#guess who isn’t dead lmao

[fcb-mv33]

Lmao having a picture and saying your a max fan only to shit on him and his family what an odd thing

[ruki--mukami]

From the moment Yui entered your room late at night, you knew something seemed off about her. It wasn't like her to become this brazen overnight. Intrigued, you were going to give a remark but was suddenly interrupted when Yui jumped into your arms and shoved her face into your chest. Taken back by what has just happened, you feel wet spots on your chest.

"I miss him," cried Yui as she spelt out those three words almost in a whisper. "My father."

“Don’t cry, Yui. I understand the loss of a parent can destroy you instantly, starting from the inside until finally you can no longer contain yourself. The relationship you once shared with your father had both its morose and joyous moments, I’m certain, but remember how the two of us met. It was all thanks to your father’s absence in the first place,” slowly he welcomed her into his arms. “In other words, what I’m trying to say is that sometimes we must separate from our family to grow as people. Humans live on finite time, that is simply a realization with which we must learn to agree and cope. If he truly cared for you as often as you claim he did, then he would hate to see you shed tears over his passing.”

Stifled sobs, lachrymal stains upon the silk of his shirt, champagne curls messily entangled with the Vampire’s fingers, Ruki reciprocated her embrace with cathartic circles caressed into the small of her back, exhaling deeply as accursed memories resurfaced. Dire circumstances poisoned his mind, from his father pushed off the precipice of depression and his mother who long fled. For Yui’s sake, he threw that tragedy to the wind. Bodies melded together like a rose apricating in the sun’s warm wake, usually he would have considered a human weeping in his arms nothing more than a thorn in his side, stinging with trauma immemorial. However, he likened Yui to someone beyond a mere human, someone beyond a beloved one. A sweet seraph, illuminating the dark with her hope, it pained Ruki to genuinely see her overwhelmed with bereavement. Planting a cold palm against her florid pallor, the Vampire gazed intently into her refulgent rubellites teemed with the pearls of sorrow.

“You are my one and only Eve. Or at least, you were. Now you’re the Yui I’ve come to cherish. The Yui I’m eternally grateful who hasn’t experienced a life of solitude; lost and abandoned. Your father may no longer tread this earth but if it’s any consolation, you’ve found a new family. My brothers and I will always be here for you—especially me. You won’t ever have to be alone again, for I shall continue to love every single part of you.”

Narrowed tempests, countenance encroaching, and lashes fluttered shut like the wings of a bat, Ruki captured her lips with his. A kiss to silence her lugubrious bellows; a kiss to erase the agony; a kiss to swallow her worries whole. With each press, each dilatory cage of his arm snaked around her waist, he didn’t want to lose his mortal lover the way she lost her own parent, as shown by his possessive albeit protective kiss in hopes of comforting her. If he could shoulder the burden, and thus ease her pain, then Ruki would hold her always without complaint. Joining in an intimate union, just like this kiss, if it meant seeing her effulgent smile again.

“I love you, Yui. Come what may, even if the end of time approaches us, we’ll always be together. Whether we are alive, whether we are dead, I intend to meet you in every realm of existence possible… because we are inseparable. Sleep here with me tonight if it will make you feel safe. Just know that you can always rely on me, is that understood? Not just as your master, but as your family. And I don’t mean in the kindred sense of it… I intend to start our own family together with you someday. As husband and wife. So until that day comes, don’t cry, Yui.”

[fagrights]

last two days have been so.. umm a lot they’ve been a lot

[scenezfreak]

HI POOKIE ITS YOUR FAVORITE REQUESTER AND I TOOK YOUR OFFER, MY EMOJI IS NOW 🍑 BECAUSE IM IMMATURE >:) ANYWAYS WHAT WOULD JEFF, LIU, AND TOBY BE LIKE WITH A SLUTTY S/O WHO NEEDS THEIR COCK ATLEAST ONCE A DAY AT MINIMUM??🤭

-LIZ🍑

YUHH HI 🍑ANON 🤭 ITS OK IM IMMATURE TOO LMAO, also imma start adding better images to my posts so it isn’t just a fucking red line 💀

Jeff, Liu, and Toby with a slutty S/O

NOT PROOF READ, MINORS DNI !!!

Jeff:

• He’d probably get fed up with you constantly needing his cock and would fuck you dumb so you couldn’t even ask for more.

• He would have you bent over a surface roughly fucking into you saying “Take my cock since you want it so bad”

• He wouldn’t fuck you just once, god no- he’d fuck you until you’re begging him to stop and even then you’ll be lucky if he even decides to give you a break

• When you do ask him to stop he’d grab your face, forcing you to look at him and say, “You’re the one who begged for my cock, so now you’ll take it.”

• You guys do have a safe word if it gets too much for you but you truly don’t want him to stop and he knows that too

Bonus: Jeff forced you to bend over a counter in an unknown house, you’re too needy for him to wait until you guys get home so he takes you in the house of the people you guys had just killed. “‘m sorry, Jeff…you just looked so hot fighting and killing that guy…” you whimper out, he puts a hand on your head, forcing your face to squish against the countertop, blood from his hands smearing on your face and on your hip from where he’s grabbing you. He starts grinding against you the curve of your ass. “Since you wanna act like such a whore, I’ll treat you like one.”

Liu:

• like Jeff, he’d fuck you dumb but on accident..

• He just wants to please you and accidentally goes too far, tbh I don’t think he’d be able to stop himself either

• How could he say no when you’re begging so nicely for his cock?

• He’s literally so in love with you it’s insane, he’d be giving you more than you asked for

Bonus: You had just cum for the 5th time and he’s still going, you can’t get enough of him and he can’t get enough of you. He starts speeding up and you can’t help but dig your nails into his back as he bullies your insides. There’s cum everywhere between your thighs and on him. The wet slapping sounds fill the room along with your moans and his grunts.

Toby:

• HE would be the one begging for sex and of course you’d comply since you were always horny for him

• He’d fuck into you so greedily like he hast just ruined you that morning

• After a round he’d ask, “Come on, one more for me, ok baby? Just one more” he demands it but it comes out as more of a beg

• Poor baby would make himself brain dead from cumming so much

Bonus: “Fuc- Fuck!” He groans as he cums inside of you again, keeping himself still inside of you he looks up with his puppy eyes, “Please j-just one- one more?” He asks. Breathless from just cumming you nod your head and he goes in for a kiss, his hands on your hips, using them as leverage to fuck into you again.

♡BONUS CHARACTER!♡

Eyeless Jack:

• He’s busy a lot so he doesn’t really have much time to fuck you when you’re needy

• BUT if you’re persistent enough he’ll definitely fuck your brains out

• On his heat tho?!?!?!?!? GYAT DAYUMMM. HES the whore then…

• Constantly begging for you, and who are you to refuse?

Bonus: “Y/n I can’t, I’m busy right now.” He says sternly. You huff and get on the ground to crawl under the desk. He jolts when you unzip his jeans, pulling his cock out. He starts to harden at the sight, you on your knees, your eyes big and begging as you rub his cock. You licking your lips as you bring your other hand to fondle with his balls. “Please Jack..?” You said pathetically. He stares at you for a while, you feel him twitch in your hands. “I guess a small break won’t hurt.” He says.

[mixelation]

TOROCHIMARU MENTIONED 🏅🏅🏅🏆🏆🏆👆👆🐍🦆🎉🎊 (you do not have to publish this i'm sorry)

LMAO you are going to be so pleased with the next chapter. <3 here's a preview

Tori felt tense as she climbed back out of the cave, Orochimaru plodding along leisurely behind her. She’d mostly just accepted that any physical feat she tried would look ridiculous next to the grace of a ninja, including but not limited to something as simple as going up a rocky incline. She felt judged, though, clinging to the cave wall while Orochimaru took the uneven path like a Sunday morning stroll. 

Thank god the Akatsuki hideout was nothing but stairs. She was sure that, had she tried this when she’d first arrived, she’d be at least a little winded by the time they were outside. 

As soon as they were in the cool shade of the forest, Orochimaru’s hand was suddenly in the hair at the back of her head, pushing her head forward. Tori made a strangled cry of discontent but didn’t fight him. He wasn’t actually hurting her, and if she struggled, not only would she not win, but he might be inclined to harm her just for fun. 

He leaned over her, carefully combing and parting her hair around the nape of her neck with his fingers. He did it gently and carefully, and it might have even felt good if he weren’t also pushing her head down into an uncomfortable position. 

“No scorpion seal,” he finally murmured, letting go of her. “Interesting.”

Tori stumbled away from him the moment he let her go, brushing her hair back into place. She turned to face him, studying his face as her brain worked overtime to figure him out. He was eyeing her up and down with the same sort of curiosity he might aim towards someone’s open chest cavity. On Sasuke’s pretty face, it almost looked inviting. 

A scorpion seal? Like one of Sasori’s? Why would he expect that? 

“What did Kabuto tell you?” Tori wondered out loud. She could make guesses, but Orochimaru was a person apt to answer questions when the mood hit him. 

“Ah,” Orochimaru replied, moving forward and linking his arm through Tori’s elbow. “Let’s walk and talk. It’s about time for lunch, isn’t it?”

Tori didn’t argue with him, just walked along beside him in a confused daze. What the fuck was happening? Was she actually safe? Surely she wasn’t. 

It’s not like this is worse than taking poison from Sasori or letting Deidara fly me somewhere wasted, she decided.  

“Kabuto said you knew about our work with Sasori,” Orochimaru said conversationally, leading her towards the path through the forest that would take them to the town proper. He let out a single laugh. “He said you turned him in without hesitation.”

“Well,” Tori answered levelly, “I don’t really know what he expected.”

Orochimaru laughed again. “I forgot how funny you are,” he said and sounded downright cheerful. Tori would count this as a win. 

Orochimaru watched her out of the corner of his eyes, taking on a more calculating look that set her hair on end. 

“Now, Tori,” he said. “Imagine you were me, and your best, most trustworthy spy is convinced your lab assistant can truly see the future and knows others’ deepest secrets. What do you think I’d do?”

What a loaded question, Tori thought. She kept her face blank, eyeing Orochimaru right back. He didn’t seem upset or angry, but he watched her with anticipation, like this was some sort of test. 

“I suppose,” Tori said flatly, “if I were you, I’d either want that person dead, or I’d want them on my side.” She paused, waiting for a reaction, but he continued to just watch her. “And if I were me, I’d hope you decided on the latter.”

His lips twitched upwards. This could be because he thought she was funny, or because she was on to something. He still didn’t speak, so she kept thinking out loud. 

“Either way, you’d have to find me,” she reasoned. “Or maybe not you personally, but someone working for you. Especially if you also wanted my insight on your Sasuke problem.” 

Who was still working for Orochimaru, with his little ninja village now in the wind? Kabuto? Surely Akatsuki would notice other ninja crawling around… 

“I did meet a snake,” Tori realized, remembering the whole hotel debacle when she’d been traveling with Sasori and Deidara. Orochimaru’s smile turned downright wicked. “Are you kidding me?”

“He was very upset you tried to blow him up,” Orochimaru replied. “He nearly died.”

“I think people really need to stop underestimating my ability to get them killed,” Tori griped. 

“You are surprisingly lethal,” Orochimaru said in the tone of someone telling a very good joke. “Now, what did my dear friend Sasori do with you, if not kill you or plaster a mind-control seal on your neck?”

Tori focused very hard on keeping her steps even and her face blank as she debated her answer. Clearly the question implied that Orochimaru knew Sasori had kidnapped her, but not that she was currently affiliated with Akatsuki. This, of course, did not mean he didn’t know or didn’t suspect as much, because Orochimaru was a master manipulator and liar. 

What to say, what to say…? Tori’s mind buzzed. It was probably better for her and Akatsuki to not admit she was working for them. Orochimaru would almost definitely press her for information, or maybe even ask for her to spy on them for him, and this would put her in a tricky, dangerous situation. 

Then again, if she turned out to not be useful to his purposes, Orochimaru might just kill her, right here and now.

Where, oh where, had Obito gone?

Tori tilted her head back and drawled, “Would you believe me if I said I escaped?” 

She’d stalled enough they’d gotten to the break in the tree line that marked the beginning of the town, and sunlight glinted in Sasuke’s eyes as Orochimaru studied her. 

“From Sasori?” he said after a moment. “Absolutely not.”

Tori kept her mouth shut, waiting for more as he led her through the town streets. It had gotten hot while they’d been in the cave, and now that they were in the open sun, Tori could feel herself starting to sweat. 

“It is interesting no one could find you,” Orochimaru eventually said, tone still pleasant. “Not that I invested many resources into it, with the current situation– but you are not so subtle you could hide by yourself, and if it were up to him, Sasori would not let you roam free without a seal.”

He paused outside a restaurant, eyes skimming a sign in the window listing specials. Then he turned to peer down at her, his arm linked through her elbow pulling her closer into him. 

“So I think,” he said, voice smooth as silk, “you have found someone very powerful to work with.”

Tori held his gaze and did not say a word. She did not let herself tense or wince, although she was sure he could feel her racing heartbeat. They stood like that for what was probably only a few seconds, but felt like an eternity. 

Finally, Tori inclined her head and said, “I may not be a ninja, and I may not be able to fight or flee or hide from one, but I learned from the best.” She smiled, as sweetly as she could. “Is it so strange to think I couldn’t convince Sasori to let me go?”

Orochimaru took half a step back from her, turning Sasuke’s head to snort with laughter. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If you found someone more powerful than Sasori, then I don’t expect you to be stupid enough to confide in me about them. Stick with whatever story you want to tell. But I do think we should… catch up.”

He led her inside the restaurant and asked for a table for two. 

Their waitress– an older woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair– gave them both a sort of mooning look as she handed over menus, and Tori abruptly realized what they must look like. With his Orochimaru-ness shining through Sasuke’s face, Orochimaru made his body look several years older than it was, and they’d walked in with their arms linked. They definitely looked like two young adults on a date. 

Tori felt herself go cross-eyed as she stared down at the menu. That was… no… no. 

No!

This was, somehow, worse than God telling her she was an abomination.

[sunnebeam]

twin flame bruise. (03)

PART 3.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader, jeon jungkook x reader (yes they're different people)

plot: the jeon twins have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name. but in their senior year of college, the estranged twins may have found one more thing they share in common – you.

warnings: jeon twins au, possible headache bc the use of Jeongguk (nicknamed Guk) and Jung Kook (nicknamed JK) is v confusing, implied sexual content (like it's barely even there lol)

series index. | masterlist + disclaimers.

note: ok ngl, i think i butchered this chapter 😵‍💫 but i'm still gonna post it anyway lmao. as always, feedback & reviews give me sustenance! (and they give me motivation to actually finish this shit AHA) enjoy reading <3

Sweat drips down Jung Kook’s back as he slams his fist against the pillow.

It’s not the most ideal setup but when you’re in hiding, you can’t exactly bring a punching bag and full boxing gear with you. Unfortunately, he’d have to settle with an overstuffed pillow and his bare hands.

Unlike most people, he has never been the type to stay still and wait. Where most people would use this sudden downtime as an opportunity to relax a bit and reevaluate things, he takes this as an opportunity to keep his hands occupied and his body moving.

So for most of the morning, JK works up a sweat with his makeshift pillow-turned-punching-bag as a way to release some pent up frustration. When he’s finally cooling down, he hears Yoongi and Namjoon approach him, their footsteps tentative.

“You know,” Namjoon starts, “for a split second there, I actually thought you were Guk. Since when do you do boxing?”

“Since when do you know all about my brother?” JK fires back.

“Touché,” Namjoon chuckles. “Still, I don’t think you were ever into boxing for as long as I’ve known you. You always told me ‘that’s Guk’s thing.’”

“I’m just passing the time,” JK explains, wiping his sweat with a towel.

"How is he, by the way?” Yoongi asks. “Your brother?”

“He’s...” JK pauses, “...the same, I guess. I don’t know. You guys know we don’t really talk.”

It’s true. For a pair of identical twins who share almost everything, it’s been a fat minute since they last sat down and had a proper conversation. One that isn’t forced courtesy or out of familial obligation.

JK wonders how his brother is doing. Does he still hang out with Taehyung and Jimin? Does he still visit their parents every other month? Does he know about his twin brother’s disappearance?

“You should talk to him more,” Yoongi says thoughtfully. “When all this is over.”

“What would we even talk about?” JK grumbles.

“Well, for one, you can introduce him to Y/N,” Namjoon offers.

“No,” JK says, resolute. “Not yet.”

“Why not? It’s about time you told her about having a twin. I mean, even I know you have a twin. Me!”

“That’s because you saw him at the library, and you know damn well I wouldn’t be caught dead in one.”

“Why are you keeping it from her, anyway?” Yoongi asks.

“It’s not that I’m actively keeping it from her...” JK sighs. “Look, you guys don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to be a twin. Or more like, you don’t know what it’s like to be Guk’s twin.”

Because being Guk’s twin essentially means being the other twin. Being Guk’s twin means being the second twin. Being Guk’s twin means being the irrelevant twin.

“Guk is the better twin,” he admits. “He’s the perfect son, perfect student, perfect guy. And I’m just his understudy—”

“You’re not—”

“But I am. You see... Guk is always Guk. But I’m not even JK. No, I’m just Guk’s twin,” he explains. “But with Y/N, it’s different. With her, I’m not under anyone’s shadow. I’m just JK. I’m just her JK.”

He closes his eyes, adding a soft, “And I don’t wanna stop being her JK.”

Yoongi and Namjoon share a look before the former pats JK on the back gently.

“Get some rest, kid,” Yoongi says. “Things will be over soon.”

Namjoon offers a dimpled smile.

“Not much longer now,” he says.

"How much longer?”

Jeongguk shakes his head, amused. This is the seventh time you asked him the question and yet, instead of feeling annoyed, he just feels endeared.

“Asking every few minutes isn’t gonna make us go faster,” he tells you cheekily.

You pout. “You’re no fun.”

You say it in jest but you feel the atmosphere in the car turn more somber. The rain outside only adds to the sudden gloomy mood.

“Or so I’ve been told,” Guk finally mumbles. “I’m the boring twin, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, remorseful. “I never intended to make you feel bad.”

“No, no, I know you were just joking,” he waves your concerns away, exhaling a shaky laugh. “I’ve been known to take things a little too seriously. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.”

“Is that what they tell you, though?” you ask him, turning to face him. He has one hand on the steering wheel while the other rests on the gearshift. “You’re not boring, Guk. Far from it, actually.”

He just chuckles. “Thanks, but it doesn’t really matter. When you’re a twin, people are always gonna highlight all the things your twin is and all the things you aren’t.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“It’s just the way it is.” He shrugs. “And I can’t complain much, anyway, since I know JK has it harder than me.”

You blink. “How so?”

“Well, take school, for one. Just because I do really well in class, people are quick to label him as this stupid troublemaker. When in reality, he gets decent grades and can get really passionate in things he's interested in."

"Is that why he never talks about his family?" you muse, "why he never told me about you?"

"Maybe. I can't be too sure. You'll have to ask him when he gets back."

The rain starts to get worse.

"If he gets back," you whisper.

Guk tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

"He will," he promises.

The sky starts to darken as the rain brews into a storm. A small motel comes into view and you both decide to stop there for a night. After a little mishap at the check-in counter, the two of you head to your shared room.

As luck would have it, only one room is available and...

...there's only one bed.

You sigh. Whoever's writing the story of your life sure has a sick sense of humor.

"I can sleep on the floor," Guk, ever the gentleman, offers.

"Don't be silly," you tell him before heading over to the side of the bed closest to the window. "Dibs on this side."

He shakes his head in amusement before agreeing. You wash up first, doing your night routine before settling on the bed while he does his. When he finishes, he lays on his side of the bed and you both stare at the ceiling.

It's awkward.

You play with the edge of the blanket, wanting to say good night but you can't, wanting to lay still but you can't.

Guk notices your restlessness. He's about to ask you what's wrong when a particularly intense flash of lightning and grumbling of thunder makes you whimper and flinch.

"Not a fan of thunder?" he asks gently.

"I hate it," you respond.

He turns on his side to face you, eyeing the way your hands have a death grip on the blanket. Carefully, he reaches out his hand to hold one of yours, interlacing your fingers together as a sign of comfort.

"You can squeeze it if you get scared," he tells you.

You purse your lips. "It's not that I'm scared, per se," you explain, turning to face him. "It's just that... everything feels so ominous. Like bad things are about to happen."

Bad things like your parents leaving you in an orphanage during a storm. Bad things like you and JK screaming at each other during a storm.

And bad things like Guk's lips just centimeters from yours.

You gulp.

"Tell me stop," he says, inching closer.

You stay quiet.

Then you feel his lips pressing gently against yours, gently testing the waters. It's comforting, addicting.

He pulls away.

"You don't have to worry," he assures you, smiling. "I won't let bad things happen."

But that doesn't mean you won't.

So with stupid courage, you pull him by the neck and kiss him. Deeply, this time. You pull him in, closer and closer, until you don't have any room to think anymore.

No booming thunder, no scary lightning, no missing twin, no family problems. Just you, him, and the stormy night.

Much later, when the night passes and the storm finally ends, the bright moonlight shines on your bare, sated bodies.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[nametakensff]

Happiness (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Final part of my little three fic series - here is the follow up to 'Revelation' and...it's a monster. 17.4K. If you actually manage to stick with it all then I commend you <3

K/im angrily confronts H/arry about his inappropriate conduct. H/arry reluctantly reveals why. Fucking ensues

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, past M/F, hinted past M/M if you squint, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, manually induced sneezes, rapid sneezes, mentions of dust allergy sneezes, sexual fantasies, masturbation, hand jobs, dry humping, frotting, finger sucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of blow jobs, some mild mess, spray, sneezing on someone, licking spray off fingers (sorry lmao), edging, (brief) orgasm denial, elements of domination/submission, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, verbal teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, embarrassment/humiliation, graphic descriptions of semen, crying a little during/after sex (guess who), K/im and H/arry like each other a lot more than either of them realised

CW: (unintentionally perceived) public masturbation, drug and alcohol mentions, potential heart attack mentions, potential priapism mentions, bullet wound mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is still a mess, internalised homophobia, H/arry experiences a lot of shame re: the fetish and describes himself with degrading language, K/im is perhaps a little too forward initially, mentions of dead bodies (in a murder investigation / gallows humour way), mentions of potential STDs (K/im is just being cautious)

Notes:

Takes place in the canon game timeline so again, please don't read if you don't want spoilers!

For the sake of the fic, the bed in the coastal shack is a proper single large enough for both of them to lie on and the room has a working sink. I had to let these men clean themselves up

K/im should not be doing this with a concussion but. It's my fic, so

EXTREMELY NSFW - Minors DNI!

It has been at least five days since you first touched yourself to the thought of Lieutenant Kitsuragi sneezing. You have touched yourself in a similar fashion every night since – up until a bullet to the thigh and your subsequent fevered unconsciousness prevented you from doing so. You did not mean to make a habit of it, but the orgasmic release the thoughts ultimately lead to is almost as addictive as any drink or drug. The fact that the Lieutenant has sneezed multiple times each day in your presence has made resisting your nighttime jerk-fests damn near impossible.

The fantasies have evolved into an increasingly varied (and sordid) collection of scenarios. Your favourite is the one starring Kim as your butler, burying his face into a feather duster to alleviate his allergic misery by inducing an endless series of sneezes. Naturally, you play the role of the voyeuristic employer, watching the scene unfold from your grand office chair and stroking your cock until you cum all over the hardwood surface of the desk that Kim has just finished cleaning. It is incredibly self-indulgent and fantastical, which naturally makes you cum with the force of a firehose. Every morning it is a little more difficult to look the Lieutenant in the eye. He is completely innocent to your sins, and you are a filthy pervert.

You still have your cold. Now that you have returned to the fishing village with the fierce seaside air whipping at your face, your nose runs without cease. You have been using an endless supply of Frittt brand pocket tissues, having abused Kim’s loaned handkerchief so much so that not an inch of fabric has been left unsoiled. Your nostrils are tingling, threatening to flare with every laboured snuffle.

It really isn’t a terrible cold – but it appears to be a persistent one. You’ve certainly sneezed far more from previous illnesses. One cold in your thirties left you bedbound and sneezing almost like clockwork – you had noticeable abs, then. You remember this, and you remember thinking to yourself that the torso-crunching sneezes that barrelled out of you were just as effective as any targeted exercise.

The persistence is one thing. The suggestible nature of your cold sneezes on the Lieutenant is another. You had both been good-natured about this admittedly comical routine, in which you try not to sneeze, fail, and sneeze anyway – followed immediately by Kim in a near-identical fashion. Today has been a difficult day, however – you are drawing closer to the end of your investigation, and you are both exhausted. Objectively absurd though it may be, neither of you can any longer find much amusement in these twin responses. Neither of you bless each other. The most excruciating (meaning: cock-teasing) thing of all is that Kim has abandoned any attempt at holding back. He is more and more frequently sneezing openly, or in the general direction of his fist – a lazy covering at best, doing little more than dousing his gloves in a delicate burst of spray.

Actually, there is something that arouses you more. As Kim continues to sneeze, his immaculate composure begins to falter. You are not referring to the ways the sneezing overpowers him. It is more so the fact that following each sneeze, the Lieutenant has started to moan. Quiet, shaky sighs at first – now full-blown groans of exhaustion - and what you hope is an element of indulgence at the post-sneeze sensation of relief. They sound practically orgasmic to your one-track mind.

Try as you might, every time the Lieutenant sneezes and sighs, you grow hard. It is perhaps more accurate to state that you have spent more time hard than soft. You wonder if this is enough for you to start worrying about a potential case of priapism. It is rather impressive – at your age and with the recent blood loss you experienced. Perhaps you ought to embrace this as a display of virile masculinity.

Either way, you have very little way of masking this unfortunate physical response. You shuffle awkwardly – you have also tried tucking your cock upwards and into the waistband of your trousers. You are almost one hundred percent positive that Kim has seen you pawing at your responsive genitals more than once but seems to be intent on ignoring it. You understand. You’re not sure how you would address the situation were you in his position. You ought to be more embarrassed but the triple combination of illness, drug withdrawal and injury saps you of fucks left to give.

You have no time to stew in your own thoughts. You are here to ask Lilienne if you can borrow her boat to get to the Islet. You manage to do so and almost leave the interaction unscathed. Almost.

“HAAAAEEEISHHHH!! EISHHHHHhHhuu!!”

The tickle once again renders you helpless and you sneeze twice – loud enough to send a nearby seagull sky bound. You turn away from Lilienne just in time to spare her an unfortunate baptism. The post-sneeze ecstasy leaves the skin of your forearms breaking out in goosebumps, hidden by the sleeves of your Disco blazer. It takes all of your remaining composure to fight off a full-body shiver. You straighten up sheepishly and wipe the result of your sneeze out of your moustache with a crumpled tissue. A blush is creeping over your face. Making a disgusting spectacle of yourself in front of a woman you have attempted at least four times over the past couple of days to ask out on a date (to no avail) does nothing for your morale.

“Bless you, officer!”

You mutter a small thank you from behind the tissue. If your dick hadn’t already been hardening in anticipation of Kim’s reciprocal reaction, that enthusiastic blessing would have done the job. Speaking of the Lieutenant – Lilienne has barely finished addressing you when he spins around – gracefully, controlled and completely balanced, unlike your own frantic whiplash motion – and sneezes thrice uncovered into the cold sea air.

“Hhp’Tsschhh! hHD’Tschh!! Hh! HahHD’Tzshiew!! Ahh, mon dieu…”

They sound like they feel incredible. Before you can do anything to avoid it, you are mentally constructing a detailed visual of the sneezes that the Lieutenant’s expert timing and manners had prevented you from witnessing. What do you expect after committing every sneeze you have glimpsed to memory to then masturbate to with vigorous abandon? Your prick is like iron between your legs. Lilienne turns to Kim with a look of surprise.

“And bless you too, officer! I don’t like the sound of that.”

Whatever Kim is saying to her in response, you miss. Your focus is lasered in on the tip of his nose, moving slightly side to side as he tends to his nostrils with a neat blue handkerchief. You want to be holding that handkerchief for him. Better yet, you wish it was your own hand wiping his nostrils clean. Thought after lewd thought overpowers you. You are painfully hard.

You should really rearrange things down there before Lilienne notices your erection to end all erections. You cup yourself as subtly as you can manage – you’re not sure what you’ll be able to achieve stood mere feet away from the two of them. The waistband trick requires two hands – maybe if you were to turn around?

Before you get a chance to try, Lieutenant Kitsuragi has fixed his eyes on you. You freeze in your tracks, as if paralysed by his gaze. A distinct feeling of combined shame and guilt overcomes you, not unlike the way a child feels when caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Except you are not a child – you are a 44-year-old man, with his hand on his cock. His eyes flash down to your crotch almost imperceptibly before returning to your face, darting about as if in attempt to locate any  visual cue that may implicate whether you have indeed gone batshit insane. It is likely a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity as you watch the subtle shifting of his facial features through a spectrum of confusion, shock, disbelief, shock again, and finally – rage.

This anger is unlike anything you have seen pass over the Lieutenant’s face in your week together. It sends a spear of utter self-hatred straight through you. You really have reached an all-time low, Harry-boy.

Lilienne appears not to have noticed the intense stare-off between the two of you – likely because it has lasted approximately 1.5 seconds and is broken by Kim thanking Lilienne for her cooperation and asking that she excuse the pair of you for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and grips your bicep, hard enough to hurt. Anxiety overwhelms you – he is mad mad.

He marches you the short distant to the shack you have been staying in, shoves you through the door and follows behind you. He does not slam the door, although you can make out enough tension in his slender frame to see that he would very much like to do so. The screech of the rusty hinges is more than enough to amplify your anxiety. He turns to face you, and you shrink in on yourself, feeling naked and exposed within the shooting range of his ire. Your legs are weak – particularly the one in which a bullet had been embedded. You sit on the edge of the small bed and watch him watching you. He looks for a moment like he may be too angry to speak. At last, he opens his mouth.

“What the fuck is the matter with you??”

The Lieutenant’s thick accent and heightened emotions intensify the remark. You are sweating. Shame practically radiates off of you. You’ve truly done it now. You say nothing in response to him, hanging your head in misery. He continues.

“I have been nothing but supportive of your unconventional methods of policing. For all the outrageous things you have said and done, you have genuinely done some excellent work. I have given you the benefit of the doubt for your drug problems, the amnesia, your emotional outbursts - but public masturbation? In front of a female citizen? You really are a piece of work.”

Your face burns. Every word aches, cutting into you like a blade and whittling you down into a hollow receptacle of disgrace.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t masturbating!” These words tumble out of your mouth before you have a moment to reconsider. The Lieutenant glares at you, clearly not buying it, but he makes no move to cut you off. Your mouth is dry and your hands are shaking. You open your mouth again.

“I was trying to…relieve some pressure. I wanted to hide it. I didn’t mean for you - or Lilienne - to see...”

Your voice sounds reedy, pathetic – incriminating. Maybe if you could stop sweating like a pig, you could actually convince Kim that you are not a sex pest. Shockingly, something in your expression as you look up at him with pleading, frightened eyes convinces him to believe you. He blinks owlishly, then reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He sighs, a deeply exhausted sound – it seems to physically deflate him, as if the tumultuous anger trickles out of him with the exhale. You watch, clutching your hands together nervously, as he removes his glasses all together and drags a hand down over his face. It rests on his mouth for a few moments longer, and then he is putting his glasses on and looking at you with a mixture of exasperation and pity. His eyes are the first to dart away from your exchanged glance. He clears his throat. You wait.

“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but…Listen, detective, do you-? Need some time to yourself? I’ve noticed you’ve been tense. I thought it might have been your injury, but I suppose I was wrong. At this point…” He hesitates, clasping his hands behind his back. “At this point, having a moment to relieve yourself might actually be pertinent to the progression of the investigation.”

It is your turn to blink, dumbfounded at what you have just heard. Is Lieutenant Kitsuragi actually suggesting you should jerk off? And that your jerking off is of utilitarian necessity? You should confirm this.

“You want me to whack off so that I can focus on the case?”

He looks pained by your turn of phrase; it is much harder to feign professionalism when his own suggestion is bounced back at him in cruder, less obfuscating language. He nods all the same and clears his throat.

“If you think it will help, I will excuse myself and be back in-” He glances at his sports watch. “Twenty minutes.”

Wow. Twenty minutes is probably a whole nineteen minutes too generous given your current state of rampant and unforgiving arousal. The way the Lieutenant falters indicates, however, that he is doubtful of your capability to achieve orgasm even once. You can’t really blame him. He did admit to thinking you were well into your fifties. You nod your head.

“You’re unwell, and injured – I don’t think it would do you any good to continue working this case when you’re also so – distracted.”

He is actively skirting around the issue and choosing his words carefully. It doesn’t change the fact that he is recommending that you pleasure yourself whilst he awkwardly stands outside and waits for you to finish. This makes you visibly cringe. Your own embarrassment only fuels the Lieutenant’s. He clears his throat again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He takes your silence as an indication of consent.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it, officer.”

You watch helplessly as he turns to make an exit. Before the Lieutenant is even able to grasp the door handle, however, you hear a frantic intake of breath. Fuck. There is no mistaking the sound of the Lieutenant fuelling up for a sneeze – but this time it occurs with no prompting on your part. He is clearly very sensitive today.

“hHupt’TSSCH’uu!! Merde…”

You watch it all go down – the way his slender frame shudders, shoulders jumping as he is temporarily unbalanced by the voracity of his own release. It isn’t especially loud, but you can tell that it is powerful. You bite your lip. Do not moan. I repeat – do not. Moan.

You moan. It seems violently loud in the small room. Both of you freeze in response. If you didn’t want the ground to swallow you up before, you do now. Despite the humiliation, the utter mortification of it all, your cock is leaking through the fabric of your trousers. Maybe Kim, still facing away from you, will think you have already started working on yourself, and will simply step outside and pretend he doesn’t share the same planet as you for another twenty minutes. Crisis averted.

Luck is not on your side. The Lieutenant turns around. He is looking at you as though studying a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. Were he a dog, his head would have been tipped inquisitively to one side. You are sweating bullets.

“You know, detective…” He starts, and you do know. It is over. You know he has put two and two together. In a way, it is surprising he hadn’t clocked on sooner, but you imagine this is due to his general acceptance of your sporadic and unpredictable behaviour as a rule of thumb.

“If it didn’t sound so ridiculous, I would think…no.”

He turns to leave again. This should be an auspicious turn of events for you, but for whatever reason, you feel disappointed. Burdened. You realise you want the relief of exposure, like a sinner spilling his guts in confessional. You should keep your mouth shut and wank your miserable cock in peace.

“You’re right.” You groan. You do not look at him as he turns to face you. “I’m sorry.”

Was that worth it, Harry? Was it really worth it to confess? You can only wait for his response in silence. You aren’t breathing. You’re convinced that if you breathe, it will scare him away.

Since you are not looking at the Lieutenant, you do not see the expression of contemplative fondness on his face, nor the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. He is taking in the sight of you, curled in on yourself like a naughty child. You hold yourself rigid as he starts to speak.

“So you mean to say – that when I sneeze…?”

Just hearing that word enunciated in his soft, enquiring tone is enough to trigger another rush of blood to the face. It is a miracle there is enough left north of your belt to do so. You whimper, which only makes you blush harder, and nod your head in way of response. This is pure torture.

“Hm.” The small sound that leaves the Lieutenant is a cross between a huff of laughter and a hum of consideration. Your eyes swivel up to meet his own. You had expected disgust, reproach – not amusement. He is smiling ever so slightly – the corners of his mouth are turned up as he takes you in, arms crossed over his chest. He no longer radiates waves of irritation and confusion. The man before you exudes confidence and control. Your cock throbs shamefully and deposits another glob of precum into your underwear. You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you.

“You really are an interesting man, detective. I’ve never even heard of this particular fétiche before.” His words must trigger a sudden realisation in him. A look recognition passes over his features, and you know he is connecting the dots – looking back at all your behaviour this past week and re-contextualising it. He snaps a thumb and forefinger together. “This makes perfect sense.”

His scholarly enthusiasm is somehow unsettling to you, as if you are a specimen he is examining. You now regret disclosing this sordid piece of information. What had you been expecting, really? For him to put on a show for you, like one of your sick little fantasies? Stupid. You hang your head.

“Yes, I’m a huuuuge pervert, Kim. Now please leave me alone to my shame.”

Oh god, are you going to cry? You’re actually going to cry, aren’t you?

“I never said that, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” His tone is suddenly overwhelmingly gentle. It only makes your eyes prickle harder with tears, threatening to overflow. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He means it, too. He sounds incredibly regretful, perhaps even a little pained. You can’t look at him, but his palpable remorse at unintentionally beating you when you are down seems to open the floodgates. You feel the reluctant confession blurting out of you before you’re even entirely sure of what you’re going to say.

“I forgot about it, like everything else. Until I didn’t. Until you…” You wind your hand through the air.

“Sneezed?” Kim fills in helpfully, though you wish he hadn’t. It goes straight to your cock.

“…Well, I suppose in a strange way I ought to be flattered.”

You do look at him now, and see him smiling at you supportively. He looks a little apprehensive – but who wouldn’t in this ridiculous situation. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. A single tear runs down your cheek as you blink. You’re about to say something really, really stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

God, Harry. Stop. Stop now.

“Thinking about my – my sexuality. And what it means. And you told me you’re a member of the ‘homosexual underground’. I – I think I might be too.”

The Lieutenant looks back at you, wide-eyed. You need to abort this. Kill him. Kill yourself. Anything that stops you in your tracks.

“I mean, I might be a partial member. I like women. I…there was…someone. She smelled like apricots and – oh, god-!”

A wave of sadness engulfs you. You start to sob, uncontrollably, like a little boy, and cradle your head in your hands. Wow. You really nailed it, Harry. You sure don’t do anything in half measures. You told him his sneezing gets you hard, that you have an inexplicable man-crush on him, and you even threw in an ex-woman-person reference to spice it up, all before crying! You should write a book on how to be the biggest fuck up known to man.

The bed dips as Kim comes and sits beside you. He rests a tentative hand on your shoulder. It is awkwardly limp – he is uncomfortable with physical displays of affection. Something tells you he has not touched somebody conciliatorily in a long time, likely by choice. But he is trying, and that is more than you could have ever expected you deserve. You cry a little harder.

“Harry,” he sighs. “You’re overwhelmed right now. Don’t force yourself to think.”

Ordinarily, he would have followed this with some comment about focusing on the case over personal matters. That he doesn’t shows you how much empathy he is affording you in this moment of distress.

Your crying eventually begins to taper off into little gulps and hiccups as the Lieutenant rubs tiny, tentative circles into your shoulder. Incredibly, your dick has barely softened.

“I’m –! Sorry-!” You gasp out. It sounds pitiful, almost hysterical. Kim just continues to rub your shoulder until you run out of steam entirely, before handing you an opened pack of tissues to clean up your face. As you do so, he takes the opportunity to speak.

“As far as sexual fetishes go, detective, this one is pretty tame. Harmless. A little unsanitary, maybe, but not without a certain appeal.”

You pause in your ministrations. He notices and seems suddenly ashamed by his own forwardness. He clears his throat and retracts his hand.

“Khm. Anyway – as for the homosexual underground – or bisexual underground, as the case may be for you…It certainly isn’t a crying matter. It can, at times, even be fun.”

Ooh, the Lieutenant’s got jokes. You appreciate this reassurance. The crying has left you wiped out and extra sniffly. You have to blow your nose in four different tissues before the congestion subsides. Kim doesn’t flinch at the gurgling sounds you produce.

“I’m going to leave you alone for a while, like I said.” Kim utters after a couple of moments of silence.

As the Lieutenant stands, a foreboding sensation of fear washes over you. You do not want to be alone right now. Before you can stop yourself, you are reaching out at lightning speed and gripping his wrist with one huge paw, halting his departure. Kim freezes and looks down at you. You stare back up at him. His face shifts through a series of emotions before solidifying into an impassive mask.

“Officer. You need to let go.”

There is not contempt in his tone, but his voice is firm and commanding. You are compelled to release him. You do not stop looking up at him. You have no idea what kind of face you are making, but it is apparently making it very hard for him to withdraw the way he had intended. His face is relaxed, but his eyes are burning.

He is the first to break eye contact with you. He strides towards the door and opens it in one swift motion, hesitating for just a moment to look back over his shoulder at you, and then he is gone. The door closes behind him with a decisive click.

Well. That was horrible. You are dejected and alone. You have driven the Lieutenant away, finally. Rejection stings in your throat and swollen sinuses. And you are still. Fucking. Hard. The brief respite of a mind-numbing orgasm might give you fifteen to thirty seconds of ecstasy before the pain sets back in. At this point, bereft of narcotics and alcohol, you will take it.

You flip yourself onto your back, pushing your head into the flimsy pillow and opening your fly with fumbling hands. You manage not to injure yourself as you pull your throbbing cock out of your underwear. It is a deep shade of red, almost nearing purple in your desperation, and even as you wrap your fingers around it in a familiar grip, it drools clear liquid from the sensitive head. You cannot help yourself. Now that you have started stroking and pulling, rubbing the copious precum all over your length, you cannot stop. The shame and the sadness recede at the pure animalistic pleasure of it all. Your head falls back and you moan. One of your hands reaches up to squeeze a nipple through the cotton of your shirt, and you gasp.

It will not take you long. You feel the heated pressure building inside of you, your cock twitching as you caress it in all the ways you like best. Pure, mindless masturbation. You do not want to think thoughts, but you are about to. They skim the surface of your consciousness – your fantasies, some memories. They blur together in a miasma, barely comprehensible the way you dart back and forth between them, but they are turning you on all the same. You are so, so close. Your mouth tips open in a pre-orgasmic moan.

The door of the shack slams open, and the shock nearly makes you orgasm on the spot. The Lieutenant is cursing and closing the door behind him, making sure to lock it. You push yourself up and fumble your dick back into your underwear, hissing as you attempt to close the zip of your fly. It is impossible, so you hold your hands sheepishly in front of your crotch instead. Kim watches you, an intense expression of – need? Desire? Surely that isn’t the case. You can barely think straight. You swallow, head spinning.

“Kim, what-?”

Your words set the Lieutenant’s in motion. He all but lunges at you, pushing you back on the bed and partially straddling you. Your hands fumble to grip at his waist, steadying yourself as the bedframe creaks violently at the activity. It occurs to you for a split-second that the elderly washerwoman outside may be able to hear the ruckus you have been making from where she sits tending to her clothes – she may be blind, but she is certainly not deaf. You banish the thought with a rapid blink of your eyes.

You look up at Kim in sheer disbelief. He is breathing heavily – not nearly as heavily as yourself, almost panting on the brink of orgasm – but heavily, nonetheless. His hands grip your shoulders firmly, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth whilst his eyes rove over your face. And then he is leaning forward and kissing you.

For a moment, your mind short circuits. Not in a million – no, a billion-trillion – years, did you think the past week had been leading up to this moment. The Lieutenant’s lips are wonderfully soft as he works them against your own. It takes a couple of seconds for you to relax, shocked as you are, but then it is electric and instinctual and you are moaning against him, yanking his pelvis down against your own. You open your mouth and his tongue slips in immediately, and then it is even better. You both groan in tandem, as if neither of you can believe how good it feels. The kiss is like a practiced dance – you both know when to bite, when to suck, when to pull back and when to dive deeper. It is simultaneously saccharine and downright fucking filthy. You cannot believe the pair of you haven’t tried this before.

Kim breaks the kiss, sucking on your tongue before pulling back with a lewd pop – you chase him but he holds you in place by your chin.

“Do you want this?”

His eyes dart nervously back and forth behind the thick lenses of his glasses, slightly foggy where your activities have steamed them up. You lunge forward, intending to show him just how much you want this with another kiss, but he manages to hold you back. He is deceptively strong.

“I need to hear you say that you want this.”

He sounds so, so desperate. You realise right then and there that you are a fool for him.

“I want it.” You breathe out, and before you have even finished he is kissing you again. Your head reels, and you feel yourself beginning to tip back onto the bed. Kim goes with you, kneeling with a leg on each side of your torso. He presses the length of his body against your own, and you feel his hardness pressing against the soft flesh of your gut. Your hands travel up and down his back, frantically, squeezing his ass one moment and gripping his shoulders the next. Your cock pulses and pulses between your legs.

And then you feel it. The tickle. You have ignored it for far too long. All that crying and snorting has left you vulnerable to future attacks. All it takes is for one poorly timed deep breath through your nose as Kim explores your molars with his tongue, and you know you cannot fight it. You yank your head back, eyes beading with tears and face cringing in pre-sneeze agony. The resulting sneeze is going to be monstrous – more so than usual. Your lungs suck in a desperate inhale, chest expanding against Kim’s and raising him a good inch higher above you. He seems to understand all at once, angling his face as far away from your own as he can.

You manage through sheer willpower to tilt your head in the opposite direction and over the side of the bed. It tears out of you in a cloud of spray - an angry, irritated explosion.

“IIIIEEESSSSSHHHHTTTtt!!!”

Your hands squeeze reflexively at Kim’s hips. The intensity of the outburst shakes the both of you and the creaking bedframe. Fortunately, you have not pulled any muscles as you awkwardly crane yourself away. The Lieutenant scrambles for purchase atop you, reaching out to steady himself with one hand on the wall.

Your head has barely flopped back onto the pillow before you are cringing with a second, even deeper breath. Your nostrils flare wide in preparation, and you do the whole thing all over again.

“HHHAEEEEEESSSSSCCHHHHHhhh!!!”

You do not have enough energy to be embarrassed by the roaring, desperate nature of them. It felt so fucking good to let it all out. The tickle must have been brewing for some time and you had simply been too distracted to realise. You groan a little, reaching up with one hand to rub your tingling nostrils on the skin of your wrist. You mutter an apology under your breath before angling upwards, pressing your lips to the Lieutenant’s and resuming the kiss.

When he pulls back mere seconds later, you are terrified that you have disgusted him with your indulgent display. And then you remember.

Kim sits back, resting his ass on your pelvis and nudging up against your cock. You gasp as he shifts, clutching his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He calms your squirming with a hand to your chest, holding you down on the mattress. His expression is deeply irritated as his own tickle begins to crest – one eye squints against it, and his mouth drops open to take in gentle hitching breaths. Your hips give an involuntary thrust, jostling him slightly above you. The head of your cock, clothed only in your sticky underwear, ruts against him.

Your entire world narrows down to watching Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s building sneeze. You realise you are involuntarily holding your breath, eyes roving from the flare of his nostrils to his creasing forehead to the way his tongue presses just so behind his bottom teeth. He has raised his free hand loosely before his face. Your cock twitches as he fans his face once, twice, and the mere suggestion of it seems to be enough to have him gasping one last time, nostrils flared to capacity, before he is jerking above you.

“hHDT’TSZCHhhh! AhhDTt’TZsCHh’uu!!”

The bed shakes beneath you as he rocks forward twice.  Your entire body feels like a live wire of sensation as you watch him through unblinking eyes. Your fantasies were erotic, but being able to actually feel the Lieutenant’s body strain and tremble as the ticklish urge overwhelms him is something else; the unguarded, desperate expressions as he lets loose are painfully arousing. You do not make out any visible spray but you can feel, from behind the pathetic semi-covering of his hand, each burst of air across your collar bone and neck. You shiver in ecstasy.

The Lieutenant pauses for a moment and leans back again, preparing for a third sneeze. You take advantage of his shifting to free yourself from under the press of his palm, pushing yourself up on your elbows and leaning closer to him. You want to feel the next sneeze on your face. It really seems like it is going to happen, too; Kim is so overwhelmed by the tickle in his nose that he appears to look straight past you, focusing all of his concentration on the sensation as it builds, and builds. He shivers, a delicious little trembling motion that you feel travel through him and down to your own hips, before gasping one last time – an audible, desperate “Hahh-!”

At the very last moment, he tilts his face away from your own, raising the back of his hand in front of his face with his palm towards you. It is a poor attempt at shielding you from his sneeze – you can still make out every minute detail of his face as his features draw tight. It is the slight downwards tilting of his head that spares you any real contact, but the proximity and poor covering means that you can see the fine aerosol that bursts from his mouth and nose as the uncharacteristically harsh sneeze overwhelms him.

“hHUPT’TZSCHhh’uuu!! Nnn…”

The cloud of spray glitters briefly in the air beside you before dissipating just as suddenly. Your hips buck again and you cannot help the guttural moan that pulls itself out of you. His own little moan of relief drives you insane. You wish he hadn’t turned away, but you say nothing – the last thing you want is to spook him. One wrong move and you might wake up trembling in the throes of a nocturnal emission. It is starting to feel very much like one of those kinds of dreams.

But ohh, that third sneeze had been wet. As well as leaving the Lieutenant visibly shaken, it has left a tantalising sheen of dampness on his bottom lip. As Kim blinks, taking a moment to recover, you reach out to swipe across the surface of the moistened skin, drying his mouth and transferring the wetness to your thumb. You hesitate for a moment. The Lieutenant is watching you silently, one hand still outstretched and pressed against the wall, a little taken aback by this unpredictable action. Maybe you should apologise.

Fuck it. You lick your thumb clean, moaning a little in both arousal and shame at what you have just allowed yourself to do. It was a stupid thing to do. If Kim walks out of this room with immediate effect and refuses to work with you any longer, you have only yourself to blame. This time, for sure, you have taken things too far. You brace yourself, awaiting the Lieutenant’s reaction. You force yourself to lock eyes with him.

You were not expecting to see an even more intense look of desire boring back into you. You watch as Kim removes his gloves before using his own forefinger to finish what you started, wiping away any residual spray.

“You really do like this, don’t you?”

There is a hint of amusement in this question, which is not really a question at all but a damning statement. It does not sound manipulative or sadistic, however; he seems to be genuinely enjoying your lascivious responses.

“Sorry, god, sorry,” You mutter anyway. Once again, his enthusiasm has had an adverse effect on your own sudden brazenness. You do not know how to do this. The dreamlike haze of arousal has up to this point protected you from the sobering reality that you are now engaging in sneezing fetish sex activities. With a man. With Precinct 57’s Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Your life has been full of ‘what the fuck’ moments, but this has to be waaay up there, man. This was so much easier in your fantasies where you alone had control.

Kim shakes his head. His smile is heated, but kind.

“Don’t be.” He murmurs. “It’s intriguing. You’re intriguing, Harry.”

He reaches towards your face as he speaks. Your mouth is already hanging slightly open in gormless disarray, so it is with little resistance that he slips the middle and forefinger of his right hand – yes, Harry-boy, the very same one he used to tend to his mess – between your teeth and onto your tongue. You start sucking on them almost immediately, flushing with pleasure at the sensation and the compliment. Kim’s breath hitches and he moans, a deeply satisfied purr of a sound that goes straight to your throbbing cock. Your underwear is now drenched, sticking to the head of your cock in the aftermath of his most recent nasal display. You are painfully hard and entirely desperate, sucking on those fingers like they’re the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Ahh, detective…” Kim sighs. His voice is low and thick with arousal of his own. You shift underneath him so that he is no longer straddling you with a leg on either side, moving backwards slightly and manoeuvring one of your thighs – the uninjured one - between his own. He goes eagerly, enthusiastically. You press up and between his legs with purpose.

There is no lack of certainty as he bucks back down onto your leg – Lieutenant Kitsuragi is hard, and he is rubbing that hardness against you whilst you suck on his fingers. You have no idea how you have managed to pull this off, but there is no point in overthinking it – especially when every drop of blood in your body feels as though it has pooled exclusively between your legs. You clamp a hand down around his wrist for leverage and start to increase the intensity of your oral stimulation. Your head bobs slightly as you suck the digits in and out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips of Kim’s fingers. His breath catches, and your eyes dart up to his face. Your cock twitches at the sight of his glittering brown eyes, heavy lidded and pupils blown as he follows the motions of your ministrations.

A swell of pride fills your chest. You realise that all you’ve ever really wanted since meeting the Lieutenant is for him to like you. He has stood by you despite the fact that you’re – well, you. And he actually does seem to like you, as inexplicable as this may be. You intrigue him. He said so himself. You don’t want to disappoint him – you want to make him feel good. Allowing yourself to acknowledge this desire for Kim outside of your own one-sided, pornographic fantasies fills you with a burning determination to do just that. Operation ‘Make Kim Orgasm’. Fuck the case, fuck this stupid murder, fuck police work – this is what you were made for. If that sounds dramatic, then so be it. You’re a dramatic kind of guy.

Kim rolls his hips against you as you press your tongue between his fingers, taking just the tips back into your mouth as you pull back up and suck hard.

“You’re a tease.” He says this in approval. You moan, and the hum this produces seems to please him very much.

A moment later, you regretfully pull back, another sneeze teasing your sensitive sinuses. This frequency and persistence would be irritating under ordinary circumstances, but with the promise of triggering a sneeze (or three) from the Lieutenant, you embrace it. You take a deep breath through flaring nostrils to stoke the subtle itch into an all-encompassing tickle. It is so effective that you sneeze immediately, on that inhalation alone.

“AEESSSSCHHHHHhhh!!! Hh…”

It shakes you so violently that you slump back against the pillow, bereft of all energy to remain partially upright any longer. Your back was starting to ache anyway. Your hands return to the Lieutenant’s hips as you look up at him expectantly.

“À tes souhaits,” he offers, even as a look of distinct irritation begins to cloud his features. You moan, and your cock jumps in your pants.

You only have to wait a matter of seconds before Kim’s breath begins to hitch. An irritatingly strong gust of wind from outside causes the entire shack to creak. You strain your ears in a valiant attempt to drink in every little inhalation over the sound of it.

What the Lieutenant says next could have been taken directly from one of your dirty little fantasies. As you gaze at him, your own breath hitching for notably more dick-related reasons, he raises a loosely-curled fist up to his face – or rather, just beneath it, leaving you plenty of room to watch – and begins to speak.

“Hh-! Ohh, Harry, you’re going to m-make me-! Hhdt-!!”

You almost cum on the spot. By sheer willpower you manage to hold back. Your forehead beads with sweat as Kim inhales definitively, bucking forward with four shuddering sneezes, supporting himself as before with a hand to the wall. You are certain if he had not done so he would have been thoroughly unbalanced.

“hhdt’Tszchhu! hHUpT’Tschu! HDT’Tzsshh! hH-!! Ahh’TSshh’uu! Ahh, mon dieu…”

You do not miss a single detail, intent on committing this painfully erotic performance to memory. The way his fine eyebrows draw together, contorting his brow in desperation. The way his nostrils flare with each contraction to almost double their resting size. The way his jaw flexes as his teeth clench together. It is a sight to behold, and you lose yourself in it.

You have been unable to keep your hips from bucking upwards, rubbing yourself against the surface of the Lieutenant’s thigh. He blinks, looking utterly drained for a brief moment, and it is one of the cutest things you have ever seen. No grown man has any right being that adorable. Once he has recovered, he presses his thigh firmly between your legs, binding your balls up and against your cock. You gasp, and he smiles, rutting against you.

“Excuse me.” He sniffles as you writhe. “That felt wonderful, I must admit.”

Fuck. You really must be dreaming. He has taken to this like a duck to water. How can he possibly know exactly what to say, and when? It is just as good as you imagined it could be – no, it is better. He is playing you like a god damn fiddle.

The Lieutenant shifts atop you, extracting his slender thigh from between the squeezing grip of your own as you dry hump him like your life depends on it. Your resistance forces him to pinch the meatiest section of your uninjured thigh – you jerk in shocked pain and release his leg as intended. He rubs the tender skin through your trousers, then squeezes into the space between you and the wall, lying on his side next to your supine form and swinging his right leg over your thighs. Your arm instinctively reaches under him to encircle his back.

“Sorry.” He apologises, smiling at the small frown on your face. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And just like that, he is reaching past your open zipper and into waistband of your underwear to grip your cock. You whine his name, embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. Your captured shaft throbs and leaks onto his fingers. His hand reaches up to collect the moisture, pulling back your foreskin ever so gently – and then he is pumping you in a steady rhythm. It is intentionally slow; you are close, and he knows this.

“Tu as une bite énorme…” You hear him mutter. Your chest swells with masculine pride. That’s right, baby. You are huge.

But holy fucking fuck, this feels – it feels – it’s so good. You wonder if he does this often – whether he touches himself just like this, or if this particular technique is reserved for other members of the homosexual underground. You groan, your head pressing back into the pillow and allowing him to work you. The skilful motions of his hand slowly build the pleasure until it sends small waves of ecstasy through your extremities, like miniature orgasms in their own right. When you do cum, it is going to be mind blowing. Your hand claws at the fabric of his bomber jacket, the other clutching the bedsheets.

“Kim…” His name rumbles out of you, a warning of the explosion to come.

Suddenly, his fingers encircle the base of your cock in a cruel, tight O. Your orgasm is halted in its tracks. Your cock throbs valiantly against its bondage, trembling as though in hope that the mimicry of orgasmic convulsions will trigger the real event – but no dice. A strangled groan tears its way out of you.

“Nooo…! Why…! You said you’d make it up to me-!”

You turn your head to face him. The look you flash him with your baleful green eyes would put the cutest puppy dog in the world to shame. They are glossy, wet with tears of betrayal. He looks at you fondly, but you can tell he is enjoying toying with you like this. Kinky bastard. You should have known.

“There’s no rush.” His voice is a seductive drawl. “I don’t want you to finish yet, Harry. I want to ask you some things.”

He is serious. The ring of his fingers does not loosen in the slightest. You sigh. You’re the questions guy, not him. You don’t much like the idea of an active interrogation whilst your swollen dick quivers dejectedly in his grip, but the promise of eventual orgasm softens the blow. You will humour him.

“Do your own sneezes turn you on? Do you remember that from before?”

Okay, wow. Straight to the meat and potatoes of the issue. Your cock twitches to hear the word ‘sneeze’ in his lilted accent again. You look to the ceiling for a moment of silent contemplation.

“I’m – not sure. They feel nice.” Your eyes swivel back to the Lieutenant’s face. “I like the effect they have on you more.”

Kim is softly biting his bottom lip. His eyes look heavy and heated – you imagine he might look the same after several glasses of wine. Except he’s somehow drunk on you – on this insane coupling.

“I can see that.” He shifts slightly, pulling himself partially atop you. He releases your cock from the grip of his right hand for the briefest of moments before replacing it with his left. His right hand begins to roll your balls in their sack, tugging at them expertly. You don’t doubt you could come from this sensation alone if he would only release your cock.

“You poor thing…” he murmurs against your cheek. “I must have been torturing you all this time.”

Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and filthy.

“Kim, please-! Fuck…”

You could go insane. You cannot remember the last time you have been so intensely turned on for so long without the release of orgasm. Your entire body is an exposed nerve ending. Kim just sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple on your chin.

“Tell me what you like about it. Explain it to me. Try your best.”

He isn’t going to let you cum until you divulge this information to him. You could easily overpower him if you wanted – you are a hulking beast of a man compared to his compact frame. You could flip him over and rut against his ass like a caveman. But you won’t. You will do as he asks. You swallow audibly.

“I like – thinking about the way it feels, for you. About the t-tickle,” You are blushing like a maniac, tripping over your words. You cannot look him in the eye. “…And how good it must feel for you when you finally sneeze.” You pause, screwing your eyes shut in mortification.

“Go on.” Kim encourages you, making his way to your earlobe and nibbling on the sensitive flesh.

“I like the faces – and the noises – you make. When you lose control.” You swallow again. “You’re so put together. It’s a…nice contrast.”

It is simultaneously humiliating and invigorating, hearing in your own voice a comprehensive explanation and breakdown of your sexual deviancy. Kim pulls back from your ear and rests his cheek on your shoulder, fingers still plucking lazily at your sack.

“You know, I’m not all that put together.” He smiles. “I have my moments.”

Lies. He’s the most put together man that was ever put together. Granted, the amnesia hasn’t left you with much of a frame of reference for this, but still.

“I’m not very put together right now, or when I barged in here knowing you would be – touching yourself.”

He actually looks a little bashful when admitting to that. It’s cute. You kiss the tip of his nose.

“Could have fooled me. You quite literally have me by the balls.”

Kim smirks and squeezes your sack with considerable pressure. Your eyes roll back into your head with a throaty groan of appreciation.

You cannot take much more of this – this constant thrumming of arousal. You could have orgasmed any number of times by now, but either through your own or Kim’s suppression, you have not. You want to cum. You need to cum. You want the Lieutenant to cum, too. You want him to know how badly you want it. Say something, or you’ll go mad with desire.

“I want to make you cum. I want to fuck you ‘til you scream my name, and then I want to fill you with my cum while your writhe on my cock.”

Umm…Okay, then. Good god, Harry. You’ve only just had your first homosexual kiss. Reel it in.

Luckily, this pornographic confession seems to have been an entirely appropriate thing to say. The Lieutenant looks at you with a downright predatory expression of hunger. Your cock gives a frightened little twitch.

“We don’t have time for that,” His voice practically rumbles, both in your ear and vibrating against your palm where it rests on his back, sending a heated shiver through you. “But we can definitely do something else.”

He moves to sit back up, but it is poorly timed with an emerging tickle in your nose. You frantically pin him against your chest in a sudden bear hug – he initially squirms in your grip before the rise and fall of your torso against his own clues him in to the fact that you are going to sneeze yet again. He relaxes against you, pressing his face into your neck. The frames of his glasses dig in a little uncomfortably, but the closeness is thrilling and intimate.

You do not have time to enjoy the feeling of the Lieutenant draped over you – the sneeze rushes out of you, shaking the bed, and you, and Kim. You try to aim it so that your spray doesn’t just rain down on you both, but also angle it up enough that you aren’t sneezing all over Kim’s jacket. You imagine he would be less than thrilled if you did. You manage to avoid making a mess but the fabric of his jacket still ripples with the force of your release.

“EEEISSSHHHHHUuu!!”

Luckily, it is just the one - it leaves you trembling in equal parts exhaustion and hedonistic pleasure. The motion of your body bucking against the Lieutenant’s felt especially nice in this position. You loosen your arms and wait for Kim to pull away. You are confused when he doesn’t do so immediately, and then the sound of a wavering inhale freezes you in place. All sensation in your body seems to subside apart from the heated skin of your neck where the Lieutenant’s breath hitches, preparing to sneeze. You feel the tip of his nose pressing against your jugular, his glasses digging into your jaw. Time seems to stand still as Kim’s ribcage expands under your hands, and then he is shuddering against you, smothering his sneezes against the column of your throat.

“HH’Dtsshh! Hh’Mptschh!! NGx’tsshh!!”

You arch your back, gasping, each little sneeze sending a shivering wave of warmth through you. It is one thing to watch Kim sneeze, but to feel him sneeze against you, pressed as close as he is – your brain feels as though it is short-circuiting.

He gently shakes your arms off and sits up, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He casts you a sheepish, almost embarrassed look that lets you know he had not intended to sneeze against you, but one glance at the dumb, almost drunken expression on your face and he looks a lot less sorry.

“Pardon,” he mutters, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket. You watch as he takes out - a condom. Wait - he carries condoms with him on police investigations? Perhaps he carries them everywhere he goes. You should be more prepared yourself, quite honestly.

He rips the packet open skilfully with his teeth. You think he is going to slide the condom down your own length – it won’t fit, you want to say - but the sight of the Lieutenant opening his fly with one hand in expert timing and whipping out his cock leaves the words dead in your throat.

You stare at Kim’s erection. It’s not as big as your own, but it’s definitely a decent size. It’s pretty, too – a nice thickness, a neat head, curving a little off to one side. It’s fucking beautiful, actually. Your mouth waters at the sight of it resting in his loose grip. He watches you watch him, pumping the length of it a few times before teasing the head, making himself gasp. Your own neglected dick spits a jet of precum onto your lower stomach.

You reach greedily for his cock, but he gently slaps your hand away. When he rolls the condom down his length, panic hits you like a freight train. Is he going to fuck you? In the arse? Oh, god. You want him to fuck you up the arse. You think you might want that more than you want to fuck him up the arse. You gape at him, fingers flexing and eyes roaming his face.

“Listen, Kim, I- I’ve never done this before, and don’t get me wrong I – I want to, but I’m not – I don’t think I can-!” Kim silences you with a finger to the lips.

“Harry, I just said we don’t have time for that.” He laughs a little, and your entire body slumps back onto the bed as every muscle relaxes at once.

“Ohhh, thank god…” You hear yourself mutter, like a total asshole. Kim just laughs.

But then what is the condom for? Your brows furrow in confusion. He picks up on this immediately and sighs, still massaging his cock in a leisurely fashion.

“This is just a precaution, detective. I mean no offense, but I’m not sure I can trust your sexual history in light of the amnesia and unpredictable behaviour.”

It’s a totally fair point, but you still don’t entirely understand the point of it if you’re just giving each other hand jobs. Don’t ask. You have a feeling it’ll all make sense in a moment. You look up at Kim, and whatever expression you’re making seems to melt him, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss on your chin. He seems to really like the dimple there.

“Don’t worry. This is going to feel great, I promise.”

Kim shifts on top of you, hovering above you with a hand planted either side of your head. He pushes your shirt up over the expanse of your stomach then aligns your hips together until – fuckkkk. You toss your head back in pleasure. The Lieutenant begins to thrust against you, reaching between you for a moment to smear your wetness all over his sheathed cock, and you are sliding together with the most delicious friction. You buck up against Kim, arrhythmically at first before finding the perfect complimentary motion to his own thrusts. Nothing could have prepared you for how good it feels to have his cock sliding up against your own. Your toes are curling in an instant, and you are making embarrassing little mewling sounds.

Kim leans closer, hovering above you on deceptively strong arms. Your hands grip his jacket as his breath tickles your ear.

“I think I’m starting to understand, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor,” he murmurs, drinking in the sound of your groans. “The way you shuddered against me when you sneezed – it’s always wonderful to feel the physical result of somebody losing control. A good sneeze is like an orgasm in its own right.”

Ohh, fuck. He’s too good at this. Or maybe you’re just easy? Either way, your balls are starting to draw up and you can feel the pressure building as your cock gives a heavy, pre-orgasmic throb against Kim’s. And still he talks.

“Just now, you said you wanted me to fuck you. I can do that. I can make it so that it’s all you think about. You’ll dream about it every night, and wake up wishing my cock was inside you…”

He purrs into your ear, a continuous stream of dirty promises, and you’re imagining it all, imaging him fucking you, then you fucking him, images flood your mind and your cock is throbbing and everything tenses before –

Release. Pulsing, gyrating release. The pleasure is monumental – all you can do is submit to it, washing over you in waves and pulling a shuddering moan out of you. Your weakened heart flutters as the sheer magnitude of sensation incapacitates you. You had been denied for too long, and now it seems as though the orgasm is actively trying to kill you out of revenge. You do not care. It feels so, so good. The best you’ve had since god knows when. It feels like it could go on for an eternity. In reality, it is over in a matter of seconds, but when it finally releases you, twitching and gasping in the aftermath, you feel almost reborn.

As you wind down, you are aware of Kim murmuring gentle words of encouragement and praise. You feel him kiss your cheek. He is handling you carefully, like you are a delicate flower and not a muscular slab of a man. You are enjoying it immensely. You let yourself be soothed, sinking into the mattress as the afterglow leaves you floaty and relaxed.

It dawns on you, as you come back to earth, that Kim is no longer thrusting against you. Well, he is a little, but only minutely, barely enough for you to make out. He has shifted his hips slightly so that he is no longer pressing directly against your sensitive cock, but against your hip bone. His cock is rock solid against you, and you realise in a sudden wave of shame and disappointment that he hasn’t had an orgasm of his own.

“You didn’t cum,” You manage.

“No.” Kim confirms, resting his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. He seems to like it there. You like that he seems to like it there. “I’ll need a little more time than that.”

You wince. You were so turned on and came so hard you barely had time to reflect on the fact that your orgasm had taken a whopping 40 seconds to crest from the moment Kim’s dick slid up against your own. You’re not even a minute man. Teenage boys last longer than you. You are unable to prevent yourself from letting out a pained, reedy whine as these thoughts consume you.

“S’rry…” You mutter, and to make it all worse, a couple of tears begin to spill down the sides of your face and into the burning shells of your ears. You focus on a patch of discolouration on the ceiling and attempt to astral project your body out of there. It does not work.

Kim pushes himself upwards and positions himself in a seated straddle above you. You offer no resistance. You do not look at him until he forces you to do so with a firm grip on your chin, pulling your face towards him. Even then your stubborn eyes only swivel to look at him once he compels you with an authoritative “Harry.”

He is looking at you fondly. You’re not sure how much more you can take of his relative kindness. It’s probably just the post-orgasm loopiness and raised temperature, but you swear you can make out the faint glow of a halo around his head.

“Don’t apologise. You held out for a very long time – an impressively long time, given how worked up you were.” He gets up off the bed then, taking the few steps over to the small basin and wetting the washrag lying beside it. You turn your head to watch and see that his erection hangs insistently in front of him, though it has wilted a little. The surface of the condom is slippery, covered in your semen and pre-cum.

“This was never about me, anyway. I got…carried away.”

He sounds…pained. You wonder if he is feeling a regret similar to that of an unsuccessful one-night stand, once the orgasm has cleared his mind. Only he hasn’t even had an orgasm. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest, not only for him but faint memories of various drunken affairs. You have a feeling a lot of women have slammed the door of your apartment behind them, their own orgasms neglected as you lay there in selfish completion. Fuck. Say something before you ruin things even more.

“I like when you get carried away. I want you to get carried away.” You push yourself with no small amount of effort to sit up against the wall, legs swung over the side of the bed.

You watch Kim’s profile. He says nothing, but he’s smiling. He slips the condom off of himself and flicks it into the nearby bin. You watch with a sinking heart as he tucks his half-hard cock back into his underwear. It feels like rejection. This is totally harshing the mellow of your earth-shattering orgasm, man. He turns with the washcloth in hand, takes one look at your face and smiles at you with such naked adoration you almost swoon with it.

“What’s that look for?”

You shrug, eyes darting around like a desperately guilty dog.

“Officer.” You look back at him. “We are still in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation.”

He is such a square. How he can be this level-headed and persistent whilst he’s still at half-mast is beyond you. You snort out of your nose like a petulant child. That was a bad idea – your forgot that you have a cold. You scramble around you looking for a tissue, but before you find one Kim is cleaning up your mess with the washcloth. Your ears burn. Having your nose wiped for you like a child should not be this arousing, but it is. Kim folds the washcloth and works downwards, cleaning the semen from your skin and the trail of hair that covers the length of your torso.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” His face is so close to yours. “If you still mean everything you’ve said when we’ve closed this case…” He whispers against your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You lunge forward too quickly and awkwardly crash your teeth against his own. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, sinking to his knees in front of you and craning his neck upwards to maintain contact. You lean forward, clutching his shoulders with flexing fingers. He is such a good kisser. He does amazing things with his tongue whilst his hand still works on scrubbing your torso clean, working its way to your crotch, and –

Kim breaks the kiss and looks down your body. He is wearing an expression of utter disbelief, which you would find incredibly amusing if it wasn’t aimed at your person.

“What? What’s wrong??” You ask in horror, clutching his shoulders tighter.

He doesn’t answer you. He reaches one hand between your legs. You cannot help the obtrusively loud moan of pleasure that rakes its way out of you as he squeezes your cock.

“Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” He says despairingly. “You’re still hard.”

You look down. The swollen head of your cock peers back up at you, twitching happily within the constraints of Kim’s fingers. Huh.

“Oh. Uhh. So I am.”

The look of bemusement Kim flashes you is objectively too funny for you to not grin back at him, so you do. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is this normal for you? Do you remember?”

“I’m. I’m gonna say no.”

“No, you don’t remember, or no, this is not normal?”

“Yes.”

The Lieutenant blinks. He sighs heavily, releasing your cock. It throbs angrily at the sudden absence of his expert fingers. If a cock could pout, yours would.

“Harry.” He places his palms on each of your thighs, making sure to keep his touch light on your injured leg. “The entire reason I suggested you take care of things is because I thought it would provide you with some relief and mental clarity.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem angry – maybe a little concerned. You get the distinct impression that he is beginning to think you may actually have a medical issue of some kind. Your regard your stubborn erection. It doesn’t hurt – you hadn’t even noticed its persistence because you are still enjoying the buzz of your afterglow. Are you still aroused? You ought to test that. You picture Kim leaning down and sneezing all over your crotch. When your cock gives a heavy throb in response to this thought, drooling more clear liquid down your shaft, you relax. You’re not suffering the early stages of priapism; you’re just insanely horny.

Kim has been watching you think. He also watches your cock bob in the air with poorly feigned disinterest. You think, despite it all, he is secretly happy with this outcome. Perhaps a little flattered that he has managed to work you into this rabid state despite the multiple factors of injury, illness and drug withdrawals working against you. You are hyperaware of the grip of his hands on your thighs. He has very nice hands - angular and masculine, but delicate in their motions in a way your own huge paws are not. You should tell him to get to work with those hands of his.

“It’ll go down soon?” You offer instead.

Spoilsport.

Kim looks up at you like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest, because he doesn’t.

“Humour me, officer. When might that be?”

You shrug noncommittally. He sighs again, eyeing your cock. It twitches a little under the scrutinization.

“Do you need to have another orgasm?” He asks you. It is a sincere, almost clinical question for which he would like a straightforward answer, almost like a physician consulting with a patient. That doesn’t stop your hips from squirming in response.

“I…don’t know if I can.” You admit.

And you mean it. Earlier this week you may have suffered a genuine heart attack. You were shot in the leg just over 48 hours ago. Another orgasm of that magnitude may kill you. You ponder this a moment longer. There are definitely worse ways to go, and you trust Kim to take good care of your corpse should your petite mort just become…mort. The Lieutenant is patiently watching you, still crouched in front of you. You could do worse that Kim Kitsuragi, Harry-boy. Just blow your load like a man and enjoy the ride.

“…Fuck it. Sure.”

You stroke your cock experimentally. It feels as intense as if you’d never come in the first place – the only evidence to the contrary being the floaty, rejuvenated feeling your previous orgasm bestowed upon you. Once you start touching yourself you can’t stop. You groan and tip your head back against the wall. Yeah. This probably won’t take long either.

You realise after a moment of passionate self love that Kim has made no move to either offer a helping hand or leave you to handle yourself alone. He’s watching you work yourself with naked interest, eyes heavy-lidded and bright. When you groan in response to your own teasing fingers rubbing gently over your frenulum, you hear his own moan of appreciation and feel the flexing of his fingers on your legs. It is his own sigh of arousal that seems to break him out of this intense observation. He stands up, and you look up at him, meeting his heated gaze with your own.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose but otherwise unmoving. His own erection tents the front of his cargo pants.

“Don’t go.” You say. “Stay.”

He smiles down at you. It makes your breath hitch.

“You want me to watch?”

“I think you want me to want you to watch.”

“I want to get back to the murder investigation.” He teases.

“Please. Don’t talk about murder right now. I’ll never cum that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smiles at you. He is finding some enjoyment in this – standing over you while you masturbate yourself furiously. You find yourself enjoying it as well – so much so that it takes you a moment to take offense.

“I’m not! – not that fucking weird, damn.” You mutter. He just laughs.

“I want to make you cum.” You offer after several beats of silence. He fidgets in response, a small movement that would have otherwise signalled a routine shifting of weight from one leg to another, were it not for the obscene tent in his trousers.

“You should focus on yourself.” He breathes out, sounding almost as out of breath as you.

“What does it – look like I’m doing?” You get out between moans.

You’re getting close. It feels good to stroke yourself with your own practised hand, but you can’t help but feel like you need more. The Lieutenant is the entire reason you are in this position in the first place, and now he’s not even touching you. His sneezing was the catalyst for a whole new world of never-ending arousal and homosexual revelations.

You should ask him to sneeze for you. The thought is simultaneously thrilling and mortifying. It is one thing for Kim to barge into the room and start kissing you, and sneezing all over you because he can’t help it – yet another thing entirely for you to request his active participation. Perhaps you don’t need to ask. All you need to do is sneeze again, and it will certainly trigger a reaction of his own. You sniffle experimentally, but all you get for your efforts is an uncomfortable burning sensation. It is just your luck that the second you actively want to sneeze, you cannot. Fuck.

Why do you find yourself hesitating like this? You couldn’t have imagined a more positive response from the Lieutenant before. He called you intriguing. He dirty-talked you. He rubbed your dicks together and compared sneezing to orgasm. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

You regard the Lieutenant. Sexually charged energy practically oozes from him as he stands before you. His pupils are blown and his body bows towards you with a subconscious desire for closeness. All physical signs, not least his solid cock, point towards his want for sex with you, and yet – he’s just standing there. Watching. It occurs to you that he is potentially holding himself back now because his uncharacteristically enthusiastic advances have spooked him into a form of cowed paralysis. For a rigid professional like the Lieutenant, niche fetish sex with a fellow police officer is a huge deviation from his usual composed behaviour.

You take this all into consideration, and open your mouth to speak.

“I want you to sneeze for me. Please, Kim. I’m desperate for it.”

Your voice is steady, if not a little strained, but you have said it. It is out in the open. Your face heats in anticipation, heart fluttering in your chest, and your arousal seems to amplify at the thrill of voicing these most erotic desires out loud. Kim makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and you are worried for a moment that he is going to bolt out of the door, but then he is stepping closer, standing between your legs and cradling your cheek in his palm.

“Okay.” He smiles at you, and the relief is overwhelming. He looks excited– it is as if he had been waiting for you to put into words what you really wanted from him. You have a feeling that you had been dead on the money about the source of his reluctance. He had taken too much control of you, far too quickly. He didn’t want to look desperate, or lecherous in his handling of you, even though you went easily, enthusiastically. He had said you could do whatever you wanted to him – granted, he had meant this for a time in the future when you had more blood in your brain than your dick, but. Either way. Perhaps all you had to do was use your fucking words.

The Lieutenant is suddenly glancing round the expanse of the shack as if looking for something. When you ask him what he is doing, he looks at you as if it is obvious.

“I can’t just sneeze on command, but there doesn’t appear to be anything dusty in here for me to use. Isobel is clearly a fastidious cleaner.”

That last part expresses a deep respect for the old woman’s neatness despite her visual impairment. He says it so matter of factly that it takes a moment for the sheer eroticism of what came before to wash over you. Your cock drools down your knuckles at the thought of Kim willingly inducing an allergic reaction in himself, proposing he do so as if it is the most normal thing in the world. You picture him again with a feather duster, teasing his flaring nostrils until he cannot take anymore. He seems pleased with your immediate physical reaction, running his hand through your hair. You thank this morning’s Harry for the decision to shower despite the pain in your leg.

“Don’t you need to sneeze? That’s as effective a method as any.”

You sniffle again, but it is the same result as before – which is to say, nothing at all.

“Fuck…” You tilt your head back against the wall in disappointment. Perhaps you had better let this idea go and just think about tits or something.

You remember then, in a flash of foggy memories, a certain fool proof method for inducing a sneeze. A small, twisted piece of coated wire – the kind you might use to seal an open bag of food. You remember using it, tickling yourself into a relieving, shuddering sneeze when the urge refused to crest without external encouragement. God. Maybe you like your own sneezes more than you previously thought. You feel another stubborn memory, just on the periphery of your consciousness that refuses to reveal itself to you. Nevertheless, you have a hunch – no, a suspicion - that you are not the only person upon whom you have used that little tool. This confuses you. You had been so convinced this was a secret you had never shared with anybody, but now you are not so sure. But who? It wasn’t…her, at least. You decide to bury this troubling thought before you develop a headache or start to cry.

Anyway. This tool. You have a feeling. A feeling that in the lining of your blazer, through a small rip of the fabric…You reach inside, and moments later, you are staring at the small twist of wire pinched between your thumb and forefinger. The Pavlovian elevation of your heartbeat at the sight of it only confirms its intended usage.

“Umm. I think this should work.” You hold the small tool up to the Lieutenant, your expression a confusing amalgamation of sheepishness and excitement.

He takes the tool off you and brings it closer to his face, squinting a little at it through his glasses before a look of recognition spreads across his features. His lips quirk up into one of his small smiles. You swallow audibly.

“I’m assuming this is intended for internal stimulation?” His smile widens as you nod, squeezing your cock for good measure. “Very resourceful, detective.”

He twirls the small piece of wire between his fingers as if testing his grip. You are giddy with anticipation, practically vibrating with it. Kim uses his knee on the outside of your leg to push it inwards – you instinctively move your legs closer together, out of the wide spread you had adopted as you slumped back against the wall. He hums in appreciation at your quick understanding before kneeling in a partial straddle atop you, knees pressing into the mattress. It squeaks in protest anew at your combined weight, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Kim rests his left hand on your shoulder, twirling the wire between thumb and forefinger of his right and watching your reaction. You swallow thickly.

“Please,” You whine. “’M so close…”

“Okay.” He leans forward to kiss you for a moment, and you almost reach up to pull him back into it before you remember that more kissing means less sneezing. “But if you’re still hard after this, I’m driving you to the hospital.”

He isn’t joking. You nod obediently, trying your best to look innocent and failing spectacularly. Kim hesitates for the briefest moment, as if it dawns on him how ridiculous his current position is – how every decision and success he has undertaken in his career and life in general has led up to this bizarre turn of events – before slipping the tool into his slightly flared right nostril.

Almost immediately, he is pulling back with a look of pained irritation, but it is not the kind either of you were looking for. He coughs a little before rubbing at his nose frantically with the heel of his palm, eyes scrunched shut.

“Kim - shit, are you okay?” You ask him, concern overriding the way your cock twitches at the sight of him roughly manhandling his nose.

“Ahh, sorry, sorry,” The Lieutenant apologises, slowing the motion of his hand. He lowers it again and smiles bashfully at you, eyes watering ever so slightly. He looks so cute in the moment you barely suppress the urge to gnaw on his glasses.

“I think I was a little overzealous. I didn’t expect that sensation.” He moves the tool back into his nostril, trying again.

You watch in fascination, eyes roving over his face, taking in every little detail as he tickles his nose for you. His nostrils are your favourite thing to watch, predictably. They are incredibly expressive, and the shape of them lends to a wonderful flare. Each little twist and thrust of the tool triggers another series of uncontrollable twitching. The eroticism of this moment cannot be understated – you feel so good, so unbelievably turned on that your hand has paused on your cock for fear you will come before he has even succeeded in initiating a build-up.

Suddenly, the Lieutenant’s breath catches. You hold your own involuntarily, as if any sudden movement will scare his budding sneeze away. Your eyes wander from his flaring nostrils to his furrowed brows to his mouth as it falls open. His tongue cups itself, pressing slightly against his full lip. You briefly imagine the feeling of that tongue wrapped around your cock as he sucks it down. You resist touching yourself, intent on enjoying every moment of this. The second you do it is game over.

“Oohh, I think-!” Kim manages to gasp out before the sneezes are tearing their way out of him – a desperate little triple that leaves him shivering in your lap.

“hHUPT’Tschh’uu!! Hhdt’Tszschhh’uu! hHADT’TSCHhhtt!!”

He aims them at your chest, but mostly catches your neck and chin with the light spray. Your skin feels electric with sensation. You swallow your groans to avoid drowning out the sound of his releases, cock throbbing heavily with each one. It is hard to imagine that you could be more turned on than in this current moment, especially as Kim sighs heavily, orgasmically when he has finished.

“Ahh, my god. That felt so good.”

It doesn’t matter if he is only saying it for your benefit, or if it really is the case – you’d put money on both – and you allow yourself to groan openly at last. Your free hand reaches up to clutch at the front of his shirt, more to tether yourself to him than anything else.

“Did you like that?” He purrs, knowing full fucking well that you’ve probably never liked anything else quite so much in your life.

“Yesss…” You manage, hesitating for a moment before offering a “B-bless you” that you stumble over as if it is the naughtiest, dirtiest phrase known to man.

“Thank you.”

He sighs emphatically, delighted to see you squirm and blush. The Lieutenant rests the hand still clutching the inducing tool on top of your own where you are crumpling his meticulously ironed shirt into a wrinkled mess. He leans forward, holding his face just in front of your own. He sniffles, then smiles smugly at the flicker of your eyes to his flaring nostrils.

“Harry.”

You murmur an affirmative, unable to do much more as his deep brown eyes seem to stare into your soul. It makes you feel a little drunk – the fun, relaxing part before the anger and shame sends you into a spiral of self-destruction.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself?”

The Lieutenant could read a phone directory aloud and that voice would probably still have the same effect on you. Soft, but deep and commanding. It sends shivers down your spine. Before you can answer him, he is murmuring against your lips again.

“Touch yourself for me. Be a good boy.”

You can be his good boy. His best boy. You sigh against him, fingers moving to firmly encircle your cock before his words even fully sink in.

“Yes,” you breathe out, beginning to stroke yourself obediently. Your other hand releases the front of his shirt and moves to grip his waist instead.

“Good.” He smiles, leaning back once more, hand gripping your shoulder firmly whilst the other slips the tool back into his waiting nostril. “Here’s your reward.”

You watch in what can only be described as adoration as the Lieutenant starts to tickle his nose again. You are trying to hold out, keeping the squeezing rhythm on your cock as slow as you can manage, but the longer you touch yourself the harder it is to do so. A few moments later, Kim’s nostrils give a definitive twitch. You hear him suck in a shuddering breath. This time was much faster – he is figuring out the best spots to tease in an impressive display of aptitude.

The Lieutenant’s face freezes in pre-sneeze agony for a beat, and then he is tilting forward with another round of sneezes, hand squeezing your shoulder tight.

“hHPT’Tsschh!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! ‘TSCHhh’uu!!....HAHd’tsschht!!

These, too, were aimed in the general vicinity of your upper torso, though the last one – a straggler – seems to catch him off guard. You feel the delicate spray that bursts out with it settling over your left cheek, some on your lips. You shamelessly lick them clean. It wasn’t a particularly messy affair, hardly even wet enough for you to feel it, but a thrill rushes through you all the same. Kim doesn’t notice, pausing for a moment to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles and scrunching his eyes shut as he does so. It is both endearing and erotic that he makes no effort to hide just how much these sneezes tickle and tease.

“Bless you-!” You all but growl at him.

“Thank you, detective.”

He is enjoying this immensely, which only makes it better. You doubt, despite the lax and forgiving nature with which he has approached some of your more…unpredictable behaviours, that he is the kind of man who does anything in bed that he does not want to. He wears his arousal well – he doesn’t blush so much as he seems to glow, radiant and healthy.

“This is fun.” He admits, out of the blue, returning the tool to his nose. “I wonder why I’ve never thought to try this before.”

Because you’re not a huge fucking pervert, you do not say. You imagine he finds a certain appeal in having some power over when he gets to sneeze. He can enjoy the release when the reflex is triggered by his own hand and following his own decision to do so. It is an entirely different ball game to when his allergies or suggestibility render him helpless in environments he cannot control. Now he has an opportunity to indulge in the sensation – and it certainly does no harm that he is reducing a large man like yourself to a quivering mess whilst doing so.  

Before you realise it, your muscles begin to tighten in pre-orgasmic tension. Your hand is stroking your cock mercilessly, doing everything it can to drive you closer and closer to climax. It is working on autopilot, for which you are grateful – you don’t want to miss a moment of this thinking about anything that isn’t the Lieutenant.

“Kim…” You whine. You mean to say more – that you’re close, you’re going to cum, something to that effect. You don’t manage to, but the desperation with which you utter his name is enough for the Lieutenant to understand.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb in small circles against your clavicle.

You sure fucking are. Your hand is a blur over your crotch, your frantic efforts almost sending vibrations throughout the protesting bed frame. You try not to think too much about the expressions you’re making. Kim has already been witness to your O face and certainly doesn’t seem to have been deterred by whatever he saw. He’s watching you with a hungry look even now, working his own face into a different but not dissimilar mask of desperation to your own.

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder especially hard, thumb digging into bone and muscle.

“I think – if I -!”

He is trying in desperation to communicate something between hitching breaths, but it is futile. He inhales hugely, audibly gasping at the intensity of the tickle he has inflicted upon himself. He makes no effort to remove the tool this time.

“AhHH’TSchhTt!!-‘TSSChhh!-‘TSSh’uu!! – god, I-! AESSCH’uu! Hhp’Tzshieww!*

A wave of heat consumes you, the eroticism of the moment almost unbearable. You realise that Kim has found a sweet spot and deduced that simply holding the tool in place will result in an endless barrage of sneezes. Your cock throbs, drooling down your knuckles as you caress and squeeze yourself stupid. The hand resting on Kim’s waist grips him more firmly, a kind of anchorage, though for whose benefit you are not entirely sure.

“IhHd’TSsch’uu!! aAHDd’TszchhT!!-TTSChh’uu-ttschht!! Fuck, it’s so -! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

The bed shakes under your combined efforts. You moan loudly, wantonly, almost out of your mind with desire. You wish you could shut yourself up – not out of any kind of embarrassment or shame. You’re beyond that now. But your own noisy exclamations are beginning to drown out the sound of Kim’s relentless sneezing. They have been increasing steadily in pitch as his body fights to mollify the tickle. There is no relief to be found, however – as long as he presses that little piece of wire against his sensitive spot, he will sneeze ceaselessly.

“Hupt’CHShh’iew! Hhdt’CHhhssh!! Hh-!! HhGG’TSzsch’uu!! TZSSCHh’iew!! Hhd’TZSCHshhtt!!”

They have been spraying your chest, neck and face indiscriminately, as it is all the Lieutenant can do to keep himself upright and find enough air to breathe between each convulsion. That most recent sneeze is also the most productive yet. You blink reflexively against the spray misting over your cheeks and nose, tangibly more wet than the preceding baptisms you have received. Kim’s pink, flaring nostrils are beginning to glitter with moisture. You almost feel envious that it has taken him such an intense series of sneezes to develop a bona fide runny nose. You can only imagine the mess you would have made by this point.

Unable to clean himself up throughout the continuous onslaught, you notice the tiniest string of saliva drips from the Lieutenant’s bottom lip. You want to lick it off, but all you’re capable of in the moment is fucking your own fist and moaning low and loud like a cat in heat. Your orgasm is mere moments away – it is building so intensely that your earlier fears of simply cumming yourself to death reemerge. You couldn’t stop the frantic motions of masturbation if you tried, however. You are a wanking machine, operating purely on animalistic impulses.

The Lieutenant, it appears, has reached his limitations. He looks dizzy and breathless, glasses askew and eyes streaming in irritation. He removes the tool from his nostril and drops it between you, realising much the same as you have – the cruel little press of that wire would have made him sneeze and sneeze until he passed out.

He clutches your shoulders with both hands now. You stare, utterly and totally enraptured, as his breath hitches towards yet another release.  Removing the direct source of irritation seems to have stoked some kind of residual tickle – and by the absolutely miserable twist of his features, it is perhaps the most intense of them all. Your cock shudders with the first pulse of your orgasm.

My god, you might die. You might actually die, you think, as the steadily cresting pleasure curls your toes and begins to pulse through you in luxurious waves. It is so overwhelming that you are unable to make any noise at all. You manage to watch through unblinking eyes as Kim tips forward with a punishing double.

“hHAhdt’TSZCHhh’uuu!! HhHDT’TSZSChhst!!”

They spray across your chin and neck, deliciously wrenching and wet. The Lieutenant gasps, head shaking almost imperceptibly as the tickle grinds vindictively against his sinuses – one final ‘fuck you’ - before he is lurching forward with a definitive, body-crunching explosion.

“hhHAHPT’TTZSSCHHhtt’iewww!!!”

It is the loudest and wettest sneeze you have ever heard from him. More importantly is the fact that he has managed to aim it down his body, chin squeezing against his collar bone. It drenches your cock in a teasing cloud of spray, the cooling sensation of it settling onto the delicate skin and elevating your orgasm beyond anything you thought imaginable. You are reeling with it, trembling pitifully.

Completely without means to control your own shuddering, you are helpless to fight it as your head drops back against the wall, thunking hard enough that there is pain even through the tremendous pleasure. You feel Kim slip a hand between your skull and the wall, cradling it protectively as you continue to shiver. The jarring movement seems to have triggered you to find your voice again and you moan stupidly, eyelashes aflutter.

Unlike your first orgasm, when the pleasure finally releases you this time, you slump as though dead. You have never come so close to losing consciousness from orgasm; you didn’t know it was something you were physically capable of (falling asleep immediately after the fact or passing out from drugs not-withstanding). Your breathing finally regains some semblance of consistency. Your eyes fell closed at some point and you make no move to open them. As you twitch with the occasional aftershock, wilting dick in hand, you feel Kim disembarking and hear him moving round. Your lascivious cock gives a few appreciative twitches at the sound of him blowing his nose.

“Harry. Harrier.” Kim calls your name softly from above, and you realise that you have started to doze.

“Mmf.” You grunt. You wish he would leave you to your peaceful oblivion.

A sudden cool sensation against your face makes you jolt slightly, eyes fluttering open. You look up at Kim, who is watching you with undisguised fondness and amusement, pressing a damp cloth to your cheek.

“Hi.” You manage.

“Hello.” Kim replies, before moving the cloth over your face and neck with a mechanical efficiency.

You grunt a little in indignation at being jostled here and there. You imagine this is what a milk drunk kitten being groomed by a fastidious and overbearing mother cat would feel like. Kim ignores your protests, wiping your dick clean with several quick strokes.

“Sorry.” He slows down just a little when you hiss and jerk as he works over the head of your cock, rubbing the over sensitised skin with tender care.

Your sticky hand is the last to be cleaned. You offer a lazy smirk as he wrinkles his nose at the sheer amount of mess you have made. The cloth, which you realise had been one of his many clean handkerchiefs, is tossed into the bin without a second thought. When you continue to sit there, arms hanging loosely at your sides, he clears his throat and looks pointedly at your crotch. Oh, right. You tuck your cock away, finally and blessedly flaccid.

“Do you normally make such a production of orgasm?” Kim asks in faux irritation, pulling his gloves back on.

You know he liked what he saw – he just likes to tease you. You ignore him, unable to formulate a witty or biting remark in response. Your brain is still jelly. Evidently your legs are, too – the second you try to stand, they are buckling under you. Kim steadies you, supporting your weight as best he can, until you are able to stand on your own. You swoon a little from the sudden rush of blood.

“You okay?” He asks, patting your back as you wash your hands in the basin.

“Fuck, man. I’m better than okay. I’m the living embodiment of Disco, baby.”

You giggle a little, loopy from the rush of endorphins. Your head also feels about a thousand times clearer, your morale at an all-time high – which gives you all the confidence you need to follow through on what you have been dying to do for days.

You turn to Kim, some variation of ‘The Expression’ plastered onto your face. With one fell swoop, you are scooping him up and depositing him roughly onto the bed, pulling a startled and rather undignified squawk out of him. Before he has time to stand up, you lower your mass over him, pressing a thigh between his legs and up against his cock and balls. The moan that escapes him is an unexpected and embarrassing to him as it is intoxicating and motivating to you. His hands reach up to grip your shoulders.

“You’re hard.” You mutter, before leaning forward and pressing a series of kisses to the exposed column of the Lieutenant’s neck.

“Astute observation, detective,” he breathes out, using his grip to pull you closer and arching himself up against you.

“I still want to make you cum. Will you let me now?” You nose along his jawline, careful to avoid pressing too hard and ruining the moment with a poorly timed sneeze. He shudders and bucks up against your leg, squeezing his thighs around it.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

That’s as clear an affirmation as you’ve ever heard. You reach between his legs, balancing over him on one arm. As nice as it felt for the position to be reversed, you can’t deny that your present arrangement is reaffirming to your masculinity. You spit into your hand, then manoeuvre his rock-solid cock out of his pants and hold it for a moment in your palm, getting a feel for the weight and thickness of it. You look down the lengths of your bodies in appreciation at the pretty head, beaded with moisture. You swipe over it with your thumb, spreading the wetness around and pulling a shaky sigh out Kim in response.

Before you can begin to stroke the Lieutenant, he is gripping your chin with one hand and forcing you to look at him.

“One thing before you start.” His brown eyes burn into your own. “If you ever pick me up like that again, I’m breaking both your arms.”

He is only half joking. He appreciates your wanton displays of virile masculinity, but he does not appreciate being caught off guard and thrown around like a toy. You nod within his grip, and he releases you, pulling your face to the crook of his neck and moaning in appreciation as your hand starts to pump him. He temporarily lets go of your shoulder to reach down and pull his t-shirt up to his nipples before resuming his hold, gripping you almost possessively.

“Is that an appropriate way to speak to your superior officer, Lieutenant?” You tease. There are times that you are especially grateful for the heavy timbre of your voice, and now is one of them.

You work your way over Kim’s neck with tiny kisses. His jugular flutters under your lips with each frantic beat of his heart.

“I believe it’s warranted when you’ve made your superior officer orgasm twice by sneezing on his person.” He murmurs, intoxicatingly breathless, into your ear, making you shudder involuntarily. You feel the smile on his lips as he nibbles gently on your ear lobe. Oh, god. He’s a monster. He’s going to eat you alive, and you’ll happily let him.

“God. You can’t be doing that. I’m serious, Kim, you’ll make me hard again.”

You don’t want him to stop. You want to lie there and let him tease every inch of your body. But this is no longer about you. You are overflowing with endorphins and post-orgasmic rejuvenation, and it is the Lieutenant who has brought you to such a state. He deserves your total and undivided attention.

It feels wonderful to stroke his cock, and you seem to be very good at it, if Kim’s increasingly enthusiastic moans and gasps are of any indication. His skin is velvety soft in your calloused palm, and everything feels perfect and grounded and right. A sudden wave of emotion overcomes you as you realise this is the happiest you have been in a very long time. You blink the traitorous tears away before they threaten to fall, but there is still a lump in your throat. You’re beginning to suspect you are just a regular sex crier.

“I can hear you thinking,” Kim gasps out.

You lift your head out of the crook of his neck to look into his face. He looks amazing like this, as though he can barely believe how good it feels, eyebrows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I’m thinking about you.” You murmur, pressing your thigh even harder against his balls and squeezing his cock with a purposefully slow upstroke. He writhes under you, and the half-strangled sob he makes as his hands scramble for purchase on your blazer is possibly the best sound you have ever heard in your life (sneezing aside).

“Harry-! Plus fort, comme ça…!”

You obey, increasing the force of your grip as you squeeze him, a steady and punishing rhythm. His closed-mouth groan of approval spurs you on.

“I meant it all. Everything I said. And I’ll still mean it tomorrow, and the day after that.” You know this, with the strongest sense of clarity you have experienced since the start of your amnesia. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Do you want that?”

You omit the ‘do you want me’ part.

“Fuck…” Kim mutters.  “Fuck, yesss.”

Your heart is overflowing. You feel hope, real genuine hope, for a better future. One where maybe you don’t hate yourself, and happiness isn’t something reserved for the rest of the world while you stand on the periphery looking in. You watch his face, his head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in ecstasy. He’s done for. Push him over the edge.

“I want you to cum all over yourself. Make a mess for me, Kim.”

The Lieutenant gasps, tossing his head back as his entire body tenses underneath you. His cock spits in your grasp, painting his torso with white stripes of pleasure. He is certainly making a mess; the sight makes your mouth water. You rub him through it, drinking in his soft whines and hitching breaths. You’re impressed by the amount of semen that spurts out of him – you wonder if he is as disciplined with his orgasms as with his cigarettes. Maybe he’s in the middle of a dry spell. Or maybe you’re just that good. It is probably an amalgamation of all three reasons.

You stroke him until he reaches down to tap on your wrist, signalling over-stimulation. Your movements cease and you loosen your grip, cradling his twitching cock like a delicate treasure. Your eyes haven’t left his face. The serene look of satisfied blankness makes him look youthful and handsome. Your heart aches to look at him, but it’s a sweet, gnawing agony that you would rather endure.

When he opens his eyes to glance at you, a shy little smile playing on his lips, you are unable to stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing your foreheads together. The frames of his glasses dig into your face, but you do not care. Still, you make a mental note to do this again sans spectacles. He reaches up to wrap both arms around your shoulders. He is much more affectionate post-orgasm than you would have expected, but you have learned a great deal of things about him today that have equally surprised and delighted you.

“Good?”

“Very,” He presses a small kiss against the side of your mouth. “I need a moment. Fuck.”

You cannot help it. You beam like a moron. You can add ‘Sex God’ and/or ‘Certified Orgasm Donor’ to your extensive list of talents. Let yourself have this moment before you must return to the cruel world of responsibilities and capital. You lower yourself onto Kim, soft gut resting against lithe stomach, closing the gap between the two of you entirely. You remember the copious semen a moment too late.

“You’ll ruin your shirt.” Kim protests weakly, but his heart is not in it. He sounds half-asleep.

“Whatever. I have a spare.”

Several spares, actually. A veritable wardrobe of bold fashion statements just waiting to be made as you limp around Martinaise.

The pair of you lie there in satisfaction until the threat of impending sleep urges Kim to shove your uncooperative mass off of him. You sigh, sitting up on the bed and removing your blazer and shirt. You use a dry section of the shirt’s fabric to clean Kim’s torso and cock before it is unceremoniously balled up and tossed in the bin, alongside the equally as tarnished washcloth and handkerchief. Sorry, Isobel. The room is muggy with the smell of your sex.

You look through your things for another shirt, pulling yourself together, and in time Kim stands and rights himself too. He wets (and wastes) another handkerchief going over his cock. The pair of you dress and clean in relative silence.

“Well.” You offer up to the air after several minutes, wincing only a little as you lean carelessly on your bad leg.

“Well.” The Lieutenant echoes.

The two of you wear matching expressions of smugness. That was some ground-shaking sex, and you both know it. You don’t need to say anything – following a successful conclusion to the murder investigation, this will happen again. It will probably even happen again following an unsuccessful outcome, unless that outcome entails significant maiming and/or death.

The Lieutenant lets you lead the way, and as you step out into the waning afternoon sunlight, the world seems just a little bit brighter.

[giac222]

Came across this YouTube video last night.. *long heavy sigh*

*cue Amy Winehouse voice* What kind of fuckery is this? 🎶. … lol

Of course I had to make a post about it lmao. Back on my bs, time for another long post. (Just a heads up). Sorry if I repeat some things that I’ve mentioned in previous posts already, I just feel like they make sense to bring up here.

I should have known from the thumbnail alone that this video would pmo 💀. I was going to attempt to watch it considering it’s only around 8 minutes, I didn’t make it very far though 😂… The creator said “This is where I present the tale of a young man with anti-social personality disorder who was transformed into a serial killer due to the parasitic influence his abuser had on him.” that line alone made me click off I’m not kidding.

“The Psychology Behind Andrew Graves” and it’s just loud and wrong 🤦🏻‍♀️. I’m majoring in psychology and am in the process of getting my bachelors degree, yet I still won’t diagnose either him or Ashley. I just don’t feel comfortable doing that. People are entitled to their opinions though. 🤷🏻‍♀️. I think some people look at mental health issues through a black and white lens. Mental health is complex, a person’s well-being is determined by more than one thing, it’s a combination of psychological, biological, and social factors.

So diagnosing Ashley or Andrew isn’t what I’m getting into here. More so the comment about Andrew being turned into a serial killer due to the “parasitic influence his abuser had on him”. Of course I’ll be talking about some other things too.

First of all, Andrew isn’t a damn serial killer. I guess you could maybe consider him one under the guise of “he committed 3 killings”, but that doesn’t hold much weight to me in this instance. When he “killed” the cultist before eating him with Ashley, Andrew had no idea he was still alive. The demon basically killed him already, the guy was brain dead. (So tbh, I don’t really consider that a murder). In episode two where they sacrifice their parents to the demon, after finding out that their parents were technically still alive and coming to the realization that the cultist was too, he wasn’t too thrilled.

Next, Andrew killed the warden because he was going to hurt Ashley, he did it to protect her. The lady in 302 was wronged, I don’t think anyone is denying that. In his dream it’s justified though, he says Ashley would have wanted to kill her anyway and because of “no witnesses”. I’ve said before that he killed her for Ashley more than anything, he did it to make her happy. That’s why he got so pissed off when she started accusing him of attempting to sleep with her, which led things to escalate because Ashley kept going. Her dying did make Ashley happy though 🤷🏻‍♀️. The only reason Ashley wanted to shoot that lady was because Andrew called her pretty, that’s it. With no witnesses, even though it’s wrong, it makes sense in their situation. Lastly we have the hitman, obviously they had to intervene because the hitman was hired to kill them first. What do you think would have happened to them if Andrew didn’t take out the warden or the hitman? There isn’t an excuse for the murder of the lady in 302, but had she stayed alive, she probably would have snitched on them 😬.

Andrew’s morals are skewed, he doesn’t really give a shit, he cares more about what would happen if they got caught. Still, it’s not like he goes out of his way to kill people or necessarily wants to. Serial killers get off on the power and control it gives them, they get psychological satisfaction from it. I can’t say that’s the case with Andrew. With the warden he said he had no regrets, but that’s because he used to leer at Ashley and would have harmed her if he didn’t step in. The only regret he had was not killing him slower, the reason? Because the warden fucked with his Ashley 🤭. He doesn’t play around when it comes to her. I just know that when the warden would leer at Ashley, Andrew’s jealous streak kicked in QUICK. Probably gave him the most intense death stare ever.

Again, based on the thumbnail and what I mentioned hearing before clicking off of the video, I can only assume most of the video is about how Ashley is the big bad manipulative villain that ruined Andrew’s life, and that every excuse under the sun is dropped for Andrew’s actions and behavior. It’s always the woman’s fault guys, haven’t you heard??…. 🙄🙄.

Honestly, whenever Andrew tells Ashley something like “get your head checked”, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.” or “get help”. It’s literally just him projecting. I’ve never seen someone in denial so bad 😂. His repression is crazy.

There was a really good comment left under the video which I will include:

Exactly 💯👏🏻

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Ashley manipulates, or at least attempts to, but she isn’t good at it. During her and Andrew’s explosive fight in apartment 302, when he’s threatening to kill her, she brings up how she’s the only person who can make his nightmares go away, Andrew responds with “there’s sleeping pills for that”. Then she goes “yeah okay I got nothing”… 😭. Girl didn’t even try lmao. But she says she wants to leave with him, because duh? She loves him and wants to stick beside him. Not to mention that in episode two we find out that he doesn’t actually have that many nightmares, he uses it as an excuse to sleep next to Ashley and be close to her.

The game shows us that Andrew’s far more violent than Ashley is. Ashley got physical first in apartment 302, which of course she shouldn’t have done that, but Andrew almost killed her by choking her, and when he finally let go, we see that she literally had a bruise on her neck because of how hard he did it. I can’t see her ever doing something like that to him. Andrew will just casually threaten violence too, even if it’s just a a joke. What’s wild is the story about the lady attacking him with the nail gun. He said nothing in his dream about self defense. The nail gun was literally in the same spot as before when Ashley left, and the lady was deceased on her bed, she didn’t move an inch. Andrew most likely killed her right after Ashley left. (RIP 302 lady, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time 😩). Of course they over look that though 🤦🏻‍♀️, and the fact that Andrew is a very good liar.

When they were children, before their blood oath Andrew literally contemplates if killing Ashley would be worth it. Even after they found out that Nina died, he didn’t really seem to care, he was just worried about what would happen if people found out they killed her (on accident, they shouldn’t have locked her in there period, but kids don’t think of that stuff. They genuinely weren’t trying to kill her, they talked about letting her out in the Morning). Also, him grabbing Ashley and yelling about how guys and girls don’t go to the same prison. He said “They’re going to take YOU away from ME.”… So yeah, Andrew has always been the way he is, he just knows how to mask it. Ashley did not make him that way.

When Andrew’s mask starts to slip off, even Ashley is a little scared because she’s not used to seeing him that way, she thinks he’s changing, but really his true colors are just now coming out. That’s why the decay route is so sinister, it’s like Andrew becomes one with the mask. You could say his mask is still slipping, just in the worst way possible. I plan on making a post dedicated to the decay route sometime soon, there’s a lot to discuss there.

I made a post dedicated to Ashley and what she’s gone through not too long ago, so I’m going to try my best not to sound like a broken record here. However, it ties into this post so I’ll talk about it a little bit. Ashley is one of the most misunderstood characters I’ve ever seen, I’m so serious. I can’t help but get frustrated when people attempt to paint her as this evil bitch who was born that way, they completely ignore everything she has gone through and what she struggles with. Mind you, the game literally puts it right in front of your face, so idk how people miss the point 🤦🏻‍♀️. I think they just see what they want to see. Ashley literally hates herself and has had low self esteem since she was a little girl. She genuinely believes that she’s evil and that no one could ever truly love her. She’s 20 when the game currently takes place, do you know how debilitating it must be to deal with something like that for years?? From childhood all the way up into adulthood, that’s so heartbreaking. It’s basically embedded in her at this point 🥲. So yes, it makes me mad when people overlook that despite the game showing you how hard it is for her.

They act like she treats people as disposable just because, it’s like no, actually she’s able to do that because that’s how everyone except for Andrew always treated her. That’s literally why she clings to Andrew the way she does and goes to extreme measures to make him stay (even though she doesn’t need to, but she doesn’t know that) because he’s the only person who has shown her love/she could depend on. So yeah, no shit she’s scared of him leaving. People saying that Andrew needs to kill her so he can live his life do not seem to understand the fact that Andrew actually likes Ashley being dependent on him, he doesn’t want her to become independent. Let’s not forget that when Andrew went to snoop on the cultist, despite being away from Ashley for like 20-30 minutes at most? We see a text box that says “Now that you’ve got your answers, you miss Ashley.” Do y’all really think he’d want to live without her? Please be serious 🤭.

How people don’t get this yet I have no idea, but one can’t live without the other, period. Nor would they want to. They’re the love of each others lives 🩷💚. They only have each other. Why do you think they look the happiest in episode 2 at the end of the questionable burial route?? Ashley trusted him, and Andrew said no to the bs olive branch their mother attempted to use. People who say that questionable burial is the bad ending are in denial so bad.

Please, the flowers around his head in the first pic, he was so happy 😭. The way he’s holding her head in the 2nd pic is so sweet 🥺. He loves her so much, those people can stay in denial though lmao. The new and improved Mr. and Mrs.Graves incoming 😉.

To sum it up, It’s exhausting seeing so many people completely miss the mark on everything about TCOAAL, especially when it comes to Ashley. They have 0 empathy for her despite everything going wrong in her life since she was little, but overlook all the suspicious things about Andrew.

When episode 3 comes out and Andrew’s mask fully comes off. those fans are going to be like “WHatTttTt???? How could this be?”… like the signs were always there actually, you just had to pay attention. If people still think Andrew should be with Julia after the episode 3 preview video… then idk what to tell them. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I just feel like TCOAAL has been so misconstrued that I don’t even know where to begin, from the characters to what the game is actually about. I mean we got people watering it down to an incest fetish porn game (both haters and certain “fans” do this btw) - (no shade to the porn games out there lmao), but it just isn’t, like at all?? I never understood that because there is nothing overly sexual or explicit in the game. Yes, there’s the questionable vision, but we don’t see anything? We just know they slept together. I think some of these people are expecting a long explicit sex scene in episode 3, I don’t see that happening though, and tbh why would we? That isn’t what the game is about 💀.

I was on the TCOAAL Steam Community page a few days ago, and I saw this YouTube video someone posted on there. I think the video was titled “TCOAAL made me wish I had a sister”, and the thumbnail was a collage of like r34 pictures of Ashley, so basically none of her in the actual game. Fanon Ashley is like a completely different entity at this point lmao. Sorry, but I died of cringe. I’m like this is exactly why people side eye the fanbase 🤦🏻‍♀️.

I’ll never forget this one video an Ashley “fan” made, it was so bad y’all I’m surprised I still had braincells afterwards, if I could go back in time and tell myself not to watch it I would lmfao. There was a point where he flipped off the camera and said “fuck you Nemlei”, literally what an immature asshole 🙄. He did that because she made a piece of bonus artwork of Ashley lighting Andrew’s cigarette for him. I’m sure you guys will know which image I mean. I’m like well, if it weren’t for Nemlei you wouldn’t have this character that you’re so obsessed with, so now what? 😂. If you’re genuinely angry that the creator made bonus art of Ashley and her CANON love interest because you have a crush on her, I suggest going outside and touching grass. Praying that video was satire 🤦🏻‍♀️. Soooo embarrassing though, satire or not. Actually, I included a comment from under that video in my Ashley Graves defense post (linked above) and dissected it because of how incredibly stupid it was.

Mind you, the creator of that video at one point said “I’d do things to Ashley that would make feminists cry!” 🤪🤪. Whatever that stupid ass statement means. So let me guess? (trigger warning just to be safe ⚠️) you’re basically referring to rape? Color me shocked 😑. Keep this idiot away from girls in real life please because yikes 😬. He said that, yet in the comment section he said the incest in the game made him uncomfortable, like be so fr…. dumb ass 🙄.. LOL.

Look, I try to be civil, but these people make it hard sometimes lmao. I can’t stand wannabe edge lords, they’re some of the most annoying people on the planet. They need their own separate internet tbh.

Anywayyy, to wrap this post up because it’s long af. Ashley and Andrew are both flawed individuals, and they both have unchecked mental health issues, which isn’t even their fault btw. Sorry, but you can’t tell me those two are the biggest villains in the story considering the society they live in is totally dystopian + they were left to starve and die in their apartment because of their own parents selling them to organ harvesters. They quite literally would have died if they didn’t do what they did to escape.

Their parents failed them both, and the fact that they formed a codependent relationship as children isn’t their fault either. It’s honestly incredibly sad more than anything. I’d say that’s why I have empathy for them both as characters, they were both dealt a bad hand in life, and I don’t think either of them have been genuinely happy before really. They’re the happiest when they’re together, and as we’ve seen from the burial route, their relationship absolutely can improve. So yes, I want them to have their happy ending so bad 🥲. Especially Ashley, considering she’s got it the worst out of the two. People try to paint Ashley and Andrew + their situation as black and white, but it just doesn’t work. If you’re taking characters in a psychological horror game at face value then you’re just missing the point.

~

I feel like I need to hop on YouTube and create a video about TCOAAL to rebuttal all the messy takes about it on that platform 😫.

As usual, thank you for reading 😘. It makes me happy to know others enjoy what I post ❤️. Thank you for loving the game and these characters as much as I do. :’)

[99hook]

Battered

Streetfighter!hook

Synopsis: Hook isn’t just a ring name in AEW but you figure that out when it’s too late to stop him

Warnings: depictions of blood and injury, angst, cursing, violence

A/N: I caught the O’Malley vs Sterling fight in the break room and just couldn’t stop thinking about hook as an underground streetfighter for some reason lmao (and yes I know the boxers aren’t streetfighters but this is just where my mind went)

The low hood shadowed the thick, velvet scar crossing through the arch of his eyebrow, along with the puffed out lower left side of his lip that had an identical cut to match, but not as well as he intended.

“Where do these scars keep coming from?” You asked as you gently ran your thumb over one of the cuts.

“You know I’m a pro wrestler.” He muttered as he pulls his head away, trying to hide the wince from the pain that the slightest touch caused.

“You haven’t stepped in the ring in over a month, Tyler.” You deadpan, and he can practically feel your suspicions slicing through him, but he tries not to acknowledge that.

“I did some practice in the gym the other day and the dude got me.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll heal.”

But you didn’t believe him, and it wasn’t just due to the fresh scars that decorated his face either. Tyler was a horrible liar. He’d always been. He can never look you in the eyes when he fabricated the truth, which was exactly why he was staring down at his busted knuckles instead.

You took a moment to think, but you didn’t even need to. The truth was staring you right in the face and you were tired of pretending that it wasn’t.

“You’re streetfighting, aren’t you?”

You watched his shoulders immediately tense up, his teeth locking down behind his lips making his jaw bone throb. You rolled your eyes and looked away, unable to keep staring at those wounds on your boyfriend’s face.

“So when were you planning on telling me? After I have to see you in a hospital bed with a concussion? Or were you gonna just wait until you were in a coma and I had to find out for myself that you’ve been lying to me for who knows how long!”

“Stop.” He muttered, picking his head back up. “Just try to understand-“

“We talked about this so many times, Tyler! I told you exactly how I felt about you doing this! It’s dangerous! I’ve seen my dad get his skull cracked in half and you know that! Why do you want to do this shit?!”

“I love it.” He shrugs easily. “I love the thrill and the adrenaline. I love knocking bitch ass punks out cold. I love the hype. I was meant to do this, Y/N. I know I was.”

You felt your heart sink in your chest. Clearly seeing the passion bursting through those dark eyes when he told you what it means to him, but it kills you inside knowing that he’s chosen something so dangerous. Possibly deadly, and he doesn’t seem to give that any regard whatsoever.

“It’s not the way it was when your dad broke into it. It’s rough, but people aren’t built like they used to be. I haven’t gotten seriously hurt yet, and I’ve been doing this for-“ he pauses, dropping his eyes to the floor before he says, “about six months now.”

“Six months?!” You snapped, “are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Obviously im not.” He eyes you again. “I’m being dead serious because this is something I love. It’s a part of my life now, just like you are and I guess I’m just telling you so you’ll accept it, cause I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes but you forced them back. Tyler watched your eyes well up and had to advert his attention elsewhere so he didn’t have to see those tears slip down your cheeks.

“Look” he sighs, “I’ll bring you to one of my fights. You can see for yourself that you don’t have to worry about me. Nobody’s ever come close to knocking me out. Yeah I have a couple bruises and shit but that’s just how the shit goes. I hold my own out there and I dominate everyone that comes for me. I’m the last person you ever have to worry about.”

Well, that lead to you standing in the midst of a bunch of drunk, wild people in a rundown underground basement. You couldn’t help but to bite your nails down to the nub as you intensely watched two guys aggressively throwing still jabs to each other’s jaws.

It was already hard to breathe in the smoky haze but even worse when Tyler was announced. The crowd roared when he came out, fists taped up and wearing gear similar to what he wears in AEW, but he didn’t look like that Hook.

Everyone chanted his name, some people holding fifty and hundred dollar bills in the air as they bet on his win. You didn’t even realize he was such a crowd favorite, but that just cemented the fact that he’d been living this whole double life you knew nothing about for six months.

He stepped up and adjusted the tape wrapped tightly around his wrists to cover the tender flesh on his knuckles. The scars so deep that the second they make contact with anything, they’re pouring blood.

The man he was up against had a good three inches of height on him, but he had much more muscle mass than the man did. There was no intimidation on the surface. Hook appeared just as calm, cool and collected as he always did in AEW, but you quickly realized as soon as the first punch was thrown that this was completely different.

All you heard was hook chants and the sounds of knuckle crashing into bone. One stiff jab in particular caused Hook to stumble back, dazed a bit but all it did was piss him off, and then you realized just why everyone was betting on him.

Fury bursted out of him as he threw his fists straight into the eye sockets, the jaw and the teeth of his opponent. He was a quick shooter. His opponent tried to block the shots to the face so Hook strikes them to the ribs instead, landing an uppercut when his opponent folded over.

But as soon as you thought the fight was going to come to a quick end, hook’s opponent reared his shoulder into his gut and slammed him down to the floor. The impact of your boyfriend’s spine crashing against the concrete make your stomach churn. You felt nauseas, hands trembling as you watched him getting punched everywhere that was visible.

He was trapped beneath his opponent, his knees digging into Hook’s rib cage preventing him from breaking free and all he could do was block those deadly punches as best as he could.

The chants only got louder and louder and it gave him more momentum. The crowd, but especially knowing you were out there in it.

In a desperate attempt to gain some leverage, when the next punch was thrown, hook caught it with his left hand, his right hand connecting directly into the teeth of his opponent, cracking one right down the center.

Blood oozed from the man’s mouth, leaving droplets all over Hook’s chest. He quickly reversed the roles and rolled himself on top of his battered opponent, his knees digging into the shoulders to keep the man from having any defense. With the man trapped underneath, Hook’s fists flew at a deadly speed, pounding into the man’s face until there was blood pouring out of every crevice on his skin.

He wasn’t satisfied until his opponent was limp. One good stiff jab to the jaw button followed by three clocks to the bridge of the nose and his opponent’s eyes rolled back, his entire body giving up any source of fight he could’ve possibly mustered.

The crowd erupted in wild screams when hook got off of him. He wiped the smeared blood from his bottom lip with the back of his hand, tainting the white tape with crimson to match his opponent’s blood all over his body and the floor.

He raised both arms up, eliciting more screams from the crowd before he scanned his eyes all around that smoky room, finding you within seconds. You had mixed reactions and he could see that, but all he was worried about was making sure he showed you that this is what he’s best at. This is what he loves. This is what he wants.

He made his way towards you, red welts all over his chest and neck and tinges of blood everywhere you could see. He pushed through the people in front of you until he was standing inches apart, his bloody, slick hand cupping your cheek before he crashed his lips with yours.

He was so amped up and you could feel that in the kiss. The passionate force behind his lips colliding with yours left you breathless when he pulled back.

He dropped his hand from your cheek to your hip and noticed the blood smearing across your skin that he left there.

As if he was reading your mind, he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around you, blood staining on your clothes but neither he or you cared. You hugged him back, holding onto him for dear life he felt like. Your body was still shaking and nerves still wracking around within you but you couldn’t deny the fact that he really did dominate out there, just like he said. And it was clear more than ever that this was something he loves. Something he wouldn’t give up.

“You’re a badass.” You mumbled into his slick chest, feeling his arms tighten around you. “But listen to me, Senerchia, cause I’m only gonna say this once. You better not die on me, or I’ll bring you back to life and kill you myself.”

He pulls back and looks down at you, his eyes wide and wild and hair even more so, but a slight smirk tipping up his lips distracted you from all that. All the blood smeared on his skin and the welts that were soon bruises. That smile out-shown all of it.

“Never gotta worry about that, baby. I’m never leaving you.”

He placed another kiss to your lips briefly, leaving the taste of salty sweat and metallic in your mouth before he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd, avoiding the people around trying to congratulate him and get him to sign things because all he was worried about was getting you home.

“Where are we going? I thought there were more fights? You don’t wanna stay and watch?”

“Nah” he smirks as the cold, New York air greets you both. “I got a lot of adrenaline pumping right now, im not wasting it.”

[thestobingirlie]

Somewhat tangentially related to that other ask but I wish fandom would just acknowledge that Eddie is also bully in his own right and just because he's antagonist towards jocks doesn't mean they deserve it by virtue of being jocks (no matter how much fandom likes to pretend it's warranted because Eddie is bullied himself- this is nowhere near canon and I'd go so far as to say it goes against canon if we're basing it off of Eddie's own behavior) and beyond all that; like the other asker and yourself said Eddie isn't just antagonizing jocks! He openly scorns band kids, geeks and pretty much everyone that isn't his specific brand of nerd which is not about academics so much as nerdy interest like fantasy and "non-conformist" music.

I put that in quotations because Eddie is actually probably the one that buys into the whole high school hierarchy spiel more than any other character on the show; by setting himself up as such an anti-establishment non conformist (all within the high school setting mind you we see nothing to make me believe his ideals go beyond that setting and it makes sense to me considering he's a Peter Pan archetype stuck in a state of arrested development- but I digress) because he sets himself up in such a way that his entire persona is built off of the abject refusal to adhere to societal expectations he's by and large helping to perpetuate them. He's cosplaying this attitude more than living by it because the societal norms still very much dictate how he views himself and how he approaches others.

Ironically Steve is the real deal in this regard by shucking what others expect from him and living his own life the way he wants it divorced from the excepted norms he used to let dictate him as late as mid s3 while changing the things he didn't like about himself behaviorally while still retaining his core personality and interests without the need to revise himself fully.

But because he doesn't have an alt style or interests that go against the mainstream, fandom refuses to see him in this light. He also doesn't let his new friends change his own interests nor expect them to change theirs for him.

I guess this rant makes me sound like I don't like Eddie but I do! I think fandom Eddie is entirely separate from canon Eddie however, to the point where his only recognizable qualities are his interests and aesthetic. Fandom really seems to martyr him in that regard and fully drink his kool-aid which is hilarious because it's largely performative with no substance lmao (even the "woe is me hunt the freak huh 🥺" falls flat narratively when a whole ass dead girl was found in his home).

I think the duplicitous nature of his personality and his hypocrisy (while still fully being a good guy! If you ignore the whole uh selling hard core drugs to a 17/18 year old girl who clearly never did them before thing) I think it's this dual nature and slightly shady actions while still having a caring heart and good intentions is what makes him a good character and we don't get to see that hardly ever with the way a laaaarge portion of fandom worships at his freak alter.

god, beautifully written. i agree with every single point. honestly, you anons just know how to word exactly what i’m feeling.

yes! eddie pretends like he rejects societal ideals, but he just reinforces them to the next generation. he’s built his life on being the freak, he plays it up to get attention, and to rile up his classmates. i honestly think eddie won’t know who he is post high school. which is, like you said, ironically the way the fandom tries to portray steve. but we see that he’s much more secure in himself and his life than eddie. does he have everything figured out? of course not, he’s 18!! but he knows a hell of a lot more than eddie.

but because he isn’t a nerdy outcast, the fandom would have us believe that he actually hates his life and who he is, and secretly doesn’t want to be a jock. fanon steve is honestly way more like canon eddie than i think the fandom wants to admit.

(and yeah, chrissy is found dead in his home. people aren’t just witch hunting eddie for no reason lmao)

all this is what makes canon eddie an actual interesting character!!! and the fact he (and steve) are entirely stripped of these characteristics is one of the reasons that i just can’t vibe with the fandoms rendition of steddie.

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Sometimes I worry I make the action too short. I guess I just don't know how to add too much to it yet.

Honestly, it's weird thinking about how I already finished 11 chapters in like... 10 days? I keep this up for a month, and I'll end up with 100k words lmao (doubt that will happen tho...)

Right before he’s about to retire to his room for the night, Rudy catches up to him, eyes distraught. Ghost doesn’t like what it forebodes for his conversation with his Reaper.

“Fantasma.” Rudy shifts restlessly, “I don’t have much to give you.”

Would be a miracle if he did, Ghost imagines.

“I asked it about you, it said I should stay away from ‘the revenant of the Void’, that you’re powerful on a level we can’t comprehend.”, Rudy air quotes.

“Limbo seems easy enough to understand to me.” Ghost rolls his eyes. The day he finds a non-dramatic Reaper is the day he’ll die for good.

“It said Limbo works similarly to Reaper realms, that it has… strange effects on humans.” Rudy trails off, but Ghost perks up.

The Vaquero notices that, “you didn’t know?”

“Wasn’t in the bloody field manual” Ghost rumbles.

The man laughs, but he quickly returns to his solemn mood, “I asked him about Soap and it just… left.”

Ever Reapers don’t wanna give him any fucking information about Johnny.

Ghost sighs, “bloody gits, always run off before you can get anything useful.”

“Mine doesn’t usually do that… I think it was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Soap, his Reaper. Heavens know.”

Ghost nods, “appreciate the gesture, Rudy. Cheers.” He walks off to his bed, expecting another night of theorizing and over analyzing ahead of him.

They spend days collecting information, Shadow Company’s helo circling the party venue at night, and Vaqueros on constant watch for movement. 

They’ve decided on Bravo to include Soap, Rudy and Gaz, while Romeo with consist of Price, Alejandro and himself. Graves will keep an eye on El Sin Nombre from the sky, making sure he doesn’t slip away.

Price calls them for a private meeting of just the 141 members, going over engagement rules and power authorization. 

Ghost isn’t fond of the idea of Soap and Gaz being away from him, but after the favor Rudy did him he trusts the man. He also thinks morbidly that perhaps it’s for the best Johnny will be far from him, considering how Limbo is out to get him.

Shepherd joins the meeting for a short while, and Price fills him in on everything he missed. Everything, besides Soap’s little visit to Limbo, and the fact his Sergeant is now able to see things he couldn’t before.

They conclude the debrief, but the Captain orders them to stay. He looks at Ghost and informs him in his thoughts, “it’s time we discuss everything we know about Limbo with the others.”

He glances over to Johnny, who’s giving him a confused smile. He doubts it will stay after everything is said.

“I met with my Reaper on the plane to Las Almas.” Ghost starts with the beginning. “Warned me to stay away from ‘the revenant of destruction’ if I want to live”.

Soap flinches next to him.

“What?!” the Scot spouts at him, “you went on a mission with me knowing that?!”

“I’m not letting the damn Reaper decide who I trust with my six, Sergeant.” ghost drawls, “and you know yourself Reapers often don’t say exactly what they mean.”

Soap inhales to retort, but the Captain cuts him off, “it’s possible the Reaper means decades from now, or that your death will also kill Ghost. Not necessarily your actions.”

Johnny and Price enter a short staring match, probably shouting in each other’s brain, and Soap huffs and crosses his arms, “yes sir.”

His flaming fingers tap incessantly on his biceps, Ghost notes. He remembers why Soap originally didn’t use his explosion creation powers, how he was trying to repent for the innocent deaths it caused. 

Ghost won’t let Soap impede his own progress because of a theoretical, possible future tragedy.

He moves onto his other findings, “after I brought Johnny to Limbo, he started seeing its residents outside of it, when they try to drag me down from the ground.” he feels a sneaky git make a pass at his leg, and Soap stomps it for him, giving him a stern look. 

Garrick, whose been silent up until now (probably processing the honestly heavy amount of information) chimes up, “think that’s why they went at Soap on the training grounds? Maybe they could see him too.”

Ghost blinks in awe, how hasn’t he thought of it himself? “Would make sense.” he considers the theory, “that means…”

“No matter where I am, it’s like I’m always inside Limbo when you activate it.” Soap realizes.

Price nods thoughtfully, “only way to protect Soap now would be to have him right next to you.”

“No.”, Ghost hurriedly interjects, “Parra talked with his Reaper about the situation-”

“-just how much did you lot hide from me?!” Gaz interrupts.

“We didn’t hear about this either, Kyle, ease up” Price exhales.

Ghost hears Garrick scoff before resuming, “it said Limbo works similarly to Reaper realms, meaning it changes humans who enter it.” He stares at Johnny, “I won’t risk altering you any further.”

Soap squints, “yer worrying about me a whole lot for someone I will supposedly kill.”

“We’re all worried about you, mate.” Gaz calms the tense atmosphere around the two of them, “you’re more dangerous to yourself than the damn hostiles.”

“Real comforting Gaz.” Soap dead-pans. Garrick shrugs.

Price looks at the three of them, as if he’s been waiting for them to stop bickering like old hags, and focuses on Ghost, “from now on, you either don’t use Limbo, or do it far from Sergeant MacTavish, that clear?”

“Yes sir.” wasn’t planning on having it any other way.

“What if there’s an emergency?” johnny challenges. Ghost has to surpass an urge to shake the man by his shoulders. It’s like he was built to worry him.

“We’ll have to risk you changing a little more”, Price sighs.

Gaz fists Soap’s shoulder, “maybe next time you’ll get a skull mask of your own.”

“Aye, we’ll be matching, LT.” Johnny laughs a little.

After the entire day was spent in meetings and debriefs, Ghost and Soap returned to their room to sleep. In a few hours, they will take watch at a hill overlooking the birthday party, and wait for El Sin Nombre to make his move.

Ghost barely started drifting off when the bunk bed shook and Soap underneath him gasped, muttering a long list of curses he wasn’t sure were entirely in English.

“Johnny?”

The Sergeant stands up and backs away from the bed, Ghost now leaning on his elbows to see what got him so jumpy.

“Your bloody ‘friends’ keep feelin’ me up again.” Soap eventually lets out. “I see why you sleep up there.”

Ghost exhales, “they’re trying to get to me…” he makes a move to get up, “take my bed, I’ll take yours.”

“I’m not taking your fuckin’ bed! They’re just gonna grab ye instead!” his Sergeant walks over and shoves Ghost back on the thin mattress. Or at least he tries to, as Ghost instantly reverses the grip and pushes him off.

He tsks, “we should work on your hand-to-hand combat, Sergeant.” he smiles smugly behind the mask.

Soap frowns, “not my feckin’ fault yer built like a tank, sir.”

His Sergeant hops up and takes a sit next to him on the top bunk, leaning back with a sigh. The bed was small enough that Ghost could feel the heat coming off Soap in gentle waves.

“You’re going to sleep like this?” Ghost ribbed him gently. 

Soap just wiggled around, crossed his arms and closed his eyes, “aye, slept in worse places.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, and feels his mouth twitch to a smile, “you better not complain about your back tomorrow.”

Johnny grins and cracks one eye open, “not an old man like ye. Besides, wouldn’t be a problem if we just cuddled, sir.” he gives him that cheeky look that tells Ghost he’s joking.

“In your dreams, Sergeant.” he murmurs.

Soap closes his eyes again, “oh, it certainly will be.”

The party started at sunset, Price, Alejandro and Ghost staying on the hill, watching as Bravo makes their way down.

Gaz will take out the guards situated outside the party, and Soap will explode the cars of the guests, parked on the south-east of the mansion the party takes place in. Rudy will freeze shut the doors exiting that side, funneling anyone to the north-west, where team Romeo is waiting.

Graves is monitoring the guests, trying to spot any suspicious activity. Ghost reckons he won’t find much, considering the Vaqueros have been trying to find out El Sin Nombre’s real identity for years now. He puts more trust in the Mexicans than Shadow Company.

They watch Garrick’s sniper shoot the guards, small flashes of light high in the night sky the only hint something’s amiss. “Exterior clear, Captain.” he informs them. 

“Bravo” Price radios in next to Ghost, “permission to commence diversion.”

“With pleasure”, Johnny whispers into his mic, and Ghost feels an excitement bubble within him. He can’t wait to see what his Sergeant will do.

Not a moment later a fireball rises from the parking lot, a loud sound following a second later. The music from the party cuts off, and it devolves into a chaos of frightened guests running away. Guards attempt to reach the destroyed cars, no doubt after the perpetrator, but are stopped by the frozen doors Rudy is keeping sealed shut.

“Dead ahead north, 5 bodyguards and the Lugarteniente running off, one of them must be Sin Nombre.” Graves’ grating voice drawls through comms. The three of them rise from their hidden spot and start running, Gaz taking out anyone aiming at them.

Ghost watches Price’s eyes move rapidly, scanning the minds of their potential targets. “That one! El Sin Nombre is a female sicaria!”

Alejandro whips his head around, shouting, “are you sure, hermano?!”

“Positive-!” a force field shoves them back, one of the bodyguards raising their arms as if they're physically pushing it.

Ghost and Price get knocked back, but Alejandro runs ahead, the force field passing through him harmlessly. He phases back into the material world to shoot the man down.

Ghost kills another aiming at the Vaquero commander, Price taking the last two.

The Lugarteniente stares intently at Alejandro, and he abruptly drops like a doll and groans in pain. Ghost takes out a throwing knife and buries it in the man’s eye socket, making him release Alejandro from his influence.

El Sin Nombre frantically looks around, pistol swinging between each soldier. Graves’ helo lowers, shining spotlights at the woman, “drop your weapon! Down on the ground!”

Sin Nombre zeros in on Alejandro, giving him an arrogant smile, “Los Vaqueros working with Shadow Company? You’ve truly fallen from grace, Vargas.” She laughs.

Alejandro doesn’t respond, opting to grind his teeth. Price steps forward to bind her wrists while  the helo lands, Graves stepping out with a winning face. Ghost rolls his eyes, the American looks like he did anything of importance on this mission.

“El Sin Nombre, in the flesh. I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun.” Graves smiles down coldly at her. 

She looks him up and down, “who brought this pendejo gringo here?”.

“None of your business, Valeria”, Alejandro growls. Valeria? He knows her?

Price cuts the little chat by taking hold of her, dragging her to the helo. Ghost watches Alejandro stare at her, eyes frowned with contempt, before sighing and climbing aboard.

Ghost grabs hold of his radio, “HIV is captured, we’re RTB.”

“Something on my face, Sergeant?”

Sin Nombre is escorted off to a shipment container for interrogation, and the group slowly trickles inside, when Ghost notices Soap’s stare on him.

The Scot startles and averts his eyes. When he looks back, his eyes are full of mirth. He leans forward, and Ghost’s instincts tell him to lean back. He stays put.

“Aye, you got a smidgen of dirt right…” Johnny brushes a finger on the side of his mask, the mellow flame tingling his cheeks, his chest filling with warmth, “...here.”

His Sergeant shows him the finger, permanently blackened by fire, and a playful grin.

“What would I do without you, Johnny.” Ghost sarcastically grumbles, the feeling of Johnny’s flame seared into his face.

The Sergeant chuckles before entering the container. Garrick’s eyes look at Ghost, a smirk growing on his face. He doesn’t say a word as he trails behind Soap.

Valeria joins the Graves hate club! Also Gaz is literally like 👀

[starplusfourletters]

I read vision of the future (hand of thrawn book 2 aka Who Scams the Scammers)

(spoilers) and once again it turned into a liveblog, apologies

Hold up are we doing Warrior Cats? Is this Warrior Cats Planet??

What base is “arm around your waist to serve as a psychic translator conduit”

Omigod I WISH my Warrior Cat name were “Jaded of Mara”

Everything I know about Soontir Fel I learned from x wing but I would not have guessed his primary motivation to be "dirt"

@ luke and mara: the girls are talkingggggg

North Barris Spaceport has me twitching

Ghent not remembering who the president is and just assuming it’s probably Leia. I mean fair

What base is "holding hands to brace yourselves over a swarm of flesh eating insects"

So we’re finally asking why Mara ISN’T actually dark side and the answer is… shrug emoji?

Man Zahn really is stuck on “character bonding hike” as a device huh. But consider I eat that shit up

Oh No Lando is racist

LMAO at “so oblivious you need a child pterodactyl to tell you to just kiss already” to “besides I don’t want my life to be like spiderman three I hated that movie” to “kissing with dubious consent” ALL ON THE SAME PAGE like Zahn finally realized he really needed to get this show on the road

LMAO at Ghent getting a free pass from Pellaeon to hack the empire. Like you’re just going to get the thing you need and not steal all of our military and political secrets right? Riiiight? Even more LMAO at the fact that that would probably not even occur to Ghent

When everyone assumes they're the protagonist so finding this one macguffin is their job personally. Like guys I like the energy but maybe we've got enough different plans to do the same thing (the exception, hilariously, being Luke) (and Oh No it turns out Luke is the one to find the macguffin because You Have to Follow Your Heart and Let the MacGuffin Come to You. I eat that shit up also)

Mara’s just... So great.

Not to make everything about my blorbo but absolutely to make everything about my blorbo I do wonder to what extent Ahsoka’s characterization post-Rebels doesn’t click for me is because a lot of the more obvious directions for Oldsoka overlap with Mara, and the powers that be didn’t want to reinvent the Mara Jade wheel. Not to say they have similar characterization – Mara has terminal sam coded dean girl syndrome – but idk, in dynamic range maybe? Calling out bullshit, weaponizing her own abrasiveness, covering insecurity with humor, being Kind of a Lot with a side of trust issues at any given moment – there are modes Mara and Youngsoka share that didn’t pass to Oldsoka apparently. Idk possibly all this is just me wanting them to TALK

Establishing that you can do evil things for selfless reasons without necessarily being in any danger of falling to the dark side is... Philosophically interesting

We interrupt this tale of political espionage to bring you Jedi Relationship Counseling (spoiler alert: communication is key)

"That part of her life [Mara’s time with Palpatine] had died unmourned" I mean mourned a little bit. Mourned for at least a book and a half

I've been willing to suspend my disbelief on everything in this book until "both Luke and Mara forget that ysalamiri exist"

I will never not be a sucker for The Movements and Transferred Ownership of Emotionally Significant Weapons

Oh No thrawn made a second foundation

The Aing-Tii seem OP but whatever

Oh No the second foundation forgot to close the garage doors

(Re: The Jade’s Fire) I know Mara’s having a Moment, and I promise I’m taking it seriously, but when the warrior cat asked “What is it you want, Mara Jade” my WHOLE BRAIN responded with "I want Hermione Granger! And a rocket ship!"

Moranda has real Kevin from home alone energy and I'm living for it

Is it bad that I’m actually kinda happy the Imperials’ Bothawui shield plan worked? Like, they had a really interesting plan and I’m happy for them. They earned it

WAIT IS MORANDA DEAD FR?

What base is “full mind meld while you’re fighting for your lives”

Who would win: ~1.5 Jedi, 2 sentinel droids droidekas, or Artoo with a sauntering gun

If I had a nickel for every time this duology explicitly established Jedi can’t go completely without oxygen, even when in a trance, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but which makes me feel like the Ahsoka show had a weirdly specific axe to grind with the source material

Luke’s proposal to Mara is Just. The. Funniest. Thing. That’s some Anakin-level cringe and the prequels aren’t even out yet. He truly is his father’s son.

I mean POV there’s this guy and for a couple years you want to kill him, and then you realize that’s more of a You Problem, so then you’re friendquaitances for a decade mostly because you don’t approve of the shit he’s getting into, and then you have one (1) honest conversation and get caught in a death trap and he’s like “so I think the next step for us is marriage”

LEIAAAAAA! Full Jedi Knight Leia is both terrifying and hot. I would run.

“So it is treason” – Some random guy

Lando needs to be on the New Republic payroll simply for being willing to speak to any of the other characters and also he needs a raise. This poor guy getting called on to command the entire New Republic fleet mid-battle and he’s like “I’ve been a civilian for 15 years and also I knew you would pull some horse piss like this steve”

Mara Jade, Imperial protege. Skills include: Identifying load-bearing walls. (Now all I want is Property Brothers: Sith Edition)

Mara please. Luke please. These absolute idiots. This is some pear scene shit. I hope nothing bad happens to them ever

The whole back half of this book has been an emotional rollercoaster for me specifically because I wanted Flim to be Thrawn FR soooooo baddddd. And now I’m sad. His name literally means scam don’t do this to me Zahn

I’ve been amused by all the Star Wars universe idioms but I gotta take a moment to specifically showcase “burned your sky-arches.” Karrde is a delight to have in class

Having an independent intelligence agency that’s supposed to work for both the New Republic and the Empire seems absolutely unhinged but go off I guess

When the New Republic and Empire sign peace accords and Luke can’t even be bothered to show up

Mara is great and her arc is fuckin hilarious to me. The narrative has identified her as The Damaged One and I’m like???? She came to terms with her troubled past, drew her own boundaries regarding the Dark Side, recognized that there are people who care about her instead of pre-emptively pushing them away, and resolved to form deeper emotional connections. Smash cut to ROTS Anakin whose physical and psychic damage has literally turned his brain into oatmeal

Again I know this was before the prequels Mad points for explicitly saying Mara needed to form attachments to become a Jedi. Zahn being pretty gangsta there

OH NO THEMB

[fallinforerling]

LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. chapter 8 - jb

A/N: At this point all my readers HATE Jude... And I understand you. Here you go, more material to hate on him with lmao.

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jude was taking advantage of this whole situation, and you were trying so hard to not punch him in the face at the first opportunity you got. While watching the game he behaved himself by not touching you or talking a lot, mostly because there were tons of people surely watching intently in his direction and the videos would spread fast; you also thought you were getting a bit of peace because of Jobe’s presence, but oh no. By the time you got in the car, he immediately put his arm around the back of your seat. Jobe kept shooting confused looks at you, and you returned dead ones. That’s how you felt: dead inside. Your life was becoming a tragic comedy by this point. 

While Jude acted like your rage rant at the VIP section never happened, and Jobe seemed more than confused with you being in the car and letting Jude hug you, you texted the girls. This was piping hot tea that needed to be shared or you’ll get burned.

✉️ Guess what, gals. 

✉️ Mia: Oh no… Is he there?

✉️ Nikki: That game is over… And I have some tea from it, just saying.

✉️ I’ll be pleased to read all about it after I tell you what the hell happened here. 

✉️ Nikki: OMG?! Okay, spill the tea!

✉️ Just this: I’m in his parent's car, going to fucking DINNER. And, oh yeah! He’s hugging me right now. Isn’t this amazing? :) 

✉️ Mia: Gurl…

✉️ Nikki: Girl, what the actual fucking fuck?????

✉️ Long story… His parents saw me, I think. They moved me from my seat to the VIP section and invited me to dinner. 

✉️ Turns out he never told them we broke up, he just told them I was “busy with work” and that’s why I didn’t visit them

✉️ Mia: Oh hell nah

✉️ Nikki: Tell me again… Why are you collaborating with him? I’ll be so quick to say the truth 

✉️ I was so tempted to do that… But man, I love his parents, I can’t just do this to them… I prefer to hint in during dinner and make him extremely uncomfortable the entire time

✉️ Oh, and he wants to “talk” 

✉️ Mia: Talk about what? His lack of empathy? Or the fact that he’s a complete cunt?

✉️ Nikki: Maybe both

✉️ Only God knows what’s going on up there

“Are you telling me what’s going on here? Why are you coming with us to dinner?” Jobe whispered directly to your ear, making sure nobody else noticed. “Don’t take it the wrong way, I love that you’re here but… Why?” 

✉️ Gotta go, I’ll keep you updated

✉️ Nikki, send the tea! Bye!

“That’s a wonderful question, my dear. Why don’t you ask your brother?” His eyes wandered to Jude’s face, who was turned to the window, looking at the streets. 

He was avoiding both of you. How brave of your “boyfriend”. 

“I could, but if I do then the bag full of shit he’s hiding from our parents is going to explode and it will stain us both.” You smiled a bit, pursing your lips to not laugh and call the attention of said parents. 

“Then wait until we’re alone and I’ll tell you all about him being a jerk.” And just because you could, you elbowed Jude’s side. 

“Ouch! What was that for?” He whispered, looking at you for the first time in many minutes. 

“You know why.” Then you looked at the hand that was hanging just below your shoulder and back at him. 

He kept his eyes glued to yours, but didn’t move his arm from your shoulders. Yep, a very long night ahead of you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Truth was, you couldn’t expose Jude in front of his parents while the whole family celebrated Jobe’s performance. It wasn’t fair to take the attention from him like that. You just had to wait and see if you could get a moment alone with Jude to give him an ultimatum. 

It was funny to see how things changed. Before all of this, the two of you never had big fights over anything; of course, you argued about stupid little things like doing the dishes or who’s cleaning the mess after cooking, but nothing too big, that was one of the things you appreciated the most about Jude, he wasn’t too much of a confrontational person. 

But that didn’t matter right now; he was acting like the biggest asshole in the world. Why would he choose to wait this long? It was his decision to breakup with you in the first place… Then why hide it from his family? It didn’t make sense to you. He couldn’t be regretting it, right?

“So! Honey, how are you doing? We missed you so much at the last couple of get-togethers we did these past weeks.” Denise’s voice snapped you back to reality. All of them were looking at you attentively. “I hope you’re not exhausting yourself by over-working.” She was always so caring. 

“Oh no, no. I just get too caught up sometimes, but I promise I always take my breaks and me-time throughout the day.” Since Jude was next to you, it wasn’t too much of an effort to avoid his gaze. “Besides, last week I got the opportunity to do a little trip to Scotland with my girlfriends. No screen-time and all that. It was… refreshing.” You said the last word while looking directly at Jude, who took a sip of his drink to avoid his parents eyes. 

“Did you? Oh, Jude never mentioned it... That sounds fantastic. Scotland it’s lovely, it’s been a long time since we visited.” Mark said, taking a bite of his food. “Gotta say, I once went fishing with a couple of friends when I was younger, best thing ever.” 

“Well, I was staying close to a lake. I spent a lot of time there, it was so relaxing.” You openly ignored that comment about Jude not mentioning it to them.

While all of you made small talk about Scotland and what you did there, you could feel the anxious need coming from Jude. He wanted to ask everything about that little trip you had since this was the first time he’d heard of it.

You knew him too well. 

“Anyone wants dessert?” Mark asked, calling for a waiter. 

“I could have some dessert.” Jude said, sighing while looking at you. Your eyes were asking him “What?!” but he just smiled and shrugged. 

He couldn’t be seriously flirting with you right now? The audacity. 

“Well, I’ll go to the bathroom first,” Denise said, looking between the two of us nervously. So she noticed, huh? “Dear? Can you come with me?” 

“Sure, my love. Lead the way.” Mark got up as fast as Denise, leaving the three of you alone. 

“That was awkward,” Jobe said after a few seconds, taking a sip of his drink. “Anyways, what’s up? Can you tell me now?” 

“You better ask the genius sitting next to me.” You said, crossing your arms and leaning your back against the chair. 

“Does he know?” Jude asked, looking surprised by the fact that Jobe knew.

“Of course I do, she’s my friend. Besides, you’re so bad at lying, I can’t believe Mom and Dad are believing anything you say.”

“Oh, shut up.” A tiny blush was starting to cover Jude’s cheeks. 

“Whatever.” Jobe laughed, elbowing you. “So sorry you got trapped like this, I thought they wouldn’t notice if you were in a normal seat… But I guess the big screen gave you away.” 

“That’s okay, darling. It wasn’t your fault that this whole situation it’s awkward as hell.” 

“Stop teaming up against me!” Jude replied. “I didn’t plan this either. It just happened! Just… Let’s act normal.” 

“We’re acting normal, you’re the one acting like someone’s holding a gun against your head. Relax a bit, mate. Maybe then Mom will stop wondering what’s wrong with you.” Then he shut up because their parents were coming back. 

“Ready for dessert?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Thank you so much for driving me home.” You said, peaking your head from the backseat. “I’ll miss you guys.” 

“Oh, don’t say it like you’re never going to see us again, sweetie. You’re coming with us next month, right? Jude’s next couple of matches are between Germany and England.” 

Awkward. 

“I-… Yeah, probably!” 

“Mom, she’s tired. I’ll walk her to the door.” Jude said, making you sigh. 

“Bye Denise, bye Mark.” You gave each one a kiss on the cheek before coming back to your seat. “Bye, Jobe. I’ll text you.” You gave him a hug before looking at Jude’s direction, who was already out of the car, holding the door for you. 

You both walked to your building’s door in silence before you entered the lobby, where he took a hold of your arm so you stopped walking. 

“Jude… Let’s not do this.” Was the first thing that escaped your lips. “I don’t have the energy for any of this right now.” 

“We really need to talk. I need to talk to you.” He got closer, looking at your eyes with the same look that he gave you earlier on the day. Like he was begging for a chance. 

“We can talk, but not tonight. And maybe not tomorrow.” You replied, feeling a bit bad about turning him down so much. But again, just a bit. “You don’t know how much pain I went through this past month. I had a really bad time, and being close to you isn’t helping with my stress, okay?” 

He seemed so hurt by your negatives. Like he wasn’t expecting this outcome. Well, boo-hoo. 

“Can you, at least, unblock my number?” 

Damn it. 

“Okay, sure. I can do that.” Anything to get him out of the building.

“Thank you.” And then he gave you a hug. He was physically hugging you; you didn’t know what to do. Pushing him or hugging him back? So you did the last. 

Why was life so complicated?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * TAGLIST

@mentalbaddieie | @taintedstranger | @mrs-dasilvasantoss | @mbapbaesluvrr | @erensfavgirlyly | @cinderellawithashoee | @yoitsmo07 | @seajjin | @kakuchosbff | @peterparkerbae | @alwaysclassyeagle | @itsjuspenny-blog | @lbsmainblog

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty six - you bring me home

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ content minors dni! (car sex lmaooo, mxf nothing you haven’t seen before, its pretty sweet <3) swearing, canon typical violence, mention of scars, injuries, blood, literally packed everything into this chapter its a big one

a/n: wow. this was so rough oh my god. the entire first draft deleted itself and i had to re write the whole thing from memory, so i lost my planned chapter. i really hope i got everything in here, and im sorry for the wait AND how long it is lmao but i just. can’t believe i really finished it. ill rant at the end, but if you only read this part, i love you. thank you for letting me share the absolute vomit that is my brain. you are the best.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How was the drive?” Franks voice sends a shiver down your spine, even hundreds of miles away through a crappy phone line.

“Boring.” You sigh, pacing around the tiny motel room.

“You were meant to call an hour ago. Got me waitin’ up for you.” He sounds tired, and it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s stupid, but the image makes you a little giddy. Waiting up for you. 

“There was… traffic.”

“You get lost?”

“Fuck you.” You bite automatically and he groans.

“So yeah?” 

“Yes, Frank. I got lost.” He laughs, the sound managing to take your mind off the dark room you’d managed to secure for the night, the bedside light doing nothing to brighten the small space.

“I gave you a map. It’s a straight shot from where you started.” Rolling your eyes, you look at the map you’d now bundled into a ball and thrown into the trash.

“Who uses a printed map? Seriously, how fucking old are you?” It’s playful and familiar, and all the frustration of driving for 10 hours melts into the bed.

Being a key witness in a now ongoing case apparently didn’t come with any frequent flyer miles, because both Matt and Frank had said you couldn’t risk going through airport security and being flagged in a system, so it meant you had to drive nearly 18 hours to Florida. You thought you didn’t mind road trips, but after today you think it’s only road trips with Frank you don’t mind.

“Maps don’t change, baby. Besides, you’d drive yourself into a god damn tree the second that voice in the car told you you’d missed a turn.” You hate that he’s right— even the thought of that monotone voice droning in your ear for ten hours makes you cringe.

“Whatever. Tell me about something. You said you were going to speak to Madani today?” He’s the one sighing now, and clearly the talk was about as fun as your drive.

“She’s all over the place. Some mishandled evidence fucked their entire case, and Bobby’s lawyers were too well paid to let it go. Murdock said they’ll be able to find more— the appeal’s already been approved cause of how high profile it is, but he’s got no new evidence. He said he doesn’t know if they can get him.”

“That’s… what I expected, I guess.” Frank agrees, and your sudden silence only serves to bring the real issue to hand. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah. I got it covered.” The line goes quiet, and you don’t really know what to say.

On one hand, you want Bobby dead. You know can’t do it- it wasn’t smart, and the last thing you were going to do is drag everything Matt and Madani had worked for through the mud for someone like him, let alone put Sam in danger. Some fucked up part of you is a little mad that it won’t be you, but Frank has every reason to hate him as much as you. You know Frank wants this, and that telling him to stop is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Your hesitation would only spur him to do it faster, be more impulsive. You don’t want to say anything to put him off.

On the other, you just want him with you. You worry like some love sick child, scared he’s walked out the door and isn’t coming back. You worry he’ll get caught, and end up in the exact spot he was trying to get you out of. You’re scared he’ll get hurt, or worse. Every time you close your eyes you can see him bleeding out, dark red staining your hands until you can scream yourself awake. There’s so many things that could go wrong, and ten hours staring over the hood of your car gives you way too much time to think about hypotheticals.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Frank says softly, and you flop yourself back on the single bed.

“Are you?” He huffs like the question is irrelevant.

“Madani asked about your dad today.” He ignores the question, and you’re too interested to poke him on it.

“Oh?”

“Asked what he knew about your time there. If he ever worked with the Gnucci’s.” A lump forms in your throat.

“You think she knows about the weird... blood stuff?”

“Don’t see why she would. Either way, it’s not gonna matter once he’s dead.” The bluntness of it almost makes you laugh. “He’ll be gone, and no one will come for it. Or you.”

“You don’t have to do this for me, Frank.”

“I’m not.” He pauses, and then sighs. “Alright, I am, but not just that. The shit he said to me in there— the things he said about you. The way he looked at you in there… I watched that shit, and there’s no way in hell that asshole does what he did and lives.”

“What if he was found guilty? Would you of left it alone?” Maybe if you’d been more helpful to Matt and Madani, it would of gone better, and Frank would be here.

“You want me to answer that?” A part of you knew he wasn’t going to let it go. That wasn’t who he was. It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does to know that Frank would kill for you— just to make you safe. It does anyway, and heat flushes over your face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He agrees, a low sound rumbling from his end of the phone. “I spent most of the day wishing you were with me, you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Turns out I fucking hate driving.” He laughs again, and if you could listen to the sound all night you think you’d sleep peacefully.

“You remember how mad you were that first time I didn’t let you drive?” Shaking your head, you flick off the lights slide under the covers.

“I was mad because you had a concussion and tried to fucking kill us.”

“Least I was gonna go the right way.”

“You tried switching drivers on the freeway, Castle.”

“Alright, I was a a bit out of it.” He says plainly and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks. “Wished you were here, too.”

“I bet you did.” He groans, and you hear him shift on the bed. Your bed.

“Too much space in here. Didn’t even know we had this much blanket.” He makes a real noisy show of it, tossing around the blankets you usually roll yourself up in. It’s meant to be a light hearted thing, but for some reason the idea of Frank spread out on your shared bed, one that you’ve both used extensively— it makes your heart race.

“Dickhead.” He groans again, shuffling around some more. “This one’s too small. Probably have to sleep on top of each other if you were here.”

“M’alright with that.”

“Not a lot of room to move, though.” You look around at the room, hardly enough space to stand in the corner.

“We’d figure something out.” You let your eyes flutter closed, humming high pitched at the idea. “What are you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

“You.” You admit, and he seems to like it.

“Me too. Haven’t gone a night in this apartment without fuckin’ you in this bed. Drivin’ me crazy.” You hum again, pressing your thighs together to try and dissipate the heat that’s suddenly overtaken your whole body. “You thinkin’ about it now too, aren’t you baby?”

“Yeah, Frank.”

“Don’t say my name like that.” He growls, and you bite your lip to hide your laugh.

“Why not, Frank?” You practically purr the word, drawing it out and saying it all breathy like you do when he’s teasing you.

“Cause you’re gonna make me drive ten hours just to fuck you in whatever dirty motel you pulled off into.” You’re still smiling, but you think if you keep messing with him, he’d do it. He’d drive ten hours, a hundred of them if it meant teaching you a lesson. Or just being with you. “I’ll see you soon. Real soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe out, knowing if you keep talking to him your entire plan will crumble in front of you, because you’re half considering driving home just to sleep next to him. “Soon. Be safe, okay?”

The words tumble out, and you try to hide the guilt you feel when you say them. He was only not safe because of you— because you couldn’t finish the job yourself. You’re glad he can’t see your face, because you hear him mumble on the other end and your eyes close listening to him.

“Always. Tell the kid I said hi.” With that, Frank hangs up the phone, and you slide it onto the table right next to the pistol you keep loaded and ready to fire.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank pulls the saturated beanie over his head, and it’s probably doing more harm than good at this point, but he doesn’t have a second to really give a shit. His eye-line is perfect— directed straight into the penthouse apartment Bobby Gnucci was driven to three hours ago. He’s been tucked away in the corner of the rooftop for just as long, watching the man pace and yell on the phone.

It had taken him a few goes to get the right frequency to listen in on the calls he was making, but once he had he took as much information done as he could. He’d had enough of watching, and now he was satisfied with the phones calls he’d listened to that the man was alone for the night; not counting his extensive security team layered through the apartment block. Frank felt the familiar hum in his veins, shoving his loaded pistol in his jeans and swinging the strap of a rifle over his shoulder, he headed down the stairs, across the street and slipped into the back of the building.

There’d be witnesses if he didn’t take the right route, and to make this work he needed every chance at an alibi he could get. He was so used to not caring— every time he’d gone into something like this, he didn’t have something to get back to. He had no preservation, no concern for what came after. Hell, if he was honest, he didn’t care if he went out doing something like this. He would of preferred it, maybe even hoped he’d die somewhere in the cross fire.

Even just talking to you on the phone had him itching to get back to you now. He wanted to be careful— something he never really thought of before. A heavy ache in his stomach that twisted something violent when he thought about not getting home, not making good on his promise from a few hours ago, it made him sick. He planned as much as he could, as much as he was capable of, and hoped to God it was enough.

Frank hid his body behind the corner of the wall. He hid his face, too, even though he’d already had Micro’s help shutting out the cameras. He knew it would set off alarms for the security team, but he planned for that. They’d spread out, follow orders that he’d listened to over the radio, three men on all the entries and exits, and then ten through the penthouse. If he timed it right, he could clear the first few levels before the guards arrived.

He didn’t care about making noise now— slamming his way up the fire access while Gnucci’s men no doubt got into position. He’d just past a number 6, and Bobby was on the top floor. 23. He kept going, not hearing any doors open. When he passed 9, the door on the level below him cracked open and he jammed through the next exit he reached, getting into position.

He could hear voices coming from his right, and steadied himself as he turned the safety off his gun. He had a small army of men to get through, but he knew if he could make it, landing the hit on Bobby would be easy.

He wasn’t nervous. Pure adrenaline flooded him, like it always did, and he didn’t think twice before standing out of cover and pulling the trigger.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How have you grown so much?!” You nearly shout, hugging Sam tighter as he all but latches onto your leg. “God, you’re gonna be my height soon.”

“I missed you!” He says, words muffled in your jacket. You don’t even have to bend really, he’s that tall. It is even possible for him to grow that much in just a month? “Come! I want to show you my stuff. Me and Niko share a room, and it’s the coolest thing…”

You let him drag you around the house, showing you the bunk beds that are set up for him and Nikolai. He shows you books he’s brought home from school, and it makes you smile how chaotic his room is. There’s piles of books and papers everywhere, stuffed under the bed and nearly toppling on the tables. It looks like it’s lived in… like a home, and your heart warms and breaks all at once.

When he finally finishes his impromptu tour, he pulls you outside where the rest of the family has set themselves up, and runs out into the giant back yard to chase after Nikolai. You hardly had a chance to say hello to them, but if you were honest you hadn’t thought of anything but Sam since you saw him.

“Did he show you the bunk beds?” The doctor— Zaed, you remind yourself, comes up behind you on the deck. “He hasn’t stopped talking about showing you.”

“I thought he was gonna explode.” Zaed laughs, and you turn to look at him. He’s still sporting a scar across his forehead, and it somehow makes his older features look slightly hardened. His face was still soft, something about him gesturing kindness, an observation you never made in the months you were locked away. “He told me you made them.”

“It took me weeks. I am not very… handy.” Smiling, you turn back to watch Sam and Nikolai screaming and laughing as they chase each other with Nerf guns. “I am sorry for what happened with the case.”

“So am I. If he’d gone away, you wouldn’t have to stay in Witness Protection.” He nods, turning away for a second only to return and offer you a can of something. “What is it?”

“It’s Russian. You’ll like it— it’s strong.” You crack it open and take a long drink, hoping to drown the rising anxiety that kneads the back of your mind at the thought of what Frank was doing right now. “We don’t mind it so much here.”

“Florida?” He nods.

“We want to stay. Corinne thinks the children— with what they’ve been through, shouldn’t move too much. They seem happy here.” You hum in agreement, listening  to the light squeals of the youngest girl, who’s name you haven’t learnt yet, who’s got the biggest Nerf gun of all and is shooting the shit out of both boys. “It was my idea. To offer to take him in. If you are upset, please lay the blame with me—“

“Upset? God, why would I ever be upset?” He blinks in surprise, looking to you.

“You are here with him, and yet you still seem far away. I figured the suggestion was weighing on you. We only offer because… well, we have all grown quite fond of him, and for you— to you we owe our lives. I thought if we could make any of this easier…” You shake your head, finishing the bitter liquid in the can.

“You looking after Sam is about one of two good things I have going right now.” Zaed seems to relax, leaning forward onto the railing as you both stare out to watch the kids. “I think he’s happy here.”

“He is. He misses you, but he is happy.”

“And safe.”

“Of course. I pity anyone who would try to get past Corinne now.” You laugh at the tinge of genuine anxiety in his voice, as if he imagines it, but his eyes are full of admiration.

“I want to talk to him about it… make sure he’s okay, but if he wants to, I think him staying here would be the best thing for him.” Zaed doesn’t answer right away, just lets the echoed laughter of the kids fill both of your ears before he nods simply.

“He will be safe. And I am sure you will learn to love Florida, too, with how much you will visit?”

“What?” Again, a look of surprise crosses his face.

“Sam did not show you the spare room? We have cleared a space for you— whenever you need it. You… it is the least I could do. You saved my life—“

“Hardly.”

“I owe you it. My families life. My own. Whatever you should need here, the door would be open to you.” You have to look away, because it’s too much, and you don’t know when you became so soft that shit like this made you tear up.

“You don’t owe me anything. You keeping Sam safe is everything I ever wanted. I think we’re even now.” You laugh, your throat suddenly feeling a little tight.

“I couldn’t help but notice you arrived alone.” He questions, and you hide your face, unsure if the way you chew on your bottom lip gives too much away.

“Yeah.” No amount of alcohol could drown out the thought of Frank. You hadn’t heard from him in a day. Zaed looks at you, his eyes crinkling as he assess you.

“I thought he was going to drown with you that night. When he saw you go into the water… I recognise that look in a man’s eyes.” It seems so long ago now, and your hand instinctively goes to your stomach, where Frank sewed you up the first time. “He is coming soon, I assume? I doubt he would let you get too far from him right now.”

“Yeah, he’s…” You trust Zaed— but there’s only one person who takes precedent over the people taking care of your brother. “He’s just finishing up some stuff with the case in New York. He should be on his way now.”

“Ah.” He says, his eyes lingering on you in question. You say nothing, just sink a little more of the can. “Well, when he kills the ублюдок, I hope he makes it last.”

Before you can recover and wipe the shock off your face long enough to ask him how the hell he guessed what Frank is doing, Sam and Nikolai are in front of you, and Zaed disappears back into the house.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank grunts, a loud nearly animalistic sound vibrating off the walls as he clears the 23rd floor. Every time he breathes out, blood sprays out of his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s his own or he’s just covered in so much that it’s dripping off him. Either way he can’t help it, chest burning for oxygen after he laid the lower floors to absolute waste.

He’d ditched the assault rifle somewhere between the 18th and 19th floors, not even bothering to pull out his pistol. No— he’d fought every single one of them with his bare hands, and anything he could find scattered between dead bodies.

His right hand was fucked, and he’s pretty sure he got shot. Somewhere on the right side of his body, there’s a shooting pain between his thigh and his ribs, but it’s not enough to slow him down. He shoves his body weight into the penthouse door, throwing himself into guards he knows are ready and waiting for him. He reaches for his pistol, shooting three guys in the head before his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights in the room.

He hears them shouting orders, and he kills three more as he crosses the living room. One of them he puts through the TV screen, glass shattering under his hand as he crushes the man’s skull between the hard surface. The other two he shoots, and then moves towards the last four. All of them shield the door to the bedroom— putting their lives on the line for a man who doesn’t deserve the air he’s wasting.

Frank doesn’t have a moral compass when it comes to revenge. Not when it has to do with the people he loves. It’s why he clears the round of bullets in his gun on all four of them in less than thirty seconds, watching the lifeless bodies pile up in the doorway, there isn’t a single moment that he hesitates.

“Bobby!” Frank shouts, his voice horse and so loud he’s got no doubt the dead hear it.

He hears shuffling, and drops the pistol before stomping his way through into the bedroom. He sees Bobby, crawling across the floor in an attempt to reach for a gun dropped by one of the guards, but just as he goes to reach for it, Frank slams a bloody boot down on top of his hand, feeling the crush of bone under his weight.

“Fuck!” He shouts, and Frank smiles sickly, blood dripping from his teeth. “Get the fuck off me, you animal!”

Frank kicks him in the face, two of his teeth flying out and scattering across the carpet. As he rolls over, Frank grabs him by the collar and sits him up, watching his head lull to the side.

“Wake up.” Frank slams his fist into his skull. There was no way he was passing out this fast. Not after what he’s done. “Wake the fuck up.”

His hands shake with how hard he’s holding Bobby upright. So hard he feels the bone of his collar begin to give, and Frank chases the idea. Bobby thrashes, screaming as his eyes shoot open, the sound kicking Frank back into gear. He lets go of his shoulder long enough to pull back, only to drive his fist and crack the rest of his shoulder.

“Help m—“ Bobby tries to shout, but Frank shuts him off with another well placed shove of his weight into Bobby’s stomach, winding him. He wheezes, the pathetic sound something like music to Franks ears.

He punches him again— over and over. Not enough to kill him, though. No, Frank wasn’t done, he was just feeding the thrill. He’d been waiting too fucking long for this, and there was something satisfying about seeing this man— this weak excuse for a man being blinded by his own blood as he cries for someone to help him.

“Ain’t no one comin’ for you.” He growls, and grabs Bobby’s face so it hangs straight. His jaw is slack, but his eyes go wide when he feels the blade at his ribs. “You know that? That there ain’t a single person out there comin’ for you. No one gives a shit about you. You’re alone in here— your life in my hands.”

“Haaa—“ Bobby tries but whatever it is fades out into a scream when Frank slides the blade between his third and fourth rib. Slowly— real fucking slow. “They… they’ll come. Th-They’ll come f-for me.”

“No one’s comin’. Dead. All of ‘em. You’re alone.” He slides it a little deeper, watching the realisation wash over his face.

In truth, Frank wasn’t doing this for him. Sure, it felt fucking good, and Frank was enjoying the sight of the life draining out of his eyes, but he wants him to know why. Why he’s here, why he took out every last man in this building so he knew there was no hope. No one for him to go to.

He knew that’s what it was like for you. Frank couldn’t give you back those years, and he couldn’t take that much time with this— he’d thought about it, but he wanted this to end here and now. He could do this here, for you. Could make him know just how it feels to have all that power beat out of you, and know that there’s no one out there coming to save you.

“Stop…stop!” He wails, and Frank hits him harder. Every crack of his fist sends Bobby further into unconsciousness, and when he manages to stop himself, he shakes him awake again.

He gurgles on his own blood, dark red pools choking out of his mouth. His face is unrecognisable, already starting to blow up as he strangles in a few short breaths.

“I can… I have money. I can p—“ The effort of the words sprays another load of blood out of his mouth, and even though he’s exhausted, Frank laughs.

“You think I want money?” He leans down, yanking the knife out of his ribs and shoving it in again.

“Fuck! What do you—what do you want?!” Bobby wails again. Frank smiles.

“I want you to know that she’s the reason you’re dead. The last thing you’ll know is me— my face, and you’ll know it’s because you ended up just like you made her. Except she got out, and you never will.” Frank loses sense of time, his injuries starting to catch up with him as he yanks the knife out one more time, before slamming it home into Bobby’s skull.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I’m watching!” You shout as Sam lines up again, taking a few steps back before rushing forward and kicking the ball towards their make shift goal in the yard. You have to admit, for only been playing a few weeks, he’s got a hell of a kick on him.

“See! I’m getting better— my coach says next year I can try out for the first grade team if I keep training!” He’s smiling so big, and then he’s gone again, picking up the ball to take another shot at Nikolai who’s got goalkeeper gloves on, ready to catch it.

You’d be happy to watch this all day, but then Corinne calls out to you, telling you your phone is ringing, and you all but leap over the railing of the deck. When you race inside, you expect to see Franks name, and your heart sinks when you don’t. You knew he wouldn’t be able to call until it was over, but it’s been nearly two days since you’d heard anything. Then, you see it’s an unknown number calling, and your hands are shaking when you disappear into what is meant to be ‘your’ room to answer.

“Hello?” You recognise the voice instantly when she says your name. “Fucking hell, Karen. You scared me. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but are you?!” She nearly shouts, and you are still coming back to your mind with relief it wasn’t someone telling you Frank was dead. “I don’t even know how you did it, but I don’t want to. The way they found him… Jesus.”

“Wait. What? Karen, I’m in Florida.”

“What?”

“I’m with my brother in Florida. I came up here two days ago after the trial.” She goes quiet, and you can hear the commotion in the background. Remembering it’s a Tuesday, and that she must be at work, it only furthers your suspicions. “Who’s dead?”

“Bobby is. They found him. They found his body— but…”

“Karen, tell me.” All you need to hear is Frank wasn’t found. That he got out of there before anyone saw him. It would be your fault— all of it would be your fault if he was found. You needed to get back, you needed—

“Sorry. Sorry, I just thought… with everything that happened before, I thought it might of been you. Bobby’s dead, but… there’s nearly 50 men in the building with him. They’re all dead. And Bobby; he was hardly recognisable. It took them nearly 24 hours to identify him.”

“24 hours?” Frank needed to get out of New York as soon as he killed Bobby. If the police had been crawling around there for nearly a day… “Karen, I gotta go. Thank you for calling.”

You cut it off before she responds, and call the only number saved in your phone. It only rings twice before he answers, and you could nearly cry when you hear his voice.

“Stop fuckin’ ringin’ me, Murdock. I don’t know shit and I’m busy.” He grumbles through the phone, and you choke out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh, fuck. Sorry— hey, sweetheart. Was just about to call you.”

“It’s… did the— job go okay?” You try to calm your voice as best you can, knowing that if anyone traces the call he’s done for.

“It took me longer than I thought. Had to get stitched up, then Curtis drove me halfway— passed out for most of it.” Before you can ask, he answers. “I’m fine, don’t do that.”

“You’re okay?” Relief floods your body, phone nearly slipping out of your hand with how hard you were gripping it. “Everything’s… everything’s okay?”

“Come see for yourself. I’m pulling up.” Like a kid on Christmas, you toss the phone and basically sprint to the front door, hearing an unfamiliar truck rumble down the isolated street.

He’s driving, clearly having ditched Curtis, but when he gets out he’s got a limp, and his hand is bandaged. You don’t run, instead you stand in the driveway and soak up the image— Frank; leaning against the door of the truck, sunglasses covering up what you have no doubt are black eyes. Alive. Favouring his left side and still with dried blood on his head, but fucking here.  

“You’re hurt.” You say it when you finally reach him, but it sounds pathetic, closer to the tone you’d whimper his name in.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says huskily and reaches out, yanking you forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

The soft touch of his bandaged hand is opposite to the greedy grasp of his free one, the one wrapping around your back and fisting the material of your shirt, pressing so you were flush against him. Both of your hands cup his face, feeling the rough surface of his skin. You lose yourself in the taste of him as your fingers trace the patterns of scars peppering around his head— a constellation you’ve memorised a million times over, and yet it still feels as illuminating as the first.

He groans your name, sliding his hand up to grip your jaw, thumb tugging on your bottom lip. You lean back slightly, staying at close to him as possible. His eyes look you up and down, and there’s a glint in his eye; a hunger that never seems to be satiated when he looks at you. He’s still feverish for it, and it makes your toes curl in your shoes.

“Fuckin’ missed you.” He mumbles against your lips, and it makes you smile against his.

“I can tell.” His other hand forgets it’s injury as he searches your body, gripping your hips and pressing you closer.

“Get Sam. Let’s go home.” He tucks his head lower, mouth kissing under your jaw, and as much as you do want to get the fuck out of here with him, you pull away.

“He’s… he’s staying here.” Frank pushes the sunglasses off his face, looking at you through what is actually only one bruised eye.

“Staying?” You nod. “You sure?”

“I talked to him about it. He fucking loves it here, Frank. He didn’t want me to go again, but you should of seen him with them. They treat him like their own, and he adores them. It’s so much better than anything I could of thought.” Frank wraps his arms around your back and hugs you right, and your eyes flutter closed. “And you can’t just leave. They’re expecting you to come in and say hi.”

“Why?” The way he says it makes you laugh, as if you’d just asked him to drink gasoline.

“Come on.” You tug him by the wrists, and even though he groans and leans on you up the driveway, you both stagger inside and follow the sounds of Sam’s laughter, leaving everything else behind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“They were being nice.” You haven’t wiped the smile off your face since you slid into the passenger seat this morning. “Well, I slept great. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Mhmm.” Frank grumbles, clearing having a much worse sleep than you did.

It was sweet, and truely, you wanted to take them up on it. When Frank dragged himself through the front door of  where Sam had been staying, everyone had nearly jumped on him. Sam couldn’t contain himself, clearly trying to play it cool but simultaneously thinking Frank was the coolest person he’d ever met. It was sweet, the way Frank was with the kids, the sight making you both smile and want to cry.

Either way, when Corinne and Zaed had offered for you both to stay the night, Frank agreed and all but dragged you down the hallway after dinner. The spare room was nice— set up clearly for two people, and you were only human.

It would have been perfect— had the room not been sharing a wall with your brother and his new best friend. A very fucking thin wall. One that was nearly vibrating with how loud they screamed every five minutes playing some game on the TV. The louder they were, the more it became apparent that neither of you would be getting a lot of sleep, and not in the good way.

Having Frank that close all night but not being able to do anything about it reminded you of the start of this whole thing. How you shared a bed with him but had to force yourself to keep your hands to yourself. It was borderline painful, but eventually you managed to drift off to sleep, not missing how hard Franks hands were gripping your hips like he had to physically cement himself to stop from fucking you through the bed.

When you woke up, Frank had all your shit shoved in the car, and was outside cooking pancakes with Sam. You took your time saying goodbye— making sure to thank both Corinne and Zaed properly, and then promising you’ll be back. Soon. ‘So soon you won’t even have time to miss me’ you’d promised Sam, and he grinned and hugged you before disappearing to get ready for school.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Frank looked to you before shifting in his seat, one of his hands resting on your thigh and squeezing.

“Got a stop to make before getting back to New York.”  You’d been driving for a while now— about half way between New York and where you’d left Sam. You turned in your seat, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be cryptic.” You try to sound assertive, but you can’t seem to hold any resentment when you could feel the warmth of him palm on your thigh.

“It’s close, alright? Promise.” The words eased something in your chest, the same way his smile did when he looked at you.

A small silence drifted between you as a Billy Joel song hummed softly on the radio, and your head dropped, eyes tracing over the bruises left on his knuckles. Your fingers dance around them, careful to keep your touches light. You follow the lines of black and blue up over his wrist, watching them disappear under the arm of his jumper. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and when you push up the sleeve just slightly, you swear loudly.

“Fucking hell! Is this broken?” You pull the sleeve up higher, and you tighten your grip on his wrist when he goes to pull away. If you hadn’t watched him so closely, you would of missed the way he winced, and you let go immediately. “Sorry. Sorry— fuck, Frank. Is this all from—“

“I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.” He says, keeping his blackened eyes trained on the road. It would of been easy to miss— not seeing him without clothes since he’d come back. Bile rises in your throat at the thought he was hurt because of you— because he was doing this for you. Suffering for you. Like he has the entire time.

“Are you lying?” He shakes his head, and you lightly poke him in the side. He hissed loudly, flinching away from you and swerving the car. “Pull over.”

“I’m not pulling over.” Frank groans.

“You’ve been driving for hours, just—“

“It’s fine. We only got a few more miles till—“

“Please.” There must have been something in your voice, some kind of soft vulnerability that even he isn’t used to hearing, and then the car is pulling off the side of an empty highway, dusk rolling over the hood of the truck.

You reach out, pulling the sunglasses off his face to reveal him slowly. This part you’ve seen, but it still knocks the wind out of you. The cut along his cheekbone, not deep enough to need stitches but you know it will scar over. His right eye is a deep purple, the left nearly green. You go to draw your fingers over his face, but hesitate, worried you’ll hurt him. He sees you pulling back and catches your wrist, placing your palm between his cheek and his own hand.

“Don’t do that.” You choke out a laugh, smoothing your hand over and back into his slightly longer hair, pulling him closer over the console of the car.

“I’m not doing anything.” You say softly, something guilty in your voice. When he hears it, he shakes his head at you.

“Can read you like a book. You got nothin’ to do with this, alright?”

“I have nothing to do with it?” You want to laugh. “I’m the reason you were there. The reason all this happened.”

“I would of been in the same place with or without you. This part?” He gestures to himself, his torso that you know all too well is littered with scars. “This isn’t a part you blame yourself for.”

“But it is. My fault.” He opens his mouth but you talk first. “All of this… watching those kids today, watching Sam— all I ever did was put him in danger. And you. It’s better for him to be there, away from all this. Away from me. Maybe now all this is over, it would be better…safer, if you—“

“Stop. I don’t wanna hear that shit. You know how selfish you sound?” You blink a few times, eyes meeting his. At some point he’s leaned even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body thawing you out. “You’re right— I wouldn’t of gone back to New York the past two days if it wasn’t for you. You know why?”

“Listen—“

“No. I wouldn’t of gone back because I would of killed that asshole six months ago and been home in time for dinner. I’ve been doin’ this a long time, and there’s nothin’ you could of done that would of changed how this ended.” He holds your face up to his, rough hands holding you as gently as they could, and his thumb traces the scar just above your eyebrow. “Sam is safe with them, but don’t think for one fuckin’ second he’s better off without you. God knows I’m not. You’ve done nothin’ but good for that kid, and I’d… fucking hell. I’d be dead without you, you know that?”

“No you wouldn’t.” Your voice was so soft it hardly broke the silence, but he leaned in, his forehead pressing to yours. “You could probably jump out of a building and walk it off.”

“Maybe. But now I gotta be careful nd’ come home to you, don’t I?” He smiles, and then kisses you and you forget where you are. Words die on your tongue and are replaced by the taste of him, mind freezing over when he touches you. He does it every time. Every time he manages to take your breath away with one whisper of your name, one swipe of his thumb over your mouth. It’s intoxicating and dependant, something you never thought you’d want, but it feels so good with him. His hands drop to your waist, their pull demanding and needy as he yanks you up and over the centre console and onto his lap.

“I’d do it again. All of it. Kill every single—“ You kiss him again, squeezing your eyes shut, and he groans as you shift on his lap. “Fuck, baby we should wait till…”

“Till when?” You say breathlessly, and despite his words his hands are already sneaking underneath your shirt, his cool hands meeting your feverish skin. You can hardly keep your eyes open, and your hips roll forward again, seeking him out. “I want you now, Frank.”

“Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.” He says and then crashes into you, your back nearly pressing against the dash with how quick he moves. Your gasp of surprise is lost in his mouth, and you can feel the sparks he makes in your chest crackling their way through you, toes curling in your shoes.

Your half bent backwards, legs in either side of his as he keeps your chest pressed to him, both arms wrapping around you to hold you steady. You tug at his shirt helplessly, getting it stuck around his arm and he smiles against your mouth, leaning back to look at you before whipping it over his head.

In the dark of the room last night you wouldn’t of seen it, but now the lights streaming in from the car window, and Franks torso is nearly a rainbow in it— blue, purple and green bruises all up his side, with a short but deep cut on the low right side of his abdomen. He’s taken the bandage off it too early, the stitches still healing, but you can tell it’s expert work. Much better than the botched job you did a month or so back, something he still bares the reminders for.

“Just… just a couple scratches, huh?” He grunts something illegible and hauls you back to him.

“Shut up.” He keeps you pressed close, not giving you a chance to say something back, but then his hands dip lower and you’re a goner.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Yeah. Fuck waiting.

He’s got you here— now, on top of him, and he can’t even fucking think of anything else. Your hands are being so gentle and cautious when he really couldn’t care less about the pain, but you do. You always do.

He wasn’t gonna waste another second, and seeing your eyes close the second he got your pants off and dipped his hands between your legs… it’s pretty much as close to heaven as he was going to get.

You fall forward, Frank catching you with one arm and pulling you close while the other continues slow, teasing circles just how he knows gets you all worked up. Your head tucks away into his neck, and he lets you hide for now, but when he’s got you home— real home, then he’ll be able to look at you as much as he god damn wants.

Your hips move against him, chasing his slow rhythm, and he feels your teeth scrape agains this neck, wordlessly rushing him along. 

“You need me that bad?” He says lowly, and watches in awe the way his words wash over you and yank you closer to the edge. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t of left you so needy—“

“Fuckkk… right there—please.” Your voice was so high it cracks a little, and it fucking sets him on fire.

“Get my belt for me, baby.” He whispers, feigning a bit of self control as he watches you quickly fumble with the buckle. The slight brush of your hands could finish him then and there, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to try and remember why he wanted to wait. He had just one more card to play— one that you’d seen him play a few times before, but he doesn’t think you expect it this time, and he needed some semblance of composure to remember it.

A real house, white picket fence and all, smack bang on halfway between New York and Florida. He couldn’t leave New York, not ever, but he had a new anchor now, one that deserved to have it all.

Frank planned to take you straight home. Make a ten hour drive and keep his hands to himself, but how the fuck could he when you were like this? Looking like you do, touching him so fucking sweet and soft and saying how much you missed every part of him— it was a dream come to life, and one of the few moments he’d let himself go in.

You shuffle as close as the seat allows, your now naked chest pressing against his. He dips his head, kissing your jaw, and he’s suddenly surrounded by you. Arms around his neck, warm and soft as your fingers thread in his hair, both of you moan at the feeling of him sliding into you. It’s white hot and nearly painful, how even with the way you’re dripping down your thighs, it still takes you a second to take him all the way. You wriggle your hips, trying to settle yourself and Frank nips at your neck, slowing your pace just slightly. He can hear you sigh, but you listen. You always fucking do.

“Shit— so fucking good. You can take it.” He hums and runs his hands over your skin. You lean into the touch, and when you sigh again he sinks your hips lower, a short punch of your name bursting from his chest when you slam yourself down. “Fuck. There you go.”

He’s a wreck underneath you, and your hands slither away from his hair to his face when you pull him up to kiss you. As much as he loves the feeling of your hips grinding down ever so slightly right now, it’s this part he loves the most. The slow intimacy of it— how he knows he can stay right here for the rest of the day and nothing will change. He can feel how much you love it, how much care you handle him with, and it cracks something old and hard in his gut.

You shudder as he lifts his hips, keeping your mouths together and kissing hungrily. He’d think you’d both been starved for a year the way you two act, but he’d admit it to anyone that asked that he was gone for you. He knows it well and true, in his chest and in the way you bounce in his lap, moaning into his mouth like he’s breathing air into your burning lungs.

“Fuck— fuck, I love you. I fucking… Jesus Christ, you’re so good. I love you.” He can’t shut himself up, and your breath gets faster. He knows you love it when he talks. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you— wanna feel you. I know you want to.”

“Slow… Frank, you’re gonna hurt yourself—“ You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. His hands stay tight on your hips, and he feels the pleasure buzz under his palms, your skin nearly alight with it on top of him. “Oh my god, don’t stop.”

He wraps his forearm around you and fucks you harder, any pain and injury burnt out by how tight you are around him, and how perfect you fit him. He’s close, so close that he’s hardly able to kiss you now. You both collide in a mess of tongues and sighs, and when he hears you croak out his name into his mouth, he knows you’re cumming for him.

He can’t hold himself back, chasing you into that high with blinding abandon. It hits him like a freight train, bowing him over you like he’s taken a hit, but it feels so good he can’t register that he isn’t breathing like this. He keeps kissing you until he’s sure he’s going to pass out, and only stops when you pull away, eyes darting to the highway where headlights slowly flicker on the horizon.

“Shit.” You say breathless, and you laugh. He can feel it, the sound shuddering through him from where he was still deep inside you, and your giggles soon turned to something less innocent when you heard Frank groan into your chest. “C’mon. Someone’ll see us.”

“Don’t move yet.” He puts his hands on your waist, fanning them out to reach as much of you as possible.

“Mhmm.” It’s like your body gives out at his request, slumping forward and moulding into him like you were made to fit this way. This was what he was talking about. The way you fit together— something that should be out of the question for him fits so right. “I love you, too.”

“Mhmm.” He copies and feels you smile against his skin. His hands trail up your spine, tracing the line of bones lightly to leave goosebumps in his wake. “What time is it?”

“Who gives a fuck?” You mumble, the words half muffled into his neck.

“I want you to see the house in the light, but you wanna go at it blind, be my guest.” It takes you a second, a scoff coming out of you before you sit up abruptly, making him groan again.

“House? What house? Another safe house.” Frank couldn’t keep a secret to save his life when it came to you.

“It’s a house. Twenty minute drive from here.”

“But New Yorks not—“

“I know. Good thing we got cars, yeah?” Your eyebrows are crossed together, and Franks thumb slips over the small scar he left on your face. The movement shifts your gaze to something softer, and he feels the brush of your eyelashes on his finger as you blink up at him.

“You did it on purpose. It’s right in the middle.” You say softly. “Jesus, Frank. You didn’t have to… I mean you—“

“Take a breath. I didn’t buy it. Was a gift from the US Goverment. One thing those guys are good for is their money. I just picked the spot.” He could nearly hear the rave of your heart, and you crushed yourself into him, words hushed and mumbled into his ear, but they melt him to the core all the same.

He’ll never get over hearing you say things like this to him. That you’re grateful for him, that he’s doing a good thing. It’s like nothing he did before you was ever good enough. There was always the next job, always the next group to track, but nothing would be enough. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for him. But here you were, telling him that he was the reason you were gonna be alright, and if he squints he can see it. The flicker of something hopeful, and if he holds onto you as tight as he can, he might just live to see it light him on fire.

“Did you say… you said twenty minutes from here. Why didn’t we just wait until—“

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” You laugh again, and the feeling has him gripping you tighter. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “And I wanted to fuck you here and now. Don’t want there to be a single fuckin’ surface where I ain’t had you.”

“Better get driving then, Castle. Sounds like you got a job to do.” The glint in your eye nearly makes him drag you outside and bend you over the hood, but the kiss you give him after is sickeningly sweet, so much so that he lets you slide off him and back into the passenger seat without so much as a nip of his teeth. “Tha–”

“Wait. Wait til you see it.” Frank said, and something about the way he looked at you had you nodding simply, and watching the trees race by as he sped you home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were asleep on the balcony again, and Frank moved as slow as he could to let you stay that way.

In the two weeks you’d been here, he could count on one hand how many times you’d actually slept in the bed. There were no neighbours for miles, nothing interrupting the stretch of sky all the way to the hills. Even Frank had to admit it was a killer view.

He came inside, pouring himself a drink, and a strange pit in his stomach settled after the burning liquid soothed his throat. He can’t seem to kick that feeling when you’re asleep. When you were awake, next to him, there wasn’t anything else he could think about. But alone, walking around a house he owned, a life he might try and live staring him in the face, he felt guilty. There were parts of him he wouldn’t ever get back, but this wasn’t something he thought he’d ever have. Peace and quiet, time to himself. A woman he loved within eyesight, buried under blankets cause she was too stubborn to come inside when it got freezing. He couldn’t figure out why now, of all times, was the time to be thinking of Maria. The weight of the ring around his neck was like an anchor. He knew it was stuck on the bottom of the ocean, but he couldn’t find it in himself to let go. He would sit there, hand cut up and bleeding, holding on for dear fucking life if no one moved him, waiting until he drowned.

Your footsteps were soft, in a way that he knows you can’t help. You tread through the open double doors, and Frank would roll his eyes at the way he could hear your teeth chattering if he wasn’t so distracted.

“You should of woke me.” You say, voice muffled from the mess your head was buried under. He took a step toward you, pushing it back so he could see your eyes.

“It’s late.”

“Couldn’t tell.” He can hear the smirk in your voice.

“You finally frozen to death, smart-ass?” You grumble something in reply, and he catches a few curse words before you look at him again. It’s nearly scary, the way you can read him with one sweep of your eyes. You clock his tone, the way he isn’t leaning into you with his full weight, and squint your eyes.

“What is it?” Frank sucks in a long breath, and kisses you.

He’s a complete idiot. That’s what it is. He can feel the buzzing pulse you wake in him, every movement of your lips on his rooting you deeper in his soul, chipping off ice until theres only warmth. How’s he supposed to tell you, after you’ve just kissed him like that, that he was thinking about his–

“You can talk to me about her, Frank.” You say with your head against his. Not it, her. Before he can ask, you smile a little. Even just a hint of that smile and he’s forgetting how to breathe. “You play with the ring when you’re nervous. It’s actually a bit of a tell.”

“Yeah?” He manages, hands trying to search their way through the blankets for you.

“Yeah. You have a lot of tells. For someone in your line of work, it’s actually a bit worrying.”

“You got me all figured out.” He says and means it, but you just roll your eyes.

“And you lean to the left when you think you can’t make a shot. You think it helps your angle.”

“Who woulda thought you were so observant.”

“You know, I actually did watch you when you were teaching me how to shoot.” Frank smiles, your skin finally under his palms. His hands splay on your back, and you lean closer.

“You were trying to fuck me the whole time. Don’t blame me for being surprised.” You try to whack him but your arms are pinned under the layers. Your laughter carries through him, skittering into his chest until he can’t help but laugh too.

“You came onto me.” He laughs harder. “It was very unprofessional. I was there to learn.”

“Damn fucking right I did.” His voice is low, and you shuffle around under his hold until your hands snake up behind his neck. His hair is too long, but he hasn’t cut it just yet. He tells himself that he hasn’t had time, but truthfully he likes the way it feels when you sift your fingers through the ends of it. Like now.

“You can tell me.” You say again, softer. He’s softer too– more malleable now you were here.

“I can’t help it.” He looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to where the sun is now just starting to rise. “She woulda… woulda liked it here. The kids, too.”

“You think so?” He nods, still staring into the orange sky.

“Probably would of had a lot to say about the inside, though.” You wrap around him tighter, head on his chest. “She was so good with those things. She loved when we painted our house. She had all these colors painted next to each other on the wall. All these different kinds of green. Everyone kept sayin’ it all looked the same but she... she could tell the difference. I could see what she meant when she put the couch next to it and shit, you know? She was real good with that stuff.”

“We could use her help around here. This place is sort of… ugly, on the inside.” He laughed again, his throat feeling tighter as he looked around. There was those same colour swatches, but none of them were coordinated like he was remembering. Pinks, blues, oranges and grays were all mixed together in big, sweeping strikes along the wall, stopping right above where your arm would be able to reach. “What would she have gone with?”

He looks down at you, your face washed in the light of the sunrise.

“The light orange. It looks good with the brown.” He nods over to the couch, an old leather one you’d made him pick up off the side of the road.

“We’ll do that one, then.” You tuck yourself under his chin, sighing.

“I think about ‘em everyday. What the kids would have looked like now. What they’d be doing. How Maria and I would of… raised ‘em. I was away all the time, but I just-”

“I think you would have been just fine.” You say into his chest, and Frank takes a shuddering breath.

“Why’s that?“

“Cause she was in love with you.” His chest tightens, and the grip he’s got on your waist gets a little tighter. “I’m… I’ll never be able to fix…that. It’ll always be with you, and nothing will change what happened, but I want you to know that they will always have a place here. You don’t have to apologize for talking about them– the kids, or Maria. I will never, ever not listen, and it will never be something I don’t want to hear. If they’re always with you, they’ll be with me, too.”

Frank takes two steps forward, and your feet pick up just in time to catch yourself before he throws you back on the couch. He’s never been good with words for things like this. He doesn’t think he should try to shove it all in a sentence, either. Not when theres so much he wants to say, but even more he wants to do.

You lay back, and he moves slowly. He wants you to know every move, every brush of his hand and his mouth is by design. He wants to know every square inch of you inside and out like you know him. He wants his hands to pull the strings, letting you hear all the things his mouth could never possibly form.

“Perfect.” Frank sighs against your mouth, over and over again. It was. You were. Are. The pit in his stomach disappears, pushed out and engulfed by the flames in his chest. There was no room for anything, not a single other feeling or word could possibly fit the way you two fit together. Your fingers tug at his shirt, and he takes it over his head. Your hands run and smooth gentle lines over his chest, over the healing wound on his side. It's jagged and wonky, and it nearly spelt your name. Frank thinks it’s the first time he’s looked down at himself and not hated to see the scars.

He unravels you like a gift to himself, savouring every moment even when you try to shrug off the blanket. You hadn’t dressed since last night, and Frank liked it even more this way. You sighed his name, and Frank shuddered, sealing his mouth over yours again. When his eyes opened for a split second, he could see your face, washed in orange light, and your hair swept to the side. He shut his eyes and kissed you again, the image seared into his mind forever.

Frank had faced a lot of bad things in his life. He had been shot, stabbed, pulled apart and put back together more times than he could remember. He thought he’d seen it all, felt it all before, but there was nothing like this. Nothing made him as weak as your fingers in his hair, and nothing made him as strong as the way you moaned his name. Nothing felt as good as sliding inside you, and nothing felt as empty as when you were gone. It made him lightheaded and brought him to the brink of consciousness, but he knew that this was right.

It could of been minutes or hours that had passed when he let himself go, but no amount of time with you under him would stop him from wanting more. The sun was up now, and Frank had you tucked to his side on the small space of the couch, legs tangled together in the blankets and each other. He felt you shiver against him, and the blankets wrapped around you had come loose. He bent to fix them, and when he moved you did it again.

He looked down, seeing the cold line of metal pressed against your bare back. The ring at the end was hanging over your ribs, and when Frank touched it, it was freezing. Holding it in his palm, it didn’t feel as heavy as it used to, and when he read the engraving on the back, he still felt cold.

Looking down at you, how you rolled over and sought him out even with your eyes closed, he leaned down to kiss the scar on your forehead. Then, like it was the simplest thing in the world, he slipped the necklace off over his head, and placed it in a neat circle on the coffee table next to his head.

They would always have a place here. But it wasn’t them who gave him warmth anymore.

When he tucked himself back under the covers, he knew it was you. It was always you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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okay theres going to be an epilogue at some point, but it will probably be small and have very little plot, so this is the end of the main story. so, heres a little rant for you. if you read it, thank you, and if you dont, thank you anyways. knowing anyone is reading my words is a gift enough.

i think i have been writing this series for like 5/6 months ish?? thats fucking wild. i dont have an exact word count, but all i know is its fucking long. i cannot believe i wrote this much about a fictional character, but damn. that is a lot.

basically all i want to say here is thank you. to anyone who has read, interacted, or will read in the future, thank you from the bottom of my heart. it might be a lil dramatic but having people read stuff i write, let alone actually enjoy it makes me so incredibly happy. starting to write on here, and for frank especially, is probably one of the best decisions ive ever made. this series was a struggle to finish for so many reasons, mainly my incredible lack of planning and overall dumb writing schedule, but i have met so many incredible people along the way, and i am just so grateful to have a lil space to share my work.

frank castle will probably always own a giant spot in my heart, so thank you for letting me share my version of him. and letting me add as much smut as i want to this with no complaints bc i fuckin needed it okay!!!!!! i love you all. rant over. series over. damn!

p.s. i am never not going to write frank. dont worry. i already have an idea for my next series lmao!!!!!!!! luv ya!

[softlyapocalytpic]

I feel like I remember a post going around a while ago about the inherent tragedy of Fallout 4 and the anti-climax that is Finding Shaun and- I just can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t.

(Going under a cut because this post got away from me LMAO)

It’s a tragedy. Your son is a cold horrific monster of a man who looks at people as experiments over being people. He’s egotistical to the point of thinking of himself as somehow larger than life- not quite godly, but something more adjacent to that- because of his control over life. *Because of how they groomed him to be. He was never allowed to be a “normal” kid. The Shaun we meet is doomed, hopeless, and it’s… heartbreaking. That’s your son and.

And he’s dead. He dies no matter what faction you choose. There’s no chance for true reconciliation.

(*There’s something to say about the parallels between Shaun and Maxson as characters that I’ve talked about to others in the past but still sticks with me. Not the post for it necessarily, but I wanted to mention it.)

For me personally, the ending of Fallout 4 wasn’t victorious, it was hollow. Now, part of that is definitely influenced by what I was going through at the time, but it has stuck with me how the only lights of hope I felt were… well it was Deacon. He made it less empty. Made it feel like it meant something good.

I didn’t like pushing the button though. I thought about all the shit that could’ve taken from Institute and used for the wasteland for something good. Thought about Shaun. Thought about how I couldn’t truly say goodbye to him. Felt like I was playing out the motions, and that fucking slideshow did nothing to help the hollowness.

It’s not victorious. But then we keep going anyway. There is still work to be done. And there’s companions to keep you company, to make the world a little brighter.

And Jesus Christ I love that fucking game. I love the sandbox and I love the way that when it hits? It fucking hits.

And guess what! Fallout 3? Fallout 76? Also fucking tragedies.

Sure, Broken Steel brings the LW back from the dead, but Lone died even if Lone isn’t “dead”. The slideshow still plays. You wake up and suddenly aren’t dead, but you should be. You should be. You, a nineteen year old kid were tasked with being a martyr. Sarah is pissed off when you ask her to do it. It should be you in the eyes of the narrative. You should be the one bearing the weight of martyrdom. Follow in your Father’s footsteps.

Fallout 76? I… your nuking the Appalachia repeatedly. Everything is gone by 2277. The bright future meant to rejuvenate the Wasteland ends up destroying it. Idfk what else there is to say on that front.

And these are just… the main Bethesda titles. 1, 2, and NV are arguably in the same boat but there’s a bit more in the sense that… well for those ones it’s much more about the “you’ve won, but at what cost?”. In the original Fallout, and let’s say you take the (I think more popular route) of talking to the Master rather than fighting him: you watch someone realize the weight of the atrocities they’ve committed, realize they had no purpose, and then kill himself and everyone there after you personally have gone through actually psychic hell to approach him. Then, you get kicked out of your only home you’ve ever known!

Fallout 2? You home is decimated, your people traumatized, and you must rebuild it from the ground up. You defeated the Enclave, but they took something from you that can’t be replaced or forgotten.

New Vegas… god there’s so much there and there’s another point I want to make to this post- make I can make it feed into this but- the Mojave gets ravaged by war. No matter who wins, atrocities will continue to have been done and to be committed. There’s deadly forces on the horizon who don’t give a SHIT about this petty war and the fucking dumb politics of these major powers. It will hit any faction hard and unmercifully. And there was still a war that consumed an entire land. So companion has a truly “happy” end. They’re all scarred and broken and have to make peace with the path they’ve chosen. People win, but they don’t win, y’know?

And I wish- as much as I love these tragedies- I wish there was more… hope. I wish that the world of Fallout allowed the brightness to shine through a little brighter. To allow the people who try to rebuild into something new to be more successful, to be allowed to take the narrative into their hands, bECAUSE HOLY FUCK DOES THIS DARK ASS WORLD HAVE SO MUCH MORE HOPE THEN ITS EVER GIVEN CREDIT FOR.

Begin Again is a rallying cry for me. The end of Lonesome Road, if you spare Ulysses, is a rebellion against the fucking cycle of violence and hatred. You want to BUILD something. Create rather than just regurgitate the old world into something more twisted than it’s corpse.

Surviving the purifier? Rebelling against the notion that you must die, that you must be a martyr, taking your life into your own hands? Watching a source of clean water be handed out for free and spread across the Wastes? Fucking! Breathing new life into Harold and so he breathes new life into the Earth?

Living even though you’ve lost all your family? Getting a new one in the people who follow you? Helping people rebuild the Commonwealth after it’s been terrorized and destroyed? Leaving this world stronger and safer then when you came into it?

Honestly- this post got away from me. @persephotea got me in my Fallout 4 thoughts (of which I have so many and they’re always trying to burst out of me) and I got to thinking about what I try to write about in my fics. Hope. Hope, hope, hope.

I choose a kinder Fallout world not because I’m trying to soften the edges, but because I want to believe that humanity has such an ability to be kind if it chooses to. That a world ravaged by destruction would CHOOSE kindness and growth. That despite all the darkness and selfishness, people would choose to Begin Again.

It’s all a fucking tragedy, but that’s only if the cycle continues. We can change it. We can end it. Just gotta choose to do it.

If you got this far, thank you for reading my tired thoughts and please please please share yours. I want to hear your thoughts so bad. Okay okay, I’ll post now.

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

When I engage with the Silmarilion fandom it’s always very educational and enlightening no matter what side they’re on regarding Finwe and his sons. But whenever I interact with the HoTD fandom it’s always “you’re condoning XYZ and therefore you’re a horrible person!!!” Or doing mental gymnastics to try to justify whichever atrocities their side committed.

Thematically both stories are quite similar. We can find parallels with Rhaenyra and Feanor but even at his worst (Pulling a sword on Fingolfin, First kinslaying, burning of the ships etc.) Feanor had never put a bounty on a toddler (Rhaenyra stating that Maelor should be bought to her dead or alive causing him to be ripped apart. Like hello??!??? How is that ever a justifiable thing to do???). I can find parallels between Feanor and Rhaenyra, sure. But if I’m honest the parallels stop with them being the only child of a kings first wife who’s father then went on to face four more kids with another women. Finwe is ten times the father Viserys was. And literally none of the kids (Feanor included) would ever take their anger out on their siblings child like we see the so called Maegor come again do.

But I digress, I was talking of the fandom. I may get heated talking about whether Feanor was right in his anger at Indis or whether Fingolfin should’ve absolutely demanded more reparations from the sons of Feanor when he crossed the ice. But I’ve never seen anyone in the Silm fandom saying that someone should die because they had an opinion.

But I’ve seen many instances of HoTD fans threatening rape and death on people who think Alicent is not the monster they portray her as, or that Rhaenyra isn’t as ‘girl boss queen slay!!!’ As people say she is. Maybe it’s because HoTD is a TV show and many of the fans haven’t read the books and therefore don’t understand nuance since the TV show focuses so much on Rhaenyra’s manifest destiny arc that team green gets painted as the ‘ultimate’ villain for our girl boss queen Rhaenyra to ascend to the throne since it’s her ‘birth right’.

Not to mention how the whole made up show canon prophecy to justify colonialism means that team black stans are really showing their true colors on what they think is right. Because guess what? The Silm also has what could be said to be as a colonizing story line with the Noldor coming to Beleriand and settling but most fans agree that the cutting up of Beleriand was very much a colonizing behavior no matter what they think of Thingol.

Point is, most HoTD fans can’t hold and intellectually simulating debate over their characters without feeling like said debater is personally attacking them since their entire personality is so deeply entwined with their fav that a critique on them would automatically equate to a critique on themselves. Therefore making it entirely impossible to have a decent conversation on the thematically very important foils that Rhaenyra and Alicent pose to each other (since they still think a good story must have a black and white view of the protagonist and the antagonist lmao).

Media illiteracy in these fandoms truly is a cancer that spreads to even the most level headed and literate individuals. Pick up a book! Understand themes and how foils are supposed to be written without internalizing criticism of your fav as a criticism of yourself! I don’t get mad when people criticize Feanor, nor do I get mad when people say I’m wrong when it comes to my own interpretation of the statue of Finwe and Miriel. It’s called having a discussion and you can only do that when you’re not on the front lines dying for a fictional character who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire in front of them!!!