#THAT CLOUD TOOK ME THIRTY FUCKING MINUTES

[buggybugkilo]

it’s wack a doodle time

[dilfl0v3rss]

alr hear me out, hear me out

what about another addition of punishment but this time, ony punishing y/n because she came home late and didn’t tell him where she was at?💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️💁🏾‍♀️

i think ab this a lottttt

it’s been awhile since you’ve gotten to be outside like this. shaking ass on top of sasha connie’s car at the gas station while high out of your mind. and the best part about it was that you didn’t have to be looking over your shoulder all night because you actually were allowed to be here.

“if you be safe and be home by one, we straight mama” ony said as he led you out of the house with a slap on the ass. smirking as he watched you practically sprint to sasha’s car.

it was only nine when you left the house which meant y’all had plenty of time to take a couple shots, go see a movie, and hotbox the fuck out of that car.

“we still got enough left for another spliff yall!” you yelled as sasha, mikasa, and emoni began to cheer in the driver and backseats. “roll that muthafucka uppp!” sasha yelled. y’all were having too much fun, but nothing lasts forever. when you looked into the glove compartment for papers you were only shown an unloaded glock. “sash you got more papers on you?” everyone’s heads whipped towards you. mikasa reached towards the front and turned the music all the way down so she could hear you better. “what you mean?”

“i meaannn there’s no more in here” each of you whined in unison as sasha began to start the car up again. “connie must’ve been using em, but the gas station only down the block yall. i got us!!!” in an instant the spirits were brought back up again. loud screams and the bass to your music was all that could be heard from y’all as sasha continued the party from the parking lot to the gas station.

big dick🫶🏽

‘hope you being safe mama’

‘daddy miss you’

read at 11:30 pm

you began typing to answer your man, but your attention was snatched by the sound of a good song. good form by nicki minaj began to play all throughout the car, making you drop your phone on your seat as you opened your door and started dancing your life away. ass going in circles as emoni turned the song up from the backseat and came out to dance too.

the four of y’all were at that gas station for thirty minutes, but in sober time it was two hours. out of the entire group, you were probably the littest. giggling every five minutes and screaming to the top of your lungs when a good song, which was damn near every song that played, came on. before you knew it, y’all were in a nice secluded area passing another blunt around. telling each other what y’all been up to.

“then the bitch gon say ‘yea put her on a leash’ likeee. i would really wash you hoe don’t even play wit me like that” the group giggled as you continued to tell them a story from your past weeks. “did you fuck her up? please tell me you fucked her uppp” mikasa said as she leaned over the side of your seat. you rolled your eyes as you thought back to that night. “nah. ony told her to watch her mouth and took me to the bathroom t’go pee”

“speaking of ony. i’m surprised he even let you out the houseeee” emoni squealed as she lightly tapped your shoulder to pass you the blunt. you happily took it before putting it to your mouth, taking a big hit from it before releasing the whole smoke into the atmosphere of the car. “he said as long as m’safe and home by one he’d let me rock” confusion clouded your mind as you watched the three of your friends gasp. giving each other nervous looks as they contemplated whether or not to tell you the bad news.

“what?” you asked with a smirk, not thinking anything of their actions. chalking it up to them having some tea to spill. sasha was the first to speak. “honey where’s your phone?” you looked around for the device, eventually finding it in between the center console and your seat. “right here” you said, lifting the screan towards them so they can see. even louder gasps could he heard as they looked at the many notifications you had. “bitch that nigga gon kill you” emoni blurted out, earning her pissed off looks from both mikasa and sasha as you turned the phone towards your face.

29 missed calls from: big dick🫶🏽

50 messages from: big dick🫶🏽

you looked at the screen in confusion “why would he…” your heart dropped to your ass at the realization. this whole time y’all was having fun and smoking each other out this man has been trying to contact you because it been 1 am and you still weren’t home. it was now damn near four in the morning.

“oh fuck”

“yea your ass is grass. lemme get you home” sasha mumbled as she put the car in drive.

the ride home was dead silent. not a damn thing said as sasha slowly drove you back to your house. when she pulled up in your driveway she softly touched your arm. “m’so sorry suge. ian know you needed to be ho-”

“nah it’s my fault. i should’ve said sum” you closed the door with a sigh before turning around and shamefully walking towards the front. you figured there was no reason to try to sneak through the back since ony was most definitely waiting for you inside. as you walked inside you were instantly met with the sound of 90s r&b quietly playing throughout the house.

‘weird’ you thought as you walked deeper and deeper inside. eventually seeing ony’s shirtless figure facing away from you at the kitchen island. the closer you got to him the more you could see what he was doing. his big hands wrapped around a small knife as he cut up some watermelon pieces. you expected him to speak to you, but he didn’t. he just walked away and washed the knife, putting it away before turning around and leaning on the counter.

he stared at you. brown eyes looking into yours as he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. “drink the water and eat that.” was all he said as he looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to listen to his command. you opened the water first, taking a couple sips before putting it down and taking a bite of watermelon. you would be lying if you said it wasn’t good. and since you were still high it was one of the best things in the world. loud slurping sounds could be heard as you quickly devoured the fruit.

ony still watched you, arms still crossed as he waited for you to finish. as your feasting came to an end he put your bowl in the sink, waiting for you to finish your water so he could put it in the recycling bin as well. when it was all said and done he brought you to your bedroom where your pajamas were already waiting for you on the bed. “gon head and take that off. you smell like mad weed”

as you changed into the clothes you failed to notice the vibrator and fuzzy cuffs near his pillow, but ony made sure to get you well acquainted with the items very soon. you slowly put on the t-shirt he gave you, removing your under where and bra before putting it on since you thought you’d be sleeping real comfortably tonight. “thank you d-” ony wasted no time. as soon as he seen you finish changed he snatched your ear towards his mouth by the back of your neck.

“you ain’t think it was gon be that easy, did you?” arousal began to make its way to your core almost instantly. his deep voice and cologne clouding your senses as you felt his hard chest on your back. “why you always gotta make shit difficult f’me, huh? why can’t you just listen mama?” you were too out of it to even reply, eyes wandering around the room as you tried your hardest not to cry. “you know what i gotta do t’you right?” you slowly nodded your head before ony let you go, watching you instantly crawl onto the bed and get into position.

as you laid with your ass in the air, ony made quick work of getting the cuffs around your wrists. laying the vibrator next to you for later. “i told you t’be home by 1, but you wasn’t gone by one, wasn’t you baby? nahhh…..you came in that door at 4:30.” as he spoke, you felt his heavy hands caress and squeeze your ass. constantly letting his fingers thirst around your pussy to keep you on edge. “m’sorry da-” a hard slap to your ass shut you up immediately. making quiet whimpers be released into the air as your tears filled down your cheeks.

“then i told you t’be safe, and you decided to go to a gas station in the middle of the night and shake your ass out the car” another two slaps were brought to your ass, making ony smile as he caught sight of your arousal beginning to give you pussy a pretty shine. “m’sorry daddy. i w-wont do it again” you whined, but of course he ignored you. turning the vibrator on and rubbing it all over your thighs and ass to keep you on edge.

“tell daddy your rules and colors ma” he brushed the vibrator lightly on your clit, making you twitch before moving it to your thigh. you whined, poking your ass out more as a silent beg for the contact, earning you another hard slap on your ass. “y’hear me talking t’you?”

“fuckkk no running, no to-touching, nd no cummin without daddy’s permission. m’colors are green, yellow, n’red”

ony nodded his head at your obedience, sliding the vibrator to your clit before dipping into you with two fingers from his other hand.

“keep your safeword in mind too ma. s’gon be a long night”

ima finish this in a part 2💋

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

OCT. 1 — KINKTOBER ‘23

PUBLIC SEX & SEX POLLEN WITH DICK GRAYSON

ktober m.list

tags: fem reader, breeding, noncon photography

it wasn’t unusual for dick to go on patrol in the early hours of the evening. after all, being the oldest son in his family, the man was given—and took—the tasks and times in which his siblings didn’t want

8PM was the time when you saw your boyfriend on the news, snapshots and lives videos being taken through windows of the vigilante nightwing successfully placing poison ivy under arrest. handcuffs were placed on her wrists that rested against her back, defeat filling her face as nightwing was quick to make his escape before police had flooded the area.

9:30PM was the time you were supposed to meet your boyfriend at the wine bar you chose. thirty minutes after he finished patrol, giving him just enough time to freshen up and put on a nice outfit for you. though; he had arrived exactly one minute prior, walking in with furrowed eyebrows and a tight lip—contrast to the soft smile you were putting on display for him.

"hi baby," you greeted once he was in audible distance. without a beat to acknowledge your words, a single greeting upon you, he’s placing his hand on your arm."let’s go," he says, standing beside your form that’s sat at a high top.

your brows furrow as you watch dick, the way his face held close to no emotion, the way his aura felt as if a cloud was hanging over it, he felt so dark.

"what..? we made reservations here for tonight," you remind the man, this date planned earlier in the day. planned around dick’s schedule most of all. but, dick doesn’t care as only one thing is occupying his mind.

his hand takes hold of yours, pulling it enough for it to fall off the table and enough for you to know he wasn’t joking. enough to know that, despite protests, you weren’t staying long enough to finish the glass of wine that had your lip stains on it.

without another word, you’re following dick out the door and down the sidewalk. but, he’s quick to turn a corner down an alleyway that’s eerily dark and empty.

"i’m not-" you start knowingly when his form is pushing you against the rough brick wall. his lips attached to your neck without another thought.

"please, fucking dammit, just listen," he pulls his wet lips off your skin to say, his voice rough until he’s looking at your widened eyes. "i’m fucking you here, you already made me wait enough. was gonna make that pussy mine in the bathroom of wherever the fuck, but you didn’t wanna," his words fall as sweet as honey despite that vulgar tone to it. despite the way his hand falls against your throat, pushing more and more with every words he says.

"i’m fucking you here whether you like it or not, yeah baby?" he leans into your ear, "gonna have you walking home with cum dripping out your pretty pussy. lick it all up when we get home," dick breathes out a laugh, both hands moving under your thighs to press you up against the wall.

he’s glad you decided on a dress tonight, because he didn’t feel like ripping fabric off of your skin at the moment.

and you’re glad that your boyfriend is a vigilante that knows every alley and every dimly lit street in gotham. while you had no idea where you were, you knew that dick had the awareness of his surroundings… and if he didn’t, he was still a vigilante.

one hand remains under your thighs while the other goes down to his pants, taking the button off and ripping his zipper down. his movements are quick, but you don’t have the capacity to think about why dick is this fucking horny.

while dick’s usually great with before care, despite how many times the two of you have fucked and made love, you’re biting into his neck in attempt to conceal the scream leaving your throat as his full length thrusts into you in one go.

it would’ve helped if dick had told you he’d dealt with ivy tonight, telling you more than what the news had. would’ve helped to know that the pollen in which she extinguished through vines and flowers had gone straight to dick’s bloodstream. straight to his cock, the only thing he was capable of thinking with as he found you where the two of you were supposed to meet.

but, dick hadn’t of even had the occurrence. only knowing that he wanted to stuff your pussy full, and blamed it on his own sexual frustrations of not getting enough of you the past week.

"fucking-slow, dick," you say loudly, but the man who was pulling out only to slam back in couldn’t give a fuck. couldn’t care if you screamed, because nobody was coming down here, and his movements were allowing him some sense of relief.

shouldn’t you be grateful that you’re stuffed with cock? the one that’s molded your cunt perfectly to the size of it?

the pain begins to subside, and instead an overwhelming pleasure that you’re usually eased into, comes rushing all at once. your body burning despite the autumn breeze that swept through the air, the sweater that adorned your arms falling to the ground. it doesn’t matter, dick’ll buy you another.

the groans that escape your throat start turning into moans, and you can feel the cocky smirk that your boyfriend pulls against your skin. "oh, now you want it, huh? now you wanna be all pretty-fuck- on my cock?"

his words are deep as he growls them out, nothing in comparison to the pretty moans and whimpers you attempt to conceal. but dick is shameless, fucking you without a care in the world that there’s passerby’s on the street that are definitely looking in the alleyway you both are.

your face turns red as you realize the fact. realize that, if there was an actual light in your vicinity, paparazzi would have a field day, and your naked pussy would be all over the gotham times the very next day! instead, the silhouette of two connected bodies and a symphony of nasty sounds is the only thing that everyone else gets a peak at.

it turns dick on that much more, watching the way your eyes widen when you look at everyone else.

"what, don’t want everyone knowin’ how much of a slut you are?" dick questions, fucking you enough to put you in a daze. fucking you enough that, you can’t make out quite exactly what he’s saying, but when you hear the name he’s called you, you’re clenching around his length. "fuckin’ whore," he starts, "felt that pretty pussy squeezing me… c’mon, ya better cum all around this cock."

it’s sinister, the darkness in his eyes, the black hairs that are sticking to his forehead, the beads of sweat that are falling from the tip of his nose onto your flushed skin. "’m close, fuck, ‘m really close. please, wanna cum," a chant leaves your lips, and dick’s hands squeeze the flesh underneath your thighs.

his own flexing at an alarming rate. you’re not quite sure how his stamina is working hand in hand with his movements, but, he works harder to fill you with his milky cum, surprised he hasn’t finished yet.

but, maybe he has without realizing it. wanting to stuff you ‘till he’s dripping out of you for the nth time.

"that’s right, keep squeezing me, baby," dick groans, lips finding the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. sucking and biting on the skin that he’s positive is red and puffy by now. a pretty bruise taking the place of his teeth by the morning.

as the word leaves dick’s lips, you’re squeezing enough to have cum filling you, the mixture of yours and dick’s dripping down your thighs and making a ring at the base of the member which just abused you.

but, dick stops thrusting while leaving himself inside of you, allowing you to catch your breathe before he breaks away and is the reason you’re feeling empty.

you whimper once’s he is pulling out, one hand allowing you to find the ground gracefully, while the other moves between your legs, tapping the swollen entrance that’s slicked and filled with a mixture of him and yourself.

"better hold it all in," dick warns, because that was simply round one of the night. that was simply the start to the long evening that—the thought of—was already making the man painfully hard when taking your hand on the walk home.

☆

you swore you didn’t see a single camera flash! swore that you didn’t see anybody recognize either of your faces! but when you’re collecting the mail the very next day, your stomach drops as you read the headline.

‘playboy dick grayson goes all out in public with his housewife!’

🏷️: @petriquors @harleycao @idyllcy @aviixol

happy kinky season u freaks

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

[munsonhoneybaby]

Three's Company | Eddie Munson X F!Reader X Gareth

Summary: When Gareth accidentally interrupts your typical evening with Eddie, the night takes a turn that none of you were expecting.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, alcohol consumption and heavy marijuana use so automatic dubcon, smut, mostly pwp, p in v (unprotected), voyeurism, fingering, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), daddy kink (used a total of 5 times), hair pulling, choking, little praise, little degradation, honestly just a touch ‘a everything yk how it goes

A/N: it’s not specifically stated but gareth is about 21-22 and eddie is 23, about to turn 24. this is honestly just one big filthy mess i can’t lie, so just brace yourself. and i did throw in a lil action with gareth right at the end for all my gareth girlies out there <3

started with this idea | part two

Smoke hung densely in the air, thick clouds drifting lazily through the small bedroom. The three of you were working your way through your third joint, the windows sealed and trapping the hot, heavy air inside. Empty beer bottles sat scattered on almost every surface, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s still two-thirds full on the nightstand beside three miscellaneous coffee mugs. Yours was white with a picture of a crab and said ‘Don’t bother me I’m crabby’.

You watched your boyfriend as he tapped the joint against the rim of the ashtray before leaning over you to pass it to his drummer. The openings of the cut-off sleeves of his Led Zepplin tee flashed you the dark ink crawling across his ribs. His rings clinked against Gareth’s in the handover, just loud enough to hear over the mixtape that you’d made for you and Eddie. It wasn’t exactly designed to suit the usual mood when the guys were over– Jeff would usually be there, too– but the two of you had started the evening alone together.

Eddie had been rolling up for the night at his desk when his friend called him. Apparently, Jeff had plans with a friend from work, leaving Gareth woefully bored and lonely; on a Saturday night, no less. It had you both feeling a little sorry for him, so you told Eddie to invite him over. After grumbling under his breath– something about ‘just wanting to fuck his girl in peace’– he begrudgingly did as you suggested and your party of two became three in less than thirty minutes.

You didn’t mind, though. Whoever said two’s company and three’s a crowd must have never spent two hours sitting, drinking, smoking, and talking with Gareth and Eddie.

“Sorry again for crashing your date,” Gareth apologized to you. “If Ed told me you were here, I wouldn’t’ve come.”

Eddie stood to pour a finger or two of whiskey into his Campbell’s Soup mug and you stretched your leg out, using your sock-covered foot to nudge your own mug closer to him. “Oh, so you don’t wanna hang out with me anymore?”

He scoffed, “C’mon, you know I think you’re cool as shit.” After topping off all three drinks, Eddie handed Gareth his. “I just don’t wanna third-wheel you guys too much. ‘S a little rude and pathetic, don’t’cha think?”

The boy took a swallow with a faint grimace, then rolled the desk chair he was sitting in about a foot closer to offer you the joint. “It’s not pathetic, Gare. You’re just hanging out with friends.” The music faded out and your head lolled towards your boyfriend with a lazy grin as “One of These Nights” by Eagles began. He just shook his head at you with a little smirk, biceps flexing as he raised his arms to tie his hair back in a low ponytail. Settling himself on the bed, he let his back rest against the wall as he sat between you and where Gareth sat in his desk chair. 

You took a long drag, eyelids drooping as your head tilted against Eddie’s chest. His eyes roamed your body as it fitted to his. Your shorts were a little shorter than you’d normally wear in front of Gareth, but he couldn’t find it in himself to complain as he eyed your bare legs curling over his lap. Smoke billowed slowly from your mouth and the feel of his friend’s gaze on the two of you wasn’t enough to stop him from leaning down to breathe the rest of it in for himself, lips slotting familiarly between your parted ones. From your knee, his hand crawled slowly up the outside of your thigh to your hip. Your own fingers wandered to his exposed ribs, stroking lightly over the small date forever etched into his skin– the date you’d gotten together, almost three years ago now. 

He didn’t tell you he was getting it; he knew you’d tell him not to, that it was a bad omen, but he didn’t believe that. Maybe you’d only been together for a year at the time, but you were a part of him. In fact, he’d wanted to have your name done, but after seeing your reaction to Rick getting his girlfriend’s name tattooed he’d worried you’d tear him a new one for it. Though you had to admit, it had grown on you. Maybe after ten years, you’ll let me add your name, huh babe, he’d said when he first showed you. Now the thought had your thighs squeezing together, the way you both knew you belonged to each other– the way everyone knew.

Gareth certainly knew, unable to tear his eyes from the scene before him though he knew he’d been staring for far too long. Watching Eddie’s teeth tug on your lower lip had him gnawing at the inside of his own. A glimpse of his tongue slipping into your mouth had the younger boy’s palms sweating. It wasn’t until his breath hitched at the sight of his friend’s hand sneaking between your thighs that you finally seemed to remember he was there.

Swatting Eddie’s hands away, you passed the dwindling joint to him and fixed an apologetic look in Gareth’s direction. “Sorry, I’ll make sure he behaves.”

“It’s okay, sorry I uh- interrupted–” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly and cracked his knuckles. “You want me to roll another one?”

“Go for it.”

While he turned around at the desk, Eddie’s mouth was meeting the sensitive flesh below your ear. His tongue grazed your skin and you let out a small gasp before pinching his thigh in warning. He hissed, but that smug little smirk of his remained. 

Meanwhile, Gareth’s shaking hands were struggling not to rip the paper. He could hear all of it, even the occasional wet smack of his best friend’s mouth on your skin. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he shook his head a little and focused on finishing the task at hand. When he finally turned back around, his mouth went dry at the sight before him.

You sat comfortably between Eddie’s legs, back against his chest and head tilted to gaze up at him. He stared back at you with the same adoration, breathing in the last hit and ashing it in the tray on the nightstand. His free hand was halfway up your shirt and Gareth tried not to imagine the way his fingers must be teasing along your ribcage. He could see the blooming spot of red in the crook of your neck– which definitely wasn’t there before– slowly growing darker. So much for making sure he behaves. 

He handed Eddie the joint and lighter which earned him a crooked grin and a “good man.” He watched him place it between your lips instead, lighting it for you as the shape of his other hand moved higher beneath your baggy t-shirt. Still, he could make out how the older boy kneaded at one of your breasts beneath the fabric until you swatted at him yet again. His throat grew tight and he could only hope and pray that neither of you noticed his pants doing the same.

The two of you had always been a little handsy, and he couldn’t deny that part of him always had some trouble keeping his eyes away, but something was different tonight. Maybe you were acting a little more intimate, maybe it was the heady music you’d been playing all night– hell, maybe he was just too fucking crossed– but it was different. He was one second away from having a nervous breakdown or busting in his jeans.

Suddenly, he was struck by the deep twang of “I Want You” by The Beatles beginning. Eddie’s head fell back against the wall with a thud, “Mmm, I fuckin’ love this song. Y’know that, Gareth? She loves this song too, don’t you, sweetheart? S’that why you put it on here?”

“Shut up.” You weakly elbowed him, but both boys still caught the way your thighs squeezed together.

He chuckled, his nose dragging along your cheek as he murmured, “Yeah. My sweet girl wanted me to fuck her to this song tonight, didn’t you, baby? This one always makes her shake.” Your stomach flipped nervously as your wide eyes were forced to meet Gareth’s, your bewildered expression mirrored on his face. He went on. “Maybe we should show him, hm? I mean, since he feels so guilty ‘interrupting’ us and all. What d’you think?”

Gareth was starting to think the dream-like quality of the night was because he actually was dreaming. This is Eddie Munson. The same Eddie Munson who almost knocked a middle-aged man’s teeth out for whistling at you three months into your relationship. And now, what? He wanted to–

“Y’gonna let me fuck you in front of ‘im, sweetheart?”

By your deer-in-the-headlights expression, Gareth would assume you were just as shocked by this turn of events as he was– which you partially were. You and Eddie had mentioned once or twice the idea of letting someone watch, Gareth’s name had even been thrown around when discussing the subject over a packed bowl, but you’d had no idea he had been considering it so seriously. Still, you couldn’t deny the way Eddie’s words made the heat between your legs throb. Glancing up to meet his eyes with uncertainty, you bashfully whispered, “I-I don’t know if Gareth wants that, Eds.” 

Your boyfriend’s smirk only grew, fingers teasing at the waist of your shorts. “Don’t worry, babe, Gareth’s a dirty little pervert just like me. I mean, he’s been hard for twenty minutes.”

Finally, you glanced over at the boy in question whose face was now redder than you’d ever seen before, and his eyes immediately shot to the floor. He looked like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Knock it off, you’re embarrassing him. S’okay, Gare. You’re allowed to look.”

Hesitantly, he lifted his head and his heart could’ve stopped. Eddie was tilting your chin towards him for a kiss with one hand as the other worked its way into your shorts. The glimmer of his rings in the low light caught the younger boy’s attention, eyes following them down your throat until they disappeared beneath your shirt once again. Lips leaving your boyfriend’s, you turned to him and held out the joint that had apparently stopped burning. “Wanna come get this?”

He hoped you didn’t hear the shaky breath he let out as he willed his knees not to give out and stood from his seat at the desk. “Y’sure you don’t just want me to l-light it for you?” The faint tremble in his voice matched the one in his hand as he took it from you, embarrassment warming his cheeks.

You must have noticed as you replied, “S’okay. You clearly need it more than I do, honey.” His face only grew hotter as he clocked your eyes lingering on the obvious tent in his jeans. 

Finally speaking up again, Eddie chimed, “Seriously, man. Relax a little.”

In disbelief, Gareth faintly laughed out, “Right.” Dropping back down into the desk chair, he watched you and Eddie exchange a long look, almost like some form of confirmation. A check-in. He’d always admired how the two of you communicated so effortlessly. Frankly, he admired many facets of your relationship. He and Jeff had talked more than once about how they hoped they’d be lucky enough to find a connection like yours and Eddie’s. Still, he couldn’t believe you trusted each other enough for this– that you both trusted him enough for this.

Brain still cloudy with shock, he briefly glanced around his friend’s bedroom. Almost like he had to make sure he was really there. This was really happening. While Eddie was already attempting to peel your shorts off, you refused to assist him. Gareth’s fingers clutched at the arms of the chair as you graced him with your soft gaze instead. “You sure you’re not uncomfortable, Gare? You’re okay with this?”

Simply nodding dumbly in response, he was shocked when Eddie corrected him; “Use your words, Gareth.” He said it casually, but there was a subtle firmness behind it— one he wasn’t sure he had ever heard Eddie use before, especially toward him.

What shocked him more was the way he found his body tensing in response. Afraid the words wouldn’t come out, he sheepishly cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah, I’m good. Swear.” God, could his face flush any redder? 

Your boyfriend finally forced you to lift your hips from the bed, allowing him to shove your shorts down your legs. His hands eased along your inner thighs, spreading your legs and hooking one of them over his to keep them open. Gareth was just barely able to make out the faint wet spot beginning to form on your underwear. He had to resist the urge to lean in for a closer look like some teenager watching his first porno. Eddie’s ever-wandering fingers eased over that wet spot, rubbing in soft circles around your clit.

Puffing out a soft breath from your nose, you sank further into his chest. “Feels good, huh, baby? All worked up already ‘n I’ve hardly even touched you. That excited to show off your pretty little pussy?”

“Eddieee,” You grumbled, trying again to hide your face in his chest. 

“Don’t be so embarrassed, Gareth is even more excited than you are.” Hooking his thumbs into the sides of your underwear, he asked, “How ‘bout we give him some more to work with, hm?” Taking them off, he tossed them to his friend. Said friend was a goner. He blamed his crossfaded state of autopilot for the way he instantly lifted the material to his nose and took a deep breath. Eddie chuckled, “Told ya he was a perv.”

Gareth subtly palmed at his length, practically gnawing at his lower lip as he fought not to make a sound– God forbid he interrupt as Eddie spread your legs wide, giving him an unobstructed view of your dripping pussy. Fuck, he might as well have been drooling on the floor. He could hear your wetness as your boyfriend slipped his fingers between your slick-covered lips, easing around your clit a few times. Stuck in his glassy-eyed stare, he didn’t mean to let out a broken whimper as Eddie sank two fingers inside you.

Just as he was afraid of, the older boy instantly narrowed his gaze in his direction. “Oh, we’ve got our boy on the edge of his seat right now, baby. It’s okay, Gare. I know you’ve never seen anything like my girl before, you can take your cock out. Just keep your hands to yourself.”

The way Eddie spoke to him made his whole body blaze with shame, but he still found himself doing as he was told. When he looked at you again you were watching him fumble with his belt, button, and zipper. Finally freeing himself from the confines of his jeans, his cock twitched in his hand at the sight of the intrigue in your eyes, your tongue grazing across your lower lip. You clutched at Eddie’s bicep with a soft moan, walls clenching around his fingers.

“Oh, you like that, huh? Gettin’ all wet for my best friend’s dick?” His free hand grabbed your face, your cheeks squishing under his grip. “Didn’t know my sweet girl was that fuckin’ filthy.” You whined at the sudden emptiness as Eddie withdrew his hand from between your thighs, patting your leg with a soft murmur. “On your stomach, babe.” Obediently, you rolled over and he followed, kneeling behind you to grip your hips and lift them from the bed. “‘Atta girl.”

Your face warmed as you and Gareth looked at each other– you on your knees with your chest flush to the mattress and him with his pants just below his hips, his hand fisting his cock. Then Eddie’s fingers were knuckle-deep inside you again, curling into spots that only he had ever been able to find. Your hand shot back to grab at his thigh and you let out a surprised, gasping moan. “Daddy…”

While Gareth let out a quiet groan, Eddie just gave a low, condescending laugh. “Aw, sweetheart. I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘im. I didn’t wanna embarrass you too much, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Letting out little puffy breaths, your eyes welled with tears. Normally he would take this as an excuse to tease you further, but he didn’t want you getting too worked up with the added pressure of his friend’s presence. His hand rubbed soothingly over your back, “My little crybaby. It’s okay, Daddy’s here.” Your body relaxed, spine sinking deeper into its arch as his touch warmed your skin. “Would ya look at that?” Not that he had to ask; Gareth couldn’t stop looking. “She’s just such a sweet girl for me. Ain’t that right, baby? And so pretty. One of a kind, my girl.”

Taking in the scene before him, Gareth could only hope that wasn’t true. Because he wanted you– no, he wanted this. This thing, this passion and love that you two have for each other. Even as obscene a display as it was, he felt like he was witnessing something sacred, something holy. He was blessed further when Eddie brought you back to stand on your knees, your back to his chest as he lifted your shirt over your head.

Completely bare for both of them to gawk at, you were pointedly aware of your boyfriend’s fully clothed form behind you. He pinched teasingly at your nipple, making you arch further into him and grab at the hem of his shirt. Clawing for the skin just beneath it, you finally pleaded, “Take your clothes off.”

His eyes narrowed playfully; he just couldn’t help himself. “What do you say?”

“Please, Daddy,” You whined quietly with a pout.

With a quick wink and a crooked smirk, he crossed his arms to pull the ragged material over his head. You didn’t hesitate to seek out any inch of skin you could touch, a tremble licking down your spine as the soft warmth of his bare chest molded to it. Hands still pawing at your tits, his mouth worked its way down the length of your neck. “I love you,” He murmured against your shoulder, tone playful but still drenched in adoration.

“Love you more, Eddie.” 

“Impossible,” He whispered in return before leaving one more kiss. “Now, back down.” Goosebumps erupted at the touch of his rings on your back, guiding you down until your chest met his bed once again. “Isn’t she such a good listener?”

Gareth was almost nervous to say anything– like any answer he gave could be the wrong one, and the wrong one might get the shit knocked out of him. So, why did his stomach tighten when Eddie looked at him expectantly for an answer? “So good.”

“Just wait til you hear how she sounds.” Eddie finally pushed his sweatpants down to his thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through your wetness and drawing a surprised gasp from you. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Yes,” You breathed out impatiently.

Finally sinking inside, he didn’t stop until his hips were flush with your ass. Gareth’s hand stilled, fingers tightened around the base of his length to keep from coming too soon. Each slow thrust pushed your hips forward, emphasizing the perfect arch of your back. Your eyebrows were furrowed slightly, but he could still hear your moans from behind the pillow you were clutching. That didn’t last long as your boyfriend laced a hand into your hair, pulling your head back just enough to uncover your mouth. “Don’t hide those pretty sounds, babe. We wanna hear ‘em.” 

Eddie. His best friend, his brother, his mentor, his frontman, his dungeon master. He had never thought of Eddie like this. He had never seen Eddie like this. His frizzy curls falling out of the messy ponytail at the nape of his neck, tattoos on display, muscles in his arm flexing as he gripped your hair. Sure, he’d always thought he was a pretty good-looking guy, but now Gareth was beginning to wonder how he hadn’t thought about this before.

And the two of you together? Christ, you were a work of art. He wanted to frame this moment– capture it, bottle it, sear it into his brain so he’d remember every detail exactly as it was. The way the flesh of your thighs trembled with every movement, how Eddie’s sweat mixed with yours to make your skin glisten in the dim glow of the lamps, all of it made his body burn with need. Then Eddie was speaking again.

“God, you always feel so fucking good. My girl, made just f’me, huh?”

“Yes, Daddy,” You breathed out with a whimper. “Fuck, you’re s’deep.”

“I know, baby. I know,” He cooed sympathetically. “You c’n take it, though. Always do, don’t you?”

Gareth could see how your wetness further matted the dark hair around the base of Eddie’s length with every thrust, how the slick was just beginning to reach your thighs. Each moan you let out was more broken and drawn out than the last. That was until Eddie’s hand settled around your throat, urging you to lean back into him once more, and your moans turned to shaky, gasping whines. The ringed fingers of his other hand squeezed at your breast before mapping a path directly to your clit, circling it with practiced precision. With the way your stomach trembled in response, the boy didn’t think you’d last much longer. 

He almost thought he’d spoken his thoughts aloud when Eddie asked, “Aw, you gettin’ close already? C’n feel it, baby. Having an audience really working you up that much?” He grasped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Knew you were my little freak, sweetheart, but c’mon. You’re just as dirty as me and Gare.” Gareth himself felt guilty with how your face crumpled in shame, but Eddie only smirked as he kissed your temple and inched his hand lower to squeeze at the sides of your throat. “It’s okay, baby. You’re bein’ such a good girl for Daddy. So, so good f’me. Just need you to come for me now.”

Red lines and crescent-shaped indents littered his arms as you uselessly pleaded for exactly what he was already giving you. Your head fell to the side only for you to lock eyes with Gareth, though he didn’t seem to be in much better shape than you were. The pale sliver of his chest that was visible had turned the same vibrant red his cheeks had been all night. His hand, fisted tightly around his cock, was moving in time with Eddie’s thrusts as arousal all but dripped over his knuckles. The sight ripped another shuddering moan from you.

Darkness encroached on the edges of your vision as Eddie finally felt your walls spasm around him. Your nails bit into his skin so hard it nearly broke, but it only encouraged him to hold you tighter as you tensed in his arms. “Fuck yes, there it is. Feel so fuckin’ good when you’re comin’ around me, sweetheart.”

“Eddie,” You cried, “Please. Come inside me, I need it.” 

Though he tried to hold it back, a ragged groan tore itself from Gareth’s throat. Spurts of come stained his shirt as he fought to keep his eyes on the scene before him, but he couldn’t help but let his head fall back against the seat. He’d never felt so good. His veins were thrumming with weed and whiskey, so much so that the room still spun when he closed his eyes. But the pleasure still throbbing dully through his body like an ache wasn’t from the booze or the joints. 

The blurriness cleared from his vision just in time to watch Eddie pull you in for a messy, desperate kiss. One hand cradled your jaw while the other clutched at your hip, pressing himself as deep inside of you as possible as he came. 

Quiet sighs and pants filled the room as the three of you collectively caught your breath. Gareth just watched as you both melted into one another. Eddie’s palms soothed over every inch of your skin he could reach, and he whispered one last crazy idea in your ear– one that was somehow even crazier than the idea that had brought you all to this moment. Though the suggestion made your eyes widen and your stomach tie itself in a knot, the way you clenched around him in response compelled you to agree.

Carefully pulling out he planted one last kiss on your shoulder, allowing you to lay back against the pillows as he fixed his sweats and turned to his friend who still seemed to be recovering. “How ‘bout you come ‘n help me clean her up, Gare?” 

The boy froze in his seat, length twitching where he’d tucked himself back into his unzipped jeans. “W-What?”

“Before I change my mind,” Eddie singsonged simply in return.

Limbs weak, he quickly stood from the desk chair, sending it knocking back into the desk. Hesitantly, his knee met the edge of the mattress and he looked between the two of you for reassurance.

“It’s okay, Gareth,” You murmured softly. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Did so good for us,” Eddie cooed in agreement. He stared as his drummer slowly knelt between his girlfriend’s spread thighs, fingers winding into the boy’s hair encouragingly. “Thought you deserved a little treat.”

Gareth’s heavy eyes fell shut when he finally had the taste of you– of both of you– on his tongue, lapping up your shared mess before sinking inside. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips and thighs as he mouthed urgently at your wetness. “Tastes so good,” He panted into your skin.

“What does?” Your boyfriend asked, giving his unruly locks a little tug. “Her come, or mine?”

He only moaned in answer, tongue laving over your abused clit.

It felt wrong, looking down and seeing someone else’s head between your legs, but it only made that coil in your stomach grow even tighter. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Ah, ah, don’t be rude, baby. It’s not me this time. Let ‘im hear you say his name.”

A humiliated whine escaped you, as though admitting it aloud was more shameful than inviting him to do it in the first place. “Gareth,” You finally moaned out pitifully, your hand winding into his hair alongside Eddie’s. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

“Oh, he’d be fucking honored, babe,” Eddie chuckled smugly. Leaning over you, he left a slow, deep kiss on your lips before dipping lower to your breasts. His tongue teased at your nipple before his lips wrapped around it completely, calloused fingers finding the other. He only pulled back briefly to murmur, “Go on, sweetheart. Come for us.”

The feeling of two mouths, two sets of wandering hands, was overwhelming. Your thighs closed around Gareth’s head as your hands wound into both his hair and Eddie’s. He could feel your walls clench and your clit throb against his tongue and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. He would’ve happily stayed there forever, drunkenly licking up every drop of tangy arousal that you released, but as your muscles began to twitch, Eddie gave one final pull to his hair that let him know his fun was over.

For a moment, it was quiet save for the low, bassy thrum of the music still playing. Then Eddie was up, grabbing a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats and pressing them against Gareth’s chest for him to take. “You did good, Gare. Real good, alright?” He rubbed a hand over the boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “Go ahead to the bathroom ‘n get cleaned up, ‘kay? We’ll get you settled in for the night.” Cheeks warm from the praise, Gareth just nodded, heading for the hallway while you and Eddie finally got a second alone. Gazing down at you, he brushed your hair back from your face, trying to read every facet of your expression. “Are you okay? I didn’t push you too hard, did I? That wasn’t too much?”

“No, Eds, I’m okay. I liked it, it was good.” You nodded reassuringly. Still, he raised an eyebrow questioningly, holding out his pinkie which you locked yours with. “Promise,” You whispered. “Are you sure Gareth’s okay, though? Things won’t be weird with him from now on?”

“No, baby, I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.” He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and grabbed you a bottle of water from the nightstand. “‘M gonna go make him a bed on the couch, alright? I’ll be right back.” You pouted out your lips for one last peck but let him go out to the living room while you gingerly got up to put clothes on.

Eddie was spreading a blanket over the couch when Gareth finally came out of the bathroom. On the table beside him sat a bag of chips, a bottle of water, and a couple of Tylenol. Sitting down, he patted the space to his left and asked, “You okay? I should’a talked to you both more before I dove into all that, I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize–” He took a much-needed drink of water and shook his head. “Trust me, I-I had…I had a great time. And I won’t make things weird, or like– tell anybody, I swear. I’m sure it’ll all be fuzzy in the morning anyway. Did you guys…?” 

“We had fun, man, don’t sweat it.”

“Oh, we definitely had fun,” You agreed as you joined them. You settled on Gareth’s other side, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Thanks for being so cool about everything, I don’t think we could’ve trusted the other guys with something like this.”

“Well, thank you for trusting me,” He answered gratefully. 

“My right-hand man,” Eddie reminded him as he stood, clapping a hand over his shoulder. 

You playfully rolled your eyes at the sentiment, but kept a good-natured smile as you leaned over to peck the boy’s cheek. “Get some sleep, alright? Sweet dreams, Gare.”

As if anything could be sweeter than the taste of the two of you still lingering on his tongue when he closed his eyes and drifted off.

part two

<3

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[ltbarnes]

Back to December (2/2)

Summary: Your new job as an assistant for the CEO of a big, shiny company was supposed to be a good thing. Instead your ex from uni who completely ghosted you out of nowhere several years ago happens to be one of your superiors. It doesn’t help that he’s only gotten more handsome over the years. But you hate him for leaving without an explanation, and he seems to hate you too. Everything is just fucking great.

Pairing: ex!Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Word count: 7k

Warnings: OFFICE AU (Ghost is not ceo but he’s up there in the company somewhere), exes to enemies to lovers, harassment, past emotional violence/threats, blood, smut (p in v), oral (f receiving)

A/N: Took me a few weeks but it’s finally here ;) you guys don’t understand how happy it made me when so many people loved the last part!! makes me so excited to write more for the cod fandom! (I have not proofread this because I was too excited to publish it so there might be errors and weird stuff lol)

Part 1

Masterlist

The car ride is quiet. He glances your way whenever you wince. You watch his hand gripping the stirring wheel tightly, fingers drumming along anxiously with the faint beat of a song coming from the radio.

It's a nice car. Like, you would not afford this even if you saved up for years. You knew Simon was influential in the company, but this...it almost scares you. He's fucking rich. Probably going to laugh at you when he pulls up outside of your apartment building.

This is the first time you have ever been in a car with him. You wish things were different. Mostly that your eyes weren't so puffy from crying. And that he wasn't your ex and you weren't working together.

A red light forces him to slow down into a stop, the only sound now being the wind picking up pace outside. It's so quiet for a few seconds that you barely have the courage to breathe.

"Why did you fuck up my entire office? Whole day was ruined," Simon speaks from nowhere. Your lip twitches, fighting the urge to smirk despite the pain tormenting you.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Of course it was you. No one else in there knows that I'd have a bloody breakdown over my files being out of order," he mutters.

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. "It was petty. But...I was mad. About the coffee-thing." Your voice grows softer with each word, merely a whisper by the end.

Simon clears his throat, shifting in his seat. "Yeah, uh...not my finest moment."

A thick silence falls over the car once more. None of you dare to talk about the thing that actually needs to be brought up, the dark cloud hanging over your shared past. You are not really mad at each other over coffee.

The drive takes much longer than usual because of the heavy rain. You're shivering despite the heat being on. It's been thirty minutes once the wheels slow down right outside of your apartment, and you instantly move to get out after throwing a sincere 'thank you' his way. It's all you can muster.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Simon asks, not even making an attempt to answer to what you were saying.

"What do you mean?" You stop, looking over your shoulder with one hand on the door. You just want to go inside, away from his gaze before it all gets too much.

Simon unbuckles his belt, getting out of the car. Rounds the entirety of it until he's opening your door, leaning down to look at you with a frown.

"You're hurt, for fuck's sake, Y/n. You can't take care of that yourself, no way."

You sigh out of frustration, shaking your head while looking away from him. "Why are you being nice to me, Simon?"

That seems to halt him in his actions. Simon blinks, pauses for a few seconds, before opening his mouth again. "Don't know. But I'm in a chipper fucking mood, so just let me get you out of the car, okay?"

You huff, giving no protest as he takes a hold of your waist to assist you out onto the curb. "You're not in a good mood..." you mutter under your breath. He just scoffs.

Simon sits and waits for you in the kitchen as you wrangle yourself out of your wet clothes into an old sweatshirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. For much too long you stand in front of the mirror, staring at the newly formed bruise on your upper arm. You have to take a few shaky breaths to force the tears back before you limp back into the kitchen.

This outfit of yours is the last thing you want to wear around him, but it's what the situation requires. But did you really have to be so dramatic and fall onto your knees before? This is going to take weeks to heal. And now you have Simon sitting on your chair waiting to patch you up. Simon.

"The first aid kit is in the bathroom, I'm just gonna go get—" You point with your thumb.

He's on his feet before you even have the chance to finish the sentence. You barely even processed the fact that he's discarded his suit jacket and shirt, now walking around your home with a white tank that does no good job at hiding his fucking massive muscles. His arms are covered in tattoos that he definitely didn't have when you last saw him. Fuck.

Simon returns just a minute later, already rummaging through the box for...something. You don't really know what's required for a wound like this. He was right about you not being able to take care of it yourself, which you hate. Loathe, actually.

"Sit down," he tells you, dragging out a chair from the table as if you are his guest and not the other way around. The strangest thing is that you listen, without a single protest. He seems to still have that power over you.

You can't take your eyes off of him as he kneels down, grabbing a hold of cotton and some liquid-thingy you didn't even know you had in that kit.

"Is that gonna hurt?" you ask, his hand one inch from touching your knee. Simon sighs, blinking as if he's going to lose it soon.

"Well, what do you think? It's alcohol in a bleeding wound. Of fucking course it's gonna hurt."

You grimace, biting your cheek, before inching back just slightly. "Then I don't wanna do it," you whisper.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Grow up for once, will you?"

"What do you mean ‘for once’?" you seethe, retracting yourself entirely from his proximity as he rolls his eyes.

"Well, c'mon, what you did today was just...fucking childish." Still sitting on his knees, but it feels like he's towering over you the way he speaks.

"Uh—like you acting like your coffee was cold when it clearly wasn't just to humiliate me wasn't childish too! You started it!"

You rise to your feet, turning away from Simon out of frustration.

"Sit down, Y/n."

"No! I won't...let you in my apartment to order me around and...and—"

"Just sit down," he seethes, getting up to his feet. Now he's really towering over you. You hate it.

You continue walking away towards your bathroom, letting out a wince as you put too much weight on the bad knee. You keep walking anyways.

"Y/n, for fuck's sake!" Simon follows you. He could have been ahead of you if he wanted to already, but he stays behind for some reason. "Why won't you listen to me?"

His yelling makes you turn around with so much anger in your expression. But the anger can't hide the tears pooling in your eyes—nothing can.

"Because you left me!"

Silence. Thick, anxious silence as he stands there dumbfounded. His chest is heaving from your altercation.

"You left me without a single word, Simon! Not even a fucking hint!"

His previous stunned silence turns into a bitter chuckle, one hand on his hip and the other running over his chin as he shakes his head. You see the change in his eyes—irritation turned into real anger.

"Not a hint, huh?" he scoffs. "You could've given a fucking hint that you were sick of me before you went and fucked Graves and half of his team behind my back."

All of a sudden the roles are switched, and you're the one stunned silent. A person who can barely process the words you just heard—did you hear right? Could Simon ever say that to you?

"I was so happy that night. Just wanted to celebrate with my team and my girl—searched the whole party for you, you know?" Simon shakes his head, still that cold, deprecating chuckle on his lips. "And then I find you eating up Philip fucking Graves' face and two of his friends. Fucking two of them, Y/n!"

Agressive flashes of fear-filled memories attack you along with the line of Simon's retelling of that night you go back to so often. Of what you could have done differently, of the anger you felt that he just had to make things worse. Water was up to your neck, pressing on your lungs, and his abandonment pushed your head under the surface.

"You get your fucking boyfriend to back down or we'll leave your pretty body half-conscious on his doorstep."

"Please, just let me go. I'll talk to him, I promise. Please." You were sobbing, the emotions heightened by the vodka in your bloodstream.

"Such an obedient little puppy, huh? No wonder he spends all his time fucking you instead of hanging out with the team." Philip's laughter filled the room, looking over his shoulder to his friends who found just as much amusement in the situation as him.

"Nothing to say, huh?"

Simon's voice shatters your deep train of thought with the sheer bitterness behind it. It makes the tears fall faster.

"You...you saw that?" you ask weakly, your voice frail as if you have been crying for hours. Your arms come up to shield yourself from the invisible presence of them, hugging your torso as if it helps.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. It was fucking hell, seeing the girl you love cheating on you with three guys. So I'm sorry if I've been acting like a bloody prick, but I can't just pretend I'm not still so fucking angry at you. Don't come crying here saying that my behavior isn't justified when you know damn well why I'm mad at you."

All these years. So many sleepless nights obsessing over every detail of your behavior during your relationship, and this is the answer. You have been so angry at him over leaving, and you never thought you would understand why. But you do, and it breaks your heart even more.

Blood is smeared all over your leg as you look down, and that still doesn't hurt as much as the fact that Simon has gone around for years hating you, thinking that you cheated on him. You loved him so much. Betraying him is the last thing you ever would have done. You understand Johnny's reaction now too—he thought you cheated on his best friend. That's not something you just forgive. It's your job to be mad at the people who wrong your friends.

But a nagging voice in the back of your head tells you to be angry. Simon walked past that dark bedroom, saw what was happening, and left. He could have saved you. It's an unfair thought to have. You can't be upset with him for misunderstanding. He couldn't have known about the threats dealt out in that room, or that the passionate kisses he witnessed was in reality seething, harsh words and a much too up and close Philip Graves. But it still hurts. Still haunts you, having three massive rugby players crowding you in and promising to beat you to a pulp.

A loud sniffle comes from your lips, drying the tears away from your face with the back of your hand. Blinking to rid yourself of the water on your lashes. You have to tell him. Simon looks about ready to leave.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," you say breathily. Your voice cracks in the middle of it.

"Sorry?" he shakes his head, lifts his eyebrow as if assessing the word. It's clear that's not enough for him.

"I'm sorry you thought I cheated all this time. I understand why—" A hiccup,"—I get why you left."

Your choice of words changes his demeanor. From hostile, clenched jaw with a fire simmering underneath the surface to hostile, clenched jaw and confused.

"I didn't kiss anyone, Simon. I didn't—I didn't do anything with Philip, or any of his friends." Broken words, distorted by the constant movement of your chest and throat as your body desperately fights for you to let out the sobs. Not yet. "They wanted me to get you to quit the team, and I couldn't...I couldn't fight back. Not against all of them."

Nostrils flare, lip is bitten down on. A veiny hand runs over a mouth. Blinking. Hands shake with contained...fury? You don't know who it's directed at.

"What the hell are you trying to say?" he seethes, taking a step forward that makes you take one back.

"We weren't kissing. They were threatening me. Said I'd be left on your doorstep bleeding and bruised if I didn't convince you to stop going after the Captain position. I was so scared, Simon," you say, voice cracking pathetically on the last sentence.

He’s quiet for much too long. You can’t read him, standing there so exposed and vulnerable and he’s silent. That’s why his outburst is so sudden.

"Fuck!"

You flinch, inching backwards as Simon turns around yelling. Not once have you heard him scream this loud. So you stand there, rooted in place, tears streaming down your face as he tugs at his hair with his hands. His chest heaves as if he just ran five miles.

You tremble too. The first sob comes out. It's a sad, pathetic sob that you try to muffle with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. Futile. Simon turns around. You can't see his expression through the blur of your tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, burying your face into the palms of your cold hands.

You almost jump as strong arms pull you into the tightest hug you have ever lived through. It's an urgent one, a desperate one. It's warm. Your cheek gets mushed against his damp shirt, hand encasing the back of your head as his chest rises up and down with his rugged breaths.

You lose the single crumb of composure you had left. If Simon wasn't a wall of a man he would have been dragged down with you as your legs lose the ability to carry you, just like in the alleyway. He notices anyway, slowly sitting the two of you down on the floor. Your knee is protected by a gentle hand keeping it from colliding with the hardwood.

"I am so, so sorry, Y/n," Simon tells you on a frail voice. It almost sounds like he's on the verge of crying too. You didn't know his voice could sound soft. "I am so sorry I didn't protect you. That I just—I just walked away. So fucking thickheaded—"

Your fingers clasp onto his shirt, tugging just slightly. It's your silent 'stop'. A reassurance that he doesn't need to blame himself. You understand.

"All these years I—I hated you for something you didn't even do. Fuck, I didn't even give you a chance to explain."

He shakes his head, his hold around you tightening subconsciously. It takes a few seconds before he realizes and softens again.

"Oh fucking hell. I got Graves suspended the day before 'cause I ratted him out to Coach about smoking fucking weed. Fucking shit, this is all my fault. I am so sorry," Simon croaks out. His voice will give in any minute to the guilt and frustration and anger and tears.

"Simon..." you whisper before sniffling, putting your hand on his chest. "Don't. Don't do this to yourself."

He shakes his head again. He will give himself a concussion soon from how much he's done it this night.

"It's not your fault. It's...it was horrible. But it was them, not you. Someone came and stopped it before they could do anything worse."

He takes in a sharp breath. You can almost feel the way his jaw clenches. "Anything worse? They put their hands on you?" he whispers bitterly. "Shouldn't have happened at all. I should have been with you earlier."

"Just some bruises from when they dragged me into that room. But I know you wouldn't have let it happen if you knew. Of course I know that, Simon," you say softly, sitting up just slightly. You don't know when your tears stopped. It's just your throbbing head and the runny nose left. "Simon, you were so protective of me. You cared so much—I know you would have stopped them if you knew. But you didn't know."

Dirty blond hair and his scruffy neck is all you're met with. He doesn't even look your way. And then he's suddenly on his feet, towering over your figure on the floor.

"You're still bleeding. Need to fix it."

You can't answer. Don't even have the opportunity to—Simon's hands sneak under yours arms and lift you up to a stand before you can open your mouth again.

"Simon..."

He keeps quiet. It's that brooding thing where he overthinks. Did it when you were together too. A lot. Simon carries a lot of guilt around, steals it from others and guards it safely within himself. You don't really know how he bears it all.

The sofa sinks underneath your weight as he slowly loosens his hold around your waist, placing you so gently onto the cushions. Might as well be made of glass to him. But then you think that it must be exactly how he views you right now—a delicate, frail thing who needs protection from any and every threat. You have already amassed cracks during the years, during the day even, and just one push will leave you to splinter.

Once again he kneels before you. This time you don't find it frustratingly hot. Now it's soft, a little sad even. There's a frown so deep in between his eyebrows you fear it might become permanent this time.

You don't say anything as you let him clean your wound. Maybe you hiss a little once the alcohol touches the broken skin, but make no move to protest. Simon might need this more than you. Okay, you don't want to die from an infection, but you could have done this with a lot less grace. You would have ten minutes ago.

"I still am, you know," he mutters after many, many minutes of silence. He's wrapping a bandage around your leg.

"What?" you breathe out softly, looking down at his concentrated frown.

"Protective of you," he answers. "I still care. Even if we're not together." Simon gulps, stops for just a second in his work.

"You are?"

His eyebrows rise for a second, corners of his lips threatening to tug upwards. "Didn't see me earlier in the lobby? I was gonna curse you out real fucking good. For my office."

"But you didn't."

"No. I couldn't, not when I saw that you were crying." His hand suddenly stops, resting on your good knee, before he looks up at you. "Why the hell were you crying, Y/n?"

Instantly you close off again, glancing away to escape that concerned expression that makes his eyes so dark and soft. It's an irresistible thing.

"Please, love. I need to—I need to make it better."

You pretend to ignore that Simon just called you love. Instead you focus on the fact that he's trying to compensate for that December night. For all the years you had a broken heart without knowing the reason why.

"Just...something that brought back some bad memories, that's all. Unpleasant encounter." It's practically mumbled, your answer, and you know Simon always hated when you mumbled. Wanted to hear your pretty voice loud and clear, he used to tell you.

His ever present frown grows impossibly deeper. Simon is speculating with himself, it's clear on his expression.

"With someone at work? Who bothered you, Y/n? Who the fuck made you cry?" he seethes, running his hand over his mouth as if to keep himself from saying something worse.

You shake your head. Your instinct tells you to dismiss it, say that it's fine. But maybe you shouldn't, for once. Just tell him that Shepherd actually said something that was far from okay. He was in the wrong. You shouldn't be the one to suffer in silence anymore.

"There was this—you know the man who always wears a Rolex and has the corner office? Shepherd?" you say meekly.

Simon's jaw clenches, but still his hand on your thigh is so gentle. "What the fuck did he do?"

"He...I ran into him on my way home. Collided right into his chest." You swallow air, looking down at the point of contact between you and Simon. "And he caught me. Didn't let go when I tried to go away. And he had this look in his eyes. Was so close, too. I couldn't breathe."

"Fucking hell," Simon groans.

"He said he just wanted to talk...but then he started commenting on my dresses. That he'd watched me 'strut around', as if I purposely put on a show for him, or something. Told me to come into his office on Monday and wear something nice so he would have something sweet to look at. I had to beg him to let me go."

"He the reason you've been clutching your arm the whole night?" Simon asks tensely, nodding down to where the bruise hides underneath your sweater.

You didn't even notice you did that. But it's sore when you move it. The answer to his question comes from your uneasy glance up at him that makes him close his eyes. You think it's to contain something—to calm down.

"He won't get fucking near you again, Y/n."

You gulp, blinking. "But he works there...he's one of my superiors."

"No. The fuck he isn't. He's not stepping a foot inside that building again."

"What?"

"Price will have him fucking murdered for even looking at you funny. Been looking for an excuse to get rid of him for years, and this...I'm so sorry, love. You shouldn't have to put up with that."

You shake your head, looking down to the point where Simon still has the bloodied cotton pressed against your knee.

"You would do that for me?" you ask softly, almost a whisper.

"Do fucking anything for you, Y/n. Would have even during all these years that I was too bloody stupid to reach out." With his hand on your thigh, he shakes your leg gently, enough to make you look him in the eye again. "You were my girl, you know? Swore I'd protect you from every fucker who even looked at you wrong, and not only did I fail at saving you from those fucking worthless pieces of shit who laid their hands on you, but I didn't protect you from myself. Will never forgive myself for that."

Simon's words makes your lower lip tremble again, and you let out something akin to a whimper and sigh before speaking.

"None of that is your fault," you say. "Even though I would've appreciated if you talked to me before just leaving back then, I understand why you didn't. If it was the other way around and I thought you were out with three girls, I would've been crushed. Wouldn't be able to look at you again without breaking into sobs."

He raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. It's clear that he doesn't take your words to heart, but there's still something in your statement that registers within him.

"You never told me that you cared for me that much." Simon clears his throat, as if the words are a lump stuck in his airways.

You sigh. You know it's true—you held back on saying those three words for months, thinking that the time had to be right and he couldn't possibly feel as strongly as you did. Then he broke up with you and you never got the chance.

"I wanted to. I wanted to tell you everyday, but I was scared that you wouldn't say it back."

Simon scoffs. "For fuck's sake, Y/n. I loved the shit out of you. Thought everyone could see that from the way I trailed after you like a lovesick puppy."

A bittersweet chuckle comes from your lips, shaking your head to yourself. Blinking away tears stuck in your eyelashes. "I should've told you sooner." It's a decibel away from a whisper.

Simon looks at you as if what will come out of your mouth is the most important thing in the world.

"I think I...I still feel that for you. A little bit," you admit. "It's pathetic that I'm still hung up on you after so many years, but it's hard, Simon. Seeing you everyday and not act like we used to."

"Don't you think I haven't wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you every single day these past two weeks?" Simon seethes. "I've jerked off in the bathroom outside my office more times than I can count and literally cried like a pathetic jerk in Johnny's arms the first day you started work 'cause I was still so fucking hurt that you didn't love me as much as I loved you. I'm a grown ass man, Y/n, and it was years ago. That's how much you meant to me."

"You cried?" you ask breathily, your head empty except his words echoing. Bend you over my desk.

"I've sobbed like a fucking fool countless times over you. The weekend after I saw you—after I thought that I saw you with them—I went back to my mum's house and wailed like a baby into her chest." Simon chuckles, a bittersweet expression on his face.

"I'm sorry."

"No. None of that shit. I caused it. Should've just asked you instead of taking off. Wasn't man enough for you back then. I'm the one who needs to apologize."

You bite down on your lower lip, doing something akin to a nod as you glance away, out of the window.

"And now?" you ask. "Are you man enough now?"

"Careful, love..." Simon says, his voice strained.   "Don't give me hope."

"Hope for what?"

"You know damn fucking well what I'm hoping for," he answers gruffly. You gulp, lips parting to release a shallow breath. His brown eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide from the intensity of his gaze. You know that look.

"Simon, you know I feel the same. You know it." It's nearly a whisper, what comes out of your mouth. Leaning forward just slightly, closer to his face where he's kneeling on the floor. "I already told you earlier that I still—"

Your back is pressed against the cushions of the couch as Simon surges up from his place on the floor. Calloused, tattooed hands grip your face gently as those pink lips you've dreamed about for the past two weeks devour yours desperately. Shuts you up real good.

"I've missed you so fucking much," Simon growls, a certain ferocity in his voice that makes him sound like a beast bowing only for his woman. He kisses you again. "Please. Please let me show you how fucking good I can be to you."

There's no real point in acting as if his words isn't the best thing you've ever heard. You're already panting and preening for him, so acting as if the answer will be anything but yes is futile. You nod furiously, holding onto his wrists.

"Yes. Please, Simon. Yes," you answer breathily, desperately.

The grunt coming from his chest makes your thighs clench together, resonating deeply within your core as the memories of how his touch felt all those years ago spark up every last nerv-ending in your body. Before you even know it, Simon has his large hands on your waist, lifting you up from the couch and sitting down himself. Your thighs straddling his, face to face and chest to chest.

"Ow. Simon, my knee," you say with a chuckle, leaning back enough to keep the pressure off your wounded leg.

"Oh, fuck. I'm so sorry, love. Are you alright?" he asks, an instantly guilty expression on his face. Didn't seem to pick up on the laugh from your lips. He looks like someone just kicked a puppy in front of him.

"I'm just fine, Si." Your hands come up to his face, feeling the stubble on his cheeks underneath your fingertips. "Maybe we shouldn't sit like this, though."

"We don't have to do this tonight. I'll wait for as long as you want me to," he tells you, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your wrist. It almost makes you cry. He always did that back in uni.

"I'll literally fucking burst if I don't have you inside me within the next ten minutes. We'll work around it. I don't care."

Simon chuckles. A sound that comes from deep within his chest, rumbling and warm and so familiar. It festers within you and sprouts, spreading safety and comfort through your blood. Makes you smile, genuinely. He stands up, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands holding onto your thighs.

The bed sinks down underneath your weight as he lowers you down on the sheets, so careful to not touch your now patched up knee.

"Just as desperate for me now as you were then, huh?" Simon teases, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as his massive frame hovers above yours.

God, your body remembers. It remembers him so well, surrendering to his rough, deep voice as it whispers into your ear. It's an instant thing you feel—safety and simultaneously giddiness. You giggle like a goddamn schoolgirl with a crush, sneaking your arms around Simon's broad shoulders as you nod.

"Mhm, I am," you admit. Without shame. "I've really missed you, Simon. I really have." Your words are softer than before, void of the teasing tone they previously held.

He sighs. Presses his chapped lips to the corner of your mouth, slowly moving down to your jawline, neck. Simon is the toughest, biggest man you know. Curses like a sailor and can snap you in half. But oh, he's so gentle with you. When he wants to, at least. You remember those nights when desperation overtook him, clothes ripping and the breath fucked out of you. And you loved those nights just as much as the ones where he would just trace his lips over your skin for an hour before even touching your by then sickeningly wet folds.

But after years and years of separation and an emotionally wrecking fight that finally led to reunion, gentleness and patience isn't high on your list right now. You want to rip his clothes off and taste him again and feel him inside of you and kiss him even more and touch every inch of his skin. Though, Simon keeps trailing his mouth down your neck, hand inching underneath the hem of your sweatshirt as he hums. The sound makes you giggle. Fucking hell you've missed him.

"Something funny, love?" Simon asks, raising a challenging eyebrow as he lifts his head from your skin.

"Just that sound. Been thinking it about it sometimes."

"Thinking about it, huh?" he probes, pushing your sweatshirt over your head, forcing you to raise your arms. A deep groan comes from his lips as the lace of your bra is revealed to him, the fabric delicate enough to show the outline of your nipple. "Oh, fucking hell. You tryin' to make me come in my goddamn pants, yeah? It's not nice."

"I didn't know you'd see my bra when I put it on this morning, Simon," you chuckle, gaze flickering down to see his frankly hungry gaze.

"Didn't put it on for someone else to see it, did you?" he asks, something akin to doubt in his eyes. Or maybe not doubt, but nervousness.

"No. There's no one else," you admit. "Haven't...been many others since you."

"Not for me either. No one is like you. Tried, but it was bloody useless. Fucking nothing is better than my sweet girl when she's wrapped around my cock."

His statement confuses you for just a second before his hand sneaks it's way underneath your pyjama shorts, cupping your pussy and feeling the embarrassing wetness already soaking your underwear.

"Let me taste you, love," he pleads. You're already squirming, bucking your hips against his hand in search for friction. All you can do to answer is nod, and the second after, your shorts are thrown to your bedroom floor.

"C'mon, sweet girl. Been without you for fucking years. You can give me one more. Just one more," he tells you, pumping his fingers into you deliriously, possessed by the squelching sound your slick and his digits emit.

It's been thirty five fucking minutes of Simon making you come on his tongue and his fingers and then his tongue again. He's currently on his second round of fingering the living breath out of you. You had forgotten how thick his fingers were, and now with those added years of use, more calluses and lines and wrinkles? You haven't been able to utter a full sentence in a good while.

"Holy..." Your head is thrown back onto the pillow, back arching as if you were in a porn video, thighs clamping down on his hand.

"That's my girl. There we go, there we go,” he mutters, in a trance by the sound of it and his lustful stare.

You have to push his hand away after almost a minute of him drawing out your orgasm by lazily continuing to pump his fingers into you, whining when it becomes too much.

“Insatiable fucker,” you mumble as you lay spent on top of the sheets, chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat on your skin.

And he hasn’t even been inside you yet.

Simon chuckles, that deep rumble that almost sounds like it scratches his insides in some way. A wet, shameless kiss is pressed to your thigh, before he stands up to his full length again. His poor knees must be aching after having been pressed into the floor for so long.

“Missed her. Can’t blame a bloke for wanting to spend time with his missus after such a long time, eh?” Simon teases, making you roll your eyes fondly.

“Just c’mere,” you sigh, smiling up at Simon again, the same way you did at 20. Or maybe not the exact same. Things have changed, you have changed. Simon has sure as hell changed. But it’s better. A deeper affection, a deeper understanding.

The blond giant climbs onto the bed, over you, hovering like a wolf ready to pounce yet a gentleness in his hold that draws away the sense of threat. His thumb cups your cheek, brushes over the skin under your eye. And then he kisses you, softly, something you didn’t he know he was capable of. Back then, it was always passion, urgency. Playful, desperate. This is longing.

You sigh against his lips, feeling his chapped skin and the stubble on his chin. It nearly brings tears to your eyes, the way you have this man over you again. It’s been so long and he’s dozens of pounds heavier with muscle, more tattoos on his skin and scars on his body. But he’s still Simon. And he’s yours.

“Condom? Please for the love of god tell me you have a condom,” he pleads, growls with need against the crook of your neck.

“In the drawer,” you giggle, stretching your arm out in its direction.

He wastes no time. His urgency makes him clumsy, makes you laugh even more, as he tries to tear the wrapper open with his teeth and fails. Gives you a warning glare that does no good job at hiding his fond amusement, while resorting to opening it with his hands like a normal person.

Simon’s hands close around the back of your thighs, pulling your legs up until they press against your stomach. His tip brushes against your wet folds, but his gaze is on your face.

“Ready for me, sweet girl?” he asks, the deep timber of his voice sending literal shivers through you.

You nod.

“Words.”

“Yes, Simon. Please. Wan’ you inside me,” you plead.

“Mhm, know you do, sweetheart.”

It’s all the warning you get before he grabs a hold of his cock, coating it in your slick, before guiding it towards your dripping hole. Your breath catches in your throat, a whine of discomfort coming from your lips as his thick girth presses into you inch by agonizing inch. And yet it’s so good. Fucking hell, you’ve missed it.

“Holy fuck, I forgot—“ you say, not needing to finish the sentence for him to know the sentiment. You forgot how big he was.

"God you're..." Simon growls, keeping still as he bottoms out, savoring the feeling of your walls stretching around his thick cock once again. "You feel even fucking better. How the fuck did I go without her all these years?"

Tears prickle the corners of your eyes. Don’t know if it’s from the sting, the longing, the pleasure. You’re still all pliant and sensitive from the multiple orgasms he drew out of your earlier.

Simon starts to move, rolling his hips slowly into you. Letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding against your walls, drawing rumbles from his chest.

“Not gonna leave this pretty pussy again, no. ‘S all mine. Needa’ apologize for keeping her lonely for so many years,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. The corners of your lips tug upwards.

“Simon,” you whisper, hands entangled into his hair. He tilts his head upwards, looking up at your face. “Fuck me.”

A pleased smirk grows on his face, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so, huh?” he asks, squeezing your thigh, before snapping his hips into yours.

“Oh, fuck…”

Your pathetic bed creaks as Simon bullies his cock into you, the filthy sound of your slick being pushed inside of you filling the room along with the grunts and whines from your mouths.

It’s like a switch turned on in his head when you told him to fuck you, because it’s nearly animalistic. There’s no class or precision in his sloppy thrusts, just desperation.

“Fuck, so sorry, love, but I’m gonna come,” Simon tells you, clenching his jaw tightly with restraint. His large fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he holds them up, his heavy weight flush against you to keep you in a mating press. Despite his words, there’s no shame in them. Just an apology. He wishes he could savor this, but it’s futile. His cock wants something else.

“It’s…it’s okay,” you manage to get out between his thrusts, a smile on your face while his movements grow increasingly sloppy and hurried. “Come for me, baby. It’s okay.”

“So fucking perfect,” he growls, while his thumb finds its way to rub tight circles on your clit. Damn it if he doesn’t make you come one more time. He needs to feel you clenching down on his cock like that. “Gonna make you come again, baby, I promise.”

Your hands paw at his broad back, digging into the chiseled muscles while your thighs wrap around him, bringing him in deeper.

It’s with his face buried into the crook of your neck that he comes with a snarl, heavy breaths likened to the ones belonging to a beast blown right into your ear. Despite his movements stilling, his softening length remains inside of you while his fingers flicker your nub deliriously.

“Uh-huh, I see you, I see you.” He grins, taking note of the bucking of your hips, the way your thighs attempt to press together as they squeeze around his waist.

“Simon,” you whimper, and that’s all it takes for him to press down a little harder, do it a little faster. You let go, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp.

“There it is. Look so beautiful when you come on my cock,” he tells you, and you swear you feel him harden again inside of you.

But when you come down from the high, laying there spent and panting, he pulls out so gently. Presses a kiss to the swell of your neck before climbing off the bed and discarding the condom in the bathroom.

“Simon, can you get me a towel?” you ask tiredly, watching his naked figure through the open door.

“Was already on it,” he tells you, stretching his arm out through the spring with the towel in hand, drawing a chuckle from your lips. “Have to take care of my woman. Can’t leave her all messy from taking my cock like the sweet girl she is.”

“You’re so crude,” you say through giggles, Simon walking back into your bedroom.

“Only around you, love,” he answers, kneeling on the bed to dry you off.

“That’s a lie. A big fat lie.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The soft fabric drags against your skin, soaking up the trails of your wetness coating your inner thighs and your folds. So meticulous, careful with each movement. Neat-freak.

“I love you.”

His head tilts up, brown eyes keeping you still under his gaze. And then he smiles. Skin by his eyes crinkling, white teeth showcased, towel discarded onto the floor. He covers your body with his, arms sneaking around your waist to roll you on top of him.

“I love you, sweet girl. ‘S probably gonna be the death of me, but like hell if I’m gonna do anything else than love you,” he whispers, dragging the duvet over your bodies.

Your body goes soft, pliant, in his hold. Comfortable silence fills the non-existing space between you, his breathing the only thing you can hear. Your eyes almost shutter closed when Simon speaks up again.

"I am so fucking you in my office on Monday," Simon tells you, chin on top of your head, your cheek on his chest. You can't see his face, but you know there's a boyish grin on his lips.

You just chuckle tiredly.

"Mr. Price would literally kill the both of us if he found out."

"Tough luck, love. I'm having you on my desk. End of discussion," he teases, squeezing your hip gently.

"You're insatiable."

"And you're beautiful. And sexy, and gorgeous, and entirely fucking mine," he whispers, growls, into your ear. "So we're christening my office on Monday, yeah?"

"You're taking the blame if Price walks in."

"Gladly. By Monday afternoon, nobody in our office will have any doubts about who I belong to."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Future Mr. Y/l/n Riley. You better fucking believe,” he says. “Just gonna get Shepherd fired and gauge his eyes out first.”

“Simon.”

“Yes. Nobody fucks with my woman.”

TAGLIST: @keendreamnight @xxkay15xx @evie-119 @darkravenqueen98 @naxxsstuff @sirens-and-moonflowers @narcoticv3nus @igotmajordaddyissues @fallenkitten @darling006 @iloveloveeducks @accio-serotonin

[gisellaaa]

we rush back to each other; in our hearts it was real.

af11 | after adam comes to michigan for a small visit, he makes talking to you hard to avoid.

(a/n this is a part two. part one can be found here)

Adam was so grateful to get the chance to do an honorary puck drop at a Michigan game. He was excited to see his old teammates play again and be around the campus. Yet, only one priority clouded his mind.

You.

You knew Adam would be back in Ann Arbor. Fuck, you even felt his presence, even if he was staying with his brother. The thought made you sick to your stomach in embarrassment.

Adam didn't even attempt to reach out after your pathetic attempt to show him you missed him. It was so embarrassing to you. You spent three nights crying in your room, sobbing to the point you were dry heaving.

This really proved you two were done, for good.

You were wasting away your day, rotting in your dorm room. It was freezing cold too, you wanted to feel the coldness as a way of suffering.

A constant vibrating came from your phone. Which, in your mind, was strange. Considering the fact your phone had sat on DND for the past week.

The call was sent through again and you finally reached over to grasp the device. The caller ID belonged to no other than Luca Fantilli. You let a slew of curse words fall from your lips, answering the phone.

"Hi, Y/N! Whatcha doin'?" Luca's excited voice rang into the speaker, practically causing you lose your hearing. "Rotting in bed, why?" You grumbled, flipping over to switch on your lamp.

You heard the sound of whispering in the background. You knew it was Adam.

"I have those Bio notes! I'll drop them outside your door." Luca informed, causing you to roll your eyes. "I don't want them, I told you that," You complained, a cough coming from your throat.

"Too bad! I'll knock and leave. You won't even have to see me!" Luca spoke, yet, you knew he wasn't being truthful. Luca loved to bother people, well, not necessarily bother. He just loved to talk and talk.

"Right, okay. Got it," You replied, not convinced by his story, hanging up the phone. You slumped back into your bed, running your hands down you face. “Fuck.”

After about thirty minutes, you heard the incessant knocking on the door. You didn’t bother to get up, considering Luca said he’d drop off the “bio notes.” After a few minutes, the knocking started again.

With a groan, you climbed out of your bed. Your feet touched the cold ground, causing a shiver to shake your body. Not bothering to look in the peep hole, you pulled the door open.

Except, it wasn’t Luca standing outside of the door. Not this time. This time it was Adam, not holding any stack of papers. Out of instinct, you shut the door back in his face.

Your heart twisted, pounding rapidly against your chest. It took him a week to reach out after you sent what could possibly be the most embarrassing video in your life.

“Open the door, please.” Adam’s voice spoke from across the door. Your hand was placed on the door handle, hesitant to pull it open. Without much thinking, you opened the door once more.

“Hi, Adam.” You spoke, eyes looked on him.

Adam ran a hand through his hair, his eyes examining your body. You looked much more frail since the last time he’d seen you. Your eyebags were deep and purple, your face sunken in.

“Can we talk?”

You looked back down at your feet, lips pursed together. You lifted your shoulders, shrugging at the boy. “What is there to talk about?” You asked.

“Let me come in,” Adam pressed. He wanted to just grab you and keep you with him all the time. Before he watched your video, Adam swore he was better off without you. But now? Adam didn’t want to do anything if you weren’t by his side.

You sighed, taking a step back from the door, beckoning Adam inside. Adam slipped off his shoes, shrugging off his coat. Your eyes attentively watched him, swallowing harshly.

Adam still looked like the same old boy who let you walk out of his life. He looked healthy, had great vibe radiating off of him. It made you sick to think that while you’ve been crying in your room, he’s probably perfectly fine.

“What do you want to talk about?” You spoke, your voice cracking as the words got stuck in your throat.

“Do you still love me?” Adam asked, keeping at least an arm’s length distance between the two of you. “Well, of course-“ Your words cut off by him.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?” His voice seems to have been laced with anger, which caused you to feel much too small in his presence. He spoke to you like you were being scolded.

“Because you seem fine without me. There was no reason-“

“Except there is. Because I miss you, so fucking much. And then here you go, making a small little video that has been stuck on my mind since I’ve seen it. Why did you have to do that? Why did it have to be that way?” Adam pressed, his face screwed up in confusion.

“Because I was never going to tell you. Then Luca asked me to be in the video, then your mom even asked me to do it as well. I couldn’t just say no.” You explained, your fingers rubbing at your eyes to try to prevent the tears from starting to spill. You had to be strong.

“Why did it have to be a secret?” Adam’s voice cracked ever so slightly, causing your body to fill up with rage. How dare he get to be upset when he was the one who planned to leave you? He was the one who left you cold and alone in Michigan.

“Adam! You don’t get to be upset about this! You don’t! You are the one who planned to leave! You had this figment in your fucking imagination that somehow we wouldn’t work. But fucking look at me! Do I look healthy? Do I look better now that you are gone? I don’t!” You shook your head, a scoff pausing your words. “And for me to stand here, still fighting for some relationship that didn’t mean anything to you? Gosh, it’s pathetic.” You groaned.

“Adam I think you need to go,” You were able to muster out, gently pushing him towards the door. Your hands were pressed against his chest has you attempted to push him out. “No, no, I’m staying,” Adam wrapped his hands over your wrists, holding his ground.

“Adam, go,” You stated once more, give another attempt to push him out. “No.” Adam deadpanned, his heart aching as he looked down at you. “Why can’t you let me move on!” You cried, falling against his chest, the tears finally stinging your eyes as they fell down your chest.

Adam caught you as you fell forward, his arms wrapping around your shaking body. His hand was pressed to the back of your head, holding you as you sobbed into his chest. “Because maybe we weren’t meant to move on from each other,” Adam quietly spoke, a sad frown appearing on his face.

“Don’t say that,” You managed to choke out.

“I mean it. We aren’t meant to move on, we were meant to be together. I made the horrible mistake to let you go, to push you away from me. But, I’ve missed you every single day. I’ve regretted it since,” Adam explained himself, listening as your crying slowed. He could tell your breathing calmed down, your heart beating at a steady rate. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, I’m just asking to give me another chance,” Adam added to her previous statement.

You took a step back, looking at him through your foggy eyes. At any moment, it looked like he would get down on his knees and beg. You racked your brain for any sort of direction on how to move forward. You love Adam, that has never changed. You missed him every day, hoping that he’d do exactly what he was doing now.

How could you let yourself miss the opportunity?

“Adam, how could we even work it out? Maybe you were right along, that the distance would be too much.” You sighed, wiping some of the tears from under your eyes. “Would it be any worse than how it is now? We can figure it out, Y/N.” Adam pleaded, taking a step towards you.

You looked down, chewing on your bottom lip. He had a point. Dealing with the short distance would be nothing compared to the literal lack of Adam you’ve been dealing with. Nothing can compare to the hurt and pain you’ve pushed yourself into.

“Okay,” You mumbled, trying to find words to speak. “We can try again. But I swear Adam, if at any point it becomes too much, we have to - we have to talk.” You sternly spoke, looking back up at him.

“Yes, yes. We will talk, we will work it out. I promise, I will make sure of it,” Adam nodded, his eyes turning a small bit brighter than usual. You give him a small smile, connecting the small bit of distance between the both of you with a tight hug. Adam quickly pulled you into his grasp, holding you like you’d fall into the ground if he let go.

“I’ve missed you so much, I’ve missed you more than anything,” Adam spoke into your hair, placing a quick peck to the top of your head. “I’ve missed you too, you big sap,” You had a joking tone to your voice.

“Can we prank Luca before we tell him we worked things out?” You spoke, looking up at Adam with a mischievous expression. Adam raised his eyebrows, nodding quickly. “Hell yeah, but first-“ Adam paused, looking around the room, almost like he was suddenly nervous again.

“What?” You curiously asked, furrowing your brows as you looked at him. Adam shrugged, his hand moving to rest on your cheek. He leaned in, his lips pressing compassionately to your lips. You gripped onto his biceps, quickly melting into his embrace.

Adam pulled away, his cheeks a light tint of red. “Alright, now time to mess with Luca.”

[anamelessfool]

1975

WIP Chapter from my Secondo fic "Crossroads" that's being developed alongside my current major Primo-centered work. Yes, smut is nice but more and more I'm fascinated by the brothers' relationship. I had these little doodles and I was like let's spend thirty minutes coloring them and then throwing a photo manip of a photo I took of the Ministry as the background.

Jun-19-75 11:35 AM Courtyard Cumulus clouds, med cover curled wisps. Winds southeastern location. Approx. 18C, up since AM. Rain predicted evening.

Secondo began his sketch of the cloud shape and chose to ignore the rustling in the tree behind him. Some small body was struggling to climb up the side of the ornamental pear tree, perhaps to spy on his work.

“What are you doing?” Terzo’s voice came from the tree. A not unusual occurrence. Neither was his persistent desire to get immediately in Secondo's business.

Secondo’s obvious posturing to ignore him was futile. Terzo repeated the question two more times, the leaves trembling as he adjusted his weight on a branch. Secondo frowned deeply and finally relented, looking up at the small curled-up form and twinkling raccoon eyes of his younger brother.

“You’re going to break your arm.”

Terzo squinted at the sky, kicking his legs. “What are you doing?”

“Recording clouds. I need to keep records of clouds six times a day for a year and a day. And then Sister will train me.”

“Do you even know what the clouds mean?”

“No, but I will. In time.”

Terzo swung his body backwards, his legs hooked on the branch so he could hang upside down. He squinted at Secondo. “That’s fucking boring.”

“What are you even doing up there?”

Terzo decided to continue talking to his brother upside down, perhaps to annoy him further. It was working. His voice was wistful. “There's a bird building a nest on the roof. I'm trying to figure out how to get up there.” Terzo grinned. “Maybe it's a falcon. Then I could take a chick and train it and be a falconer. That's how they do it.”

“Terzo. Come down. You'll break your arm.” Primo appeared from under the stone arcade, the ghoul Edelweiss slinking behind him.

Primo had rejoined the Ministry only three years prior, and already he was in Sister’s inner circle. His arrival started a change in his younger half-brothers’ behavior. Primo was tall, athletic and confident. People enjoyed being around him. He had big responsibilities and beautiful companions. He was an adult.

The two younger brothers may not have realized it, but his presence gave them a goal to work towards. Secondo immediately pulled his shoulders back, gave Primo a hopefully impassive look and returned to his journaling.

“Nice weather, yeah?” Primo chanced a grin. Primo was fine…when he wasn't telling Secondo what to do.

There was a creak, a snap, and Terzo stared wide-eyed at them both midair for a moment before he fell to the ground in a sickening thump. He immediately began to whine, then scream. Secondo stared at him, snorting. He closed his journal with a snap. Served him right.

“Criminy, Terzo,” huffed Primo as he walked towards the writhing boy in the grass. He knelt down and gently touched his shoulder, ran his fingers down his arm. Terzo screamed again, his face a blubbering mess. “Perfect timing. What did I tell you, hm?” He glanced over to his ghoul, throwing a few rapid hand signs towards him. Edelweiss Ghoul hurried back to the arcade and through the doors.

“Alright, Terzo, let's get you up hold on—” Primo soothed through the screams and wails. The small boy fit easily in his arms and Primo turned towards Secondo, his face fixed with an amused half-smile. “Help me to the doors?”

“Where you taking him?”

“The Sanctum. Broke his arm, can you believe it?”

All at once Secondo felt the urgent need to assist. A rare, rushing thrill rose across his body as he held the doors for Primo, ignored his younger brother’s shouts of pain. The Sanctum. That meant…

Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, was waiting there for them at the grand doors, Edelweiss Ghoul behind her. Her head was perched atop her customary tunic of swirling polyester colors, a viper among the flowers.

He wanted to say something, wanted to share with her what he had been working on but he knew his dopey eagerness to please would be ignored. But that was the weird unexplainable thrill of it all, anyway.

Sister knew things were running perfectly, just as she knew water flowed underground below her feet. Her indifference towards him was perfection. Was a sign of a job well done. So Secondo swallowed the lump in his throat and repeated a mantra to calm the hammering of his heart.

Terzo’s cries took on more of a theatrical whine as Primo transferred him into the arms of the Ghoul. “It'll be done in a second!” Primo reassured him over his sobs. Secondo didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be associated with the two of them while Sister was near, looking bored already with the childish blubbering.

Sister gripped Terzo’s chin to silence his sobs. Terzo froze, blinking furiously in the ghoul’s arms. “Hush,” she hissed, then gestured to Primo to draw near. Primo lifted his brother’s head, gently wrapping a black silk blindfold over his eyes. “You take this off, you die. Do you understand, child?”

Terzo’s heavy sobs could not be suppressed for long. Sister’s red nails dug deeper into the boy’s chin. “Words. Now.”

“I…I understand,” Terzo whimpered.

“Good.”

With a friendly nod, Edelweiss Ghoul carried the boy into the Sanctum, Sister locking the doors behind them. The heavy slam echoed in the stone hallway. And so they waited for the ritual to be done.

Secondo steeled himself as Primo started to shift uncomfortably on his feet, tossing his head as if already in a conversation. His brother was a man who could not leave a single moment of air empty. It was as if silence was something he could drown in.

His mercurial expressions and small eager eyes seemed too close to their father Nihil’s mannerisms for Secondo to ever take him seriously.

“Listen will you just be nice to him? For once?” Primo ejected an exasperated huff of air that ruffled Secondo’s hair but not much else. “He's your brother.”

“He never learns.”

“Because nobody ever—” Primo grumbled under his breath, searching for what to say next. “When I was growing up I wanted a brother so badly…” His confession was met with stony silence. “He's got nobody, Secondo. And I can't be there for him like you can.”

“What does that even mean?” To Secondo it meant that Primo was passing a buck. Saddling him with caring for a person who barely cared for himself. Who was too stupid to assess even the most basic of dangers. Secondo was rising, ever rising from the efforts of his own sweat and will. Terzo’s foolishness would just hold him back.

“He's the loneliest person I've ever met,” Primo confessed. “And he's only nine. Don't you find that…sad?”

Secondo refused to budge. All his life he chose his words, his actions carefully. And that urge for correctness was a deafening roar in him at fourteen. Sidestepping the question was the best course of action. Questions were just traps, after all.

“I need to be left alone.”

Primo opened his mouth, but then thought otherwise. He made a show of shaking his head, crossing his arms. Secondo observed Primo’s eyebrows furrow and shift, choosing to continue his brotherly rant inside his own mind.

Victory.

Short lived. “So, uh…what are you going to do for your summer vacation?” Primo attempted a different route at a bond. “My friends and I would pack a canoe with old tarps and our fishing rods and beer and—”

The heavy door unbolted and opened once more. Sister emerged, breath trailing out of her mouth in unusual wisps. Terzo followed wide-eyed and stunned, gripping Edelweiss Ghoul by the hand. He was released with a soft pat on his head.

“Secondo,” said Sister with a small nod.

Secondo straightened up to full height immediately. Terzo ambled over to stand beside him, clutching his newly healed arm.

“Don't let him put weight on it for a few days,” Sister ordered Primo, then cast the full intensity of her stare directly into Terzo’s eyes. Her subject properly cowed, she turned on her heel towards the direction of her office and was gone.

Sister had spent a fraction of a second regarding Secondo but that single glance would be in his thoughts for some time after.

“We can go? No one is going to be climbing trees once we turn our backs?” Primo tousled Terzo’s hair, exchanging smiles. “And Secondo—” Primo shrugged at Secondo directly, gesturing subtly towards the youngest with a rough hand. Remember.

The ghoul Edelweiss threw out some quick hand gestures, winking. “Haha, right, exactly,” chuckled Primo and then they too left the kids alone in front of the Sanctum doors.

Terzo continued to shiver in place in the center of the hallway, his eyes darting to Secondo. Secondo was lost now staring into the elaborate archway carvings of the Sanctum doors. Masks of ghouls nested amongst delicately carved cinquefoil. Thorned branches encircling howling wolves. Hands pierced and bloodied, pointing to the sky, pointing to the earth. The archway always mystified him and he often took time to examine it whenever he walked past.

And beyond those doors? The Altarpiece, the knobs tied shut with red silken cords. In his mind’s eye he imagined Sister’s clawed hands slip the knot loose, tease the door to Hell open. Reaching into the infinite, pulling out strands of arcane energy. She had seemingly unlimited power at her carefully manicured fingertips. Her hands laid upon Terzo’s body and soothed torn muscles, knitted bone. A healing touch that could also kill in an instant.

“What was it like?” Secondo spat out the question in an attempt to disguise his true enthusiasm. Terzo blinked stupidly at him, taken aback by the sudden show of interest.

“Hm?”

“When the Altarpiece opened.”

Terzo shook his head. “Howling…voices but not really voices. A cold wind that wasn't cold. Like…when your foot falls asleep. Yeah. That's what it's dreaming about, yanno.”

“You felt it?”

“Felt what?”

“The Void.” Secondo had forgotten his aloof act as he stared wide-eyed, waiting for a scrap of anything.

Terzo's tear-stained face stretched into a grin. “You want to know so badly, doncha. You're dying to know.”

Secondo felt that rushing sensation of blood in his ears. No one taught him but one day he'd know it was the feeling of shame, of getting caught in a moment of vulnerability.

Terzo’s toothy maw widened and he wiggled his fingers into Secondo’s face. “Break your arm and find out,” he laughed.

My Fic List | My AO3

[astronicht]

whumptober day 1: “how many fingers am i holding up?”

(I wanna do some of these for as long as i’m feeling it as a kind of fic amnesty! get back into the swing of writing without pressure u know! it might be exactly two it might be literally just this one who knows!)

F1 rpf | max/daniel | figure skating AU | 1.5k, rated T

(mild cw for an injured kid)

The coach is a fucking joke. He’s across the lobby from Max, who is tying his sleek black skates and waiting for Christian to show up in about thirty minutes, clutching a coffee even though he’s woken up at 4AM for the last forty years.

The coach nervously leans close to a little girl sitting on the benches in her skates, her boots and blades wet with slush. She has a sleek high ponytail and still has her bum pad strapped on over her leggings to break falls and a closed-off look on her little face. The coach says, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jackass. He’s obviously a competitive skater working as a coach part-time because he looks all of nineteen, but that doesn’t fucking matter. He’s the coach. He should know better. Max’s hands feel clumsy on his laces. He’s probably going to have to— Or the mum—

As Max is scanning the little crowd of parents at the tables, the door to the rink swings open with a blast of cool wet air and Daniel strides in. He’s got new boots on, Max realizes numbly. Daniel and the little girl are also wearing the same brand of leggings, hers in miniature. She is probably seven years old.

“Hey, you took a spill, huh?” Daniel says, because if he was on the ice he’d have seen it. He’s walking a little gingerly, slush sluicing off his blades onto the rubber floor; his feet are probably rubbed bloody inside the stupid new Jackson Ultimas.

Max gets up, walks over. Daniel sees him and seems surprised, or maybe Max is imagining it. Max does not say anything. He squats on his toepicks in front of the little girl, ignores the stupid fucking coach. Daniel says, “Oh, uh— Max is just gonna do a little concussion check, yeah?” Daniel doesn’t ignore the coach at all, smiles at him, says something, but he does somehow dismiss him a little. It’s easy to see, to Max, that Daniel was coached by Christian for a long time.

Max looks at the girl. She stares back, jaw tight. He tells her, “No counting, only follow my finger with your eyes. And now you talk to me, okay? Explain exactly what happened.”

The girl hesitantly starts to describe the double loop that led to the back of her skull smacking into the ice. Max moves his finger to her left, to her right. Her words are in the right order, not slurred, but her eyes judder a little following his hand.

“Daniel, give me your phone.” Max says, squinting at the girl and sticking his hand up. Daniel’s warm hip is right next to him, shifting as Daniel fidgets, his phone probably in his fleece because he never leaves it on the boards unless he’s on the ice. Daniel hesitates, maybe, but then his cold phone is being fumbled into Max’s waiting hand. His lock screen is some fucking beach, screen protector clouding up under Max’s warm fingertips. Daniel does not even like the beach that much. Max taps to make the flashlight come on from the lockscreen and tries to ignore Daniel relaxing beside him, like he didn’t want Max to be nosy about his stupid life.

Daniel does get three incoming texts while Max is watching the girl’s pupils react to the light, flinching down to a point the way they are supposed to. But maybe a little slow. Max frowns. It is all normal for skating, injuries and concussions alike, but it makes him feel a little sick, sometimes, when it’s the little ones. He doesn’t practice around kids that often anymore, but then again, if she’s here this seven-year-old is probably thinking about breaking into juniors, probably very serious.

The girl’s mum comes in through the other set of doors, the ones leading to the rest of the rink, the other sheets of ice that Max normally rents privately for a few hundred dollars an hour — a little cheaper in euros. Someone must have texted her; one of the other mums at the tables by the window to the rink, probably, not the coach who is almost hiding behind Daniel while Max takes care of his fucking student. Max should charge him.

Max straightens up and says to the mum, but looking out at the rink through the windows, “She has hit her head. I am of course not her coach so I cannot tell you what to do. She is not confused now but some of her reactions are a little slow.” He swallows. “So yes you could of course get her checked out at a clinic.”

The woman turns to the useless coach and starts asking questions. Max looks at the kid. “Okay, good job,” he says. “Take a break, try not to fall on your head like this.” Then he walks back to his seat. He looks down at his skates again. He can’t find his gloves.

A rustle and a shadow in the fluorescent lights: Daniel is coming to sit beside him on the cold plastic bench. Daniel sighs. It is early but he looks more tired than an early morning. He only got one Grand Prix invitation this year. The girl and her mum are gone, the doors swinging shut. Max swallows. It is normal, but also he hopes the mum takes the girl to the doctor today, just to see.

“Alright?” says Daniel, almost warily. “Doctor Maxy.”

Max rolls his eyes at him, says, “It is so annoying. Of course a head hit rattles you, so it is hard to tell when it is real.”

“Well, this time she’s definitely fucking concussed,” Daniel says, rubbing his face.

“Oh. Did you tell her mum?” Max asks, surprised. He watches his own hands clench on his knees. His gloves are in the side pocket of his skate bag like always, he realizes. He doesn’t reach for them yet.

Daniel blinks at him, eyes wide, shadows under them a delicate purple. “I… yeah, I told her what the kid said: that she'd blacked out when she hit her head for a second? Any time you black out, it’s a concussion, right? I don’t know if the mum like, knows that.” He squints at the doors. “Cunt of a useless coach though.”

“No it’s not always a concussion,” Max corrects. The girl did say that, he remembers, when he was making her talk so he could test how she spoke. “Blacking out for a second when you hit? Then I would've had dozens as a kid.” Daniel shifts beside him, laughs a nervous little laugh. His head is in his hands. “I have had enough already, my brain would be mush, Daniel. Anyway it is not even the real test, the finger and the eyes thing and the talking. It is just a DUI test. Geri did it to you once, I remember, at Cup of China 2017? I asked what it was because I of course had not seen it and she said she used to party pretty hard, run into problems with friends sometimes, and she thought it had to be about the same.”

Daniel rubs his face again. “Was I concussed?” he asks. “In 2017?”

“Yes, I think so. But it is hard to tell.”

“No, I remember, I skated in that competition.”

Max shrugs. “You won the gold, then I beat you at Skate America two weeks later.”

“Shit, yeah. I remember now. Yeah.” Daniel tips his head back. On the tvs above the rink doors, the receptionist is playing YouTube videos of last year’s Grand Prix series instead of the rink sponsorship reel. It looks like Italy, the senior pairs event. Max watches Sui Wenjing get thrown through the air in a near-perfect twist, land on one edge of one blade like a sharp and flying thing. He has always wondered what it feels like, to land something from six feet in the air. No matter how high he can get his quads, his triples, he of course skates singles.

Max can smell Daniel’s cologne, which he is wearing at 5:03 AM, his sweat, the stiff leather of his awful new boots. “Well, gotta get back out there,” Daniel says. “These babies won’t break themselves in.”

They both look at Daniel’s new boots, which are probably full of Daniel’s blood for no reason, because Max doesn’t think his old ones were really broken or that bad or whatever. His coach probably told him to switch. Max switches boots when he needs to, always knows when to judge it, always gives himself the full summer before the competition season to break them in and let them tear him up a bit.

“Okay,” Max rasps. “Say hi to Lando for me. Try to land your Salchow.”

Daniel stands with his hand on Max’s hair, ruffles it and shoves Max, making him laugh. The clenching thing in his chest releases a little.

“Don’t bump your noggin,” Daniel says quietly, rapping his hand on Max’s head, gentle.

“Too late,” Max jokes.

Max stays sitting there for a minute after Daniel gets back on the ice, trying to wait out the rush of adrenaline, his heart still slamming like it was him who fucked up a loop, like it was his pale mother at the swinging doors.

—

concept brought to u by me in @/garagegremlin’s texts like OKAY they’re like all singles skaters but max has the heart of a pairs girl

[lighthouseshepard]

ahhh been too afraid to pm you but hi from a silent mutual!!

writing prompt: john and yorick chat while arthur sleeps :))

HI HELLO!! im also always too afraid to pm everyone! thank you so much for sending this in and so sorry it took me a while! been a very busy few days (:

"Is he fully asleep, my king?"

John groans in annoyance among the relative darkness he'd been sulking within. Ever since Arthur's eyes shut once he fell into an exhausted, heavy slumber nearly thirty minutes prior, he'd been reluctant to try and exercise what little muscle control he possessed to squint them open again. Manipulating those muscles usually woke him regardless of how careful he was, leaving him with a splitting headache neither of them could explain. And at the moment, John couldn't bring himself to disturb the hard won sleep, as fitful as it was.

Yes, he's asleep, he hisses impatiently. Yorick's voice came from somewhere to their left, still attached by the chain threaded around their waist. Arthur's right arm twitches, fingers scrabbling for some imaginary thing, before falling still.

"Excellent," says the skull. "Our master requires much rest after that entire ordeal."

Our master? John snorts. The subtle stirrings of a cool night's breeze brush against the skin of his left hand, welcome after the wet, stale air of the cave. He's your master, not mine. 

"He is master to both of us!" Yorick exclaims, far too loudly. "Just as you are a king to him and myself. An inseparable pair, the dies irae, intertwined inexorably, dominion over one another and all else."

Jesus fucking Christ, John mutters, wishing he could wince. What does that even mean?

“Exactly as I said. Would you like me to repeat it?”

No, no. Can you quiet down? You're going to wake him.

“Certainly, my king.” His reply drops to a tone only slightly less loud than before. 

 And stop calling me that, he adds irritably. I'm not a king.

"You were once a king," Yorick states matter of fact, jaw clacking solidly as he speaks, a peculiarly troubling imitation of human life. "I do not see the issue with proclaiming this."

Once, he emphasizes. I'm not... I'm not that being any longer. I don't claim to be any kind of ruler anymore.

"Fair enough! What shall I call you if not a ruler, then?" 

John, he grinds out, the last droplet of water among the barren desert of his patience threatening to dissolve. John is fine.

"Alright," Yorick says, sounding pleased. "King John, how may I serve you?"

John heaves a haggard sigh. Unbelievable, he groans, and attempts to turn his attention away for a brief, blissful second to collect what surely remained of his sanity.

The thing that called itself vanguard spoke incessantly. Within the caves, climbing out into rain-damp earth and sky, walking to find shelter for nightfall in the hopes of catching at least a few hours sleep - it had not stopped talking the entire way. John had half a mind to untangle Yorick from Arthur's belt when he wasn't paying attention and throw him as far as his eyes could see. He'd never liked the thought of the vanguard anyway, had never wanted Arthur to take the head, keep the tooth. Something about a creature which existed simultaneously in the Dreamlands, the Dark World and their own reality never sat well with him. 

A hypocritical perspective, possibly, considering. Yet that similarity alone made him nervous, straddling a razor's cautious edge. He knew what he was capable of. Yorick remained a mystery.

They'd found an oak tree, its canopy stretching out far enough to provide cover from the last stray rain clouds rolling by, so long as Arthur kept curled at its trunk. He had fallen under almost immediately. One or two words exchanged between him and that damned skull, and he was out, John's name half formed on his lips in what sounded like the start of a question. It would likely be forgotten upon waking. Already Yorick was taking time meant for him.

Regardless, John knew him to be valuable, an asset they couldn't afford to get rid of. Certainly not now, with nothing to their names except the clothes Arthur wore and the bag he carried, no money, no food. If Yorick could be a wealth of information like he claimed, they'd have to put up with him a while longer. 

And then John could toss him into a lake.

In the stretch of thankful silence, Yorick apparently finally listening to his demands, he reaches over and inspects what remained of the wound. Dried blood coated Arthur's wrinkled shirt close to his heart, stiffening the fabric. Laying his palm flat and hesitantly across his chest, John takes solace in the flighty pulse tangibly felt there. Not too long ago there was none at all.

Arthur murmurs something wordless under his touch. John retracts his hand quickly, mildly guilty at having potentially disturbed him.

“You dislike when he sleeps,” Yorick says. Despite his position by Arthur's hip, rolled sideways where he'd come to rest as they laid down on dry grass, his voice still seemed to come from somewhere else around them. 

John waits a second for more to follow. Nothing comes - it's a statement, not an inquiry.

I don't dislike him sleeping, he huffs. He has to rest, obviously.

“Yet it troubles you regardless? The absence of him.”

I don't, John sputters out, struggling to keep his voice level. I'm not… lonely if that's what you're suggesting. Will you just shut up already? We're both going to wake him up at this rate.

“Our master is blind to the world in multiple senses of the word,” says Yorick. “Deep within a dream. He will not wake for some time.”

How do you know he's dreaming? he asks, perplexed. You can't… see into his mind, or-

“I know a great many things.” Another beat of silence, decorated by the cricket song in the surrounding brush shielding them from view. Again John waits for an explanation, growling agitatedly when none is forthcoming.

Such as? he prompts. What is he dreaming about? 

“I do not know the specifics,” clacks Yorick. “Yet I'm aware of the turmoil of his thoughts. There is a string of piano keys tied like wire around his ankles, a bathtub overflowing, a yellow sun-”

Okay, I get the specifics! John mutters. So a nightmare, clearly.

“Precisely! Excellent conclusion, King John.”

He was starting to immediately regret accidentally adding John to that title. Is there a way we can help him, then?

As if on cue, subconsciously aware he was being discussed, Arthur lets out a low, pained breath of air. Instinctively John’s hand jolts to attention, fingers delicately skimming the wound like he would find answers or assistance there. His legs were twitching, again his arm reaching and then recoiling from something John couldn’t see or understand. 

Nightmares were the only times he felt useful, whenever Arthur slept. Lingering in the corners of his mind, stuck between drifting into his own thoughts and keeping an active listen for anything that might hurt them while he was out - it wore him down in ways be couldn't explain. Yorick was right, even though John would rather revisit the Dark World than admit it. He did hate when Arthur had to sleep for the emptiness it left him with. Being able to wake him from a bad dream as soon as he caught the signs left him aware of a strange, disjointed sense of selfish pleasure. Even if it came at the risk of Arthur’s unhappiness, helping him out of a nightmare was one thing he could do consistently right.

“He will not wake until the nightmare is complete,” Yorick says nonchalantly. “He is too deep.”

Which will take how long?

“I know a great many things,” he says for the second time. “Yet this, I do not.”

Another whimper, softer than the last. John taps the side of his head, tugs at his shirt collar, goes so far as to flick his nose multiple times in a row, as hard as he could manage. Nothing caused him to stir. He could slap him, sure, but in this state he might break apart altogether.

Great. John heaves a sigh. So we just have to listen to this, then? Until he’s, what, done dreaming?

“That is correct. We could always pass the time discussing, my King.”

Discussing what? He snorts. The maggots we just crawled through? No thanks.

“Or,” Yorick adds, “you could always return your hand to his chest.”

What? 

“Your hand,” he repeats, jaw clicking knowingly. “It is the one thing which calms the dreams. I’ve witnessed it many times before.”

You didn’t even have eyes, then, John says sardonically. What could you possibly have witnessed?

“I have no physical eyes now, but I can see you and the master. I was aware then, and in a way, I am aware now.”

In the shrouding blackness of Arthur’s slumber, John imagines the two points of white light where the prince’s eyes once rested staring sideways up at them, awash in tendrils of green smoke. Was this how Arthur felt all the time, kept in the dark, left to wonder how everyone was looking at him? 

Carefully, he puts his hand back in the center of Arthur’s chest. Fingers splay out, one wooden pinky, the rest a thin collection of bruises and scars and broken, chipped nails. That fidgety pulse returns, a bird’s caught wing under his palm. The rhythm remains so for nearly a minute, stuttering and jumping to some melody John couldn’t follow along, and he’s about ready to give it up for nonsensical, stupid advice before he hears Arthur sigh.

It’s not the same troubled exhale as before. This one comes calmer, more even-keeled. As he focuses on his heartbeat he notices it begins to slow, calming bit by bit into a steady, softer pattern. Arthur’s movements drift to a halt. He shifts among the roots, mumbling something too quiet to comprehend, and eventually falls silent.

“He sleeps much like the dead in appearance,” Yorick states thoughtfully. “I believe the dream has come to a close, for now.”

Good, remarks John, at a loss for anything else to say. He wasn’t going to tell Yorick thank you; but it was tempting. The gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing is a placid current, subtler than the new rain beginning to break through the clouds overhead in the night. He could plainly picture him, sprawled out uncomfortably, breeze touseling sweat damp hair, a downward curve in a mouth which always seemed to be frowning lately. Protected just enough beneath the oak, protected enough beneath John’s palm.

Well, at least one of us is content.

“I am much content, King John.”

That makes a total of two. Can you please shut the hell up now? 

“If that is what you wish," the skull says amicably. "Then I will."

It is, John bites. Just thirty minutes of fucking silence. Please.

Yorick says nothing. Relief settles over him as the break distends. Minutes pass until he finally accepts his desire had been properly observed. Crickets sing around them once more.

Sleep well, he whispers, hand firmly over heart. Perhaps we can wait a little longer to get rid of him.

[sooniessoulmate]

𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝚌𝚑.𝟺 - 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝟶𝚝𝟾

♥️𝚌𝚑.𝟹 ♠️ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝♦️𝚌𝚑.𝟻♣️

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟺 - 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚢

Wooyoung took his time getting a shower. His normal 5 min shower turned into a twenty-three-minute one. After he finished showering, he got dressed and then went down into the kitchen to get a drink, trying to postpone the upcoming alone time with Y/N. He didn’t quite understand what was happening to him, he never had actual feelings for anyone like he was beginning to feel for her. Well, there was one other time he did but that ended very badly which landed him in a Psychiatric hospital for many years. But that was when he was younger, things could be different now but he still isn’t sure he is willing to take that chance. 

After Wooyoung finished his drink he slowly crept up the stairs and made his way to his bedroom. He opened the door to see an empty room and his window opened. 

“Son of a bitch,” Wooyoung yelled as he turned around and ran back downstairs. 

He yelled for the other boys, after hearing the panic in his voice they didn’t hesitate and ran upstairs to where Wooyoung was standing.

“What happened?” Mingi asked, being the first of the men to come into the room.

“She’s gone,” Wooyoung announced trying to act calm.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?” San growled.

“I got a shower and when I came back into my room, the window was open and she was gone,” Wooyoung explained.

“She couldn’t have gotten too far,” Yunho declared. “For christ’s sake, you only take a five-minute shower.”

“Well about that,” Wooyoung hesitated, “I was kind of in there for like thirty three minutes then I came down here for something so she could have been gone for over an hour.”

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “Did you decide to spank one out today and that’s what took you so long?”

Wooyoung looked at Hongjoong confused, “spank one out?” he repeated, “I’m not sure what that means.”

San rushed up the stairs and returned a few moments later, holding his favorite handgun. He placed the gun in his holster.

“I’ll go get her,” San announced.

“I’m coming too,” Wooyoung said racing up the stairs to get changed and grab his weapon of choice. 

Once Wooyoung returned downstairs, he followed San towards the front door.

“Remember, she has to remain unharmed and alive,” Mingi reminded the boys.

Neither San nor Wooyoung responded as they continued to leave the mansion and enter a vehicle that was parked outside.

San turned the ignition on and started to drive out of the driveway. They rode in silence until San eventually broke the reticence, “what is going on with you?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” Wooyoung wondered, staring out of his window.

“There has been a change in you, ever since Y/N has arrived,” San announced.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Wooyoung sighed, still staring out the window.

“Are you falling for her?” San asked.

Wooyoung whipped his head around to stare at San, “why would you say something like that?” he growled. “You know I don’t ‘fall’ for people.”

“I know you usually don’t but this one seems a little different,” San smirked.

“THIS ONE IS NO DIFFERENT,” Wooyoung yelled, “she means nothing to me.”

“That's good,” San nodded, “don’t let some pussy start to cloud your judgment.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond as he turned back to the window, scanning the surroundings, looking for any sign of Y/N. He spotted a large man standing over what looked like a female.

“I think that’s her,” Wooyoung pointed down a long alley.

San slowed down and scanned the alley, “yea it looks like that is.” He pulled the vehicle over and put it into park. 

Wooyoung went to get out of the vehicle when San grabbed his arm, stopping him. 

“Look we gotta do this smart,” San ordered, “we don’t know what he's done to her already. She could already be bleeding out so we don't want to give him any reason to finish the job.”

“If he laid one finger on her, I’m going to rip his fucking throat out with my bare hands,” Wooyoung growled as a red glint flashed through his eyes.

“Ok,” San nodded, “you’re ready. I’m gonna go around the block and get as close to them as I can without being spotted so I can assess the situation. Get that AK thats in the back, set it up, and get ready and when I give the signal…”

“I’m gonna take that motherfucker out,” Wooyoung snarled.

“Yes,” San smiled as he exited the vehicle, running around the block.

Wooyoung retrieved the AK-57 and set the assault rifle up on top of a closed dumpster. He laid down and got the large man in its crosshairs.

San slowly crept up to the two at the end of the alleyway.

“Please don’t kill me,” Y/N pleaded.

“If you don’t want to die, Y/N, you need to prove to me your worth,” the large man ordered.

“What do you want from me?” she cried.

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I always wanted the same thing,” the man confessed as an evil smile overtook his face. He reached down, wrapping his giant hands tightly around Y/N’s throat, “to make you scream.”

Y/N gasped for air as the man’s grip grew tighter, slowly cutting off her air flow.

San jumped out from the shadows, “hey motherfucker,” he screamed as he threw his arms in the air, signaling to Wooyoung.

Before the man had a chance to respond a bullet entered his head, in between his eyes, splattering blood all over Y/N. The man’s lifeless body collapsed onto the ground. She grabbed her throat, breathing heavily, in shock of everything that just happened.

Wooyoung hopped off the dumpster, threw the assault rifle into the vacant vehicle and took off running towards Y/N. When he reached her, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground to carry her to the vehicle.

“Nice shot,” San said, following them to the truck. 

Wooyoung opened the back seat door and threw Y/N inside, without saying another word he got in the front passenger side of the car, San entered the driver’s side and started the ignition. He turned the car around and headed back in the direction in which they originally came from.

The three drove in silence as Y/N stared out the back window still in shock.

Wooyoung turned around so he could look at her, “why did you run?” he snarled.

“I don’t know,” Y/N sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not ok,” San interrupted. “You almost fucking died. If we wouldn’t have found you when we did, you wouldn’t be able to be sitting back there, appologizing.”

“I know,” Y/N agreed, looking down at the ground. 

“That was the stupidest fucking thing you could have done,” Wooyoung growled. “I thought I could trust you.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry enough,” Y/N teared up. “I really mean that.”

Wooyoung didn’t respond as he turned back around and stared out of his window. The rest of the ride back to their mansion was in silence.

San pulled into the driveway and parked the vehicle in front of the mansion. Wooyoung got out of the front seat, opened the back door where Y/N was sitting. She smiled and reached her hand out for him to grab. However, Wooyoung ignored her little gesture and grabbed a hold of Y/N’s wrist, pulling her harshly behind him.

Wooyoung threw the front open, pulling her inside behind him, seeing Jongho standing at the bottom of the staircase with his arms crossed. 

“The Dragon is waiting for you in his office,” Jongho announced.

Wooyoung nodded, pulling Y/N down a hallway into a room that she was never in before. San and Jongho followed behind, closing the door behind them.

“Bring her here,” Seonghwa growled from behind his desk. His face was barely visible due to the poorly lit room.

Wooyoung did as he was told and violently yanked Y/N across the room.

“So this is Y/N?” Seonghwa asked, cocking his head while examining her. “A bit disappointing, I must say.”

Hongjoong, who was sitting on the sofa with all of the other members of their gang, started laughing. “I thought the same damn thing,” he announced.

Wooyoung shot Hongjoong a look of death as a red glint once again flashed through his eyes.

Seonghwa put his hand up, signaling he wanted silence, “you sure know how to make a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asked.

“Umm, who are you?” Y/N wondered, ignoring his question.

Jongho spoke up, “this isn’t the time for you to be asking any questions, little girl.”

Y/N glared at Jongho, “I think I have a right to know who I’m speaking with. Thank you very much.”

“Why is this bitch so unruly?” Jongho asked, smacking the back of Mingi’s head with his hand. “Haven’t you guys learned anything about proper hostage procedures?”

“I am not a hostage,” Y/N proclaimed.

“I mean it kind of appears you are,” Yunho smiled.

“Enough!” Seonghwa growled. “Wooyoung take the girl to your room for tonight. We will discuss this and what will come of her in the morning.”

Wooyoung nodded and started pulling Y/N’s arm again.

“Wait what do you mean, ‘what will come of me’? What’s going to happen? What are you going to do to me?” Y/N panicked as she was drug out of the room.

Seonghwa nodded at Jongho and he walked over, closing the door after Wooyoung and Y/N were gone.

“Where did you find the bitch?” Seonghwa asked.

“Shin Hoseok had her in an alley,” San explained. “He was in the process of strangling her, when we got there.”

“Hmmmm,” Seonghwa contemplated as he sat back in his chair. “Why is this bitch so damn important to them?”

“She has shown us no reason for anyone to want her,” Hongjoong declared.

“Well I’d want her,” Yunho announced, “If she was dead, of course.”

A look of disgust crawled across Mingi’s face, “what’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa said.

Yeosang looked up from his lap top, “Yea?”.

“I need you to get a camera on that window and an alarm, San, you need to keep your eagle hearing active and listen for any sound of concern. This SHALL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. Understood?” Seonghwa commanded.

All the boys nodded. Before they were able to exit the room, Seongwha cleared his throat making everyone turn back to look at him. 

“I forgot to mention,” Seonghwa said, looking up from his desk. “I brought a guest back with me, who will be staying here for a few weeks. I expect you all to treat him with as much respect as you treat me.”

“Who is it?” Yunho asked.

“You will all meet him tomorrow.” Seonghwa announced, waving his hand, “now get out of here and do as you were told.”

No one asked another question, they all just turned back around and exited Seonghwa’s office.

♥️♠️Meanwhile♦️♣️

A woman walked up to the body of Hoseok, along side of another man. Two men dressed in suits followed closely behind.

“Where is Y/N?” the woman asked.

“I don’t know, she must've gotten away,” the man standing next to the woman answered.

“Well clearly she got away,” the woman growled. “Where were you when this happened, Woojin?”

Woojin took a long, exacerbated breath before speaking, “I was on my way. I told him to wait till I got here, but Hoseok didn’t listen.”

“So this is your fault then?” the woman smirked.

“Medusa, I swear this wasn’t my fault at all,” Woojin scrambled for words.

“Of course it was your fault, you should have been with him like I ordered,” Medusa argued placing a hand on his shoulder. “But it’s ok, we all make mistakes.”

“Thank you for being so understanding” Woojin whimpered.

“Oh I understand completely. I gave you an order and you didn’t listen and now one my best men is dead,” Medusa smirked. “Someone needs to pay for this.”

“I will get revenge for you,” Woojin announced, trembling in fear.

“No,” Medusa shook her head, “I can no longer trust that you can follow my orders.”

“I can I swear,” Woojin pleaded.

“Here,” Medusa said holding out a silver dagger, “Take this and stab yourself in the thigh,” she commanded.

Woojin stared at her with a blank look on his face, confused on what he should really do. He weighed his decisions and as he went to grab for the dagger, Medusa coldly stabbed it into his lower abdomen. With a look of pleasure on her face she pulled the dagger up to Woojin’s chest cavity, carving everything in the way. The gaping hole in his body allowed his intestines to fall out onto the ground, his body falling hard on top.

“I can’t have any weak links in my establishment,” Medusa smirked, walking away from Woojin’s lifeless body. “I’m coming for you Y/N, I hope you’re ready.”

♥️𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟 ♠️𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝♦️𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝♣️

♥️♠️𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽♦️♣️

@stayatinykatsy

[enjoythesilentworld]

💜

Quiet Me (Wille -> Simon)

Hi anon <3

very typical of me to let a drabble turn into 1.1k ... anyway i hope you enjoy pain. it's an angsty one.

send me a prompt and i'll write a 'drabble'!

Micke doesn’t show up for Sara’s engagement party and Simon has had enough.

The party was beautiful. Small and intimate, but beautiful. Sara flitted around the flower-covered garden in her pretty white dress, showing off her ring and smiling like the sun. Family and friends scattered across the grass, sipping on cool drinks and chatting, celebrating the couple’s happy engagement. All their family and friends, except for one.

It pained Wille, on such a beautiful day, to see the clouds slowly gather over Simon’s head as the day went on. Watching the tension gather in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow, the anxious flit of his eyes to the entrance gate. He did a good job of concealing it to most people. Simon was good at that. Wille, though, knew better. And surely, if she wasn’t so distracted by the party, Sara would’ve noticed as well.

Linda saw it, too, and did her best to soothe the situation, but Simon smiled tightly and gently shook her off, likely not wanting to distract from the celebrations. She exchanged a glance with Wille as Simon walked off, his fingers twitching at his sides. Wille nodded slightly as a silent confirmation that he knew and he’d be there to catch him, then went off after Simon.

For the rest of the party, Simon stayed mostly silent, gaze always on either Sara or the gate. Wille stayed by his side. He tried to tell a joke or two but received either a half-glance and forced smile or was totally ignored. When Wille put a comforting hand on Simon’s back, Simon brushed him off and mumbled something about the refreshments table before slipping out of his reach.

What was worse was Sara didn’t seem too bothered by his absence anymore. There had been one moment, about thirty minutes into the party, when he saw Sara and Simon disappear together. They’d returned, Sara wiping her eyes and Simon with a protective arm around her shoulders. But, now, Sara looked to have forgotten it, or at least decided not to let it ruin her day. Simon, on the other hand, had taken the burden from her and was feeling it tenfold.

He held it together, as he always did, through the end of the party. After being shooed away when Simon attempted to help clean up, after one final, knowing glance between Wille and Linda, they headed off. The car ride was dead silent. Wille in the driver seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel and glancing too often over at Simon. Simon in the passenger seat, glaring out the window and dutifully ignoring Wille’s stare. In the darkness of the late evening, the streetlights passed over his face, highlighting the mistiness of his eyes and how he chewed on his bottom lip.

It wasn’t really about Simon. It was about Micke hurting Sara. Micke could’ve missed his and Wille’s wedding and Simon wouldn’t have batted an eye. He’d have wrapped it all up tightly and hidden it away and Wille would’ve had to fight to get him to admit he was upset about it. This time, he only hid his anger and sadness about it to protect Sara, to protect Linda, to prepare himself to comfort someone else, never himself.

The front door to their home had barely shut behind Wille when he saw Simon storming off towards the bedroom.

Before he could get away and shut down even more, Wille started, “Simon—”

In the hallway, he froze but kept his back turned to Wille.

“He swore,” Simon said quietly, his shoulders now up to his ears, muscles tensed and shaking. “He swore he was coming.”

Wille bit his lip and took a few steps forward. “I know. I’m s—”

He snapped his mouth shut when Simon continued, voice growing in volume, anger radiating off him, “And it’s all my fault her day is ruined because I convinced her. I’m the one who convinced her we should maintain contact and convinced her that he’d really show up this time and fucking didn’t.” Simon whirled around, eyes lit with fire and filling with tears. “He promised he would be there for her! And it was all bullshit. Just like every fucking time and every fucking time I believe it'll be different!”

By the end, Simon was shouting, though his voice shook, and Wille took another step forward, arms out low and wide. “It’s not—”

The first few tears spilled over the edge, and Simon furiously wiped them away, still yelling, “How many more times? How many more times do I have to watch him do this to her?”

Wille stayed quiet, letting him talk through it, itching to reach forward and pull him into his arms but knowing he had to wait.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.” He was nearly sobbing now, sucking in breaths and shaking his head. Wille couldn’t wait any longer, he rushed forward and gathered Simon into his arms just as he started to collapse to the floor. “He promised me.”

It was about Sara, but it was also, buried underneath all the loyalty and endless love for others, about Simon. It was about all the missed soccer games and school recitals. Thousands of raised hopes and broken promises. It was about Simon trying to protect everyone else without protecting himself. It was about Simon giving Micke a thousand chances because he had a heart of gold and pretending it didn’t hurt him every time things went wrong.

He cried into Wille’s shoulder, them curled up on the floor, hands gripping tightly to Wille’s shirt. Wille held him just as tightly, mumbling sweet, calming words into his ear and running a soothing hand over his back.

“What am I doing wrong?” Simon whispered, so brokenly. Wille shook his head and pressed a kiss into Simon’s curls.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Why isn’t it enough?”

“It’s more than enough,” Wille said softly, peeling back to meet Simon’s eyes and taking his face in his hands. He wiped away the tears as they continued to stream down his cheeks. “It is not your fault.”  

They stayed down there, sitting on the hardwood floor, until Simon mostly stopped crying and only sniffed occasionally, picking at a loose thread on Wille’s jeans. Wille mumbled, “Come on,” and moved them into the bedroom. He helped Simon peel off his clothes, then took off his own, and they climbed into the cool sheets together, never separating for more than a second.

Into the darkness, Wille whispered, “It’s good that you give people more than one chance. But you’re allowed to be upset about it, too.”

Simon didn’t speak, but he settled further into Wille, breathing him in.

“You are good, Simon. So good.”

“I love you,” he mumbled into Wille’s chest, voice laced with sleep. “Thank you. For being here.”

It had been a long day.

“I love you. And I will always be here.”

[thelovelymissbigbadwolf]

The Stardew Valley Disaster

They create their characters as usual, with Cloud hosting the server, Angeal, Sephiroth and Genesis requiring the help of Zack to enter.

How did they got the game in the first time? Zack humbly asked Kunsel to find out their emails and hack them in order to create accounts for each, of which Kunsel was responsible for creating.

Even though Zack begged Kunsel to play, he refused, saying he had played enough for the year (aka 400+ hours of SDV)

G: How the hell did you even made those accounts for us?

Z: Secret Santa.

S: You're not smart enough to figure it out on your own. Kunsel or Reno?

Z: Secret S— UH, RUDE?!

A: Rude knows how to hack?

Z: NO! I'm calling Sephiroth rude!

S: No you.

C: Alright server's done, you guys can come in.

After long thirty minutes of AGS making their characters, they went to the loading screen. Since they each had their laptops on the conference room, they could just go local.

Cloud chose Meadowlands, meaning they each started with 15 Hay pieces instead of Parsnip.

And, after Cloud telling them to skip the cutscene, the chaos begun.

Spring, Day #1

The Firsts are shown the Coop and the two chicks, Chip and Dale.

Angeal immediately fall in love with the game.

S: Can we eat them?

A: *slaps the nape of S's neck*

S: OW WHAT GIVES?!

A: Touch them and you're dead meat.

Sephiroth did not ever touched the chicks again or got close to the coop.

Zack teaches Angeal to set the Hay, simple enough.

Genesis got out to explore the sightings, commenting on whoever he sees.

G: Why is there a hobo here? Is that his tent?

C: Oh, must be Linus, he—

G: Can I toss rocks at him and make him leave?

C: ... This is not Animal Crossing, sir.

G: But I don't want a hobo in my village.

C: Too bad, suck it up.

G: Are you forgetting who you're talking to, Cadet?

Z: Uh... Guys?

A: Genesis don't be an asshole at the first person you meet.

G: Ugh. "A stranger? Hello. Don't mind me. I just live out here alone." Hobo.

C: Talk to him one more time.

G: "... Have you come to ridicule me? I'm just minding my own business."

C: And what're you doing?

G: Ridiculing him and I'd do it again.

Zack punches him and starts calling him names, Angeal took him out, scolded the living hell out of him and Genesis has a black eye. It's still 7am in game.

Zack then went to Pelican Town and greeted everyone excitedly and gave a Wild Horseradish.

Z: I'M SO SORRY FOR MY STUPID DUMBASS FRIEND, LINUS!

G: THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!

C: SHUT IT THE TWO OF YOU OR I'M TURNING THE SERVER OFF!

They did shut it.

Angeal went on to clean the farm complaining on the poor maintenance of the place and how lazy their (in game) grandfather is, he then passed out of exhaustion and Cloud calmly explained the mechanics.

A: But that makes no sense, if I'm already a farmer, why would I pass out because of some trees?!

Z: They fell on your head. *Giggle*

A: WHAT?! THAT'S A THING IN THIS GAME?!

C: No! It's not, and we were not farmers prior to that, we worked in an office.

A: Since when— WHY WOULD HE LEAVE A FARM IN SOMEONE INEXPERIENCED?!

C: Why would people hire an inexperienced idiot for a high ranking job?

A:

S: He has a point.

G: Can't deny that.

Z: It's like the vice president.

S: Spoiled kid getting his way before throwing a tantrum.

C: It's not really our case in the game, though, but anyway...

Angeal asked Sephiroth to finish his job since he still had a full energy bar and so he went. He passed out of exhaustion.

Then Genesis went to the beach and met Elliot.

G: Oh! He's elegant! "Ah, the new farmer we've all been expecting... and whose arrival has sparked many a conversation! I'm Elliott... I live in the little cabin by the beach. It's a pleasure to meet you."

C: He's one of the six bachelors.

S: What's a bachelor?

Z: Means you can romance them!

G: WHAT?!

A: There's relationships in this game?

G: AND SEX?!

C: Yes and NO!

Z: But with mods—

C: WE ARE NOT USING MODS!

G: "I can't seem to find the inspiration to begin writing my novel...” HE'S A WRITER??

Z: UGH! GET OFF YOUR FUCKING DUNGEON YOU EMO! I WANNA BEFRIEND YOU GODDAMNIT—

Genesis goes back home once it darkens and Cloud instructs him to sell whatever he found.

Zack goes back and puts what he found.

Cloud does the same.

In the end, there were a few forage items from Genesis. Spring Onions from Cloud. Trash from Zack.

To be continued...

[theglitchywriterboi]

DEATHS DINER CHAPTER ONE [DRAFT TWO]

Authors note:

Okay, so I'm not gonna post the first 11 chapters of draft two [not that I've gotten that far] as I'm writing all 5 books before finishing the second draft of Deaths Diner, so it'll probably change loads BUT I THOUGHT IT'D STILL BE FUN TO POST THIS SO ENJOY & LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK [& how you think it compares to draft ones chapter one !!!!] Anyway, on to the chapter <3

It was an abnormally cool day. The sky was its normal tint of grey though, so Vlad paid it no mind. His thoughts far off from the world around him as he gently stroked his sleeping boyfriend Tricks head, fingers moving through thick dark brown & orange curls, slowly grazing the bullet hole on his head.

Sat on the fountain, thunder rumbled in the distance, which wasn’t scheduled for today, but Vlad was too lost in his own world to notice.

He looked down at his sleeping boyfriends head, removing his hand from Tricks hair, moving it down to softly rub his soft golden brown cheek.

No one really came here besides Vlad & two other people, one of which being Trick. It was mostly barren around these parts. The ground was a dark grey, only a bit darker than the sky above it. There wasn’t much if any foliage, besides some dead bushes & trees - even those were sparse. But Vlad loved it here.

He loved days like this - being able to sit & relax with his boyfriend. Days like this didn’t come often anymore. Even today his father had called him six times, but Vlad ignored every call. He knew this would come back to bite him, but he didn’t care.

His father had gotten more intense about training him.

It’s not like Vlad was to take over anytime remotely soon, but his father for whatever reason acted as though any day now he’d take over.

Vlad thought this was weird. Before, his father would’ve had to have been forced by higher ups to bring Vlad along, but now he had a million & one things he needed Vlad for.

Rain dripped from the sky, causing Trick to begin to stir. They had been previously been watching the clouds above slowly drift before Vlad had fallen asleep. Rain wasn’t planned for today.

“Fuck whys it rainin’” Trick grumbled, groggy from just being awoken, “Did one of your siblings mess with the weather or something again?”

“Um, I don’t believe they have - they normally send me a message,” Vlad said. He uncoiled the antennas wrapped around his neck, checking to see if he had any miss messages. Just as he suspected, he did not. “Plus remember the last time they messed with the weather? The weather guy nearly killed them,” The two laughed at the memory. Thunder roared even louder than before, but the two were too engrossed in their conversation to pay it any mind.

His siblings were accustom to mayhem. Ages ago, they had gotten all the Lites to for walls around the residents homes. Vlad thought that was particularly mean given circumstances, but they didn’t mess with the residents often.

Another time, they had put some Lites in the river, so when Vlad was doing his work, a bunch of Lites ambushed him. Unfortunately, they had done this when Vlads father had been inspecting his work - he knew they planned for it as they all knew when his father comes down.

But the aforementioned messing with the weather. Not horribly long ago, only about a decade or two, they had broken into The Weathermans tower & messed with the controls. Vlad didn’t quite understand how they were able to, given the fact the buttons are on him, and while he’s by far not a small fellow, Vlad just didn’t understand how it took him around thirty minutes to realize.

Vlad was the youngest of his siblings & his older siblings were accustom to pissing people off. Not all of his siblings lived here - only four did. They were the troublemakers… Well, three of them were. But he doesn’t like to think about the other too much. His other two, not so much. They were both a bit rebellious & outspoken. The Weatherman & his father hated them for that. Not like he & his troublemaking siblings were obedient, not at all. But those two were hard to convince to do something they didn’t believe in. With his other siblings [and himself] they just couldn’t be bothered to kick up a fuss about most things. Only one was like those two, the oldest. But…

“Yeah I mean - you know how bad you have to screw up to piss someone off so much so they almost kill something that can’t die?” Trick said with a laugh.

Footsteps pounded on the concrete as someone ran in their direction. Vlad & Trick stopped talking to see who it was.

Treat - Tricks sister & Vlads friend, was running towards them. Her dark brown & orange curls were pulled into a ponytail atop her head. Instead of her hair cascading down her back, the curls stuck up in the air, though a few fell down her face on either side - she had the same golden brown skin as Trick. Though instead of a bullet hole, she had a large gash on her neck.

As she ran towards them, Vlad could see her eyebrows were furrowed & her face wore a frown.

“D-did you guys hear that?” She asked, her voice shaking with anxiety & panic. Her eyes were glued to the sky, as if it were about to fall out at any second.

“That thunder? Its probably nothing,” Trick said dismissively while Vlad nodded in agreement, “It’s probably just maintenance or somethin’”. That was plausible to Vlad. If it wasn’t his siblings screwing around, then The Weatherman was probably doing unscheduled maintenance. It wasn’t at all common for him to do it with no notice, but it wasn’t unheard of either.

Treat shook her head at that.

“I-I just went to see him - he had no idea what was happening. His buttons weren’t working either,” She explained. Now that was alarming to Vlad. Him not knowing what was happening was extremely concerning - even when people were screwing with the weather, he still knew he could feel the buttons being clicked & pressed for one thing, but his buttons not working? He hardly left his tower anymore, not since he disappeared, but he could still feel every change in the environment. And he always knew the cause.

Trick was about to dismiss the notion something was wrong once more when Vlad cut him off.

“Are you sure?” Vlad asked seriously. He had no reason to ask - she wasn’t a joker like that. At least not anymore. Not as long as he’s known her. But he had to be sure.

Just like he thought, she nodded. “Y-yeah,” She began, stumbling over her words as she spoke “I-I was over at the diner when when I-I heard the first clap of thunder, s-so I went to go see him to see what was up as this wasn’t scheduled a-and he was all panick-y & ushered me out” She explained. That was even more concerning. He was a dick sometimes, but he was never panicked. Not even when someone messed with the controls. Not to mentioned he LOVED Treat - so much so he joked that until her & Tricks parents died he’d be her fill-in father [he didn’t extend the same sentiment towards Trick]. That was something in itself as he hated most beings. There was only one person he liked other than her.

Shes more or less his mentee, he loved teaching her things, so for him to rush her out? Something must’ve really shaken him.

Vlad thought for a moment, before standing abruptly, causing Trick to fall off his lap.

“Hey!” Trick pouted, but neither paid him any mind. Vlad felt his anxiety rise to Treats level as the conversation pressed on.

“What do you think is wrong?” Vlad asked. He presumed she wouldn’t know anymore than he did - if The Weatherman didn’t know what was up yet, he doubted she would’ve.

“I-I don’t know,” She began, before she took a moment to remember the events that led her here, “I did hear a crash - a-at least I think I did,”

Vlad tensed. None of this should be happening - at least not now, he wasn’t trained for it to happen now.

“Where did the crash come from?” He asked. Maybe it’s unrelated. Maybe its a completely different thing to freak out over.

Treat though for a moment, before looking around, & pointing northeast from the spot they were currently at, “Uhm… Over there,” She said. Just as Vlad feared. There were only two things in that direction. Vlads siblings & the door.

He thought for a moment on what they should do before he decided to speak, “We should check it out,” He said, attempting to making his voice sound more confident in this choice than he actually was.

In response to his idea, Trick groaned while Treat flapped her hands up & down.

“I-I think we should tell your dad,” She said, fidgeting with her hands & looking around as she spoke.

Trick, who already wasn’t pleased with the notion of trekking all the way to wherever that crash happened, scrunched up his nose at the thought of going to see Vlads father. Vlad wasn’t thrilled with the idea either.

“Do you want to tell him?” He asked. It was well known that although his father ran The Waiting Room [where the dead go before they’re placed in an afterlife], he hated the dead - even though he ruled over them. He seemed to have a particular disdain for Trick & Treat, especially Treat. Perhaps it was because she was so friendly with The Weatherman. That was Vlads best guess at the very least.

“W-well no…” She trailed off as she spoke, still anxiously fiddling, something she normally did. Vlads father was also very busy & while he called Vlad all the time now, he still hated being contacted when he wasn’t the one to reach out to him. Vlad contacting him would probably result in the same fury that would’ve been sparked had Treat contacted him.

“Exactly,” He replied, before turning he attention to Trick.

“Well I don’t wanna go!” He said stubbornly. “I don’t wanna go on a wild goose chase for something that’s probably just your older siblings dicking around. I just wanna stay here & relax & cuddle” He said with a frown, “Plus on the chance there is something wrong - that sounds like a lot of work & I don’t want to end up double dead” Vlad laughed in response to the last addition to Tricks rant.

Vlad bent down to Tricks eye-level, grabbed his hand, & softly spoke, “My love, you cannot be double dead, I’ve told you this before,” He began, “Plus, when was the last time we did something adventurous?”

“I can think of plenty of adventurous things we did last night,” Trick replied with a stupid grin & a wink, causing Vlad to momentarily lose his composer. “And you don’t know that! What if there’s zombies & they try to eat me?”

“I uh- We-” Vlad started, stumbling over his words, face still hot from what Trick had said, “When was the last time we, the three of us did something adventurous,” He clarified “And I told you - zombies aren’t a thing here!”

“Well weather The Weatherman can’t stop isn’t a thing here either,” Trick rebutted. While the two debated on if they should go, Treat stood there watching the two, not intervening in support of either side. Though Vlad knew she was wary of going, so while he assumed she also didn’t put much stock into her brothers arguments, it was a safe bet to guess she wanted Trick to win. In any other situation he would’ve dropped it, but… If this is what he thinks it was, it was far too important for him to let go.

“Come on, I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Vlad tried “And I thought you liked risks” he joked, poking at Tricks bullet hole on his head. To the unfamiliar, this may have been a tasteless joke - the other dead sure didn’t like him making that joke to Trick whenever the three trekked to town. But it’s been ages since Trick died, so he was no longer hurt by the thought of his passing.

“Hey, this wasn’t my fault! One of my few injuries that actually wasn’t due to me dicking around,” He said, even though that wasn’t wholly true, it was mostly true though, “Fiiiinnnnnnneeeeeee, I’ll go… But if I die, you’ve got to visit me in Super Hell, got it?”

“If double death becomes a thing & in turn makes Super Hell a thing, yes, I will visit you,”

Vlad stood brushing dirt off his knees as he did, before holding out his hand to help Trick stand, which he accepted.

Once both boys were standing, Vlad turned to Treat, “Are you ready to go?” He asked. She paused for a moment, anxiously fidgeting with her hands.

“Oh uh… Y-yeah of course!”

Let's go then!” Vlad said with a smile. And so the three headed off in the direction of the crash, and unfortunately, where The Door was.

Living in this world was pretty nice - in Vlads opinion at least. He of course was biased, seeing as he rarely left it. And for one of the underworlds [or rather, the waiting room for all of them], it was very pleasant.

It was dark and gloomy like most of them yes, but there was an ever-present sense of cheer.

The Deaths would bring the dead here to assign them an afterlife to go to.

Some went to a more… Traditional idea of hell/the bad afterlife. Some went to a specialized death place - car crash deaths, murder victims, etc. young deaths - normally young adults or teens 15 or older [for humans at least - the cut off/start depends on what species you are. Theres some 80 year olds there, to a human like Trick & Treat thats beyond elderly, but to an elf thats practically a tween] went to a universe of their own, while people younger than that normally stayed here until their parents/guardians passed. Not all left though. Though the majority went to either a good afterlife or a practicing afterlife. Where they had the capacity to learn & grow before their final placement. Not all learned.

It was a long complex process, so there was a town were people stayed before placement. After the shock of dying & the fear of being all alone, people enjoyed branching out. Making friends with other dead people, talking about their life before dying, where they think they’ll go. It was nice.

Time also worked differently here. 1 year could pass in a normal universe, while 700 pass here, but then 20 years could pass in the same normal one, but only five months would’ve passed here. It was confusing, for Vlad & the town folk.

No one really lived here full time besides Vlad, The Deaths, Vlads Father, & The Weatherman. Trick & Treat were very special cases - something Vlads father tried to fight, but after The Old Ones talked to him, he had to relent. He did retaliate by making the trios lives [or lack there of in the twins case] a living hell any chance he could. Even their most long-lasting residents weren’t permanent, at least they hope they weren’t.

Vlads antennas buzzed as he sensed his father was calling him. He shook it away. Today was his off time, he wasn’t on call. Whatever it was, it could wait until tomorrow.

As they walked, they passed The River Of Souls.

The river was filled with lost souls - those who had panicked upon learning they were dead. It wasn’t a normal stress or panic, most people didn’t handle it well. Expecting beings to react rationally when learning of their demise was an unrealistic assumption. This was more. It was more intense than your average panic or mourning the life you had.

It was hard to decern, unless you were associated with the death system. Even after years of being here, Trick & Treat still didn’t fully understand.

“We should stop for a second,” Vlad said. The other two stopped, while Vlad walked over to where he kept his fishing pole.

Some souls were able to be fished out - that was Vlads job [part at least]. While the majority… They were doomed to bob around aimlessly in the river forever. He hoped it was nice afterlife for them. The sound of their wails was something the trio were used to at this point.

He had seen one though that appeared to be ready to come out.

He threw a line in near the area he had seen the soul & waited. There was no special way to get them out, the pole was just a conduit that gave the lost ready enough of a connection to pull themselves out.

Finally, after a few moments of waiting, there was a tug.

Vlad held tightly onto his pole. The pull wasn’t too hard, but it was only a matter of time before.

“WAAAAHHH-” Vlad shouted. He had being doing this job for ages, but sometimes they were a bit more aggressive than usual, causing Vlad to on occasion [like this one] to stumble forward. He turned his foot to be parallel with the river, and dug it as hard a he could into the ground to prevent himself from falling in.

See, the lost souls - the ones still unready to come out of the river, didn’t like it when one left.

Vlad watched as other souls pulled the ready one, attempting to make it stay.

Leaving wasn’t just about wanting to & feeling ready. They also had to be strong enough. It wasn’t a matter of literal physical strength - they didn’t have a physical form, they were equal sized balls of blue light. It was a matter of mental strength. At least thats what Vlad believed.

The soul pulled on the pole, while the others pulled on it. Vlad almost thought it was doomed to be lost once more when it popped out.

Vlad grabbed his net, barely catching it before it smacked onto the dirt ground.

“What are you gonna do with ‘em?” Trick asked.

“Ah well… I’ll just carry them until we can bring them to town. A little field trip I suppose, before they get their temporary home?”

“How sweet of you,” Treat said jokingly, “Can I see them?” She asked. She & Trick both enjoyed coming to the river with him, but Treat particularly enjoyed spending time with the lost.

The sound of heavy boots & guns clinking & clacking together filled their ears, while the strong sent of gunpowder filled the air.

Oh no Vlad thought to himself. He was about to try & hide Trick, Treat, & the recovered soul, but due to the fact the land was as barren as ever & a tall figure was already looming over them, he didn’t have time.

One of his older siblings.

“HEEEEEYYYYYY VLADDY!” Sling shouted, as they rushed over to them, before pulling Vlad into a big bear hug & lifting him high off the ground.

“Hi Sling…” Vlad replied. Don’t get him wrong - he loved his siblings, but they, especially Sling, could be… A lot. “Can you put me down now?”

“Oh right,” They said, putting him down.

Vlad took after his father, but Sling having being spawned through different means & for a different purpose, the two didn’t look similar. Though Vlad didn’t resemble any of his siblings. Sling for example, like the others of their siblings that were produce in the same manner for the same purpose, was extremely tall. Vlad, compared to humans, wasn’t short, but compare to his own? He was tiny.

Where Sling differed from their siblings was their attire. They wore a long black trench coat, with black boots, & a black mask that obscured their face. Guns could be seen inside their coat, along with several on their back.

“So, what are you three doing all the way out here?” Sling asked.

“That’s really none of your business, we’re kind of in a hurry-” Vlad said. He didn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it did. But it was true - they were in a hurry. Trick & Treat may not realize why they were in such a hurry, but they were. Vlad attempted to start walking when Sling grabbed him by the collar, stopping him in his tracks.

“Oh I think it very much is my business little bro. You know you’re not supposed to be over here in any situation, so it’d be a shame if I was forced to tell your dad you AND your friends were wondering around over here,” Sling said. Vlad knew they probably weren’t going to tell his father - they hated him just as much [hell, maybe a bit more] than Vlad did. But at the same time… Sling was a wildcard at times & did enjoy causing problems… Vlad thought for a minute before responding.

“Fine,” He began begrudgingly, “Treat heard a crash in this direction, so we’re going to check it out…” He said. He attempted to not indicate where exactly they were going, but either Sling was too smart & knew Vlad enough, or they had also heard the crash, but didn’t bother checking it out until now.

“Going to the door huh? You were always the more behaved one of us - but I like the switch up. Sounds fun! I’ll be right back, don’t go without me or I’ll tell your dad!” They shouted excitedly, trotting off to go do who knows what. Vlad tried to call out after them, but it was no use.

There wasn’t much out here - a few buildings where Vlads siblings lived, as well as the diner [though not in the direction Sling went nor in the direction Vlad was planning to go].

“W-where do you think they’re going?” Treat asked quietly. They could be doing anything. Going to the door themselves to check out the situation, or just general dicking around. Knowing them they could be gone for hours before deciding to waltz back here.

“I have no idea,” He sighed. He loved his siblings, but they could be a handful at times. Especially the ones that resided here. It seemed as though all his more mellow[ish] siblings left here…

A good few minutes passed & Vlad was about ready to suggest they just go, when the strong sent of chemicals filled the air, nearly making him choke.

Turning around he saw Sling with two people following close behind them.

One jumped & moved around manically, laughing & talking to themselves. Xe held several glass bottles & vials in xyr hand. Xe had even more bottles & vials on a holster wrapped around xyr boney body, it formed an X around xem. Xe were wearing ripped [or burnt?] brown shorts & no shoes or socks.

The other was stood there stoically, her long black dress flowing behind her. She had a longsword on her back. While he couldn’t see them, Vlad knew she always had knives & daggers hidden all over her body. Compared to Sling & the other, she seemed very annoyed to be here.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sling said, moving forward towards the door.

“Clay? Nic? What did they tell you?” Vlad asked.

“They said you were planning on checking out the door,” Clay said, her voice bland & bored. She enjoyed messing with Vlad as much as her other siblings did, as well as watching the three panic exploring places only meant for deaths [not that they were allowed to often], but talking? That wasn’t something she was too fond of.

Nic didn’t say anything, only nodding xyr head up & down enthusiastically through twitchy pulls & movements.

“That’s- we’re not not going to- ugh, whatever… Lets just go now?” Vlad grumbled.

With that they set off.

Vlad lead the way to the door, Treat still held onto the soul Vlad almost forgot it was there, until she spoke up.

“A-are we bringing them with us?” She asked after a few minutes of walking.

That was something he had forgotten to factor in. It wasn’t the best idea for a soul, especially a newly healed one, to get near the door. He really should’ve considered this sooner…

Before he could come up with a response though, Sling plucked the newly UN-lost soul out of the net, adjusting their stance, before dropping the soul & kicking it as hard as they could far off in the distance.

Then they turned around & kept walking.

“Why did you do that?!” Vlad exclaimed.

“What? It needed to get to town, so I kicked it to town. Much faster than waiting for us to get done with whatever you’ve got planned,” They explained matter factly.

“That- you could’ve-” Vlad was at a loss for words, so when it became clear he couldn’t formulate a response, they all kept walking. This time with Sling leading their trek, though Vlad followed close behind them.

Soon they reached the furthest point Vlad had previously been allowed to go. A large withering oak tree stood before them, a large dark forest laid behind it. That’s where the door was.

They all began to step in.

It was unnaturally dark in the forest. No light of any kind - even on the rare occasion The Weatherman planned a sunny day [not that today was one of them], the forest was always… Unaffected. Drowning in darkness. Only one person could light it up, but they we’re here right now. Flashlights & Artificial lights did work, but not too well, not that Vlad had the foresight to attempt to bring anything anyway.

Vlad stood close behind Sling, who was walking through the forest with ease. There were no trails or paths of any kind, it seemed as though the deaths walked through these trees by memory alone, all while leaving no tell they were there.

“Aren’t you glad we came?” Sling joked, nudging Vlad in the arm.

Clay took lead this time, while Sling followed behind her. Vlad was behind Sling, practically glued to them due to the darkness. He didn’t know what order Trick, Treat, & Nic were in.

Leaves crunched beneath the deaths heavy boots as they made their way deeper inside the forest. It was dark outside the forest, but inside? Inside it was basically fully black. But his siblings walked through with ease, while he stumbled into every tree, tripped over every rock, & repeatedly got a face full of leaves.

Deaths had better vision than most other life forms - Vlads kind included. It was something that came up so little, it still surprised Vlad how effortlessly they moved in the darkness. While he did have better sight than Trick & Treats kind, it was nowhere near the level of the deaths. He wondered, if it was this dark for him, how dark was it for Trick & Treat? Or was it so dark, that it could no longer be compared?

“Wait wait wait,” Trick said, breaking the silence that had previously only been filled with the sound of rustling leaves & branches breaking. “I think we should link up”

“What?” Sling asked.

“Ya know - make a chain so we don’t keep running into shit?” Trick explained. It took a moment for Sling to respond.

“Um… Okay… You guys do that then.” They said.

So Trick, Treat, & Vlad attempted to do so. Vlad cautiously stepped, practically shuffling around while aimlessly feeling the air. A few moments went by, when Sling let out an impatient sigh, before a hand grabbed Vlads, & stuck it into someone else's, before moving on.

“There, can we go now?” Sling asked, having connected the currently sightless. Vlad nodded, though he wasn’t even sure if Sling was looking at him, but when he felt another hand grab his currently available one & start walking, it was safe to assume they had seen him.

“Oh uh - Maybe someone with better vision should stay in the back so they can see if someone gets lost?” Treat suggested.

“Nics back there,” Sling dismissed.

“Maybe she means someone whos a bit more… Open to talking?” Vlad replied.

Sling just sighed, before the sound of shuffling could be heard, but no one let go of Vlads hand, so he presumed it wasn’t Sling. A fact that would be confirmed a moment later.

“Thank you Clay-e,” Sling said in an annoying playful tone. Vlad heard her grunt in response - which was her nice was of saying ‘you’re welcome’.

Based off the sound of people talking, Sling was now leading the group, with Vlad directly behind them, Trick held Vlads hand, & he assumed Treat held Tricks hand. He didn’t know if Clay was after Treat or if it was Nic. If it was the latter, that’d be unfortunate, because while Nic was harmless [at least to the already dead], xe did scare Treat. When asked she couldn’t explain why, it was simply xyr intensity. Clay probably wouldn’t bother her, but in all honesty, as far as Vlad could tell, it seemed as though Treat had a crush on her. But a crush is a lot better than being scared.

They walked through the darkness, not really talking, just focusing on their destination [and for Vlad, not tripping & bashing his head in. Just because Trick & Treat couldn’t die doesn’t mean he was granted the same privilege].

Vlad almost wanted to ask Sling if they were almost to the door when, after what felt like forever… He felt like he could actually see something.

It was a bit disorienting going from full black to light.

In the distance, bright blue & green lights filled up the forest. But there was something else. Vlad was sure Sling had noticed it at the same time he had, because as his eyes trailed down from the tall trees now illuminated, there was a soft, barely visible [to Vlad] red glow.

Vlad didn’t know what it was, but he knew it couldn’t be any good, given the fact Slings hand tensed upon seeing it.

[choccyhearts]

Love Rollercoaster - Ohio Players - Steve Harrington x Reader (18+!!)

Note: i thought this idea would be fun because i am cravinggg to go on a rollercoaster lmao,,,, also, side note, anyone else always think of that final destination scene when they here this song? iykyk..

CW: 18+!! Fem/afab!reader, p in v, light bondage, dirty talk, talk of rollercoasters (obvs)

Summary: "After Steve shows you all of his favorite rides, you show him yours..."

"Your love is like a rollercoaster baby"

♡♡♡

The sun's scorching temperature is nothing compared to the flames erupting in your tummy. Today, your boyfriend Steve decided to take you to an amusement park. A cliché summer activity but always fun.

Steve is a huuge fan of thrill rides and he's always wanted to take you along with him for the ride. All day he dragged you around the park, line after line, loop after loop, scream after scream. He held your hand during each ride, squeezing it tightly as your bodies were tossed around and flipped.

"God, wasn't that one so fun! It was a rush!", he'd say after each ride. You'd nod along, agreeing but slightly distracted. As the day went on, Steve's cherished hair was a mess. Strands were sticking out wildly and looked how it did after you two...

"Let's do that one next!", he'd point and grab your wrist firmly, running off to his destination.

When you two took a break and snacked on a soft pretzel he unabashedly squirted water from his water bottle on his face and neck. It mixed with his sweat and dripped down his front which was exposed to you from him lifting up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.

"Phew, it's so hot. I knew it would be but geez, I thought there'd at least be a breeze or some clouds."

The heat didn't stop as he went on to win you a stuffed bear at a strength testing game. Your tongue nearly fell out of your mouth as you watched him pick up the large mallet, muscles flexing and glistening, before swinging it down with all his might. His ass flexed as he stood back to see his result before he wrapped you up in his arms in victory.

The ride home felt like forever as you impatiently waited to pounce on him. You know it isn't his fault God sculpted him so perfectly, but fuck was he always a tease.

Once home, he went straight to the shower, offering you to join. Some thirty sudsy-filled minutes later, you told him to wait in the bedroom. It took all your strength to keep things PG in the shower because the fun you had in store required the bed.

Wearing nothing but a satin robe and it's matching lingerie, you walk in to find Steve on his back waiting excitedly. A low groan leaves his mouth as he takes in the sight of you. You slowly walk over to him and crawl over to him on the large bed you share.

Steve slides his hands over the fabric covering you and firmly holds your waist. You kiss him hungrily, whining at the feeling. God, this boy is addicting.

After a moment, you instruct him to remove his shirt. He does so quickly and desperately. You take ahold of his wrists and hold them against the headboard.

"Before we get started, I'm gonna have to strap you in, baby", you say softly. "Keep your arms in place."

Steve nods and watches as you untie your robe. You shrug it off your shoulders and slide the belt through the belt loops until it's free. Gently grabbing his wrists, you tie them against the headboard, making sure it's secure. Steve moves his wrists against the fabric, adoring how the satin feels.

"What was your favorite ride today?", you ask innocently as you run your hand along his hardening length.

"U-uh, hmm", he closes his eyes trying to think. You pull down his boxers just enough to free his cock. "I...I don't know..."

"Yeah, you do. Come on, tell me big boy", you tease.

"Mmmm, maybe...", you squeeze his cock and move your hand up and down. "Like that baby, please. Maybe the Twister...I, ah, I liked the loops."

"That one was fun." You spit on his cock and continue pumping him.

"Oh fuck. Or maybe the Skyrocket...that one is really high."

"Wanna know my favorite ride?"

He nods and watches as you take your hand away. You pull off your panties and throw them out of sight before leaning towards his ear.

"You."

He whimpers and fidgets his legs in anticipation. You straddle him and hold his cock against your slit, rubbing against it.

"Gotta start slow, honey. Can't rush into the climax or someone will get hurt."

You rub his tip along your opening as it leaks precum. Agonizingly slow, you slide down on to him.

"Ready, honey?"

"Yes, fuck yes!"

The stretch his cock makes stings a bit but you're used to it at this point. Once fully seated, you grind against him, his pubic hair tickling your clit.

You lift yourself up just as slow as earlier before sinking back down. You do this a couple more times before speeding up.

Steve huffs as he lavishes in the tightness and warmth of your pussy. He watches you move adoringly and shifts so he can thrust up into you.

"Mm, Steve, your cock is so fucking good." Your hands run through your hair as your orgasm approaches. You continue bouncing, your ass slapping against his legs.

"Fuck this pretty pussy gets my heart rate so high up. More than any of those coasters ever could."

You fuck him, going as fast as you can until your orgasm sweeps over you, resulting in your hands clutching on to Steve's chest, body gyrating.

Steve keeps going, cock gliding faster due to your release. You groan and whimper from your sensitivity but refuse to tell him to stop, loving how his cock makes you feel.

"Take your bra off, baby. Wanna see your tits", Steve grumbles.

You hum and still your movements as you squeeze your tits.

"Yeah? Then I'm gonna need you to hold on to them for me for the rest of the ride."

"Please, I will."

He watches as you untie him. Once free, he grabs your tits firmly, squishing them so tight you can feel bruises forming. But you don't care, you know they'll look sexy in the morning.

You start up your bounding again and Steve helps you, his hips following your lead. He sits up and kisses you harshly, pulling your chest against his securely as he holds your body and moves you up and down his cock.

"Hold on baby, I got you. I could fuck you while holding you with just my right arm."

"Yeah?"

He manhandles you as he stands up from the bed. You cling to his back as he does just as he says; one arm squeezing your midsection as the other brushes your hair out of your face.

"That game from earlier wasn't just for show, baby. I can do a lot with my strength. "

You nod against him, brain foggy. You feel like a fuck toy of some kind from the way he easily slides you along his length. That's basically what you are at this point; Steve's little fuck toy.

"Like that, baby?"

"Steve, I'm gonna cum again!", you whine into his neck.

He lays back on the bed and keeps your body against his. His legs are propped up as he clutches your ass.

"Me too. Come on baby, come on. Ride that climax with me."

Your orgasm starts first, leaving you gasping and grunting directly into his ear. His folllows as he groans and sighs, body shaking.

"So, that was your favorite ride?", Steve pants.

"Oh, absolutely", you giggle.

[pickleking8]

6 - Adoption Isn't All It's Cracked Up To Be - Chapter Six

Hello! Sorry it's been so long, I just didn't feel like writing for a bit, but I got to read a lot of the comments people left me and that gave me a lot of motivation! So thank you. Anyway, this chapter is a lot shorter than the others, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Words: 548

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

TW: discussion/mention of kidnapping, blood (all pretty mild)

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Jazz’s feet thumped against the uneven floorboards as she paced frantically across the hotel room. Much of the space was taken up by the worn bed, and her vision filled abruptly with a decrepit wall every couple of laden steps. She was growing quite familiar with these walls, with their peeling paint and scuffed baseboards and various patterns of decay. She kept pacing.

Eventually, the feeling of something trickling down her thumb brought her to attention, and she pulled her fingers away from her teeth to find her thumb bleeding, the nail rough and jagged from hours of worrying, the rest of her fingers not far behind. 

If she was being honest, she felt rather jagged herself. Normally, her thoughts behaved like a brick wall, with her as the bricklayer. Neat, regulated rows of clay stacking upon one another and forming a solid, reliable foundation. Now, though, her thoughts splintered, like a broken mirror. A reflection distorted in the glass, showing a cracked and broken body, adorned with sharp, bloody edges. Creating gaps and shards that scattered everywhere, leaving Jazz to desperately try to put it all back together. It might have been in vain, though, for the biggest hole was missing, and nowhere to be found. 

Now, if there were really a mirror, one would assume that the hole would reside over Jazz’s heart, showcasing a spiderweb of harsh edges tinted green spiking out from it and piercing each and every facet of her thoughts. One might also assume that Jazz, though perhaps only in the part of her mind where her secrets were kept, would name that hole Danny. 

Did you know that mirrors are green? Jazz did. Jazz hated green. It was everywhere, she noticed it all the time now. She’d always marveled at the slight green glow that Danny seemed to create. She never imagined how bright and how glaring it would be when compared with crimson. Jazz didn’t like green, anymore.

Ok. Deep breaths.

Danny had been gone for six hours, thirty seven minutes, and nearly forty five seconds. Possibly even longer, she had no idea when he had left or been taken.

Fuck, how could she have let this happen? Again? Danny, her sweet, wonderful baby brother, who babbled about stars and carried so much in life, was gone. Taken, probably, once more. Something must be wrong, or he would have come back by now. He would have at least let her know. He would have. (Or maybe he’s already gone, her mind whispered).

Was it her parents? (No, not your parents, not anymore; a quiet reminder) Or the GIW? Or both? 

The whispers didn’t stop. They didn’t stop. In fact, they only grew in volume, becoming a torrent of voices that creaked and splintered and broke, jumping from accusation to accusation, pounding at her head and creating a cacophony that she couldn’t escape.

It’s all your fault…

You failed again..

He’s gone again.

He’s been taken again!

You failed again!

Repeating over and over and over, the words built into a hurricane, the fractured pieces of her mind coming together to form a howling storm made of dark clouds and freezing rain, swirling into a single purpose:

To get her brother back. 

And next, to make those who took Danny pay. 

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Next - Masterpost

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So, that's it! Sorry again that it was so short, but I hope you liked it! If you have any constructive criticism to offer, I would be happy to hear it. I hope to be able to get some more chapters out, but then again school's starting, so we'll see. Thank you for reading!

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Taglist: @tkiesai