#but damn these early stages are a pain

[photoniccyclone]

Suffice to say: Work on Chapter 7 has begun.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[petew21-blog]

Healthcare insurance

Doctor Green approached his oncology patient in the ICU. The old man, Benedict Brown, suffering from lung cancer, was in the hospital for his late diagnosis of his condition, which wasn't improving.

Dr. Green:"Mr. Brown, I don't have very good news. The tumour is a small cell lung carcinoma. It is the direct result of your smoking. Unfortunately it is very aggressive and in your case has been diagnosed very late. We can offer you a support group along with some pain medication..."

Mr. Brown:"Are you JOKING ME?!? When I came months ago, you said it was just... eh ehh ehhhh cough cough... Just cough. And now you're telling me I'm gonna die?"

Dr. Green:"I'm very sorry sir. We did everything we could, but the diagnosis is final in this case and overall the condition can be hard to diagnose in early stages"

Mr. Brown:"You're just trying to get out of this so you won't feel guilty. For not treating me as you should. You turned me away and you know it damn well"

Dr. Green:"Sir, if there was something I could do, I would. But I am out of my options"

Mr. Brown smiled. "Oh there is one option. Come closer I can tell you. But send everyone away."

Dr. Green hesitated. But did as he said. Dr. Green sat down on a chair next to Mr. Green.

Dr. Green:"Ok. So tell me."

Mr. Brown grabbed Dr. Green's hand and started the incantation. Dr. Green could feel how the man's cold hands started getting warmer and warmer. And suddenly, he felt the warm presence all over his body.

Mr. Brown opened his eyes. He was sitting now and looking at the old man on the bed. He looked down and saw a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He inhaled a big ammount of air. "What a relief"

As soon as he said that, his old body started coding. He pushed the button and started doing a CPR. The doctors did what they could, but couldn't save the old man. Or atleast his body

But Mr. Brown didn't really care. Because he was now a young healthy doctor. And this time. He was gonna live his best life

Dr. Green:"What's happening?"

Mr. Brown:"Ahh, you're here too? You were supposed to die in my body. Oh well, I guess I can handle one black passenger."

Dr. Green:"How did you do this? Mr. Brown, you have to get out of my body!!!"

Mr. Brown:"You know what? I don't have to get out. This is my body now. And I'm gonna enjoy it"

Mr. Brown:"Fuck yeah, look at me in these sunglasses and a vest. Now your body has atleast some style, doctor. You should thank me. You were in desperate need of a makeover."

Dr. Green:"My wife will know it's not me. She will figure it out"

Mr. Brown:"Right. She won't last with me for too long. I can tell you that"

Mr. Brown:"The same goes for your job. I won't stay in healthcare with a body like this. That would be a waste of time. Now, I really wanna smoke so bad."

He got out of the car and lit a cigarette. He coughed

Dr. Green:"My body isn't used to it. You can't smoke"

Mr. Brown:"Oh don't worry about it. I'll get used to it pretty soon. Also, I don't need to smoke right now. Just need it to get some photos for Grindr"

Dr. Green:"Grindr? Isn't that for gay people?"

Mr. Brown:"Great job, Dr. Green. Exactly"

Mr. Brown:"Man, look at me. I look good. The jeans, the leather. The smoke. I look so fucking good. Thanks for the body doc. Since you killed mine. Oh yeah. Look at that. That's the one for Grindr"

Dr. Green couldn't believe what was happening. His own body was smoking and doing things he would never do. He was controlled by someone else, possibly forever. What was he gonna do? He can't stay like this forever. But what if he has to?

In the nearby alley the two men were kissing passionately. The younger one pushed the other against the wall, pressing his hard dick against his.

The man:"Aren't you a bit young for me?"

Mr. Brown laughed:"Well. What can I say? I'm an old soul"

Could you make a story in which a man who suffers from lung cancer takes revenge on his young doctor for not being able to cure him, possessing him and turning him into a smoker and gay? You could do the perspective of the old man in his new body and the young doctor being possessed and forced to see his changed appearance. I really like this guy by the way. https://www.tumblr.com/male-meat-suit/724018661918195712/maybe-a-story-with-this-one?source=share

[straows]

Thinking about…

Gojo has been gone on missions and such for a while. Only time he comes home is to sleep or get patched up by you so he could spend time with you. But you get tired of his absence and…

Context: Gojo is gone for weeks at a time. You’re lonely. You decide to break up with him and leave.

Warnings: angst, reader is alone a lot, brief mention of Mad Men, break ups, possessive Gojo, he a lil crazy bout you, almost car wreck??, hurt w comfort, good ending.

Wc: 1,557

A/n: it’s not as sad or wild as it seems I think. Also mad men is a dope show, but all the men in the show fucking suck?? Also. How do I make the title all colorful but like gradient like? Those are dope.

Breaking up with Gojo was not easy. You loved him so much, and he was the man you wanted to marry, spend your life with, have kids with and everything. But he was always gone now a days. Always.

For weeks, days, he was gone for three weeks last time. It was all too much. You missed him, and were tired of feeling alone.

It was lonely in his house. Always wearing his clothes because it smelt like him, burying your face in his pillow. It was all you really had.

You knew dating the world’s strongest wouldn’t be easy. But it was starting to feel impossible. You missed him so much, and half the time he didn’t even respond to your messages. Too busy for you.

You missed your job, and having to deal with shitty, annoying strangers, messy coworkers, and getting off late. At least you were busy then. Back in the earlier stages of your relationship, Gojo had begged you to quit your job so you could be with him more. He kept going on and on about how he could easily provide for the two of you, and it wouldn’t leave a dent in his bank account.

At first it was fine, amazing even, not having to work. Or get up early, stay late, deal with shit that made your mind ache. But you didn’t think about if Gojo wasn’t there.

All of the loneliness and angst that was building up in the empty space that was your and your lovers home was beginning to turn to anger. Anger and so many other negative emotions that Gojo promised you wouldn’t be feeling with him.

So after an entire pizza, a season of Mad Men, and a cup of chocolate milk, you decided it was time. It was to leave because you were losing your damn mind, worrying constantly about Gojo, the loneliness, the having legit nothing to fucking do.

So, you began packing your things. You grabbed your clothes, your plushies, your shoes, your make up, face and hair products, even the little shit. You made sure everything that was yours was gone from his house, and packed in your car.

Glancing around, just to be petty, you deleted your Netflix profile. Gojo loved to use yours instead of his own, only god knows why. Meaning all his progress on the unfinished shows were gone.

With a huff, you wrote a note. Simply stating you were tired of being alone and feeling alone in this relationship. Ending it with an i love you, and hope you do well in the future.

And like that, you got in your car and began to drive.

Half an hour later, the front door to the house opens. “Baby I’m home.” Gojo called out, sounding tired and pretty damn drained. “You will not believe how much I fucking missed you.” He sighed, and put down the pizza he’d gotten on the way home for you both on the counter.

“Baby?” Gojo looked around, and noticed how much shit was missing. How much of you was missing. “Babe come out, I’m too tired for this, just wanna hug you.” Followed by silence.

Gojo glared at nothing in particular and huffed. Quickly, he walked into your and his bedroom, and paused. All of your stuff was gone. And there was a note on the bed.

Anger and frustration was replaced by a deep sense of fear and anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he picked up the note. And oh, he never knew how much a few words on a sheet of paper could hurt so much.

It wasn’t just mental pain, it was physical pain. Pain that had him grabbing his chest to try and stop it. Swallowing thickly, he quickly looked at his phone, and saw that you still had your location on.

“…fuck this.” Sadness and loss turned to anger and possessiveness. “Yeah fuck this shit.”

He worked too damn hard, and spent too much time dealing with curses, elders, people in general, for the one source of his happiness to be gone.

So, he got in his car, and immediately skidded out of the driveway. No doubt breaking every damn traffic law, speeding to reach your car.

Tears ran freely down your cheeks, cliche sad music played from your stereo, a sonic blast sat in your cup holder as you ate cheese sticks and drove the car with your knee.

You felt pathetic. All these nasty thoughts nipped at your mind. You had no idea Gojo had even came back to the house. You’d expected it’d take him a few more days.

But you were NOT expecting, was a very familiar car racing up to yours and cutting in front of you, only to hit the breaks making you gasp and slam on your breaks.

You had to swerve off the road and into some empty parking lot. Eyes wide, heart racing, you noticed the other car pull in as well. Quickly getting out, you were fuming. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you fucking cr-“

The front door slammed open, revealing none other than your boyfriend, or ex boyfriend rather. He looked pissed. Angrier than you’d ever seen him.

“Gojo-“ you tried to get the words out, but he’d backed you against your car roughly. Pinning you there and glaring down at you, blindfold hanging around his neck.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He snapped, voice low. “A fucking letter? Are you serious?”

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him with wide eyes. Your heart jumped at the sight of him. Not injured, and safe from his mission but oh so furious. “…why- how did you find me?” You whispered, your voice breaking despite trying to sound more confident.

“You left your location on.” He spoke blankly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Why. Fucking explain it to me like I’m five.” Gojo’s head ducked down a bit, forcing you to keep eye contact with him.

“I-I-“ The words refused to leave. Your brows furrowed as tears began to boil up. Why was it so hard to say it when it was so easy to write it? “Y-you- I- I’m tired of being… alone. You’re always gone, always. And I’m left to worry about you.” However the more you spoke, the more those past angry feelings rose up. “You told me to quit my job for you and I did! Only for you to just leave all the fucking time! You don’t even respond half the time, and when you with me you’re always exhausted or hurt!”

Gojo felt himself pause. Sure, what you were saying was on the letter, but he didn’t process it. All he really noticed was ‘breaking up’ and ‘have a happy life.’ So hearing this from you had him pull back slightly.

He didn’t mean to hurt you, didn’t mean to make you feel alone. Gojo Satoru only thought about you when he was away, and only ever really spoke about you. He loved you, and to hear you felt like this… well… it didn’t change much.

You were still his. Yeah, his chest hurt knowing he’d hurt you. But he was not letting you walk out of his life like that. No fuck that.

“I’m sorry.” His expression softened and his hands moved to cup your cheeks. “I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t realize I was leaving you alone like that. Baby believe me, all I think about is you. Every breath I take is so I can come home to you.” His forehead pressed against yours.

Your breath was shaky as you quieted down, eyes closing as his forehead pressed against yours. God, all that anger and resentment was gone just like that. It made you want to be more angry, but you just couldn’t.

Not when he was talking so sweetly to you, body pressed against yours. You’d missed him so much, and this was the first time in a while that you two really talked. Like really talked.

“Come home. I’ll take off work. The elders can go fuck themselves and send someone else to do their shit.” He murmured, lifting his head and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Don’t leave me, please… I’ll do better, I can’t lose you.”

Your heart melted at his words and you felt yourself swoon. However, before you could even say yea, he’d picked up and thrown you over his shoulder. “Oh my god- Gojo!”

“Ah.” He huffed, and landed a harsh slap to your ass. His hand rubbed over the area he slapped however to soothe the sting. “That is not what you call me. Go on, what do you call me sweet girl?”

You felt your cheeks burn red, eyes a little wide. “Satoru…”

“Good girl.” He praised with a grin.

“Wait- hey! I didn’t say I’d come back damn it!” You squirmed in his grasp, trying to get down. He however had other plans.

“You think you ever had the choice? That’s cute babe.” He smiled, his hand moving from rubbing gently to squeezing. “You are mine, and so is this ass.”

Your relationship was by no means perfect, but he loved you. Of course, he had never planned to let you go, even if you wanted to leave. :)

Guys this was bad. Omfg I got so lost in this- but why not post it??😟…

[joannasteez]

starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity 

size 

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?... 

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'. 

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree. 

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'". 

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice. 

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction. 

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me". 

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would". 

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you". 

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go". 

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm. 

"did i wake you?", you ask. 

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning". 

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention". 

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips. 

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion. 

"how does it feel?" 

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine. 

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it". 

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare. 

"thank you for being here". 

"of course". 

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other". 

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it. 

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore. 

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin. 

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin. 

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth. 

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires. 

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still. 

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early". 

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business". 

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then". 

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later". 

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order. 

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe". 

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear. 

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could". 

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well". 

"you really did". 

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks. 

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm. 

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless. 

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious". 

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever". 

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way". 

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time. 

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird. 

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden". 

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe. 

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am". 

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug. 

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact. 

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand. 

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same. 

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay. 

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze. 

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again". 

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them". 

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious". 

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me". 

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you". 

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits". 

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs. 

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two". 

"oh fuck you punk". 

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all". 

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think". 

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment. 

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him. 

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision". 

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body. 

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day". 

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea. 

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy. 

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination. 

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire. 

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you. 

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him. 

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory.  his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily. 

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words. 

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star. 

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from. 

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call. 

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare. 

"have breakfast with me", he starts. 

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body. 

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate". 

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?" 

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine". 

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do. 

"can you not?" 

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space. 

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop". 

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right". 

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat". 

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it". 

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about". 

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him. 

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart". 

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment". 

"then give me a time and place". 

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings". 

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin. 

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things. 

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still. 

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd. 

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek. 

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves". 

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back. 

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens. 

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd. 

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze. 

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe. 

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking. 

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone? 

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me. 

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television. 

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you? 

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here. 

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling. 

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection. 

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news. 

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually". 

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough. 

"what'd he say to you?" 

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv". 

"well it feels pretty damn personal". 

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?" 

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so. 

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks. 

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win". 

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own. 

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match. 

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match. 

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too. 

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival. 

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy. 

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego. 

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason. 

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition. 

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel. 

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?" 

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody". 

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning. 

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body. 

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him. 

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me. 

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment. 

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars. 

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory. 

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach. 

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.  

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be". 

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land. 

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all. 

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection. 

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear. 

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get. 

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world. 

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe. 

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself. 

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment. 

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while". 

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it. 

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them. 

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable. 

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes. 

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought. 

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls. 

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance. 

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine. 

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth. 

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half. 

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit". 

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife. 

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days". 

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself. 

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips. 

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it. 

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same. 

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'. 

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth. 

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest. 

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again. 

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over. 

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ". 

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs. 

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again". 

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over. 

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too". 

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you. 

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly. 

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit. 

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering. 

"how do you want me?" 

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress. 

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful. 

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead. 

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips. 

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion. 

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole. 

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly. 

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.  

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums. 

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal. 

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy. 

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume. 

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar 

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones. 

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process. 

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart. 

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk? 

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy. 

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed". 

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable. 

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing". 

"unfortunately?" 

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence. 

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?" 

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure". 

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it". 

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?" 

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".  

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over". 

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways". 

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are". 

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table. 

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves. 

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere. 

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same. 

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help. 

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in". 

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good". 

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus". 

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing. 

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true. 

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that". 

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it". 

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace. 

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly. 

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..." 

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear. 

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up". 

"will do". 

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time. 

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area. 

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?" 

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling. 

"time and place sweetheart". 

[steddieas-shegoes]

naked under there

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop up event 'graduation'

rated m | 940 words | cw: mention of illness (flu symptoms), mentions of sexual content | tags: established relationship, modern au, college graduation, sick fic, the laziest possible almost handjob you may ever see (that's why it's not even rated e)

🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓🎓

Steve worked his ass off to get here, and now his ass was fucking cold.

This was definitely his own fault, but he hadn't considered the fact that the graduation ceremony was inside. With air conditioning. And fans blowing on the stage to help circulate more air.

Steve was naked under his graduation gown.

He was standing in an arena filled with nearly 1500 students and probably 5000 family members and friends, and he was naked.

Admittedly, not his brightest moment.

And what was worse, what was actually going to kill him, was Eddie called him an hour before the ceremony crying because he had a fever and migraine and body aches and Wayne wouldn't let him get out of bed. So he'd done all this for nothing.

He only had a few people ahead of him now, and his body was shivering. He looked out to find Robin, but she was lost in the sea of people already called to get their diploma sitting back in their seats. Steve was the biggest idiot here. They shouldn't even give him his diploma.

"Steven William Harrington."

He quickly made his way across the stage, smiling as he heard cheering in the upper level of the arena. All his kids had made it, though a couple of them didn't fly in until earlier that day and had to rush, so he didn't get to see them before he had to line up and get to his seat. Wayne promised to be there too, more of a parent figure for him in the last four years than his own parents had ever been. Even Nancy had made it, explaining that there was no way she was missing this when she'd helped so much with editing his papers.

As he walked off the stage, diploma in hand, he paused to smile for the camera that was taking pictures. He didn't think he needed them, but Wayne insisted on buying one to celebrate his achievement. He wanted to frame it and place it next to the picture he has of Eddie on his high school graduation day.

He forgot for a moment that the flash would make the pale yellow gown a bit more see-through. He forgot that the camera recording the entire session would probably capture this moment, too.

Instead of panicking, he walked back to his seat quickly, head down and hands holding his diploma in front of his entire crotch area. He was such an idiot, holy shit.

If he wanted to blame Eddie, he probably could, but really, this was all Steve.

Eddie had made a comment last week while he was fucking Steve against the wall that he couldn't wait to fuck him in his cap and gown. Steve couldn't stop thinking about being pulled into a closet after the ceremony, while everyone waited for them, Eddie lifting up the back of the gown and fucking into him.

Hence, being naked under the gown. Easy access was crucial when time was of the essence.

Except now, Eddie was dying of the flu in bed, and Steve was naked for no damn reason under this gown.

The shivering started again as soon as he sat in his seat. Why the hell was it so cold in here?

By the time they got to the last names beginning with Y, Steve felt miserable. He was freezing, but sweating down his back and neck, and the gown kept sticking to his thighs. His whole body felt sore and the pain behind his eyes was making its way to the back of his head and down his neck.

Would he get in trouble if he left early?

He had his diploma, and they were mostly done. He could go.

He left.

A few people around him told him to sit, but must not have felt the need to argue when they saw how miserable he looked.

His phone was buzzing in the pocket of the gown, but he couldn't bother to check it right now. He needed some fresh air and some water.

The fresh air helped slightly, but the sun hitting his eyes made him want to lay down and die. The headache increased exponentially as he tried to find a shady spot with no luck.

He could just walk back to the apartment. It was only three blocks.

Eddie was there.

His vision was slightly blurry as he made his way home, but he didn't need to see details to know how to get there. He walked this area every day for the last four years and now he was done.

He was done. Holy shit.

He barely made it in the door before he unzipped the gown and let it fall to the floor.

"Stevie?" Eddie's rough voice called from their bedroom.

He was so dizzy.

"Hey, Eds," Steve said as he climbed into bed, naked, sweaty, shivering, sick with the same illness Eddie was bedridden with.

"Sick?" Eddie whispered, eyes barely open as Steve turned on his side facing him in the bed.

"Think so."

"You're naked," Eddie said, eyes closing as he wrapped a hand around Steve's soft cock.

Steve let out a small moan, but didn't have the energy to do anything else. Neither did Eddie, it seemed, as he let out a small snore only a few seconds later.

Steve smiled to himself as he placed a hand on Eddie's chest and closed his eyes.

Eddie could fuck him in his cap and gown in a few days, like they planned, but this time, he wouldn't have to risk being caught in front of thousands of people.

[bluesidez]

HEY POOKS. Could you write a DBF!Miguel x dancer!reader. He just loves to watch her dance in competitions and recitals and helps her practice her routine by counting out 8’s for her <333

( maybe he can give reader a reward for doing so well but idk 🤭 )

[Rehearsal]

lab tester: Anonymous Participant (Hi @snails-doodles22) 🩻

summary: Miguel keeps you grounded as you prepare for a dance competition. 

content warning: age gap (abeg she’s 21+), secret relationship, fluff, like two suggestive?? lowkey explicit scenes so MINORS BEWARE, a few thoughts of frustration/failure but nothing serious just the thoughts of an artist

word count: 1.9k, halfway proofread

a/n: Hi hi!! This one was really a challenge for me!! and Idk if I’ll write DBF again ngl Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! I leaned more on the age gap aspect of the relationship and pulled from how I felt when practicing for my own recitals/competitions 🤠! (I get extremely snappy and mean lol)

A Grand Adage (as best as I, not a professional ballerina but I practiced for 3 years, can explain) is a slower dance move where you stretch your leg to the front, side, and back without losing your balance. You also have to switch legs…I think. It looks like it takes a LOT of core strength, especially without a partner.

I don’t think I mention it in the story, but I’m imagining this Miguel to have salt and pepper hair, but like, in its early stages. So only a few strands of gray. 

“Damn it.”

The music started to sound more and more jaded as you failed another Grand Adage after powering through the more fast-paced part of your routine. 

You don’t know why you had the bright idea to add the most pain-inducing ballet moves to your contemporary piece, but you were starting to hate yourself for it. It was supposed to represent a crash and burn of rushing perfection which was ironic because you were feeling those emotions tenfold.

“You’re not going to get it if you keep trying to force it like that.” You heard Miguel from across the room and the music finally stopped. “It’s a pause between those last two counts. You know this, chiquita.”

You huffed out a chuckle as you got up, “Knowing and doing are two different things. I know what’s coming, which is why I keep anticipating it and messing it up.”

“The studio is all yours for a few more hours,” Miguel sighed. “Take a breath and try it again.”

“That’s so easy for you to say. You’re not the one busting your ass,” you mumbled as you got back into your starting position. 

Miguel crossed his arms, head leaning on the wall above the barre, “You want to say that again?”

You dropped your arms and stared at him, face blank. 

After a minute or so of you going silent, he unfolded his arms and beckoned you towards him. 

You dragged your feet to get to him, hands hugging yourself. 

“I know you want this to be perfect, but snapping at me isn’t going to help that.” His hands made their way to the back of your thighs, rubbing up and down the tightened muscles. 

“I’m sorry, I just-” you rubbed your eyes with your palms. “The competition is so soon and I keep fucking the routine up.”

“And you’ve also done it perfectly countless other times. You’ve got this! I know you do. I’ve seen how much work you’ve put into dancing and that’s not going to change.”

“But Miguel-”

“But nothing. I’ve seen how you become a new person on the stage. You demand the attention of your audience in a way that your peers can’t. You’re captivating and alluring so I’m not going to sit here and let you think otherwise.”

You look at him with a face that says “I know you’re right, but I don’t want you to be,” and just fall onto his lap, wallowing in his arms while you breathe in his cologne. 

He nuzzled you on the head, hands patting at your ass, hands warm and firm through your tights, “Now can you try again for me?”

“Can I have a kiss?” you say, lips rivaling a rubber duckie. 

He chuckles at you but obliges, heart too soft when it comes to you. 

You get up with new ambition, taking a deep breath as you stride back to the middle of the room. 

“I’m going to count out loud for you this time, is that ok?”

“Yeah,” you reply, arms molding into a sharp form. 

When the music starts this time, you hone in on Miguel’s voice, taking leaps and turns with his timbre. Your heart thumps all the same, but your brain isn’t as loud. 

As the Grand Adage comes again, Miguel’s voice stays calm, never wavering. You tighten your core and lift your leg high, hands framed beautifully and foot pointed sharp as you hold your arms above your head. As you bring your leg back down to begin to turn, your heart almost stops when your body remains stable and strong. You can’t believe it but try to keep the piece's emotion steady. 

You switch legs without trouble, eyes catching Miguel watching your form in the mirror. His face is serious but you can’t hear that in his voice, making you feel fuzzy. You keep up the pace, repeating the same move but gearing up to do an Illusion.

Like a flash, you bring your leg down and bend your body, foot spinning swiftly to perform the trick. Your heartbeat is roaring in your ears as you move through the rest of the routine, mind too excited from your success to completely portray the ending emotions of dance. 

Once you finish, you’re quick to get out of your position, face lit up as you turn to Miguel. When you run to him, you’re screaming with glee. He only stumbles a bit when you jump in his arms, body wrapped around him like a koala. 

“Miguel! Did’ya see it? Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” you laughed as he spun you around.

“I told you you could do it, amor. You just needed to get out of your head.”

“Ok ok, three more times and I think I’ll be ready to leave.”

“Well let’s get busy, chiquita. We’ve got work to do.”

You run through the routine again and again, becoming more confident each time. After every successful routine, Miguel’s praises get more and more loving. First a deep hug, then a few pecks to the lips, then a makeout session that has you squirming for more. 

“Is your dad picking you up today?” he said, lips on your neck.

You turn your nose up at the mention of him, “No, I took the bus.”

“Could have asked me to drop you off.”

“You were at work, Miggy. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother,” he stopped to move his forehead to yours. “You can come over tonight. You need to relax after all of this hard work.”

“And what do I tell my dad when he asks where I am?” your eyes pan from his eyes to his lips, fingers reaching up to go through his hair. 

“Tell him you’re at a girlfriend’s house.”

You twist your mouth to the side, pretending to think.

“How are you planning to relax me?”

“A hot bath.”

You snickered, knowing better than to believe that was all he was planning to do, but taking his word for it. 

Hours later when you were laid on your back, hands gripping the sheets below you and Miguel holding your legs up as he stroked deep inside, your suspicions were confirmed. Your skin was soft from the bath and your muscles were like jelly after he spent an hour massaging every tight muscle out of you. The room was full of him, his smell surrounding you, and the noises of him attending to your every need. With every cry of his name, he brought you closer to the horizon. 

On the day of your competition, you didn’t even look at Miguel before you went on, nerves too bad. If he gave you a pep talk, internally, you would be appreciative, but externally, you might tell him to leave you the fuck alone. 

Knowing how you get, he supported you in the best way he could by sending you messages and a light breakfast in the morning. 

“Break a leg, chiquita”

“Not literally of course”

“I’ll be waiting for you once it’s over”

“With a surprise :)”

It was enough to fill you with anticipation, ready to give it all on the floor.

Once your number was called, you went to the center and got into position. The crowd was dark enough to feel like it was just you in the room, but your heart knew otherwise with how fast it was beating. 

When the music starts, it’s like Miguel’s voice is a soundtrack playing through your memory. You can’t see him, but you can feel him in the crowd cheering you on. Your feet move across the floor, body tightening and relaxing when needed. Your face wears a frustrated expression, portraying the sentiment of everything falling out of control. Your leaps and turns come one after another moving your form across the stage. 

The Grand Adage comes to you like lightning, you don’t even notice you’re doing it until it happens. The muscle memory takes over and you transition to the Illusion like it's nothing. Your mind wanders as you go through to the end of the routine, finishing strongly with your pose on the floor.

The cheers of the audience are what bring you back to reality. A feeling of relief washes over you as you stand and bow, smiling brightly. 

Standing with the other dancers from your category, you don’t expect the judges to call your name for first place, so when they all turn to look at you, you feel like you might have walked out in your underwear by accident. 

It isn’t until you’re handed a bouquet of flowers and a trophy that it dawns on you that your hard work has paid off. The check was no measly amount of money either. 

Looking out to the crowd, you can see Miguel standing up with his hands cupped over his mouth as he yells. Your family is standing next to him cheering as well. You wave at them, jumping up and down in excitement. Only you can see the wink Miguel gives you. 

When you meet them out in the lobby, you have to stop yourself from keeping your attention on Miguel. 

“You did amazing, honey,” your dad says, squeezing the life out of you. “That flip thing? I don’t know how you did it, but wow!”

“It’s called an Illusion,” Miguel shakes his head. “Keep up.”

“What are you, her coach or something?”

“C’mon you guys,” your mom fusses. “Don’t start bickering in the building. At least wait until we get dinner.”

“‘M gonna ride with Miguel,” you say to them. 

Knowing how much you like his car, your parents think nothing of it and walk out to their own car. 

Once they’re out the door, he turns and gives you a deep kiss, “You did such a good job. I’m so proud of you.”

“I just remembered what you said. Kept it in the back of my mind while I performed.”

He smiled and wrapped his hands around your waist, “Yeah?”

You nod and bring his lips to yours again. 

“Where’s my surprise?”

“Always so impatient.”

“You wouldn’t like me any other way.”

“Tienes rázon,” Miguel chuckled. 

Miguel brings a sparkly gift bag to your attention, placing it in your hands. You reach into the bag, tissue paper falling to the floor. You pull out an envelope and a long velvet box. 

You open the box, eyes glittering when you see the necklace inside. 

“Miguel, this is adorable!” 

“Here,” he takes the necklace out of the box. “Let me help you put it on.”

You turn and focus your attention on the envelope, fingers sliding under the sealed flap. 

Your breath halts when you pull the tickets out.

“To Paris?”

You turn to him once your necklace is latched together, eyes teary from happiness.

“You’ve been doing so amazing, I wanted to treat you to an amazing trip.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Nothing that you should worry your head about.”

You crowd his space, kissing his face all over, “Thank you so much, Miguel.”

“Of course. Anything for my girl.”

“I don’t want to go out to dinner now,” you sigh dramatically.

“Yeah? You know we can’t bail, though.”

“Not even if I give my thanks to you in the car?”

Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, watching you grin at him. He’s really way too soft when it comes to you. 

“Vamos.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[enaelyork]

Can we get a Cooper Howard x female reader fic where reader is in an abusive marriage and he helps her leave (by any means necessary)? Need him to get violent and defensive over me -swoon- and of course they end up together?

Thank you in advance!!

Hi my dear !

That's a good idea, i try to make something =) Let's go.

Pre-war/ Divorced Cooper/ Cooper x f!reader.

Warning : Abusive mariage/ violences/ injuries.

Ask for Cooper Howard is OPEN

- I'm divorced.

What luck.

She looked around, as if arguing with him was a crime punishable by death. There was nothing wrong with that, though: Cooper had been her friend throughout her adolescence and they had lost touch until this filming. What a strange coincidence that fate decided to put him on her path again.

Him, so charming and luminous while she had decided to join the darkness.

- I don't know if you can call that luck.

She jumps. Damn, had she said those words out loud? Red comes to her face as she completely drinks her glass of champagne, pouring out apologies.

- It's not. No. I didn't mean such a thing. Really, I'm sorry. And don't think I'm unhappy with my husband, it's just that.

- You are here.

His voice made his blood run cold. A bit like every time she emerged behind his back. He was a shadow always lurking behind her, even when she couldn't see him. A shadow that terrified her. Had he seen it? Had he seen the mask of terror settle on her face? Had he noticed everything she tried to hide behind her long-sleeved dress in the middle of summer? He understood, by discovering this man, what was going on in his life.

- Oh, you're good, Travis. She said, trying to hide the hint of panic that distorted her voice. I guess you remember Cooper. We went to high school together and I now work with him on set.

His silence was worse than a sentence. He looked at Cooper with an undisguised desire to drag you away from him. But as usual, Travis, your perfect little husband, knew how to play his role perfectly in public.

- Y/N told me so much about you. I've seen your films, you know? I find you brilliant.

He had grabbed her hand and she had guessed the grimace that her husband was trying to hide. Cooper, for his part, had a glint in his eyes that she didn't know existed, a glint resembling anger. - Likewise, Travis. She is full of praise for you. It was totally false.

He had just discovered her husband's identity and the only thing he could have seen during the early stages of filming was how important it was for her to finish on time. How important it was that we didn't see her smiling in any public photos, or even her own shadow. How important it was that she was invisible.

- I think Y/N and I are going home, right, darling? She nodded automatically: it was the only thing she was allowed to do when he gave her an order and her hand gripped his arm so tightly that a grimace of pain tied her mouth.

- We hadn't finished our discussion.

No one around them suspected what was going on, there, in the middle of the large gala hall in which the producer had decided to give a reception. It was going to turn into a fiasco, soon, if they continued to stare at each other like two animals ready to devour each other.

- It's finished. Darling. We're going back.

She wanted to protest. Telling him that she wanted to stay with Cooper and continue to be herself. Simply live. But she didn't have the strength, at no time had she had the courage to say no, to take her things and leave. Which made her, in his eyes, more worthless than she had ever been. Her eyes met Cooper's, and she hoped she wasn't too pathetic when her husband's impulse pulled her away from him. But his gaze, the one that looked at her at that precise moment, will probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

What a terrible irony.

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

They never spoke about it again.

Cooper had tried, between two scenes, at every pause, to discuss the incident with her, but Y/N kept dodging the question. She knew that if she were to confess the horror to him, she would never be strong again. And then it was Cooper. How would he view her if he learned how ruined her life was? How would he look at her, compassion or, worse, pity?

No, that was out of the question. You were hitting on him, you little whore. The violence of his words and gestures still resonated within her several weeks before.

The suffering was so firmly anchored in her that she had done everything possible to avoid being found wanting: walking along the walls of the film set like a ghost, she did not linger after the day and returned directly to the House. But that wasn't enough anymore.

Travis became more demanding of her every day, more possessive too, going so far as to control his own appearance.

- I wish you would resign. He dropped this bombshell over breakfast, a few months after filming began.

- Sorry ?

Without looking up from his newspaper, his feet resting on the table and ignoring the pancakes she had just prepared for him, he continued his cruel sentence.

- You heard what I just said. I was nice to you by letting you work for my friend Jim, but you screwed it up again. You are not capable of doing what I ask you. You're not capable of anything, in fact.

- You can't ask me that, Travis, please. I like my job. I'm sorry, just tell me what to do.

Without her expecting it, the newspaper flew towards her, slapping her face violently. A cry of surprise, immediately muffled by the violence with which he grabbed her arm.

- You see, that’s the problem with you. You are so stupid that you don't even understand when you exceed the limits. If you had listened to my demands from the start you wouldn't be here. So tonight, you better quit that job. Did you understand ?

She had nodded, hoping that this way he would finally let go, that her blood would be able to circulate in her arm again. But he threw it back with such violence that her body hit the kitchen shelf, knocking down a few cups which shattered on the floor.

- And put it away! Always making a mess.

It wasn't long after he left that tears flooded her eyes.

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

Nothing had gone as planned that day.

After tidying up the kitchen, cleaning the sores that dotted her skin, Y/N had arrived on set late. A delay that had not escaped Cooper and his suspicious gaze. He shouldn't have known anything. However, while she was trying to flee, he followed her in the corridor leading to her dressing room, trying to call her in vain.

Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

But when he blocked the door to her den, preventing her from taking refuge there, Cooper not only discovered her distress. He saw her eyes red with tears, her hands bruised and, worst of all, fear flooding her irises.

- It's him ?

Y/n's lips began to tremble like never before, not even her legs were still able to keep her upright. So, without her having time to understand what was happening to her, her body abandoned her. Her mind tried to live in denial but nothing else in her could reject the evidence.

It was destroyed. Yet her legs never touched the ground, her body did not shrivel against the wall. Because the warmth of Cooper's arms enveloped her in a feeling she hadn't known in a long time.

Sweetness.

So she forgot everything. The fear, anguish and guilt she felt at being in such a situation. She forgot the pain that ached her arm and shoulders and, instinctively, she hugged him, hoping that this way he would keep her alive.

- You have to leave, Y/N.

Filming had been suspended today and Jim had believed Cooper's lies about feeling unwell. However, she did not return home, remaining locked in this lodge as in a bastion.

Leave ? The idea had already crossed his mind. It would have been so simple if she didn't depend on Travis for a whole bunch of things. Being an actress was not an easy job and the income was irregular at such a stage of her career. So she rejected the idea, shaking her head vehemently.

-I can not do that.

- Of course yes. You can. Just gather your things and go.

- How ? Eh ? Do you think he won't stop me? Really, it's impossible.

Cooper had no intention of stopping there. She knew it. But what could he understand about her life? He who had a happy marriage and whose divorce had gone smoothly? She knew that he was on good terms with his ex-wife for the well-being of his daughter, that this divorce had gone smoothly because they had realized that they no longer aspired to same thing. Barb had been an exemplary wife, their marriage had been based on mutual trust and they had separated on good terms.

So what could he understand about her life? Why did he seem so heavily affected by his situation?

-I will help you.

She raised her head. Had she really heard what he had just suggested to her? A nervous laugh escaped her lips before she stared at his determined expression. Was he serious?

-You go pack your bags and I'll come pick you up.

- To go where ? I have nowhere to go, Coop! My friends don't talk to me anymore and you saw the way he reacted when we...

Her words died in her mouth, realizing that she had called him by his nickname for the first time and that she hadn't completely rejected the idea.

- I can talk to Barb about it. She has friends in the region who will certainly be delighted to host you. He paused, visibly hesitant to finish his sentence.

-There is room at my house.

- At your house ?

There was nothing in her stomach but butterflies trying to escape. Had he really just asked her to live with him? It took her breath away, so much so that she had to blink several times to make sure she was awake.

- You would have your privacy, obviously. But it’s a base not too far from work until you can find a place of your own.

She had grabbed his hands without realizing it, as if to hold on to a rampart before falling into the void. Cooper had just offered to live with him, and the idea brought a little warmth to her completely bruised heart.

- He's not going to like this idea at all.

- But it's the only option for you to get out of this, Y/N. I don't know how you feel about this man, but for your own well-being you need to leave.

She didn't know it. What she did know, however, was the effect Cooper had on her life. It wasn't just savior syndrome. Since seeing him again on that set, something inside her had cracked, a shell that she had tried to erect to prevent herself from loving anyone, including herself.

- It's OK. She finally gave in.

The smile Cooper gave her then would stay in her mind for a long time.

- Should I contact Barb?

- No. It's with you that I want to live.

Realizing too late the fervor of her words, she put her hands over her mouth to prevent her from saying something even worse.

- If you agree, of course...I...I don't want to impose myself. Oh, god, I'm so sorry.

- You no longer have to apologize for being yourself, Y/N. It's all over now.

His hands were still in hers and Y/N wondered why he didn’t take them out as soon as he had the chance. Sitting face to face, they looked at each other in a strange silence, charged with a gentle and soothing tension. A deep relief came over her at that precise moment.

She was going to leave. Leave with Cooper. And she could no longer hold back her tears.

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

- Did you do what I asked you?

- Of course.

No.

She hadn't done any of that. She had neither resigned nor decided to cut ties with anyone. Instead, she came home in the afternoon to pack a suitcase and wait. Wait for the right moment. Travis had a charity event that night. A gala to which he had not invited her. Pretending that she had no place there. So much the better.

This was the perfect opportunity to put the plan into action. This evening, Travis showed no attention towards her. Yet that was what he did when he had obtained satisfaction: a tender gesture, a chaste kiss on her cheek.

He just brushed his fingertips against her shoulder, a movement that sent a jolt of terror through her.

-Don't wait for me to eat, I'll be back very late.

And silence returned almost immediately, freeing his heart from the vice that was compressing it. It didn't take long for her to contact Cooper, take down the suitcase she had hidden in the attic and come back down to the forecourt.

When she finally saw the car appear, a wind of relief chased away the fear that still held her back.

Then she froze.

Terrorized.

It wasn't Cooper's car.

He had come back. He had forgotten something and came back to get it.

- What are you doing here ? His voice was laced with a rage she had never seen before. A destructive, petrifying rage.

- I…Travis…

- What are you doing here with this damn suitcase?

The kick sent the latter flying to the other side of the sidewalk. Usually, Travis didn't show any aggression towards her in public, but this time, discovering her outside with a suitcase in her hand had got the better of his legendary self-control.

-Did you want to leave? Did you want to do this dirty trick to me, little whore?

She was screaming. She hoped that someone would come out of these nice little tidy houses to get her out of there. But nothing. Not a single neighbor wanted to get involved in this carnage and she was going to pay dearly for it.

He pushed her violently, causing her to fall onto the lawn in their garden. The pain pierced her back so violently that it took her breath away, but when his hand grabbed her hair, she screamed so loudly that her voice hoarse.

- Shut your mouth ! Shut your fucking mouth! Piece of…

Travis didn't have time to finish his sentence. Something had stopped him.

A violent shock that had just hit his jaw, forcing him to release his grip on her hair.

-Cooper!

- Get in the car. Hurry up.

She wanted to cry, to stand there and watch Travis wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. But the fear that still animated her gave her the impetus to flee without looking at what was happening before her eyes.

Cooper had arrived and he had just hit Travis with such force that he could barely keep his balance.

- I'm going to find you, bitch! he exclaimed towards her. But Cooper's hand grabbed him so tightly by the collar that he couldn't take another step.

- You're not going to do anything at all, because if you try to approach her again, I can't guarantee you that I'll settle for a punch.

He violently pushed Travis away, letting him fall to the ground before turning around. At that moment, Y/N became aware of her husband's weakness. He had been merciless with her because she was fragile, that was the only reason he had fun with her.

And it was over.

[tragedyslut]

being pregnant was hard on you. as much as it would be anyone. abby was so accepting. even at the start when everyone in the camp thought of you as a burden, she was always there. sometimes she got angry that you couldn't do active duty as your pregnancy went on, but obviously she couldn't blame you for being pregnant. as hypocritical as it was, during the early stages of your pregnancy when you still were allowed on active duty, she'd keep extra eyes on you. anything heavy? she'll lift it. if she caught you doing anything that could in some way harm you or the baby she'd go irate. during the birth it was horrible. no pain meds and in a small abandoned building. it really was not ideal. she was there the whole time, holding your hand and telling you itd be okay.

when the baby was here she loved it about as much as you did. the only thing she didn't like was how god damn loud children were. sometimes your kid would attract runners, clickers, all sorts to the safe house gates and freaked everyone out.

but she loved them nonetheless. she'd play with them, and comfort you when you got overwhelmed from taking care of them. because damn, taking care of a kid in the apocalypse was not easy.

when you were pregnant, she made a note when she was out on patrol to check in every place she could think of that might have any supplies that could help make the pregnancy easier. even after you gave birth, she managed to scrounge up some goats milk, and just overall she was the best. despite being a " cold blooded killer " when your kid said their first words she spent ages crying over it.

when you were pregnant, if anyone even aimed a gun in your general direction that was that. she'd go absolutely insane. she wouldn't let anyone hurt you, or the baby.

[callsignvulture]

141 + Graves Music Headcannons‼️🎶

This is based off of a conversation I had with my roommate and boyfriend months ago. Idc if these are accurate- these were just our headcanons! This took me all damn day to write, so I hope it’s…at least decently good!:]

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

Bands: Shinedown, Theory Of A Deadman, Seether, Three Days Grace, Saving Abel, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed, Drowning Pool.

Top 5 listened to songs: Rx(Medicate), 45 , Just Like You , The Vengeful One, California Dreaming

In his younger years, he definitely would have joined in mosh pits at concerts. If he tried that now? God he’d be leaving out of that venue with a headache, body pains and more bruises and scars on him than when he arrived there. Because of this, he prefers to sit a fair bit away from the stage, but in the middle so he can see the whole stage.

Soap makes fun of him for it, making comments like it, “Ah cannae decide if ye're tryin' tae be somebody's faither, or if ye're just actin' like Price. Come on, LT, get wi' the times. Ye're no an auld man like Price just yet.”

But don’t let that fool you- Ghost has definitely influenced Soap’s music taste. Soap just won’t admit it.

Bonus!: Ghost would listen to…well, Ghost. Why? “‘S my name, ain’t it?”

John “Soap” MacTavish:

Bands: Twenty One Pilots, One Republic, System Of A Down, Måneskin, Limp Bizkit, Green Day, Blink-182, Weezer, Fall Out Boy, The Offspring, Games We Play.

Top 5 most listened to songs: Coffee’s For Closers, Get A Job, Fairly Local , Beverly Hills , What’s My Age Again?

Had a pop punk phase he never grew out of, and was definitely a teenage dirtbag(🥁).

His whole reality breaks when he overhears a recruit call any of the late 2000s/early 2010s bands he listens to “vintage”.(Price and Ghost just laugh and tell me he’s too young to feel that way.)

Really fun at concerts surprisingly. He always tries to be in the pit at the concerts for his favorite bands, and goes WILD if he gets noticed by an artist he really likes.

Price, Ghost and Gaz don’t really understand why he likes the music that he does.

Bonus!: When Gaz listens to Kanye, he’ll blast Taylor Swift just to fuck with him. He doesn’t like Taylor Swift, he just likes to see Gaz get frustrated. “You know she’s only popular ‘cause of ‘im, right Soap?” “Ah dinnae care. Ah juist like te disturb yer peace, Gaz.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

Bands: Arctic Monkeys, Rihanna, The Neighborhood, Kanye West, The Weeknd, Shaggy, Dr.Dre, Kendrick Lamar, Hozier, The Cardigans, Beyoncé.

Top 5 most listened to songs: It Wasn’t Me, Reflections, Love The Way You Lie, Knee Socks, Dark Times

God he’s a certified lover boy AGH-

Imagine: Gaz waking up in the early hours of the morning, sunlight on his skin, looking fine as hell…and “It Wasn’t Me” is playing on the radio AAAAAA-💕(like a damn scene straight out of a movie I swear-)

Gaz likes going to concerts and like Soap, will try to be front and center, but he’s not nearly as energetic and wild. He’d more than likely mellow out with some fruity drink.

Before Gaz joined 141, back when he was an officer, he would definitely make whoever was his ride along listen to Rihanna or Beyoncé in the early hours of his shift. Now when he’s on missions with 141 and he’s in control of the radio, he’s more likely to play Kendrick Lamar or Kanye West, much to Ghost and Price’s annoyance. Soap is the only one who doesn’t complain.

Bonus!: Surprisingly, Gaz is open to listening to any kind of music, even if he doesn’t like. Once sat down with Ghost in the common room and let Ghost show him the music he listened to. Obviously, he wasn’t a fan of it, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “Sorry, ‘s just not my style. But thanks anyways, Lieutenant.”

Captain John Price:

Bands/Artists: Guns ‘N Roses, Metallica, Kiss, AC/DC, Twisted Sister, Ozzy Osbourne, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Rolling Stones, Mötley Crüe, Ramones, Post Malone(there’s a reason for this, stick with me-)

Top 5 Most Listened To Songs: Seek & Destroy, Rock You Like A Hurricane, Dr.Feelgood, Sunflower, Street Fighting Man

Headcanon(Thanks to my boyfriend): 141 had a movie night. Soap and Gaz wanted to watch Into The Spiderverse, which Ghost and Price agreed too(reluctantly). Price really liked the song Sunflower, and after the movie, Gaz and Soap sat down with Price and showed him more of Post Malone’s music. He’s not a huge fan of the rest of his music, but he does really like that song.

Price’s music taste hasn’t changed since he was younger, still listening to the same bands he listened to in the 80s. Definitely gets somewhat upset when he sees someone his age wearing a shirt of the band but can’t tell him any songs by the artist.

Doesn’t go to concerts anymore unless the team wants to go. Would prefer to go to a bar and listen to music while getting drinks with his mates.

Bonus!: Price is the type of guy to look at people who don’t listen to his kind of music and ask, “Oi, lads, who sings this?” “Eh...Ah havnae a clue...Guns N Roses?” “Metallica, Cap’in?” “No, ‘s definitely Kiss.”In reality, he already knows who’s singing it, and they’re all wrong.

Commander Phillip Graves:

Bands/Artist: Morgan Wallen, Tim McGraw, Blake Shelton, Bruce Springsteen, Florida Georgia Line, Carrie Underwood, Luke Bryan, Big & Rich, Jason Aldean, Sam Hunt, Luke Combs, Toby Keith, Alabama, Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Top 5 most listened to songs: God’s Country, Save A Horse(Ride A Cowboy), She’s Country, Dirt On My Boots, Should’ve Been A Cowboy.

What can I say? Southern man loves country music.

He’s not allowed to go to concerts anymore due to the fact that he has gotten drunk on several occasions & had to be escorted out:(

He had a crush on Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood at some point in his life and I won’t explain how I know that.

Makes the Shadows listen to his playlist when out on missions to the point where most of them could easily identify what country artist is who.

Bonus!: Absolutely hates any non-country artist who tries to make country music. Like when Beyoncé released Texas Hold ‘Em, he was absolutely livid.

[baldursgarbage]

i’ve been thinking about Astarion being protective in battle and i simply don’t think he’s capable of it because of how AVOIDANT he is. getting emotionally close to someone is painful for Astarion. at least in the early stages of his freedom, being protective of someone means something he isn’t willing to admit… even to himself!

Tav gets downed in a battle and Astarion, without thinking, cries out “No! You can’t die, get up damn you!” Once the levity of what he has said sinks in he immediately retreats within himself.

When the battle is over he lets Shadowheart tend to Tav as he slinks stone faced back to camp. There’s a heavy ball of worry, shame, and fear tearing up his chest. he sulks in his tent until nightfall spending the hours berating himself for caring, and simultaneously not caring enough to have stayed and helped. He gets up to go to Tav before turning back around over and over again until he’s able to gather the courage. He slides through camp silently, into Tav’s tent, and kneels by their bedroll. Astarion takes their hand, cursing them the entire time. Cursing them for getting hurt, cursing them for making him want to learn to care for someone besides himself. He checks their bandages, making sure they’re taught enough, and sits a silent vigil over Tav the entire night. He’s gone before Tav stirs in the morning, leaving only the faint smell of rosemary and bergamont behind!

[the0racl30fd3lphi]

More than friends, less than lovers. x.t

pairing: xavier thorpe x gn!reader

summary: the whole hyde ordeal has faded slowly in the background as life carried on, the student body ready to grasp onto some new drama. luckily for them, a love triangle is exactly what they needed to fuel the gossip.

warnings: fluff, angst, love triangle (kinda)

a/n: y'all this idea literally came to me at 4 in the morning so please bear with me (as i also wrote it at the ass crack of dawn) i am so obsessed with percy and xavier and wanted to write this desperately, he is all i can think about.

word count: 1,727

part 2 part 3

——————————————————————————

You hated this. This, stage, between what you were and what you could be. Xavier was your best friend. He always had been, truth be told. Yet as soon as he broke up with Bianca your relationship had a shift. Suddenly somethings had a deeper connotation, a hidden meaning. You didn’t hate it. In fact, this was exactly what you had been waiting for for years. Until She came along.

You didn’t hate Wednesday, unfortunately. She had done nothing to spark your anger. It wasn’t like she was purposely making Xavier adore her. It looked like she would rather be without it, being honest. But did it annoy the hell out of you that he was so enamored with her so quickly, when she did nothing to give the idea that she would reciprocate? And yet he seemed to not want to give up on her? While simultaneously leading you on, making you believe you might have a romantic future with him? And being oblivious to the pain it caused? It was the only thing you ever thought about.

Genuinely, you wondered how he could still be so obsessed with her to buy her a phone, after she wrongfully got him imprisoned. If that wasn’t a walking red flag you didn’t know what was.

You and Xavier had stayed close throughout this internal turmoil you went through. It hurt like a bitch, but you’d be damned if you lost him over a girl he liked. Suppressing your feelings wasn’t anything you were stranger to, there were other ways to get out your thoughts.

Something you did often, that you’d never tell him was how frequently you abused mimicking his ability. At first he had found it interesting and expressed he had no problem with you copying his habits. But if he knew what you used it for he’d probably be mad.

Each night, after leaving his dorm and sneaking back into yours, you drew a photo from that day. What he looked like when he smiled. How he laughed. Taking into extreme detail his face, scrunched, while watching a show together. Though you weren’t really watching the show so much as watching him.

You kept these drawings in a box, under your bed, all the way in the back. It was hidden enough to never be seen or touched by anyone. So you used the late Rowan’s telekinesis ability to bring it out and put it back. Was this a healthy coping mechanism? Oh not at all, seeing as some drawings that originated from the latest of nights and most intimate moments, would have made Wednesday blush. Of course it's all innocent, right up until you put it down on paper.

"Drawing lover boy again?" Your best friend Val, barked at you from across the room.

"Lover boy? That's a new one," you softly put the new drawing of him in the box, and back under your bed in the furthest corner. "Not such an accurate name this time, you're losing your touch my friend."

"Well you wish it was, so close enough in my book," She shrugs and jumps onto your bed.

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," you pull your laptop on your lap, and press play on your favorite show to watch together.

"You sound like your father," She gags and you playfully slap her arm before shushing her and cuddling into her side.

——————————————————————————

It was lunch the next day, you had a free period the class before so you were waiting for Xavier to show up at your usual bench in the quad. He was taking a little bit longer than normal so you started early on your homework.

"If it isn't Xavier's little girl," she paused. "friend."

"Bye Bianca," you waved and put the volume up on your phone.

“Where is he this time? With Wednesday maybe?" she crossed her arms and smiled maliciously. "It's already started!" She laughed.

You tried to mind your business, she only ever wants to cause problems and you know this. "What's started?" you kept your eyes on your work, putting the volume lower to hear her better.

“He's bored of you. Just like when he got bored of me and you two got closer? He's onto Wednesday now, and done with you." She raised her eyebrows and put on an innocent doe-eyed look. "Well, anyway, have a good lunch!"

She walked away and went back to her friends. You didn't want to believe it. Would Xavier really replace you with Wednesday? He couldn't, he wouldn't. Even when he was dating Bianca, sure you hung out less, but you were still in his life. She was just trying to get in your head right?

“Sorry I'm late, got a little held up in class," He put his stuff down next to him and grabbed some food from the lunch you packed for the two of you. Cooking had become a stress habit for you, so nightly you sneak into the kitchens and prepare something for the next day.

“What kept you?" You put your stuff in your bag and grabbed a snack from the pile.

"Class, I said that didn't I?" He talked through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah but, what kept you? The teacher? Extra work?” you tried to press while eating your half of the lunch.

“Uh, just some extra credit work, wanna bring my grade up you know?” His answer was strained, and his eyes looked anywhere but at yours. So you followed his gaze, to Wednesday.

“Yeah, for sure,” You mumbled and went back to eating. Even if you wanted to escape him for another hour, to try and calm the thoughts in your head, you couldn’t. You two had the same class next period and you always walked together.

——————————————————————————

The day felt strained, any conversation with Xavier fell off track and eventually died out too soon. It’d been too long since this pattern started. Ever since she came to Nevermore, things slowly got worse between you two. You weren’t as close as before and it killed you.

So like every night, afraid to break habit, you snuck out of Xavier’s dorm to hang out. Right before you were going to knock on the door you heard two hushed voices in the room.

“You can’t keep doing this Xavier, you’re hurting her.” a voice pressed him for answers, sounding upset.

“We’re fine, Ajax.” Xavier fought back, offended anyone would accuse him of doing anything to hurt you.

“How dense are you that everyone can see it, but you?” Ajax stressed the end of his sentence still trying to be quiet.

“See what!” Xavier was getting increasingly agitated.

Your grip on the handle faltered and it wiggled just loud enough for both boys to notice it. Suddenly the door was opening and you smiled sheepishly at Xavier, “Hi.”

“I’m gonna leave,” Ajax looked between the both of you and you moved out of the way for him to exit. He sent one last glance Xavier’s way before he closed the door and went back to his dorm.

“Sorry, did i interrupt anything?” You apologized, still feeling the tense air.

“No,” He ran a hand through his hair in the same manor that always drove you crazy. “Nothing important.”

And just as quick as your conversation, Xavier went to sketching as you made yourself comfortable in his bed with your book. How quickly he could make your heart speed up and then break it felt like a world record now.

——————————————————————————

It’s been two weeks now since you accidentally overheard Xavier’s conversation with Ajax that night. Things hadn’t changed between you two, and you can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not yet. Val had been pushing you to just confront him about your feelings. She knew letting them simmer inside was doing no one any good.

So on a night similar to that one fateful evening, you mustered up the courage to finally ask him what you meant to each other.

“Hey Xavi,” you asked, leaning slightly to the side now as he turned around from the mural he was painting on his wall to look at you. “What do I mean to you?”

He seemed to freeze, face tinting slightly rosier, whether it was blush or anger you didn’t know yet.

“What do you mean?” He dipped his brush in the cup he used to clean them, going right back to his art. It made you study his face, his posture, before continuing your question.

“I mean, I know what you mean to me. I know what i feel for you,” you felt emboldened by seeing him try and play off his nervousness watching him tense and straighten his back. “But I don’t know what I am to you.”

He paused and blinked, it looked like he was going to say something but he made no move to speak. After two minuets he finally opened his mouth, “Where is this coming from? You’re my best friend, you’re.. I..” He trailed off.

“But it’s more than that. More than friends,” he flushed pink, taking in a large gulp. “But less than lovers.” His grip turned white on the brush as he slumped slightly. Still he made no move to speak, so you turned away and went to collect your things. Nothing was said between you two as you packed up what you brought and slung your bag over your shoulder.

As you slipped out the door and into the shadows, mimicking a poltergeist you had once seen and turning yourself almost completely invisible. No one could even hear you breath and you floated through the halls back your dorm.

And in the faint night hair, before you left the wing his dorm was in, you could’ve sworn you heard him call your name and try to get your attention. But it was futile as you just sped up and got back to your dorm quicker.

Val said nothing as you slumped into your bed, rolling your stuff off the side and curling up with a blanket in your arms. She must’ve been able to infer what happened, and she climbed in next to you to hold you as you silently wept. Not even a shake ran through you as the tears fell. No one could hear the sound of your heart shattering that night.

[fryingpan1234567]

Now listen you’ve heard of “Will slips into Texan when he’s freaked out enough”

You’ve heard of “Leo slips into Spanish when he’s freaked out enough”

Now I present to you: “Leo slips into Texan when he’s freaked out enough”

Jason finds Leo working on the Argo II in its early stages, pieces of it still suspended from the ceiling of Bunker 9. He can hear his boyfriend muttering to himself in a clearly irritated tone, occasionally punctuated by clanging like he’s hitting things

Jason expects it to be Spanish. It’s usually Spanish. What he does not expect is “Sweet mother Mary of baby Jesus Christ, if this damned hunk a’ junk doesn’t fly by the end a the week—“ He cuts himself off as he beats a loose screw back into place with his monkey wrench

Technically, Jason knew Leo was southern. He came from Texas. He occasionally had a little bit of a Texan spice to some of his words. But he always told people that he grew out of it?? So Jason was surprised, to say the least

So surprised that he stood there in shock until Leo rolled out from under the hull a few minutes later, freezing when he realized Jason was standing there

Anyways Jason was NOT prepared

You know who else was not prepared?

Hazel fucking Levesque.

They’re in the air by this point. They’ve been questing for a couple weeks. They’ve just almost been shot down, things are on fire, oars have been shaved off, there are tears in the sails. Leo is running around like a headless chicken on deck, trying to fix things

She just hears this fade in and out as he runs past her of “there ain’t no waY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH YOU TAKE DOWN MY SHIP UNLESS Y’ALL MONSTER PAIN-IN-MY-ASSES GO DOwn with me Christ almighty—“

She stood there and blinked in shock, somehow despite the fact that the ship was literally falling apart around her

Leo swearing is not a rare occasion

Him swearing in a yeehaw redneck accent definitely is

Somehow that crooked grin of his makes so much more sense once you picture it with a straw between his teeth and a cowboy hat crowning his unruly curls like a fuckin Disney character

[loveandleases]

Sorry if this has been asked. I tried to search but couldn't find it.

How do the RO's deal with jealousy. I notice that Cam, G and Ardent all are quite high (I mean Cam and Ardent are in a different legion). How do they deal when they see MC being hit on or someone just doing a flirty joking thing.

Can't wait for the release ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

I can't recall if it has or not. (I'm going to have to pick a designated day to sort out a masterlist) Answer below! (Me too, so excited okay more nervous than excited. I'm editing a wee bit of code that was broken from first round of beta. Not too much of a hassle!) ❤️ Cam - He should be used to being jealous of people making eyes at MC or when MC was dating, etc. But to Cam it was just ya know him being protective of his friend. That's all it was, so simple, so innocent. Until he came to terms with his feelings, which in turn kind of flipped a switch in his head and made it all make sense. His face reacts before his thoughts can sometimes, so he would be scowling, angry. Stumping around and pouting, Cam would try to diffuse the situation as quick as possible, if someone is flirting with MC, looks like Cam just remembered they've totally seen this person before. He will then put himself between MC and this person, "Hey weren't you here last time with your partner?" (he will think of so many ways for this person to leave mc alone. maybe even make a list for what works the fastest)

💙 G - I'm absolutely not jealous. Out of all the emotions I feel that is so far from any of them. (such a liar)

G denies, because they shouldn't be jealous, why do they care? Caring about MC about who they're interested in or whose interested in them shouldn't matter. Is the person a friend of MC's? That shouldn't matter, it shouldn't but damn it if it doesn't. G has more bite, they snap a bit, or they turn complete ice cold. As if MC doesn't exist, but they're paying far too much attention for that to be the case. Because realizing they're jealous hurts them, disgusts them.

💚 Kara - There are moments when Kara can and has gotten jealous when in regards to MC. Some of those moments was when MC and Chris were together. Was she jealous because MC was spending time with her older sibling who she considers a close friend? Or was it more? Whose to say (I can't!). When not in a relationship she doesn't believe she has a right to be jealous when it comes to MC, so she does get conflicted when it happens, however seldom. She likes attention, if she's getting it from MC good if not...well maybe she just needs to do something to change that. She tries to brush it off, lets it settle. Because clearly that jealousy is fleeting right?

💛 M - So M is a tricky one, they are close to very few people so if and when MC becomes one of those and they see that someone is trying to take that time with MC away from them, they get kinda jealous. They'll blush, brush it off. Then their tongue will slip and they will say something catty. Apologize profusely. M doesn't know how to handle those emotions, they haven't had experience with it so it's a learning time for them.

💜 Isaac - It would take a lot for Isaac to get jealous. Would have to be in deep crush/early relationship stage for it to really start. It would scare them, but they would hide that from MC. Isaac knows pain, so if they get jealous then they worry that can lead to other feelings other fears. They'll try to ignore it, because if MC and Isaac are together, they have to trust its for a reason. It's not just a thrill of a moment. So they deal with jealousy with patience, or try to.

🖤 Ardent - Ooooh goodness. Ardent doesn't deal with it. Nope, even crushing stage. He's not dealing with that. He would be brash, to the point. Tell the person to back the fuck off, and if he sees them again well, that's going to be a problem. When Ardent cares for someone, he does it with every fiber of his being. So seeing someone trying to overstep their bounds especially if that person is making MC uncomfortable. That would get his temper quicker than anything. Ardent would be clingy, so clingy so annoying. Like hold his hand, better yet let him wrap you in his arms because this guy is sulking.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Cold War

The receiving room was beautifully furnished. Neither overly ostentatious nor fussy in design. But it had a... coldness to it. This entire god forsaken building was, artfully hidden fireplaces be damned.

And it wasn't just the temperature.

The North may be a cold place, but the people there had always been a hardy one. Kind, if stoic. Not the sort for empty words and flamboyant gestures. So to see a building like this? One so very, very COLD? It spoke of something rotten. Something gone terribly wrong and far beyond control, hidden away out in the countryside where no one could stop it in time.

And it had.

And it DID.

And oh, how we SUFFERED for it, didn't we?

I didn't understand what went wrong. I knew, KNEW, because I was no fool, that the Story would change. Since I was remove a load bearing antagonist, how could it NOT? But... well, I did not wish to die. Certainly not for some other girl's love story. I refused to suffer. To be humiliated. To lead a life of pain and degradation. Just so she might frolic about with men, only to ultimately end up on the throne.

She would either have to find her way to greatness on her own merit, or settle of mediocrity. But it would NOT be built upon the back of my suffering. I gracefully bowed out. Took leave of the stage. And? Comported myself as befit a daughter of my house.

They were not... the most open. In fact, they struggled to connect. To offer or even receive comforts of any kind. But my family LOVED with a fierceness that would lead armies and burn nations. We were ABSOLUTE. And we? Stand TOGETHER. Always.

I would never forget. No matter how many days pass by. WHO I first saw when I opened my eyes. Clustered around my tiny form, rumbled and undignified in a way I would never see them again, with eyes that shone with such RELIEF. I never saw my mother's make run like that again. I half believe she hopes I do not remember.

But I DO.

And I always will.

In the Story, my character was a terror. Haughty and cruel. Sadistic. A wealthy brat that played God right up until all her sins came due. She drove a great deal of the early plot. I? Did none of those things. I threw myself into being a good daughter and a shining reflection upon the parents I loved.

I took my etiquette lessons seriously, to the delight of my teachers. My school work was promptly finished and followed by clarifying questions, to the joy of my tutors. I was polite to my peers. Overlooked their embarrassing early fumbles and mistakes. Helped them navigate social disasters with dignity. Promised nothing yet remained approachable.

My prospects had been ABYSMAL in the Story. It was part of the Narrative's punishment, I think. Though in hindsight, it is an ugly thing to do. A wonder I ever found such a story interesting enough to read. I imagine, it is the difference between tales and lived events? Nonetheless. My father was FLOODED with letters.

My poor mother absolutely HARRASED. Not an outing could go by, without SOMEONE mentioning their DEAR, SWEET son or nephew. To maintain proper appearances and neutrality, I was forced to attend more party's and events then I EVER wished to see.

I felt like a slab of meat up for auction. A show pony. But I also knew it was temporary. That I need only keep an eye out for a good, respectful man. Listen to the rumor mills. Discreetly bribe a few servants for information that "everyone knew". It was, after all, the way of things.

Should have been, the way of things.

But trouble started. Strange infighting, that started between boys and escalated to entire households. Tense, unspoken, lines dividing garden parties that only the day before were amicable. The Protagonist and her Harem of powerful players? Were BLIND to it.

Two of them were PRINCE for God sake! How had they been RAISED, that they could not feel the sudden shift in the socio-political landscape of their Father's court? He certainly could. And it clearly unnerved him. Yet? The Harem, each son's, each HEIRS, of some powerful position? Seemed both blind and deaf to all but the painfully obvious.

And even THAT? Was apparently unconnected to each other in their empty little minds. Had they nothing but flowers and glitter between their ears? One had to assume.

People were... accidentally forgotten. When invitations were sent. Then deliberately. Then OPENLY. Then? They were SNUBBED. Events deliberately scheduled on the same day, at the same time, as another. So all of polite society would have to CHOOSE. It was escalation.

And if it had been on or two houses? It would have been scandalous. Depending on the house, perhaps even worrying. A handful of houses? The king might have tried to get involved. Forcefully mediate. But it... it was somehow so much WORSE. Was EVERYWHERE.

Like someone had carefully examined the entirety of the Court for fault lines, then SWUNG. Some silent, careful, machination that left everyone at everyone's throat. Divided. Weak.

Easy to manipulate and control.

I could not for the life of me find the source of it all. My social season becoming swiftly more and more dangerous. Politically charged. People pushing and PUSHING for alliances I could not and WOULD NOT give without consulting my family. The capital was no longer safe. So... I quietly left.

Letters of vague excuse. Family matters, cousin so-n-so in their time of need, I'm sure you understand. Too late to stop me and under the cover of darkness.

It... I tell myself it is not my fault. That it would have happened either way. That I could not have known. But... but guilt is a heavy thing. It sits like lead in your gut. Like chains around your soul. They were waiting, I think. More, I suspect. Because...

Because the capital all but EXPLODED.

The carnage was IMMEDIATE. Not even a full day later, at a hunting party, the heir to one house shot the second son to another.

He did not survive.

The powder keg finally sparked and it all went up in flames. Alliances that had stood for centuries, shattered. Brother turned against brother. A wedding turned into a bloodbath, as the bride turned on both her family AND the groom, escaped into the night. Fights broke out everywhere.

The festering tension that had gone for so long unspoken? Could no longer be ignored. Would not, be ignored. The king was helpless to stop it all. The gaurd could only do so much. The fluffy, happy, empty headed little world of comfort the Protagonist knew? Was shredded to pieces.

It became starkly clear that the royal family... couldn't handle it.

That their heirs were... Weak.

Captain of the Gaurd, the Prime Minister, even the King's strongest supporter, the Duke of the East, ALL of them had... weak and ineffectual heirs. One or two could be a failing of parentage, but all together? They had let someone sabotage their sons. Make them puppets to be used and discarded at convenience.

The natural suspicion, of course, fell to the one most benefiting from said son's empty headedness. Much to the Harem's horror. No! Not their beloved shared girlfriend! That the world was burning around them? Of no consequence. But upsetting their darling little mouse? Unforgivable!

It was an act of true, genuine, paternal love; that those fools were banished by the king. They would have been killed horribly had they remained.

My family and I? Retreated to our lands. We had enough to survive. Our House and our People came first. We sent no messages, we received none. I practiced my frankly terrible embroidery. My maids gently CORRECTED my frankly terrible embroidery. The country BURNED.

Powerful people were picked off, one by one.

And wouldn't you know it? A new star was rising from the chaos. A voice of reason. Charismatic. Driven. Handsome and powerful, with the bloodline to match. Conveniently allied already to all those people who had replaced the Old Guard in government! How very serendipitous. That those positions should just... open up, like that. That he just HAPPEN to have such qualified people at the ready.

What ARE the odds?

My House knew our monster know. We watched. Careful. As he smiled and smiled. One hand open in welcome, the other? Holding a knife, hidden just out of sight. The king saw him for what he was. And the monster saw a worthy foe in the king. They were, after all, both very Dangerous men.

It was likely swordsmen duel.

Deadly steel clashing, shining, swift as it dances, from attack to defend to attack again. Experience versus youth. Power against power. The king was an old dragon, stood against a tiger come to see him dead. And though the dance was breathtaking? In the end... the dragon was old. Tired. And not the man he had once been.

The tiger won.

The king died in his sleep. Of... natural causes. No one believed it. No one dared say otherwise. The crown princess ascended the throne. She had played the game well. Taken after her Father. Been neglected in favor of her idiot brothers. In the Story, she was to be married off. A side character never to be heard from again.

It seems she was not content with such a fate.

Now she was Queen.

My family and I applauded. Polite. I hoped it marked the end of the strangeness. So many had died. So much had changed. Surely... surely it was over, wasn't it? But then? In the cold light of the early morning hours? A letter. Pristine and on a fine paper. Sat like a viper upon the table before us. A bomb.

My Father had stared at it, over steepled hands, like if he glared long enough? It would simply catch fire and burn away. The Monster's crest. Pressed lovingly into the wax. What... what did That Man want with us?

I watched him grit him teeth. Run his letter opener through paper like he was imagining jerking it across flesh, slitting the bastards throat for DARING to threaten his family. I held my mother's hand as he read. Watched his grip on the pages go white knuckled.

He didn't even tell a servant to burn it.

He slammed his chair back, in a terrible fury, and marched straight to the nearest fireplace to consign the letter to the flames. Over his dead body. Was his announcement. I... I had a terrible feeling it might be, whatever was on those pages.

The letters kept coming.

My Father burned them all.

Then? Trouble started.

And I did not need to see history twice, to know how it would end. I got up early. Waited near the damn GATES. My Father could not burn the letter before I read it, if I was there first. It... it was a marriage proposal. I... I did not understand. Why? For what POSSIBLE reason would he...?

It did not matter though, ultimately. I would be saying yes.

For my family? Anything.

And so I packed. My Father knew he couldn't stop me. I was entirely too much his daughter. It was why he had burned the letters. I was doing exactly what he would have done. He vowed to kill him. Slowly. Held me a swore. He would make me the loviest widow to ever live. My Mother promised to go look up family recipes for poisons. For rats, of course.

I loved them so, so much.

I LOVE them even now.

It is why I sit, back straight, fragrant tea untouched, in this cold but beautiful receiving room. I wear my best dress. The one that makes me look coldly beautiful. Elegant but untouchable. I feel like a winter spirit in it. Something made of ice and bone. I wear it when I want to feel stronger. I don't know if it's helping.

If I hold myself still. Count my breathing and do not think. I can almost... ALMOST? Slip into a trance, I think. Let my mind unfocus. They are keeping me waiting. It's a power play. So be it. You will find me unaffected. Bored even, by your petty displays. I stare peacefully into nothing. A statue in a silent room.

I hope I fucking unnerve them.

Confident footsteps. How quite has it become, that I can hear them, even through the door? I do not turn my head. Note absent-mindedly that the tea before me has long grown cold. This whole damn place is cold. I dispise it. The door is opened for the master of this house. I pointedly do not greet him.

"Aaah~, So COLD" He sing song's, almost chiding, it'd be nearly playful if not for the hint of something darker threaded through his voice. He has an almost victorious little bounce to his step as he approaches. "But then again, I already knew that, didn't I? Frigid, untouchable, and unfeeling~ Now? Now you're MINE~"

He laughs. There is something half disbelieving, half euphoric in the noise. Like he's finally gotten everything he's ever wanted and doesn't know what to DO with himself. He invades my space. Looms. Eyes a touch too wide as he stares. Drinking in the sight of me sitting before him, like he can't believe it's real.

"Do you know, snowdrop? How long it TOOK? What I had to DO to achieve this? Ha ha!" The grin that spills across his feature is unhinged. All I can do is sit, tense and frozen before a madman, as he speaks. "The WHINING, the COMPLAINING, the 'what about meeeee'~! They never shut UP! Wretched and pathetic to the last, they panted after you like DOGS."

Hands slid from his pockets, to come to rest on either side of me on the arm rests, bracing and caging me in. Trapping me as he leaned down. Entirely too close. He smelled like winter air, sharp but clean. His eyes were a blue grey so hauntingly pale, they seemed to bore straight into the soul.

"But they were so GREEDY. So DESPERATE for power. It was EASY, to play them like fools against each other. Make them DANCE. And worth it. Because I get what I wanted~ The brat get her silly little throne, and you?" His grin was all teeth. One hand coming up to rest on my head. "Now you can NEVER escape me."

The hand slid, slow and fingers splayed, downwards. Possessive as each finger brushed, stroked, the side of my face. My jaw. My neck. His eyes following it down with something that could only be blatant lust. His grip tightened around my neck. Not enough to choke. Just, it seemed, to prove to himself that he COULD.

His thumb rest again my pulse, facinated.

Sliding back up to cup my chin, gently forcing my head up, so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. His eyes were dilated. I glared.

"I am going to RUIN you." He whispered, sounding entirely too reverent. As though it were some act of worship he had planned. "Take you apart at the seams. Pretty, pretty little thing. Mine, all mine~"

"I saw you first, you know. You couldn't even be bothered to look at me. I tried all night. That's when I KNEW. I was going to hunt you down. MAKE you mine. Marry you and destroy anyone and anything that stood in my way. And I DID~♡"

"I'm going to have each and every part of you, Darling. Love you and love you until you can't HELP but love me back. We are going to be BEAUTIFUL together. You don't have a choice~♡"

[ellieslittlewh0re]

Stripped - modern!ellie x stripper!reader

wk- 8k-ish (it’s worth it)

additional tags: loser!ellie, reader is slightly described (pale, red/light brown hair, literally picture Lana in tropico bc that’s what I used for reference, oral reader! receiving, fingering reader! receiving, gross ass m*en, mutual pinning, implied homophobia (nothing crazy), childhood friends to lovers??, drug! mention, alcohol! mention,college! ellie mentioned, fluff n smut <3

"Ugh- He's is such a fucking creep."

I mouth frustrations under my breath, taking a seat at the vanity in the back room of the club. I pull crinkled wads of money out of the strap of my thong, smoothing the bills as I counted.

"Who is?" A familiar voice asked me with genuine concern. Camilla, also known as Coco by the customers, was a veteran dancer, a motherly type that all the girls that worked here went to for advice.

"Grabby Gary."

She winced at the mention of his name and shook  her head.

"I don't know why they keep letting him in here. He's a fuckin' perv."

I nod in agreement, taking a deep breath before looking in the mirror. My eyes were red, and my body ached from the early hours of the morning. I applied for this job not because I wanted to, but because I figured it would be a good way to make money fast. My mother, being an alcoholic and her deadbeat boyfriend was a violent drunk.

"You got any plans this weekend, baby?"

I felt a boost of energy at her mention, perking my head up with a smile on my face.

"My best friend is coming tomorrow. She left for college a few months ago and I haven't seen her since. We talk everyday, but it's jus' not the same."

I lower my head, pain in my voice as I remember how fucking empty my life felt when she left me behind. I never told my friend this, not wanting to make her feel bad.. I was happy for her. She was smart and passionate, I mean, who was I to get in the way of her education?

"Does she know you dance?"

I suck air behind my teeth, scrunching up my face.

"...no."

I didn't want her to worry about me and I definitely didn't need her shit for it, but it still worried me.

"You work tomorrow, right? Bring her by, and we can feed her free drinks. It will be fine, now get your ass home and get some sleep. You did good today." Coco reassured me, patting the back of my shoulder before going back out to the stage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stir in my bed, the afternoon sun flooding my room, making it unbelievably warm due to the Texas summer heat. I fumble with the sheets, kicking them off my sticky skin. I skim my hand along the bed searching for my phone, peeking at the screen through tired eyes.

12:32 p.m.

I mentally groan before squinting at the missed text's notifications, rubbing my eyes to focus my blurry vision.

Ellie<3: Hey- I'm leaving now I'll be there around 1 Delivered 9:56 a.m.

"Shit."

I throw my body forward, scrambling to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

I search my drawers, pulling out whatever is clean. I trip over my feet as I tug on a pair of denim shorts when the vibration of my phone alerted me.

Ellie<3: I'm pulling in now

My heart started to race, excited, but also incredibly nervous. I quickly finish dressing my self, half-running half-speed walking to the front door.

"Okay-" I take a shaky breath, composing myself before turning the door handle.

"Took you long enough." Ellie said sarcastically, flashing me a smile. I could have cried right then, not realizing how much I've missed seeing her face that I lunged at her, wrapping my arms around her in an embrace.

"Damn- you missed me that much?" Ellie laughed, patting my back hesitantly.

I rest my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in her woodsy scent. I felt immediate comfort wash over me, a sense of safety and nostalgia.

I quickly pull back, realizing I definitely held the hug longer than we both anticipated.

I clear my throat, adverting her eyes.

"Uh- how was the drive?"

I encourage her inside and shut the door behind her.

"S' Fine. Nothing note-worthy-" she pauses in the hallway, glancing down at the battered couch.

"He's still here?"

She points to the man sleeping on the couch, stained white tank that was pushed up to his chest, exposing a bloated stomach.

I ignore the obvious disapproval in her voice, grabbing her wrist as I pulled her through the house to my room.

"How's your classes? Do you like them?" I ask her as I shut the door, making sure to lock it.

Dale, my mom's boyfriend was a real prick. Ellie and him have had their fair share of issues. One ending with Ellie punching him in the jaw after he called her a slur.

"Uh- yeah, yeah. They're good. Except for this one class- the teacher is a dick, but other than that, it's good."

She slid her backpack off her shoulder, tossing it to the floor before taking a seat on my bed.

I sit next to her, now feeling suddenly a lot more anxious in the quietness of my room.

"How are things here?" She lowers her head to me, concern raising in her voice.

"Oh- uh.. you know." I fake a laugh, looking down to my hands.

Ellie remained silent for a second, probably catching on that things here where in fact, not great.

"What's up with those?" She grabbed my hand, turning it over and observing the obnoxious set of acrylic nails.

I let out a more genuine laugh, her bewilderment written all over her face as she traced the edges of the nails.

"It's fr' my job. It's kinda a big thing there."

Her eyes break from my hands and look to my face.

"Waitressing requires talons?" Her eyebrows go up, child-like confusion on her features like if you tell a kid anything, they'd believe you.

"No! Oh my god- I quit the restaurant after you left."

She paused and leaned back, waiting for an explanation. I bit my lip before taking a deep breath, pausing before opening my mouth.

"I work at a club.. like a night club kinda place."

I held my breath as I examined her face, her eyes darting between mine.

"Doing what?"

Ellie's eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening into a straight line.

"It's not a big deal. I actually have a shift tonight and was hoping you'd come. You can drink for free."

My voice strained, desperate to get her on board for the sake of me needing her to understand my position.

Ellie nostrils flared through rapid breaths, stone facing me before looking away.

"So you're a stripper?" Ellie sighed deeply as she rubbed between her eyebrows.

"... yeah." 

Ellie leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, looking around the room before taking a deep breath.

"A stripper? You're barely 19!"

Her voice grows louder out of anger, clearly not approving of my choices.

"I know, I know... but I need to move out. I can't stand living here, Ellie! After you left shit just got more fucked." 

I flail my hands before tucking them back into my lap. I needed her to understand. I needed her to realize how desperate I was and that I didn't take this job just for the experience.

Ellie remind silent for a minute, taking in my explanation.

"I'm sorry- it's just.. I hate the idea of you dancing around naked."

"It's not like that... I mean I'm not completely naked."

I laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood. Ellie cracked a smile, but it didn't seem sincere.

"Will you come tonight? It would help knowing you were there." I ask her, dipping my head down.

Ellie pauses before answering, mentally analyzing how it would play out.

"Yeah I'll go.. but only to beat guys up if they look at you for too long." She said smugly, nudging her shoulder into mine.

"That's literally what I got hired for."

I roll my eyes, trying to down play the heat rising in my cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I see you still drive that sad excuse for a car."

My eyes remained glued to the screen, taunting Ellie as we played an out-dated version of call of duty zombies on my PlayStation, killing time before I have to get ready.

"It's not sad! It's a Mustang." Her voice pitched, defending her prized possession.

"Yeah... a 2005 Mustang that almost killed you and drained your bank account." I roll my eyes, spamming buttons on the controller.

Amongst our bickering, we lose our concentration causing a horde of zombies to down us both.

The colors on the tv screen loses saturation and text on the screen read: game over you survived 12 rounds

"Aw man. This is totally your fault."

I open my mouth to argue Ellies claim when the door handle rattles, and aggressive banging followed.

"Why the hell is your door lock?! Who's in there with you?" A loud male voice creeped through the  hinges.

I stood up and walk towards the door, turning back to give Ellie a look of "please be cool" before slowly opening the door.

"The hell is all that noise fr?" Dale grumbled, looking rougher than usual. His eyes look behind me into my room, eyes going wide as he saw Ellie, who gave him a wave and a shit eating smile which definitely did not help the situation.

"What the fuck is she doin' here?"

I take a deep breath, putting myself in front of him to crate a barrier in case shit goes south.

"She's jus' staying for the weekend, okay? That's it."

His eyes bulged out of his head, veins becoming more prominent against his now red face.

"Bull fuckin' shit she is! This is MY house."

Dale yells, pouting a finger in no particular direction.

"The only thing you own is a spot on the sex offender registry." Ellie rebuttals. I'd admit it's a good burn, but holy fuck, this was the opposite of being chill.

"The fuck did she jus' say t' me?!"

Dale pushes himself past the door, shoving me out of the way as he v-lined for Ellie.

I grab Dale by the arm, using my body weight to hold him from getting closer to Ellie, who didn't seem affected, if anything, she looked amused.

"Dale- Dale please calm down... she didn't mean it, okay? Just please stop." I spoke calmly to him like I've done so many times in the past when he got this way.

Dale silenced his yelling, looking to me as he breathed heavily, blood shot eyes and a slight twitch in his eyebrow.

I put on a brave face, having done this repeatedly over the last 3 years that he and my mom have been dating.

"She will be gone tomorrow, okay? I'm sorry I should've told you... I can talk to Chris at the club and see what he has, okay?" I spoke sweetly to him even though it made me feel physically sick.

He didn't respond, eyes darting between me and Ellie, then back to be before he stomped out of the room.

"The hell did you say that for?" I huffed, rubbing my eye, and walked over to Ellie, plopping down next to her on the bed.

"Because I hate him." Ellie responded sternly, looking at me like I was dumb for asking such a question.

"No shit, but the least you can do is be in your best behavior, for my sake. I'm the one who has to live with him."

My words came out rushed, annoyed that she wasn't understanding how uncomfortable living in this house truly was.

The way my mom was black out drunk for days on end, how Dale would sneak around outside my room in an attempt to catch me undressing, not to mention the smashing bottles on the wall or the never ending psychological abuse Dale carried out.

"You're right. M' sorry. That was a dick move. I promise I'll be good."

Ellie held her hands up, one over her chest and the other in the air, signaling a sarcastic attempt to keep her promise.

I roll my eyes and bit my inner cheek to hide a smile. I missed her goofy self, the smug way she would tease to cheer me up.

"Okay, fine...you're forgiven'."

I flash a smile, looking at my phone to cheek the time.

"Shit- I gotta start gettin' ready. Do you have to get ready?" I stand, waking to my closest.

"Uh- I don't know, do I?" Ellie asked, sounding concerned that she had no idea how to dress for a strip club.

I look back at her, observing her outfit more closely. A checkered blue and white flannel with a simple white t-shirt underneath, dark washed denim jeans that hung tight to her legs paired with her signature high top converse that she couldn't live without. She looked good.. like really good. No matter what she wore, I always found myself admiring her, even when we were young. She was effortlessly cool to the point it was annoying to me.

"I-I think you're good. I mean, you're a customer. You can wear whatever, I guess."

I turn back around, shuffling through the designated spot in my closet that I lovingly refer to as "skin rash central". Sequins and feathers and other skimpy clothes that look like discarded scrapes from a Victoria secret factory.

"Ugh- don't call me that."

Ellie winces at the choice of words. Customer. She didn't want to be a customer at a strip club where her childhood best friend worked. It felt wrong like she was crossing an invisible line. Only ever dreaming about the possibility if that line were to break, disappear completely, and the term friends would be replaced with something else.

"Don't worry, you don't have to throw money at me... although I wouldn't be opposed to it-"

Ellie shifts uncomfortable in her seat, clearing her throat to hide the fact her cheeks began to burn hot from my comment.

"Im gonna' get ready... uh- make yourself comfortable." I said, motioning my arms in a way that was meant to be funny, but I realized how stupid I must have looked.

Ellie laughs anyway, nodding and shooing me out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay... lookin' good."

I turn around, observing myself in the spectacle mirror. A red lingerie set that I've worn a few times before, bows and ribbon that dangled across bare skin. Makeup is simple. Classic. Flawless skin with a wing liner, and big eyelashes that complimented the shape of my eyes. A few carefully placed fake beauty marks along my jaw and below my eye. I decided to keep my hair down, letting the length fall to the lower part of my back, loose, big curls that shaped my face and shoulders.

I take a few deep breaths, leaning my hands against the sink.

"You got this. It's just like very other night." I tell myself quietly in the mirror.

I throw on a jacket and sweatpants, not wanting to reveal myself to Ellie quite yet in case she loses her shit.

"Hey- sorry. I know I took forever. You ready?" I return to the room, glancing to my phone to check the time.

9:47 pm

When she didn't respond right away, I looked up to see why she wasn't responding. To my surprise she was already looking at me, more specifically my face.

"Ellie?" I snap my fingers at her, breaking her trance.

Ellie flinches, blinking her eyes a few times.

"Huh? Oh- yeah. I'm ready." Ellie clears her throat, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

Her behavior confused me, she was nervous when I came back into the room. I figured it was because she was not use to seeing me all glammed up, considering she knew me when I was a little girl, playing in the mud, catching bugs and reptiles in the creek behind the house. 

"Can we take your car? Dale is gon' kill me if I take his truck again." I asked her, focusing on putting an extra pair of shoes in my duffel bag.

"Yeah, that's cool... uh where is the club located?"

I rushed to my vanity, spraying ungodly amounts of sweet smelling perfume along my body and clothes. Panic was starting to kick in. Anxious that this was defiantly not like every other shift. My best friend was going to be there, to watch me dance half-naked for other people's pleasure.

"Further into the city. Don't worry I'll tell you directions. Traffic might be kinda bad though so we need to leave." I finish putting on deodorant, slugging my bad over my shoulder, dragging Ellie along by her hand out of the house and down the driveway to her car.

"Do you want to play music?" Ellie asked, holding the aux cord.

I happily obliged, shuffling through playlists I made specifically for her. I find one that felt just right, clicking it and waiting for her recognize the beat.

"Oh shit! So it's that kinda night, huh?"

Ellie cranked the volume up, tapping the steering wheel with her hand and started to sing along.

I watch her with a warmness building in my heart. Seeing how happy she was listening to a song we have both heard hundreds of times.

It felt like we were teenagers again, driving around in this same car, having no destination in mind as we blasted borderline obnoxious tunes. Ellie was always older, not just physically but mentally.

I realized my feelings for her when I was 15, and she was 17 going on 18. I could never tell her it would just put her in an awkward situation and possibly ruin our friendship, and I definitely didn't want that.

"Turn left at this light and the club will be on the right side. You can't miss it, it has a bright ass pink neon sign out front."

I bit my lip, feeling insecure about the location of this place, not realizing before how fucking sketchy this part of town was.

Ellie turns the car into a parking spot, killing the engine and took a deep breath.

"You forgot to mention it was in east side."

"...sorry. It's not that bad, I promise."

I look down to my phone, checking the time.

"Oh good! We're kinda early. You can get a drink before I go on." I say a little too excitedly, my thought process being she can get shit faced while I worked, in case I make an ass of myself.

I exit the car, tossing my bag over my shoulder and start heading towards the doors. I stopped, realizing Ellie wasn't right behind me, I turn around.

"What's wrong?" I ask her with a puzzled look.

Ellie's face lit up a pink hue from the sign, her eyes fixated on the building.

"Wha- nothing... nothing. I'm comin'." Ellie words faltered, her head hanging low as she made her way to where I was.

I push open the blurred glass door and examine the crowd. It was fairly busy, considering it wasn't even midnight yet, which is when people started to flood in.

"Hey doll- you're early." Coco greeted me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I greeted her with a smile, genuinely happy to see her face.

"Yeah, I thought traffic would be bad-" a awkward silence formed between the three of us, Ellie looking at me and then down to the floor.

Coco sensed Ellie's lack of experience in a strip club, looking at her and holding a well manicured hand out.

"You must be the best friend. I'm Camilla. It's good to finally meet you. She talks about you all the time."

Ellie shook her hand, focusing heavy on her face to avoid looking at what little clothing she was wearing.

"Oh does she?" She let out a nervous laugh, breaking the hand shake and wedging herself behind me. I was humored by how Ellie was acting. Nervous and in full gay panic, being surrounded by a bunch of girls that were half-clothed.

"I'll leave you to it. Have a good night-" Coco kisses my cheek and then points to Ellie, who straightened her stance immediately like she was meeting the president.

"And you, take care of her tonight. She's good at what she does, but she's a magnet for trouble." Coco turns and disappears into the club, leaving the two of us standing awkwardly by the entrance.

I shake my head, covering my face with my hands out of embarrassment.

"Magnet for trouble?" Ellie repeats her words, a smug tone hinted in her voice as she teased me.

"Don't- just... don't. Now, c'mon let's go get a drink." I grab her wrist, pulling her though the club towards the bar.

"2 shots of tequila please."

I leaned over the bar, kicking my feet like a kid in a candy shop.

Fez, the bartender gave me a stern look, rolling his eyes.

"You can't drink yet, doll. We've been over this." He shook his finger at me, trying to sound serious, but he was a gentle giant, sweet and very easily manipulated.

"C'monnnn please. It's a special occasion."

I blink wide eyed at him, pouting my bottom lip.

Fez shook his head, taking a deep breath and pretended to think hard about it.

"Fine... but I swear this is the last time. No more." He turned, slapping two shot glasses down on the bar and filled them to the brim, letting some spill over onto the counter.

I scootch the glasses closer, holding one up for Ellie, which she takes hesitantly. Her one eyebrow raise, and a smirk on her face as she brings the shot to her lips, throwing her head back as she downs the liquor. I copy her motions, swallowing the liquid, feeling it burn my throat as it made it way down.

"Awh- ohmygod... that's foul." I choke out, scrunching my face and pushing the shit glass away.

Ellie was unfazed by the taste, not flinching  in the slightest.

"You're such a baby." She giggles, shaking me by my shoulder.

"Sorry I'm not a frat boy like you." I snark back, feeling pretty pleased with my remark.

Ellie rolls her eyes playfully to make me feel like I won that conversation.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, letting the screen light up.

"Shit- uh I need to get ready for my set. You can stay here and keep drinking- or if you get hungry, I can ask the guys in the back to make you something?" I ramble, covering all my bases to make Ellie as comfortable as possible.

"I'm fine! Just go do your thing." Ellie let's out a laugh, shooing me away. I give her one last worried look before turning away and walking through the club, maneuvering around people and squeezing between chairs and tables.

I get rid of my jacket and sweatpants, switching out my vans for platform heels. Red to match my outfit, straps that accentuate the top of my foot and up my ankle. I button the straps, flexing my foot to make sure it wasn't pinching the thin skin.

I sat at the vanity, the bright bulbs around the mirror gave me a headache. My nerves were spiraling.

I planned my dances tonight with Ellie in mind as a way to welcome her, to still embarrass her even if the two of us were the only ones who knew. "White mustang" by Lana del Rey was my first song, a little inside joke for both of us, that leaked into "summer bummer" purely because that song made me want to dance, not think too hard. Just dance.

"Fuck. Okay, you got this. Jus' go out there and dance. You've done it dozens of times. No biggie."  I voice words of encouragement to myself, wiping  smudged lipstick from the corner of my mouth.

I coax myself with deep breaths, going through the motions of trying to calm the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"Doll, you're on."

I look at my co-worker, meeting her eyes through the reflection of the mirror. One last deep breath and I walk through the door, leaving the safety of the break/ hair and makeup room.

I walked slowly, carefully as possible to the stairs of the stage, scared I'd break an ankle in my uneasy footsteps. I kept my head low, scanning the crowd to look for Ellie. Lights strobing shades of pink and red, a haze building from the cigars that were being smoked.

My heels clunked the wood stage floor as I take position on the pole, holding it with one hand as I casually swung around it, waiting for my song to start. Yelling and whistling from the handful of men that gathered closest to the stage. I smile at them, waving playfully while still peeking looks in hopes I'd find my friend.

The first cords of the song started to play. I switch to my professional personality, becoming more serious and seductive. I parade myself around the pole, letting my legs fall wide as I leaned against. Dollar bills started to float onto the stage, hooting and hollering as I caressed my body. I engage with the men, bending over in front of them to show them something worth their time.

From the outside, I looked like I was doing my job and doing it well, but internally I was panicking. I couldn't find the one person I wanted to see, but at the same time, if she was watching and I couldn't see her, it was a new nightmare. Curious to know what her face looked like as she saw her once, innocent, childhood best friend.

Ellie waited as patiently as she could, finding a dark corner of the club where less people were. She sipped on a whiskey she ordered, leaned up against a wall.

A sudden burst of cheers and hollering caused Ellie to jerk her head in the direction where it was coming from. A women was walking into the stage, playfully hanging off the pole. The lights made it hard to make out at first, but upon seeing the light brown, almost copper tinted hair, Ellie's eyes widened, almost choking on her drink.

This was a side to her best friend she has never seen before, skin that Ellie's eyes have never been graced by before, at least not to this extent.

Sure, when they were younger they'd change in front of one another, but Ellie always turned away, scared that her friend would notice the changing hues of her cheeks.

Arms stretched outward towards her like a painting depicting a religious experience, and to be honest it felt like one to Ellie. These men begged for the touch of her hand, the words on her lips, but Ellie was the only one who knows what it was like.

The way she smiles so brightly, laughs so fully like she wanted the whole world to hear. How clumsy she truly was even though she danced so gracefully on the stage.

I prance in my heels all over the stage, trying not to make it obvious was trying to avoid the shining lights in my face to look for Ellie. I squint towards the back of the bar. Her familiar frame came into focus, leaning against a wall like she worked here as a bodyguard.

I wave at her, excited to finally have found her. Ellie does a double take before pointing to herself . I nod, not caring that this wasn't part of the routine as I usher her closer to the stage.

Ellie carefully comes closer, stopping a couple of feet behind the handful of men that surrounded the stage. I felt a burst of energy seeing her, knowing that she was still here.

I lower myself to my hands and knees, crawling forward to the men that clasped bills in their fingers. I lay in front of them, arching my back against the scuffed floor, letting money drape over my face.

Ellie held her breath as she watched, never looking away, hell not even blinking, scared she'd miss even a second of the show.

I get back into my knees, hovering above the paying customers as they place the bills in the straps of my thong and bra, letting it snap back only to be repeated. I diverted my attention away from my patrons to meet Ellie, her eyes heavily glued to me. I raise a finger, pointing it at her and curling it, signaling that I wanted her to come closer.

To my surprise she takes a few more steps forward, shimming between the men who gave her dirty glares in return, but she didn't care. Out of everyone here tonight, Ellie was the one who had all of your attention.

Ellie positions herself front and center of the stage. I crawl closer, leaving only a few inches between our faces.

🎶 the day I saw your white mustang-🎶

Ellie's realization of the song made her crack a smile. Even under the colored lights, I could tell she was blushing, cheeks red making her freckles more prominent. I felt my own cheeks cramp, a wide grin on my lips that I definitely couldn't hide.

I watch Ellie's hand disappear into her back pocket, pulling out crisp bills, and slowly, her hand moves to my chest, using her other hand to open the top of my bra as she inserts it gently, smoothing her finger over my cleavage before she retracts her touch.

"You suck-" I mouth to her, rolling my eyes playfully. My body jittery and my heart thumped loudly against my chest. Without much thought, I leaned down from the stage, planting a kiss to her cheek, which left a very prominent lipstick stain to her pale complexion.

My ears perk up to the changing of the song, feeling much more upbeat after our interaction, I jump up and blow Ellie a kiss, which she pretends to grab before she took a few steps back.

I carry on through my set, shaking my ass more energetically to match the vibe of the music. Dollar bills of various worths littered the stage.

Ellie watched from further away, her eyes loom in my direction as she babied her drink, not wanting to risk forgetting this night.

Ellie didn't try to hide how she bit down on her lip, eyes studying the movements of my hips or how I extended my neck to the side, leaving the exposed skin on display for her imagining how she wanted to mark it.

"So... whaddya think?" I ask out of breath from rushing off of the stage as soon as the song ended.

Ellie opens her mouth and closes it again as her face contorted, trying to figure out what to say that was both respectful, and didn't come off pervy.

"I see why that lady said you attract trouble."

I give her a confused look, tilting my head to the side.

"Huh?"

Ellie purses her lips before making a tsk tsk sound with her mouth.

"You were- unreal... it kinda scares me how incredible you were up there." Ellie looks away, rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand that held her drink.

I feel my face heat up, a giddy sensation building inside me.

"I mean I wouldn't go that far, but thank you Els. It means a lot comin' from you." I said sweetly, interlocking my fingers behind me as I rocked back in forth on my toes. I felt like I was in school all over again... like when you have a crush on someone that's way out of your league, but they talk to you anyways.

"Hey doll, Gerald wants a private dance." Camellia interrupts us, sounding slightly apologetic.

"Ugh- fine." I groan, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!" I yell back to ellie as I walked towards the champagne room.

Ellie didn't love the idea of you giving someone a lap dance. She wanted to hold you back, prevent you from walking away, but she didn't because after all, this was your job.... The idea of some old man grabbing you and fantasizing about how he would touch you made Ellie sick.

Ellie waited for your return as patiently as she could. Uneasiness was sinking in, causing her to sip from her glass at a faster pace. She felt a new sensation kicking in as she waited. Maybe it was a sense that she needed to protect you, keep you safe, but no, that wasn't it. It was jealousy. A possessive urge to keep you at arms length. It was a feeling that Ellie desperately tried detaching herself from for a number of years.

"Sorry! That took longer than it should've." I say to Ellie, stumbling back to her slightly out of breath.

"It's fine. When does your shift end?" Ellie's tone shifted. She sounded annoyed, frustrated even.

"Uh... soon." I answer weakly, uncertain why Ellie was acting different towards me.

Ellie didn't seem thrilled with my answer, looking down at her now empty glass and avoiding my face.

"If you want, I can see if I can leave early? It's slowin' down now. I don't think it should be a problem."

Ellie lifted her head, looking at me with wide eyes. Her face lit up at my suggestion, but quickly dwindled.

"You don't have to-"

"Hush. I want to. Plus, I want to spend as much time with as possible... jus' the two of us." I cut her off mid sentence. It was the truth. I didn't want to waste our only time together, not knowing when I'd see her again.

Ellie smiled, her eyes burn into mine causing me to want to lean into her, but she clears her throat when she realized how our gaze lingered.

"Let me go ask." I tell Ellie, resting a hand on her bicep before I turn to leave her again.

"Please! I'm literally beggin' you. Just this once- I won't ask again." I pleaded, holding my hands to my chest, interlocking my fingers in a prayer.

Warren. Aka boss man, looked me up and down, and took a deep breath before rubbing the meaty part between his eyebrows.

"Look- doll. You haven't been working here long enough to be making such requests."

"-and it won't happen again. I swear." I bat my eyelashes a few times in hopes he'd show me some mercy.

There was a few seconds of silence, Warren looked at me and then down to the papers strewn about his desk.

"Fine, but I expect good things from you from here on out. No more slacking."

"Thank you! I promise I will." I rushed over, planting a kiss on his cheek before running out of them room.

I strut over to Ellie, not giving her any time to react as I take her hand in mine and march us out of the building towards her car.

"I guess that's a yes?" Ellie asked, a smug tone hinted on her lips.

"Let's get the fuck out of here." I smile at her as I open the car door.

Ellie does the same, picking a song before she reverses out of the parking spot.

The neon glow of the club's sign was fading behind us as we drove away, windows rolled down to let the cooler breeze of the night swirl around us. This felt like everything I could ever need, ever want. I was happy with just this. The only person who ever looked out for me, who ever cared about me is by my side. I felt safe and loved by her, not really caring if she loved me the same way I loved her.

"I'm sorry I left you." Ellie breaks the silence, turning down the volume of the music so she wouldn't have to yell.

"What? No, don't be sorry. You grew up and so did I. There's nothin' to be sorry about." My voice grew weak as I spoke. It hurt to be reminded that she wasn't a permanent person in my life anymore.

Ellie didn't know what to say to that. She felt the hurt in your voice as you spoke and of how you shifted in your seat. Ellie glanced at you from time to time in her peripheral, taking note how you were still in your 'work' clothes. She quickly reframed herself from starring too hard from how little was being covered.

You turned away from Ellie in the car as you looked out the window, feeling a sense of dread that the night was coming to a close and Ellie would have to leave in the morning.

I felt the engine turn off, an ear piercing silence followed as we both made no effort to get out of the car.

"You ready?" Ellie asked, her voice quiet and gentle.

I nodded, opening the car door and walking up the driveway with Ellie close behind.

Reaching the door, I took out my keys, holding them up to the lock as I took a deep breath, praying that the house was quiet and everyone was asleep or simply just gone.

I creep open the door, listening for any movement and when it felt safe I motioned the coast was clear to Ellie. I shut the door behind us, taking off my heels to prevent the clunking sound on the tile floor.

"Thank-fucking-god." I sigh, falling back into bed, looking up at the plastered ceiling of my room.

"I can't wait to leave and never see this stupid ceiling again."

Ellie lowers herself onto the mattress beside me and looks up to where my eyes fixated before looking down at me.

"Me too." Ellie said absentmindedly, eyes lingering over the skin on your lower stomach and chest.

"Can you bring me with you? I can sleep in your closet or something... people have pets that they hide in there dorms, right?"

I laugh to make it sound like a joke, but it wasn't.

"Trust me. I wish I could." Ellie bit her lip. She couldn't hide how seeing you so close like this and so exposed made her feel. How your breasts pooled over your bra, how the skin between your legs looked so soft and malleable.

I sat up and looked to Ellie when I noticed how her demeanor had changed. Her eyes, usually a bright green where now much darker, more intimidating. My eyes drift to her lips, slightly swollen and glistened from her spit.

Fuck.

I divert my eyes from her face, feeling slightly uncomfortable by how much my body was reacting to her. My thighs squeezed together, my heart pounding and I couldn't stop thinking how much much I wanted to kiss her.

That's when I look at her arms.

Her fucking arms.

The sleeves of the flannel she wore were rolled up to below her elbows, exposing the tattoo on her forearm. The veins in her hand were prominent, trailing upward to her long fingers.

"Fuck-" My inner dialogue slipped, coming out as a whisper.

"I mean-" I try to cover my ass, praying my horny fucking brain to come up with anything, but it was too late.

Ellie leaned forward, putting her arms on either side of me, forcing me to lay back on the bed.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" She asked, tilting her head to the side as a smirk grew on her lips. Her voice sounded different. Low and sensual, unlike I've ever heard from her before.

My breath hitched just from her voice alone, the heat building in my core as she hovered over me.

"Wha- what do you mean?" I stutter, confused and at the same time feeling the effects of the atmosphere change in the room.

Ellie leaned closer, dipping her head so she was inches from my face.

"Still wearing this." Ellie raised her hand, bring her fingers to the strap of my bra and tugging on it.

"Maybe I am." I said barely above a whisper, grabbing her wrist and guided her hand to my stomach before moving it upwards to my chest, encouraging her to touch me.

Ellie's face changed from lust to genuine confusion, eyebrows furrowed and she studied my face.

"This isn't funny."

I shake my head weakly, squeezing her hand that was cupped around my breast.

"I'm not joking, Els. I want you to. Always have."

I bring her hand up and kiss the back of it, making deep eye contact as I leave wet, and sloppy kisses to her skin.

Ellie held her breath as she watched you underneath her, so beautiful and so eager for her touch. Ellie couldn't hold back anymore, all these years of repressing her feelings for you were coming to the surface.

I look up at Ellie, making slow circular motions with my hips as I imagined how Ellie's fingers would feel inside and that was her breaking point. Ellie pulled her hand away, forcing mine above my head as she leaned down and closed the empty space between us.

I moan into her mouth, feeling her lips on mine finally after all these years of only ever dreaming about this moment.

Ellie's lips move sloppily against mine, her tongue grazing over my teeth and exploring the spongy walls inside my mouth.

Ellie breaks away and looks at me, panting slightly from the passionate kiss.

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes were wide, and her brows turned upward. A puppy dog-like expression on Ellie's face caused me to smile, seeing how hard she was holding back just to make sure I was okay.

I simply nodded, reaching up and holding her face to bring her back down to reconnect our lips.

Her hands roamed by body, squeezing my breasts tenderly, but firmly. I did the same to the little amount of skin I could. Lacing my fingers around her forearm, sinking my nails into the flesh.

"Can you take this off? I wanna touch you." I pull away from her lips out of breath, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

Ellie wasted no time, sitting up on her knees and pulling the flannel off her arms, tossing it to the floor.

I gawk at the sight of her as she pulls her shirt over her head, discarding it to the side in one swift motion.

Ellie's stomach was flat and toned, defined ridges that outline her subtle abs that led downwards into a 'v' above the waistband of her jeans.

I bit my lip as I watched, taking in the sight of her.

I bring my hand up and grip the loop in her jeans, pulling her down to taste her again.

I let my fingers slip into her waistband, touching the uncharted territory. Ellie pulls away before I could feel her further, a hungry look in her eyes as her impatience grew.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was low and raspy like pop rocks, igniting your mouth with its rigid edges and leaving a sweet coating on your tongue.

"I wanna feel you." I whine, reaching up to palm her breasts over her sports bra. Ellie let out a muffled whine from the contact, shutting her eyes as she felt me drag a nail over her harden peak.

"You're drivin' me crazy. You know that?-" Ellie says, letting out a low chuckle before weighing out her options.

"Only if I can feel you." Ellie says, negotiating with me as her hand hovered down my stomach, giving me goosebumps as her fingers trickled down the skin.

I nod enthusiastically, gripping the sheets beside my head tighter as I felt her hand palm my pussy, rolling the heel of her hand against my clit.

"Fuu- you're this wet already? I bet I can slip right in.." Her hand continued to grind against the thin fabric.

My back arches under her, swirling my hips against her hand.

"Mm- El... please." I moan, looking up at her with a pained expression. 

"Please, what? Use your words, baby." Ellie said smugly, toying with me as she removed her hand, causing me to cry out from the lack of friction.

"T-touch me. I wan' you in-inside." I stutter over my words, my body wringing beneath her.

"Atta girl."

Ellie lowered herself once again, kissing me deeply, sucking my bottom lip before biting it between her teeth.

I feel Ellie's hand roam my body, tugging and gripping at various parts before she sipped her hand underneath my underwear. Her fingers skimmed along my folds, my slick coating her fingers before she circled around my clit.

My nails dig into the back of her shoulders, breaking the skin but not enough to make her bleed as she picked up the pace on my clit.

My lower stomach clenched and tensed, the heat pilling between my legs and I craved more.

"Ellie- empty.. I need you to fill-"

I was cut off by Ellie's fingers plunging into me over and over again as her fingers curled against my cervix with each thrust. Ellie paused, but only partially as she yanked down my underwear before fucking into me once more.

"FUuu mm-" I cry out, but it was muffled by Ellie's free hand covering my mouth, her fingers digging into my cheeks.

"Shh baby... you have to be quiet." Ellie growled into my ear before kissing the corner of my eye. Tears began to spill down my face from the force of her hand slamming against my cunt. 

I nod as she removed her hand from my mouth, letting it fall to my throat as she gently squeezed it.

I bit the back of my hand, sinking my teeth into the skin as I held back my moans.

"Good girl... such a good girl-" Ellie cooed, placing the occasional sweet and delicate kisses on my face, which didn't line up with what she was doing to my aching core.

Wet sloshes filled the room along with my muted whines from behind Ellie's lips.

I felt a bubbling sensation rising inside me, my mind becoming fuzzy and blank. I felt like I had no control over my body, my limbs becoming stiff  as my eyes roll to the back of my head.

"Els- I'm gonna-" I barely mutter, breaking away from her kiss as my head falls back, pressing deep into the mattress beneath me.

"Cum fr' me, baby girl." Ellie encouraged, her fingers slipping deeper into my cunt with each blow.

I squeeze her bicep, sinking my nails into the freckled skin. Occasional moans that I try hold back escape my lips, no thanks to Ellie. My jaw hung open as I lift my head to watch her fingers disappear then reappear inside me. I couldn't take it anymore, my head rolls back, my eyes shoot to the back of my brain as my stomach tenses, my hips rising with her fingers that continue to fuck into me as she rode out my climax.

I lay on the bed as my cunt continued to throb, taking deep and uneven breaths to try to calm the tingling sensation I felt all throughout my body.

The springs of the mattress creak as Ellie lays down next to me.

"You okay?" Ellie asked, sounding scared like a little kid that got caught stealing candy.

I roll my head over to look at her, her eyes wide and bright that how I always remembered them.

"Yes. I'm more than okay."

I turn my body to face hers, brining my fingers up to tuck a stand of hair behind her ear.

We lay there in silence for what feels like an eternity and I would I've been okay with that. Our hands danced over the skin of our faces, memorizing every curve and line.

"I don't want you to go." I said weakly, almost crying just thinking about her departure.

Ellie cupped my hand that rested on her cheek with her own, rubbing small circles with her thumb to the back of it.

"I know-"

I felt my eyes begin to well and I quickly try to blink them away, but it just made it worse. Tears fall down my cheek and my nose as I softly sobbed.

"Hey- shh.. shhh. It's okay." Ellie soothed me, pulling me into her. I bury my face into her chest as she held me. Her hand soothed over my head, patting it softly as she raked through my hair with her fingers.

I sniffle, pulling away to look at her again.

"I'll be okay. It's just- hard without you here."

Ellie's heart was breaking as she watched you crumble beside her. Your usual carefree and happy self was just a mask that you wore, a mask to make everything seem good and normal when that was the opposite of your life.

Ellie didn't want to leave you just as much as you didn't want her to leave. She couldn't stand the thought of not being able to take care of you, see you everyday and to have you within reach at all times.

Ellie took a shaky breath, unsure if what she was about to say was out of bounds.

"I've been looking at apartments off campus-"

My eyes lit up at Ellie words, confused at first, but equally as excited to know where this was going.

"And if... you want to come live with me in Houston-"

I pounce on top of Ellie, cutting her off before she could finish her sentence.

"Yes! Of fuckin' course I want to live with you!"

My voice became loud and high pitched from my excitement, planting kisses over her forehead and cheeks before I bring my lips to hers, kissing her harder and longer than I intended.

"Okay, okay.. easy there." Ellie laughed, pushing me away to catch her breath.

"I promise I'll get a job and I'll cook and clean-"

Ellie brought her finger to my lips, silencing my rambles.

"Don't worry about that shit, okay? I'm gonna take care of you." Her hand cupped my face, soothing her thumb over my temple.

I fall into her chest, holding her tight, and she did the same. Tears fell from my eyes, not out of sadness from her leaving, but from the happiness that every bad thing that I've ever gone through was going to be that of the past, and now I have something good to look forward to.

"Shit!" I throw my head up, leaving her chest.

Ellie tilted her head, eyebrows raised in confusion from my sudden movements.

"I didn't get to touch you."

Ellie laughed from the genuine disappointment in my voice, pulling me back down to kiss me.

"Don't worry. There will be plenty of time for that."