specific colors to your psds. step one: add a threshold layer, and adjust it your liking. typically, i set mine to somewhere between 60-40. if you’re making a psd to work on dark skintones, you may want to set it even lower, but if you’re working with, say, pjsk characters, you can go pretty high

wow flashbang. you can see on my example behind that it doesn’t work super well on irl pictures, and my pjsk images don’t have threshold at all lol. next thing you want to do is set the blending mode of your threshold layer to either multiply or darken—they’re basically the same thing

(psst, if you want to know more about blending modes, check out this post!)

waow crunchy! but still boring right? still boring. not to worry, here’s the fun part: add a gradient map layer, tap it, and go to the slidey icon on the side, which’ll bring up a page like this:

click the gradient in the middle there to edit it. once in, edit the black color to be at about 80-90%, and then change the white color to whatever you like. edit out, and tap the little square next to the text that says “reverse” which should make your gradient look more or less like this:

then change the blending mode on your gradient map to ‘screen’ which’ll axe all the black and just leave your color. now your image looks like this:

boy howdy, isn’t that fucked up! it is more interesting, but if you don’t want to be looking at that abomination, change your color in your gradient map to be darker, which’ll give you something more along the lines of:

…which is much more reasonable. this is a fun way to add color to your shadows slash lineart, and can be a quick and easy way to make a psd look less flat.

ii. noise gradient map

some of you may be thinking, but, canarysage, what the fuck is a noise gradient map? to which i reply: you’re boring. let me show you.

kinda fucked up, right? well, that’s the goal. unfortunately, there isn’t a way to directly edit a gradient map, but you can just click that little button that says ‘randomize’ a couple times until you get something you like! you can also mess with the percentages but i don’t do that because it looks weird

boy howdy, that’s weird looking. not to worry, though. once again, our best friend blending mode is going to come in handy

i typically go to soft light and set the opacity to about 20-30%, but, as with anything, feel free to mess around and do whatever you want. luminosity is also a fun setting for noise gradient maps, just make sure to crank the opacity way down for the sake of my eyes

wow, much better! you can see that the gradient map added a bit of purple coloring and a funky little texture. super cool! thank you, gradient map!

iii. channel mixer

i already have a post on channel mixer and i’m not rewriting all that so if you don’t know how channel mixer works check that shit out but the tl;dr is: ideally, all your channels should add up to 100 (including negative numbers) but that rule can be broken if it looks cool enough. capiche?

iv. color lookup

photopea has a few default color lookups that are pretty easy to use, but i have a couple of presets that i like to add if i’m feeling stuck. to make your own color lookup, open up a psd, and go to file > export color lookup

then save it and open it from your files. when you open a color lookup layer, you’ll see an arrow next to the text saying LUTs—click that and your new color lookup should be there

once you tap that, you’ll get a compressed version of your psd added to your folder. it’ll look something like this:

holy orange and blue, batman. luckily, you can apply blending modes to color lookups just like any other layer—mess around with them until it looks how you want!

waow much more reasonable! i set this one on color and about 55% opacity, but that is really dependent on what your color lookup looks like and how you want your psd to look. remember, there’s no right way to do things!

an additional note: if you want to, you can save the psd you’re working on as a color lookup instead. if it looks too simple or just isn’t turning out how you want, that’s a good way to incorporate it later :3 just follow the same steps as above!

v. no shame in starting over

if you’ve added and taken away, duplicated and removed, fucked around and found out, and your psd still isn’t how you want: it’s alright to just axe it. the edit police aren’t gonna kill you for it, i promise. if you’re worried about wanting it later, just save it as a psd and come back when your brain is refreshed ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

psd-making isn’t an exact art, so, obviously, there’s no real simple solution to making it look how you want. you just have to mess with it and see what you’ve got. these are just my methods of making my psds less blagh, but, obviously, my editing is moderately more deranged than your average editor.

…so that’s how you do it.

[aggro-my-beloved]

Shaw Pack HC’s (1/?)

note: I promise after this I’ll get some sleep…and dream about more redacted audio HC’s, that is

• Sweetheart has made it their mission to teach Aggro the most random tricks, without Milo’s knowledge. We’re talking fetch, speak, high fives galore. Sweetheart still isn’t sure how Milo hasn’t noticed the cat’s recent weight gain from all the treats he’s been given for “motivation”. It wasn’t until one fateful night that Asher and Baaabe were invited over to break in their new house and Asher left his mode of transportation lying around (him and Baaabe arrived separately since she was working late) that the result of their secret training lessons were exposed.

“Uh, sweetheart,” Milo begins, voice curious and steady.

“Hmm?” His mate hums, craning her neck to peer at Aggro flawlessly passing over the hardwood floor of the living room. It’s yet to be adorned by a rug of their choosing.

“Why is our cat on a skateboard?”

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Baaabe has never encountered a physical fight in their life. Always one to stay out of trouble, they keep to themselves and never enter any altercation that involves a clean uppercut or south paw, because they’d surely fail.

Or so they thought. Hell, even Asher did when he begged them to join him in his adventure to the arcade and purposefully led the two of them up to the Boxing Punch Game. It’s the first time Baaabe is seeing the name of the machine, but they are familiar with it. The player decks the red punching bag dangling before them and watches the score tally up to deduce whether they are as strong as they thought or indeed a weakling.

Too afraid of what their results may yield, Baaabe volunteers Asher to go first, which he does without complaint. The sound of his fist colliding with the bag echoes across the arcade hall and perks a few ears, and his score grazes the seven hundreds. Baaabe feels her toes curling in anticipation while Asher keeps on encouraging them to just give it a shot, and that “the score doesn’t matter. You’re unempowered after all, I have a bit of an advanta—“

The rest of his sentence gets caught in his throat, his jaw slack as her numbers climb and climb to over a thousand total points. But even more shocking—to Baaabe’s total disbelief and Asher’s amusement, the punching bag lie on the floor, disconnected from its machine.

Yup. Baaabe broke the fucking game. All from a single hit.

It made Asher hard a little scared of his mate’s true strength. He did the dishes that night without complaint.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Clumsy as they may be, I think Angel is secretly good as secretly good as sewing. Perhaps they worked as a part time seamstress for a past job, maybe a uniform store that involved hemming a measurements. This is a wonderful tool to have for emergency instances, like that broken zipper on Baaabe’s wedding attire which Angel resolved with ease. Baaabe would claim the rest of the night that Angel really is a saint sent from higher deities out of our control. Everyone will blame these babbles on the mate’s alcohol intake.

But in the comfort of their home, Angel uses this power for pure, ungodly chaos. Including, but not limited too:

1. Slightly hemming Davey’s tank tops to fit him slimmer around his waist. His mate loves how it shows off his physique.

2. The clothes he hasn’t worn in a while will be cropped to better fit Angel. How they gaslight David into believing his security hoodies keep shrinking in the wash and he needs a better vendor who uses less cotton is still a mystery.

3. Three Words: Ugly. Matching. Sweaters.

4. The entire pack has one designed by Angel personally and almost everybody loves them. Milo pretends not to be offended when he is gifted his sweater that’s two sizes too small. David rarely wears his unless Angel pulls out the puppy dog eyes, which he can never deny pleasing. Baaabe and Asher wear theirs religiously, even if it’s the dead heat of summer.