#i'm gnawing on her collarbones

[kaisollisto]

prompt: personify this fucking flower v

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Lover, Please Stay

Astarion x F! Tav

(Pillow Talk part 2)

18+ complicated feelings, angst, jealousy, intimacy, talks of sex work, fingering (f!), oral (f!), forced orgasm (kinda), feral Astarion, tenderness

Tav keeping him at arms length, Astarion makes a plan to woo her back into his good graces. But his hunger, for her and her blood, proves distracting...

Masterlist, Part 1

-

True to her word, she was avoiding him.

Even leaving him at camp. He covered the sting like he always did.

"You doing all the work while I relax with a good book? Please, if you must twist my arm."

He hid the anxiety throttling him into a sultry smile. Waving goodbye to the retreating party with a wiggle of his fingers.

When they disappeared into the treeline, he turned with a scowl and pushed inside his tent. The hunger gnawing through him now in the forefront of his mind.

In avoiding him, she had inadvertently kept him from her neck.

Animal blood wasn't enough anymore. Sure technically it filled him, it did the job. But it was a meager substitution.

When her blood would burst into his mouth, it sent a crackling pleasure across the back of his skull. Sending fire in slow pulses as her blood pushed out into his veins. From his center ebbing out a warmth in rhythm to his swallowing. His cold body cracking apart with her molten river. It was a miracle he was able to stop that first night.

The bloodcall was a prickling hateful need, but the other need he felt towards her made him bristle more.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way they had crashed and smeared into each other. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing gained or lost. Just pulling mouths and pleading fingers and dizzy heat.

He felt his cock stir just from the memory and frowned.

This wouldn't do. He was too pent up, a dog in a kennel circling.

He would get back in her good graces, in one way or another.

When they had finally returned for the night, he feigned disinterest. Lounging back on a pillow outside of his tent, flicking the pages of one of his books with the tips of his fingers.

She wiggled out of her boots with adorable little grunts. Unlacing her bracers and beginning to lift up to the buckles on her breastplate.

"Here, let me." Gale stepped over, reaching for the buckles that sat on her sides.

"Oh! Thank you!" She chirped, lifting her arm to make way for his fingers, naturally let her hand fall on his shoulder.

"I guess it's only fair. You don't wear armor, so you have much less undressing to do." She hummed.

He saw the heat go to Gale's cheeks, clearing his throat.

"You know, I could continue to help you. In the future." He offered, a slight waver in his tone.

Astarion had stood before his mind had spoken to his feet. Striding over.

"Gale, dearest. You'll keep her here all night. Let faster fingers attend to our friend here."

Gale held his hands up in defeat good naturedly, but he saw a bite flash across his eyes.

A silent crackling energy passed between them.

"Our pale friend is right, I'd better return to the delectable meal I've been planning."

Gale stepped away, but not before squeezing her bicep, leaving a lingering touch there.

The wizard was lucky his blood was putrid.

Well, maybe he could still rip his throat out for fun.

As soon as Gale was out of earshot Tav sighed, speaking under her breath to him.

"Well, Gale wants to fuck me now too."

"Ah, you'll have to forgive the boy. I'm sure he hasn't seen such a ravishing creature before that dusty tower. Nothing but his hand and books."

Tav gasped, trying to kick him, but he slid away from her foot easily. His fingers snapping her buckles open with flourish.

"You're the devil." She chided, but he could see the smile on the corner of her lips.

"Devilishly handsome? I agree."

The last buckle free, he lifted the breastplate over her.

She moaned, rotating her shoulders in relief. Her undershirt sticking to her skin. The white fabric wet with her efforts.

He kept his eyes above collarbone with great effort. The outline of her full breasts in his peripheral.

"Thank you, my savior." She teased, sitting down to unbuckle from her shin guards.

He was hovering and she noticed, looking up at him expectantly.

"Darling, I couldn't help but wonder why you haven't been offering me your sweet neck."

She sat back up, hand resting on her thigh. Eyes searching his.

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd want to see me after the other night." She said plainly.

"But I guess I'm a service, after all." Said with impartial truth.

"Sure, here." She offered her wrist up to him.

He blinked, on the back foot again.

Like she had scooped into him and pulled the marrow of his person out. That uncanny ability to speak his thoughts through her mouth.

No, I'm the service. Not you, sweet girl.

"Let's wait, no reason to supp from you out in the open. With so many prying hungry eyes."

He trailed the backs of his fingers along the inside of her wrist as she lowered it.

"Meet me in my tent, okay?" He hushed, his voice coming out uncharacteristically soft.

"Of course, whatever you need." She smiled.

He felt like he needed to prove something to her, but what?

He rearranged the pillows for a third time. The candle lit canvas shroud of his tent draped in as much comfort as he could find. Or steal.

Blankets and plush pillows. Enchanted lights draped along the roof, a lavender candle burning on a plate.

He sighed, this was too much. He was being silly.

"May I come in?" She whispered outside of the closed flap.

"I'd like nothing more." He crooned, sitting as casually as he could manage.

She ducked in and blinked in surprise. Eyes trailing along.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" She started getting comfortable. Pulling the pins free from her hair and shaking it down her back. Leaving her shoes in a neat line at the entrance.

Something about seeing her like this again made his heart sing. That casual intimacy that he desired in the cradle of his tent.

She kneeled down across from him, pulling her collar away from her neck. Turning her head to the side, bending open for him.

He leaned forward and gathered her into his hands, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Breathing in.

She could feel his need, touching his arm uncertainly.

"Are you okay, Star?" She hushed.

He slid his hand down her back, his eyes closed. Fingers mapping her into his memory.

"Just- just give me a moment." His voice coming out gravelly.

"Do you want me to get undressed?" She whispered, and he nodded into the side of her neck.

She pulled her sleep shirt over her head, his hands only leaving her to toss it far in the corner.

Sat in only the underclothes hugging her hips, she waited patiently as his eyes drank her.

The spread of her hips dipping into her waist. The round full of her breast. The soft curve of her stomach. An oil painting come to life.

"You're very comfortable in the nude." He teased, trying to jumble his thoughts back into his slack head.

"It takes practice." She smiled. "People usually don't want to see the wares stored away."

He could feel the confusion strike his face.

"What do you mean by that, darling?"

"Oh, I figured the others would have gossiped by now. Huh, good for them."

She flourished down her body. "This used to go to the highest bidder."

His hands slowed, pulling away.

"You were a sex worker?"

"What makes you think I'm not still one?" She winked, and he felt a hard shock of sudden recognition in her mannerisms. This was his playing field.

"Tav..." He paused, trying to wrestle his thoughts into a carefully picked set of kind words. She didn't need to know that part of his past yet. He could stand to pretend to be at least somewhat competent for a while longer.

"I get if that turns you off. We can go back to just feeding if you want."

"Well, what do you want?" He leaned his head, looking at her. Dead heart phantom hammering.

She seemed to consider it. "I think I like you, and I want to be near you. In whatever way that means to you."

He leaned forward, sliding on knees to reach her.

He laced his arm around her back, their lips hovered across one another. Her breath tickling his lips.

Sliding his hand down her front, he held her eyes.

A collective breath held between them, only broken as his fingers dipped into her heat.

Her eyes fluttered shut, hips tilting forward.

He pressed his forehead to hers as she rocked into him, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

She tried to reach for his trousers. He huffed out a soft no and led her hands to drape over his neck.

He looked at her with lidded eyes, pulsing his long fingers into her molten heat. Curving and catching the spongy wall.

She squirmed, gripping onto his thighs. One single breath passed between them. Speaking in panting and soft moans.

He pushed her onto her back, sliding down. His mouth coming down to lick in long stripes above his fingers.

She shuddered, head falling back. Gasping out little cries for him.

All of her sounds, her arching movements, wrapping around his mind in a haze.

He ground his erection into the bunched blankets on the tent floor.

His arousal a warm rhythm inside his body for once. The practiced working of his mouth finally put to a worthy effort.

He twisted his tongue into her, slurping and suckling. Free hand holding her in place as her hips tried to escape.

"Fuck," She hissed, gripping his hair. Legs starting to shake around his ears.

He moaned low and deep into her. His cock throbbing, hips fucking into the blankets.

"Oh fuck, Astarion. I'm-" But she was already rising off of the blankets, head wrenched back.

He followed her up, gripping her ass.

She squeaked out a few rising cries then fell apart in his hands. Tremoring rising up through her body, rippling outwards from where his mouth was still pulsing. Her head lolled, little jolts from her cunt as the creamy slick of her spend met his tongue. Lapping it in greedily.

He gasped. It rocketed against his skull like her blood. He needed more.

He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and dove back into her. Hungry. Messy. Uncontrolled. Completely cutting off his breath. He didn't need it anyway.

Her eyes shot open, moaning out.

"Oh Gods," She whimpered, bracing herself next to her head. Holding on as he took her apart.

He felt crazed, his hunger for her blood and the slick he pulled from her one and the same. The sounds coming from his lapping obscene.

Closing his eyes, he growled. Fingernails biting down into her ass. Saliva and slick dripping down his jaw.

One more hard swirling pull on her clit and she was shuddering hard, a strained moan of curses flowing from her lips. Eyes rolling back in her skull like marbles.

He yanked her towards him in anticipation, fingers rubbing hard into her clit encouragingly.

Her second wave of creamy slick met his tongue, so sweet and rich. Lighting his skull up in streaks of pleasure.

He pulled his weeping cock from his leathers and stroked with his slick soaked hand. Once, twice, and he was gone. Spurting thick ropes under his body, whimpering out pulsing cries as the pleasure wrenched out of him.

He lapped at her as long as she would allow, eventually gently pushing his head back.

"Gods below, Star. That was... that was heaven." She gasped.

He murmured in agreement, head falling into the inside of her thigh. Fingers trailing the silk of her side, the arch of her ribcage.

"Do you want me to stay?" She hushed, scratching lightly along his scalp.

He moaned softly, nodding into her.

"Come here to me." She purred, pulling him up her body. Resting his head against her chest.

The beat of her heart a steady tranquil drum. Her arms and legs tangled in his. He puddled into her, both of her hands scratching in slow lines along his skull.

For the first time in a long time, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The night passing dreamless.

~

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter four

nowhere to run

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the capture.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tommy gets stuck with the babysitting gig, joel is still a bit of an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, joel in a church, violence against pastors, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, Big Angst, we're getting there though, the smut returns, fingering, conflicting emotions, kidnapping, Angry!Joel, cliffhanger (oopsie daisy), the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9k a/n: fucking hell. i'm so sorry for how long it took me to bring this chapter to you, friends! my thesis sucked all the life from me and i had to go on a quick trip to the underworld and back to get it back again. thank you so much to my baby @cavillscurls for beta reading and as always being the biggest goddamn help throughout the process. below is the moodboard that mya made for this chapter and the reason i'm her no. 1 lovergirl. prev | next

When he was young, he fed stray dogs on the street. 

He would steal sandwiches, pluck out the meat to gnaw on himself, and toss the bread onto the pavement. He would sit back on his haunches just like them and lick his chops when he was finished. Being a runner earned him good money, but it was hard to find jobs that would take a scrawny eight-year-old with dirt on his nose. His memories of those days are far away, foggy around the edges, but he still smells the eye-watering prickle of trash, cigarette smoke, wet fur of the dogs. He still remembers the moist scratch of soaked-through denim after a night sleeping outside in the rain, the bone-deep chill that lasted for days in winter. 

One night, a Sunday in July, a hand stretched out toward him. He had not eaten in days, and he’d begun to feel the stretch of his skin around his ribs. A skeleton haunting the wrong body. The face is blurred now, but he remembers the hand. Long-fingered and a little wrinkled, a bracelet dangling from the bluish vein-ringed wrist, a charm in the shape of a cross. 

The hand brought him from his bed of ratty blankets and old newspapers to a giant cathedral. The bold lettering above the grand doors read The Sisters of Saint Eustace. Joel had been too small, too weak, to reach up and touch the golden words, but they were tarnished with age and buffed around the edges. He looked up at the owner of the hand—the hand which then lowered onto his shoulder, collarbones protruding, and squeezed just hard enough to sting.

He felt the warm soak of the daytime breeze on his face. 

“You must come inside with me,” said the woman. He remembers that the hand belonged to a woman. There was a black hood around her head that made her appear as wraithlike as death itself.

The Creation of Adam was immortalised on the north wall. It was the first thing he saw when he walked inside. 

“I can’t go inside,” he said.

“And why not?”

He turned his head away from the image of Adam and God, whom he did not know at the time, and could never have hoped to know. How could he, after all, when God had never appeared to him? Then, God was only a man, frail and old, reaching out a wrinkled hand. Why should the weak ask for aid from the strong? 

“The dogs need someone to feed them,” he said.

He still does not know God. He does not suspect he ever will. But there’s a warm, soft palm encasing the skin and muscle over his heart, irradiating down to the bone. There’s an intermittent puff of air on the back of his neck, slow and ticklish, the way snow melts. The dog that still lives in the core of him shows its belly. 

You’ve moved closer in the night, your soft skin warming his back where your shirt rides up. You breathe silently, catlike, as measured as the rise and fall of the winter sun. He listens for a while, his chest pushing out to match you. As he settles into the new rhythm, he feels for a moment as if it’s all been a dream. As if he never lost you, never lied. 

His name leaves your sleeping mouth and his heart ceases altogether. It’s the breathless sound of need, of a desire he supposes you’ve forgotten. In your sleep, some stale withered flower blooms under a fresh rainfall, and he wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Before Joel put his mouth between your legs for the first time, you had forgotten what pleasure tasted like. 

It was July, sweltering, and you were draped across the sofa with his head in your lap. It was date night, and his turn to choose the movie: some god-awful karate action film that was a sequel to a sequel to a sequel and so on, infinitely repeating. Neither of you were paying attention to the exchange of staged punches. You were occupying yourself with threading your fingers through Joel’s hair, and he’d taken to toying with the little bow that held up the waistband of your shorts. You watched him pull the strings until they unfurled only to tie them again with one hand. The white noise of on-screen blows lulled you into a gentle doze as you both lay idle. 

“Joel.”

“Hm,” he said, the scratch of his beard tickling your belly. 

“The door,” you said. “Someone’s knocking.”

“Hm,” he said again, his questioning pitch the only indication he was truly listening. 

“You should probably get it.”

His sleep-soaked eyes fluttered shut, his lashes brushing your skin. He gently squeezed your hip. “I’m just fine here.”

“What if I told you I had a surprise for you? And what if I told you I worked very hard to find your surprise?” you cooed. 

Joel blinked up at you. “You got me somethin’?”

Your heart swelled. “Yeah, I did. Come on, cowboy.”

Outside, Tommy lounged against the hood of the surprise as you guided Joel outside, your fingers over his eyes. 

“I don't like bein’ blind,” he grumbled. “Can't you just tell me?”

“How about I show you?”

You lifted your hands. For a moment, Joel blinked, his eyes adjusting to the blazing light of the sunset, and his lips parted at the sight before him. 

“Jesus,” he said under his breath. “You… got me a car?”

“It's not just a car. Boss Mustang 429,” you said sheepishly. “1969. You know, the one you never shut up about. I thought this might help.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and you watched him swallow it. “How…”

“Tommy called me a while back. He'd sourced it from another garage; it was bound for the dump, but I wanted to surprise you by fixing it up. So… surprise.”

Tommy tossed the keys to Joel, who caught them without even looking. “Your girl can get her hands dirty. Helped me fix up the whole damn thing.”

You tried to gauge his reaction, the slight hollow in his throat where he seemed to store the falling sunlight, a faint sheen of sweat turning him gold. Your heart plummeted into your stomach when he didn't say a word. 

“It's too soon.”

His head whipped around, his brows curving up in the middle. “What?”

You wetted your lips, panic closing your throat in at all sides. “I know we haven't been dating long, but… I don't know, I couldn't pass up the chance. But now I know it's too soon. I shouldn't have presumed—”

Faintly, he shook his head, his eyes darting across your face as if he were trying to trace it, and closed the distance between you. You gasped as he slanted his mouth over yours, his hands cradling your face, old paper and salt and your perfume. You threw your arms around his neck, a buoy for the drowning man whose arms wound around your waist and pulled you so close he could disappear altogether. Maybe he was trying to. Selfishly, you would let him. 

Tommy grumbled something—“You’re welcome, asshole,” probably—and his own car roared to life as it pulled away. 

The car keys jingled in the bowl in your foyer as Joel tossed them blindly behind him, his heel shutting the front door. He kissed you like you were a fever he needed to burn out, and you felt the match strike where his hand curled its heavy weight around your neck. 

“What time do you fly out?” he grumbled against your mouth. 

“Not until morning,” you said breathlessly, watching him drop to his knees in front of you, taking your little shorts with him. Your chest heaved at the sight of your Joel, made humble at your feet, pressing his searing-hot lips to the bare skin of your belly. “Joel…”

“Nobody,” he said, his voice the velvety drag of night, “is like you. Not a goddamn soul.”

The admission caught in your throat the way a web ensnares dewdrops. The intricate folds of your brain would forever carry the imprint of the words—words no one else had ever said. 

A starving artist, an old teacher of yours had said, remembers every kind word said about their art. They eat from them when there's no other food in the house. 

“You're it for me,” he told you. “There's nothing else.”

You wake slowly, serenely, a yawning ache blossoming in the core of you. 

Maybe that's why, even now, you cannot forget the way he touched you that night. You still recall every thumbprint, every stroke of his tongue, every soft cry into the otherwise empty room. 

The fact is that nobody can love you the way Joel Miller does. Not even when his love hurts more than anything else.

He's watching you now. His eyes are half-open but alert, instinct pulling him closer to your side of the bed. Or, maybe you're the one who’s crawled closer to him. 

“Joel…” 

He doesn’t speak, but you feel the pads of his fingers on your belly, the soft fabric of your shirt bunching over his bruised knuckles, and his eyes shutter at the touch alone, a worn sinner. 

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers, and it's chipped porcelain, the sound of his voice. 

A part of you wants to cry, to let the pressure build until it crests, to feel the salt settle in the pores at the sight of him so close, so open. But you've shed your tears and he’s slept in your bed, and now his fingers brush the hem of your panties, not begging entrance, but asking, wondering—

You say so weakly, “I need you to touch me,” and he nods because he knows, because he's Joel, because your body has not become foreign to him even if you've made your heart a stranger. 

You shiver as his hand dips beneath the cotton, two fingers sliding through the gathering wetness between your legs. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, black as the sky, his bicep flexing as he parts your folds with his fingers. Absently, possessed, you sling your leg up over his hip to spread your thighs. 

The shockwave brings you down as he slides his middle finger inside you, sinking to the knuckle. The gasp that leaves your mouth feels like inhaling glass. You cup the back of his neck for purchase, tugging the little curls at his scalp, and watch as he bares his teeth. 

“That's it, baby,” he says brokenly, the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit as you writhe. Back in his arms, your heart thunders in your chest, the ache of his absence ringing in each rib like the aftershocks of a blow. He pumps his fingers inside you, curling up against the spot he knows as intimately as his own hand, studying your face as if he has become the artist and you the muse. For a moment, you think you see the reflection of your face in the whites of his eyes, and you’re overcome with a shudder that compresses your spine. 

He’s too close. Too far away. Your hand curls around the scruff of his neck, a misbehaved dog. You’ve let him in, it’s too late, too soon, and you’ve assumed all the blood he’s spilled, taken it inside your body with the press of his fingertips past your begging entrance.

You hate that your body still sings for him, that your eyes cannot shutter, that you cannot shuck the curtains closed despite all he’s done. You hate that his eyes still hold the sorrow you’d seen in him since that very first night, and you hate that you existed so happily, so blindly, with him, in spite of the arid darkness that has always lingered just under the brown you thought you knew so well.

But he’s always known you, and that may be what hurts the most. 

He’s always been keenly aware of your moods, your tastes, your body, and he plays you now like a pipe, lending his body to yours in supplication. Your heart aches as you let him inside, some feeble breach of contract, as if nothing is wrong, as if nothing was a lie.

He slides his fingers from you and spreads them before your eyes, the sight of the slick webbing eliciting a gasp you can barely hear. He licks his fingers clean and dips them back between your bodies, circling your clit with a renewed fervour. 

“Fuck.” Your eyelids droop, your stomach tightens, and the glint of Joel’s bared teeth is that of a wolf’s in the dark. “I’m… fuck, I’m…”

“I know,” he says, “I know,” and you wish he wouldn’t. 

The rhythmic, meticulous path of his fingers is nothing like the desperate writhing of your hips, the feverish grinding, the cries. Prey caught in a trap, you grasp the iron bars of his shoulders tight and beg for mercy. 

And it feels so good, so right, that it slashes open your heart and spills the blood. The cold bite of his wedding ring bumps up against your opening as you blossom, brittle as a new bud, his fingers pumping in, out, in—

“Oh, God,” you whimper, burying your face in his throat, sinking into the familiar warmth. 

Joel grunts, his nose sliding across your temple. “C’mon, baby girl, c’mon… I’ve got you… Can feel it…”

Normally, you would lick and bite and kiss the sweet, humid skin of his throat until you came, soft as dough in his arms. There’s a steel edge to the way you come now, fingers stiffly prickling his scalp, eyes bleeding tears into the crook of his neck. It feels good—good to slash at the bars that cage you in, good to weep over the loss of some willpower you let dissolve.

He doesn’t stop until he’s wrung every drop, inhaling the cloying smell of soiled linen and sticky perfume and saltwater. He closes his eyes against your temple and you can feel the caress of his lashes—wet, like yours.

His lips always carried the faint bitter bite of black coffee, and he always said yours tasted sweet. Like goddamn honey, he’d whispered into your throat the first night you let him inside, and you’d laughed—maybe the graze of his mouth was ticklish, or maybe you thought it was funny: the idea that you could be so sweet. 

Now, you’re splintering as your eyes flicker down to his mouth, plush lips moist but split from the blow of an enemy. If you kissed him now, he would only feel a sharp sting. If you kissed him now, you’d let the blood win out. You would only hurt him and yourself alike.

“What are we doing, Joel?”

His eyes shimmer in the dark, his palm tentatively cradling the crown of your head. The hollow of his throat deepens, and you hold your breath. 

“I’ll be anything you want me to be,” says Joel. “If you want me just to use me, then use me. You can have me whenever you want. I just wanna be someone you need—even if you don’t need me the way you used to.”

The sob lurches out of your throat, your forehead dropping to his as the climax burns out, smoke from a snuffed candle. 

When you can breathe again, you push yourself upright and cross the room to gather your toiletries. “I’m not going to use you. I never should have done this.”

“Stop.” Joel grunts as he stands, apparently forgetting about his wounded ankle. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Joel, let’s just—”

“I don't want it to be like this,” he says. “I don’t want it to hurt when I touch you.”

“It doesn't,” you whisper, hugging your bag to your chest along with a bundle of clothes. “That's what scares me.”

His brows curve upward in the middle and you're overcome by the need to fix your eyes to the floor. “Baby, please… Please just look at me.”

You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and pin him with your gaze. “I feel like I’m mourning a marriage that didn't even end,” you tell him, and Joel lurches forward as if he means to grab the words in mid-air. 

“And maybe we did lose it,” you say softly, though the words sting on the way out of your mouth. “But maybe that's… good. I don't want a relationship based on lies, Joel. I don’t want to wake up every morning next to the man I love and wonder what he’s still keeping from me.” 

Joel lowers himself into the chair by the table like a weight is tied to his chest. He's still shirtless, his wound bleeding through the gauze around his arm, but he's staring at you. Suffocating you. 

Twisting his wedding band around his finger, he says, “If there's even the smallest chance that you really could still love me… that this ain't over, even though I’ve done everything wrong by you… I’m gonna fight for it.”

Not everything, you want to say. Not everything, or I wouldn't be so hurt right now. It’s funny that the words won't take shape—wraithlike as the black ink snaking up and down his back. “I know you will.”

“And if you want all the truth I‘ve got, even if it's bloody, I’ll give it to you.” He leans forward, muscles flexing under inked skin. “You’re my everything. Nothin’ about that has changed. Not one goddamn thing.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, the tang of iron flooding into your mouth. “It’s not just about the lies,” you say, dropping into the chair across from him. “You've put me on a pedestal. You may be strong and you may know how to fight, and everyone in the world may know your name, but… I don't think I can survive being all that you breathe for. Not if it leads to this.”

He remembers waking up each morning in the orphanage, sunlight turning technicolour through stained glass images of praying hands. He’d always thought the sun was so strong, gathering pieces of itself just to wake half the world, reviving dead plants, rattling the bones that stirred dead in the earth. He’d put his fingers through the many colours just to watch them dance. He’d wiggle his digits and remember he was alive. 

He watched you walk down the long aisle toward him in a white dress, a bouquet of daisies in your hands, the sun carving your path. His hand flexed at his side like it did on those long-gone mornings, and he briefly doubted he’d be able to touch you at all—like you’d disappear, smoke curling around the contours of his fingers, a dream. 

“My heart hurts, Joel,” you say brokenly, your palm flattening against your chest. “I’m not as strong as you are. I’m just a girl who married the man she loved. One day, you're going to realise that I don't bleed gold. I’m not a deity. I’m not someone you go to war over. I’m not fucking perfect, and if you keep treating me like I am, you’re only going to be disappointed.” 

Joel just watches the tears fall, somewhat enraptured by the way they linger like dew on your lashes, until you blink them away and they cascade down the curve of your cheek. He wonders if this is how it feels to be the painter, desperate to capture even a brushstroke of the subject in front of him. He used to watch you paint for hours, holed up in your studio, covered in splotches of oils he would later take his time to wash away. The colours would curl around the drain, a snake poised to strike, and he’d kiss you, his canvas, tasting the poison of paint at the corner of your mouth. 

He’s made something dark of the light that grew inside you. He’s tainted your image with the blood he’s shed, and every one of the thousand cuts has struck true. He thought he was protecting you.

He was only hurting you.

“I just wanted to have you. And you wanted to forget.” Your eyes no longer meet his, tracing the lifelines in the oak table back and forth. “So where do we go from here?”

There’s a troubled tic in his brow, punctuating the feverish flitting of his eyes between each of yours, always restless. “You think I fell in love with you because I thought you were invincible?” 

You lift your head, the whites of your eyes gleaming. Joel brings his chair closer to yours, and you don’t make a move to pull away. 

“I fell in love with you because you’re human,” he says. “Because you’re kind. Because you have a heart bigger than any I’ve seen. Because you’re funny, and talented, and you love to make art, and when you find something you love, you give your soul to it. I love you because you’re an angry drunk and you hate mornings and you’re so fuckin’ frustrating when you won’t give up. I fell in love with you because you were the only person who’s ever taken a real shot at lovin’ me.”

Your bottom lip quivers and he wants to coax the heavy ache from your very soul, venom from the wound.

“You are my everything, baby. You are. And I know it ain't healthy, but I don't care. If that means I see you as a god, fine. You think I can stop lovin’ you the way I do? I can’t. But I never once thought you were perfect. Perfect people don’t fall in love with men like me.” 

You laugh a little, but it’s taut, stuck in the back of your throat. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I’m not even sure I want that. But I do want to be the kind of man you’re willing to love again. You’re my best friend, and I’ll do whatever it takes, you hear me? I’m not givin’ up.”

You sniffle, your quivering hands folded into one another atop the table. He wants to reach out and touch you, pull you back into his gravity, smell your perfume. He wants to do a thousand other things he does not deserve. 

“You’ve killed Manuel’s son,” you say quietly. “There’s still a contract on your head.”

Joel nods. “And he’s gonna pull it.”

You shake your head, lips parted around words you choose not to say. Instead, you look away, and he feels he's lost something he'd been holding. 

“Do what you need to do,” you say, and every syllable cuts him along the bias of the bone. 

He has known your hurt, your anger, your sadness. Something in an artist’s heart has never seen a day of peace, you told him once. He thought it was a joke; he may have even laughed. 

I loved you. 

Joel swallows. “I need you—”

“—to stay here.” The corner of your mouth pulls up despite your sombre tone. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a knock at the door before he can open his mouth to reply. You stay apprehensively glued to your seat as Joel peers through the peephole only to unlatch the chain on the door.

“Anyone see you come in?” he asks Tommy.

“I’m sure plenty of people saw me, brother. But they can’t do anything, now, can they?”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw feathers. “You bring everything?”

Tommy scoffs, gesturing toward the bags weighing down his arms. “Everything on your fuckin’ mile-long list? Yeah. You gonna let me in?”

Joel ushers him inside and triple-checks the hallway to make sure nobody is lurking nearby. Your voice brightens by a fraction and it feels like an electric shock tingling at his fingertips. 

“Tommy.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He squeezes your shoulder and drops the bags at your feet. “You hangin’ in there?”

Joel watches from the shadows of the hall, his heart leaden at the sight of you smiling for someone else. He’ll do anything to earn that. He’ll forsake all he has, all he is. He’ll crawl on his hands and knees all the way back through hell; he already knows the way.

“Brought your supplies,” says Tommy, kneeling at your feet and opening the bags. Your brows knit together at the sight of your oils from home, your brushes, your pallets long ago stained with colour. “Heard you were feeling inspired.”

Your gaze lifts to Joel, eyes narrowed. “Is that right?”

He’s sheepish, ducking his head. “Just… thought you might be goin’ crazy, stuck in here.”

“That's not why I’m going crazy,” you grumble. 

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if anything’s missin’, it's his fault. Most of your canvases were destroyed, but these are all good.” 

Your heart feels a little lighter now that you can smell the tangy, cloying scent of your paints and run your fingers over the bristle of your brushes. You give Tommy’s hand a pulse, your thank-you barely snaking past the lump in your throat. “Tell Maria I said hi.”

He gives you a knowing look. “I’m holdin’ you to your promise, y’know. You still have to paint the nursery.”

You cast your eyes toward Joel, who leans against the wall in the dark corridor. “Yeah,” you say softly, stripped to the bone by the way he watches you, unblinking. “I don't break my promises.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, and the gleam of his wedding ring lingers in your periphery long after you've torn your gaze away. 

“Tommy’s gonna stay with you,” says Joel, “while I take care of the rest.”

The rest. Of course. “Why now?”

“He just killed Cabrera’s son,” says Tommy. “And we don't want to risk anyone comin’ around, lookin’ for revenge.”

“But you said no business can be conducted here.”

“For enough money, a person will break any rule.”

“That kind of undermines the entire concept of your entire Underworld, doesn't it?” you say. “Rules aren't really rules.”

“But there are consequences,” says Tommy. “Just… if you’ve got enough money, you can hide from ‘em for a while.”

“Until they hunt you down,” you utter, looking across the room at Joel. His silence feels like hot hands on your bare skin. You turn back to Tommy. “What about Maria?”

“She's with her mom this weekend,” says Tommy. “Won't even notice I left the house. You need someone to model, I’m your guy.”

“No,” says Joel.

“I didn’t mean I’d get naked,” says Tommy.

Joel clips Tommy’s shoulder on his way to you, and his brother takes the hint to make himself scarce, disappearing into the bathroom. Joel kneels at your feet and places his hand on your calf. The weight of it is warm, carrying words he has no time left to give. 

“This will be over soon,” he says, and he sounds so sure that you almost believe it. 

“And then what, Joel?”

He sets his jaw. There's little of the predator, of the boogeyman, in his eyes. All that rich brown betrays now is a quiet resolve. A promise. 

“Home,” says your husband. “We’ll make another.”

You squeeze your eyes shut only to open them again and find the hand that rests on your skin. He's bruised, bloodied, and violent, but he does not squeeze or press. He never once has. You wonder idly how often he's put those hands on your body while thinking of a time he'd taken the life of another. 

“And what if we can’t?” you ask him. 

The first time you'd unveiled a piece to him—the first piece you'd ever painted of you and him, together—Joel had instinctively touched the supple blue skin beneath the woman’s breast, as quickly as a nurse finds a vein. 

“She’s blue,” he said. “Is that… how you feel? Like you’re… blue?”

“Blue doesn't just mean sadness,” you told him. “It could almost mean serenity. Stability.”

He looked at you, puzzled, for a while, his hand still extended, pressed to the barely-dry canvas. “Where I grew up,” he said, “I was never really taught anything besides black and white.”

“Colours are different that way,” you said. “They mean a thousand things to a thousand people. They can all look at the same painting and feel something unique.” You gave him a wry smile. “You look at a painting of us having sex and see sadness. I’m trying not to read into it.”

He chuckled. “You should know that's not true. And I like the way you think.” 

“You never told me what you think about the painting,” you said playfully. “Do you like it?”

Joel’s hand travelled from the woman’s breast to her hand as if pondering the wash of blues that coloured her skin. Her fingers, intertwined with her lover’s, squeezed down on him—a lifeline. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“It's the way I feel when you touch me,” you said. “Like I’m falling apart and coming together at the same time.”

Joel tentatively reaches for your hand and turns it over in your lap, palm to the ceiling. “If you decide a home isn't what you want with me,” he says, tracing your lifeline, “then that’s all right. But I just… I want to know if—”

“Don’t,” you whisper, pressure accumulating behind the inner corners of your eyes. Joel meets your gaze and it takes all you have to suppress the shudder at the feeling of his thumb making its ghostly pilgrimage across your palm. “Don't ask me yet. Please.”

He bows his head and his hand slips from yours, and you choke on the memory of a love uncompromising, effortless, simplistic. 

“Just come back alive,” you tell him. “Come back to me, okay?”

Joel rises to his feet, and a kiss plants its roots at your hairline. “Always.”

“When he said to watch me, I don't think he meant the whole time.”

Beside you, Tommy clears his throat, averting his gaze to the floor. “Sorry. Just… it’s impressive, what you do.”

You’re still outlining the tangled limbs of the man and woman, their bodies disappearing into one another, each line indistinguishable from the next. “Well, if it helps, I don't know how cars work.”

He laughs. “Yeah, all right.”

You set down your pencil, casting a glance out the window. Outside, the stars wink down at you. “Will he be okay?” you say softly. 

Tommy sighs. Now that he no longer needs to hide the fact that it isn't his brother doing the books, the sting of the reminder rings in your chest with the sound of his binder closing. 

“I don't blame you, y’know,” he says, “for stayin’ pissed at him.”

“Good,” you reply, “because he's an idiot.”

“Yeah, that's one thing that's never gonna change.” Tommy leans back in the chair, taking a swig from his beer. “I tried to tell him he was makin’ a mistake. He's a stubborn bastard.”

“He is,” you say, frowning at the curl you've drawn over your subject’s forehead. He looks back at you, brow furrowed, one eye visible, the other blending with hers. It's gruesome, in a way: the frenetic lines, the frantic way their fingers dimple one another’s flesh. “But I can be stubborn, too.”

Tommy leans forward, studying the beginnings of your sketch. “I know he's made mistakes, and Christ knows I’m crazy for defending my dumbass brother. But if you knew how much he loved you…”

“Tommy,” you cut in, setting down your pencil. “Loving me isn’t the problem.” The outline of the bodies on your canvas blur as your eyes burn with tears. “I wonder if he ever really left—in his heart, I mean.”

Tommy’s voice is quiet. He’s twirling a small switchblade in his hand. “All he's ever wanted is peace.” 

You cast your eyes toward the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling over, or to find some answer spelled in stars you cannot see. “Then why couldn't he just stay out?” you whisper. “Why did he have to come back?”

“You know, when we were kids, Joel would take all my beatings,” says Tommy, flicking out the blade. It glimmers in a way that catches the light as easily as a flame on kindling. “He'd say everything was his fault when it was really me who knocked over a shitty old vase or vandalised a fresco. And he'd just fuckin’ grin and bear it because that's who he is.”

He’d just been a kid. Just a kid who wanted to protect his little brother, who took every beating, who grew up in a faith he never had faith in. 

The fragile wobble in your voice betrays the steel wall of your back. “He let me fall in love with him, Tommy. He let me give my soul to him.”

He ducks his head, folding the blade back into its wooden hilt. “Yeah, I know,” he says softly. 

“And Maria?” You let out an airy laugh. “How did she react when you told her about all this?”

He doesn't meet your eye, and you feel your stomach turn over as he sets the blade on the table, bringing his hand over his jaw. 

“Oh,” you say. 

“We all do things we’re not proud of. Anyway, I had it easier,” he says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just a mechanic.”

“And my husband’s a killer, right?”

Tommy sighs. “I know you shouldn't take my word for it. But he does want peace. And he came back because he didn't see another choice.” 

On the canvas, the man holds the woman close, pulling her tight to his chest, as if he knows she's about to fall. “I hate it,” you say softly, “knowing he's felt so much pain, and I can't make it better. I hate that this is something he needs to figure out himself, Tommy. I hate that I can't be the person he thinks I am.”

“I think you don't give yourself enough credit.” When you turn to face him, Tommy puts the switchblade in your open palm. Your fingers reflexively close around it, and it's cool to the touch. Smooth. The grain in the wood looks like the wriggling lifelines in a human hand. “You made him leave this life. You got him to care enough to make a real one, and you didn't even know it.”

You flick open the switchblade. “This is beautiful.”

“Gave it to me for safekeeping when he retired,” says Tommy. “It was the prize for completing his first job.”

You frown at your reflection, angling the knife up and down. “How old was he?”

Tommy covers the blade with his hand and retracts it. “Keep it,” he says. “It never belonged to me.”

You try to push it toward him, suddenly repulsed. You've heard from his own mouth about the lives he's taken, but the thought of your Joel holding the very same weapon, sinking it into flesh, slicing through the strings that hold a person together, makes your fingers tremble. “It doesn't belong to me either, Tommy.”

“Maybe not,” he says, “but I think you’d know what to do with it better than me.”

You swallow hard. “A man declares war because he wants peace.” Your thumb slides along the smooth edge of the hilt before you hide it inside your bag. “I can't pretend to understand what you both went through, Tommy. But know that I’m glad you found a good life. And know that if you break Maria’s heart, I’ll make you swallow paint.”

Tommy nods sombrely. “I’ll tip the can myself. We're thinking green for the nursery.”

“Green is good.” You give him a conciliatory smile. 

“Joel’s a good man,” he says. “He's just… misguided.”

“Are you a man of God, Tommy?”

He laughs. “I don't think anyone who came out of that place alive still believes there's a God. If only the Sisters could see us now.”

“I hope they never do,” you tell him. “I hope they never get the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him.”

“I don't think they’d be much satisfied,” says Tommy, “if they knew he'd found peace after all.”

Hours unfold. The canvas sits untouched as you and Tommy sit next to one another, the moon outside slowly enveloped by clouds. The silver silhouette casts a halo through the grey, and you think of your Joel, alone on his warpath, bloodying the ring on his finger. You think of your name on his back, nestled above the praying hands, and the pit of restlessness yawns wide open. 

“He should be back by now.”

Tommy rubs his palms over his thighs, a behaviour you've noticed in Joel. “Yeah, he should.”

“But he'll be okay,” you say, a minute warble colouring your voice, “right?”

“He's Joel,” is all he gives you in return. 

Your fingers twist themselves into knots in your lap until the jab of a car horn outside jolts you back to life. “Tommy,” you rasp, wetting your lips. “Go find him.”

He nods, standing abruptly from his chair and yanking his coat free from the hook by the door. “He’ll kill me for leavin’ you alone,” he says. 

“We both know he needs you,” you say, turning your head to watch the moon peek out from behind the sheet of grey. “Just bring my husband back.”

There's a distinct sensation that erupts across the skin of a nonbeliever who crosses the threshold of a church. It begins in the floorboards, where the soul of a supposed Christ lingers, and radiates up through the soles of the feet, through the knees, until it circles the brain, persistent as a murder of crows. You don't belong here. 

The little church is nothing extravagant, which Joel has to find a little funny. Five rows of pews on either side, a basin of holy water next to the pulpit, a smattering of devotees kneeling on the padded seats in front of them. He swallows the burn and approaches the pastor. 

“My son,” says the man, spreading his arms wide as if welcoming Joel back from a pilgrimage. “Welcome. What troubles your heart today?”

Joel pulls the Benelli from his canvas bag and blows out the pastor’s kneecap. 

His deafening roar echoes off the domed ceiling and reverberates through the stained-glass paintings of the Virgin Mary. “Fuck!” cries the pastor, scrambling backward with a hand covering his bloodied leg. “Fucking cunt, fucking asshole, vete a la mierda! What the fuck is your problem?”

Joel turns and fires another two shots at the guards on the balcony. One of them tumbles over the edge. The kneeling figures flee the scene, some screaming, some praying. 

“Donde esta Cabrera?” Joel growls, bunching the pastor’s white collar in his bloodstained fist. When he doesn't reply, Joel applies pressure to the wound in his knee between his thumb and forefinger. “Habla.”

“Fuck!” he howls. “He isn't here. Hijo de puta, he's not here!”

“Fine,” says Joel, hauling the man upright with little regard for his obliterated knee. “Then we're takin’ a little field trip.”

Joel knew many of Cabrera’s secrets during his time working for the bastard. He would have changed the codes to the vault, but it’s the same nonetheless. Joel shoves the pastor down the winding staircase and aims the barrel of the shotgun between his eyes. 

“Open the vault.”

“Manuel will kill me,” pleads the pastor.

Joel lifts a brow. “You see me cryin’?”

A pale, trembling hand rises to the keypad and types in the code. Inside the vault, two women are counting piles of cash behind the counter. Joel gestures toward the door with his shotgun. “Ladies,” he greets, “out.”

They scurry out of the vault with their hands in the air. Inside the small concrete cell, safes are embedded in the walls, twice Joel’s height, one of them unlocked and brimming with neatly piled heaps of bound bills and documents. Joel reaches up and unlatches a shelf, watching the avalanche of blood money cascade onto the floor around his feet. With one hand, he produces a lighter from his pocket and flicks on the flame. It ignites the piles of cash and papers as Joel walks out, leaving the wounded pastor on the floor. 

A whisper goes up in flames behind his back. “El espectro.”

At the aggressive slam of car doors, Joel climbs the staircase to the balcony and looks over the rear exit. Outside, Manuel Cabrera and his men cross the concrete toward the church. Joel curses, ejecting the shell from his shotgun and inserting a new clip. The stained glass crumbles with the first shot as he puts a bullet in a bodyguard’s head. The shouts flutter toward the sky in the ensuing panic. Joel hears Manuel cry out his orders: Around the back. You two, flank him. The bastard’s here; go fucking kill him. 

The smell of smoke begins to stick to his throat as he takes another shot. The sound of dress shoes clatters, echoing, across the floorboards below him. “Goddamn it,” he growls. He’ll be flushed out before long if he doesn't move. Joel checks his clip, fruitlessly searches the body on the balcony for more ammunition, and kicks him over the edge. The resounding thud of his corpse against the pews is somewhat gratifying. Cabrera’s men crowd the dead man, which gives Joel just enough time to descend the staircase and shoulder open the back door. The parking lot teems with Cabrera’s army ants, creeping around parked cars as they search for the boogeyman. 

One of the bodyguards ducks behind a Range Rover, and Joel bares his teeth, the wolf at the hunt. He shoots out the front tires, which deflates the car just enough to give him a glimpse of the man’s head. He takes the shot. 

“Puta!” someone cries. Joel ducks as a shot pings off the front bumper of the Cadillac next to him, and he briefly takes stock of his ammunition. Fuck. He would have really liked to keep the fucking high ground. Now, he's as trapped as they are. Rats in a maze of shiny new cars. 

Joel peeks around the corner and feels the heat of a bullet seat through the sleeve of his jacket. He shoulders the sting of the new wound and rounds the corner, raising his weapon and firing. He counts another two, three, five dead, and the moist air begins to cling to the back of his neck, sweat lining his collar, blood soaking his sleeve. He calls Cabrera’s name. He calls again. 

“Let's end this,” he growls. “Come out, and I’ll spare the rest of them.”

An explosion nearby sets him off-kilter, rattling the earth beneath him. The church goes up easily, flames licking the sky, sirens blaring several blocks over, the steady eruption of chaos like golden nectar in his mouth. Joel rises to his feet and continues his charge. 

He calls Cabrera’s name again. He thinks of your body, prone and cold on the floor, reaching for him. He thinks of that night and imagines himself saving you before any of it happened. He imagines turning out of the restaurant that very first night, retreating into the darkness where it was comfortable and you were safe. 

No—he'd gone to the light. He’d let it all topple, and he'd do it again. This world is not where he belongs. You are what the word has led him to. All the gospel and the hymnals and the nights spent praying on his knees to a false god led him to your soft, supple side, not to the jagged edges of this unforgiving Underworld. 

He calls Cabrera’s name again, but he hears the roar of the engine too late. The circle of vehicles crowds him, claustrophobic, and it's Manuel Cabrera who steps out. 

He looks the same as he did eight years ago, when Joel approached him and asked to be released from his contract, if not a little more grey. He's dressed in an Italian suit and his shoes are unscuffed. His hair is combed back and his eyes are sunken into his face.

Something strikes Joel in the back of his head, and he sees the Creation of Adam on the north wall of the orphanage, the wrinkled old hand, the stray dogs. 

The starchy scent of the canvas sack jolts him awake. Someone yanks it up over his head, and he blinks in the harsh light of day. 

He's in a giant empty warehouse. Light filters through the broken glass windows high above their heads, shards and empty bullet casings and cigarette butts crunching underfoot. Judging from the scuffling of feet around him, ten or so men surround him where he sits in an old folding chair, bound by the wrists. He feels a throbbing ache in his skull and winces. You’ll give him hell for this. 

“It’s good to see you, Joel,” says the silhouette sitting across from him, flanked by two more shadows. Joel blinks them into focus. “It’s been a long time.”

The edges soften until he can see the whites of the eyes, the cool detached gaze, the glimmer of a silver watch. “Manuel,” says Joel. “¿Cómo está su hijo?”

A huff of air is all he gets in reply. Manuel sheds his long coat and leans forward on his elbows. “You know, Joel, my son was a fucking moron.”

“I could've told you that,” says Joel, “and I would've saved you a lot of breath.”

“My son,” growls Manuel, “was a moron, but he was my son. I told him as much—told him there was nothing he could do, not when Joel Miller was hunting him down. And when I asked him what he had done to warrant the boogeyman’s vengeance, he said it was because of a girl.”

Manuel rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw, laughing like the situation is amusing. “Well, that’s good for you, Joel. Good to finally find something you care about, to find a reason. I see you're putting your retirement to good use. Fighting for your very own Helen of Troy.”

Joel says nothing, studying the manic glint in Cabrera’s eye. He recalls that same look from the night he asked to leave, placing his gun on the desk between them. 

“I want out,” he said. 

“Out?” said Cabrera. “And why, Joel, would you ever want out?”

“Because I’m done here,” he said. “I'm done in this world and I’m done with you.”

Joel wonders if Cabrera had been waiting for that exact moment: for Joel Miller, the ghost in the corner of the Underworld’s bedroom, to step forward and give Manuel Cabrera the opportunity he needed to rise to the very top. 

“Very well,” he said after a long silence. “But I want you to consider whether your freedom is worth what I’m about to ask of you. It will not be easy.”

“It’s worth it,” said Joel. “Now tell me what I need to do.”

Cabrera sits across from Joel the same way he did eight years ago, the same insidious gleam in those black eyes, smiling smugly without moving his face at all. 

“You've changed,” he says. “You’re softer, Joel. That wedding ring must've done a number on my killer.”

“Maybe I never stopped bein’ a killer,” says Joel. 

“Maybe not. But the difference is that now, you have a reason to keep living.” Cabrera has the gall to feign remorse as he shrugs his shoulders. “You took my son from me, Joel. You understand how this world works.”

Joel kicks out his leg instinctively, baring his teeth at Cabrera like a caged dog. Two henchmen clap down on his shoulders and abruptly pull him backward in the chair. The rope around his wrists chafe. 

“When I signed that contract,” he growled, “I had nothing to live for. Nobody to love. Until the day she showed up in my life. She gave me a word to follow that wasn’t yours or your God’s.” His mouth hardly fits around the name. Yours has always felt softer on his tongue. “Trust that Emiliano deserved worse than the death I gave him.”

“A woman above God,” Cabrera utters under his breath, rubbing his palms over his thighs before he rises to his feet and grabs Joel by the hair at the scruff of his neck. Joel winces at the prickling sensation erupting across his scalp. Cabrera’s breath stinks of weed. “El espectro,” he says mockingly. “The fuckin’ boogeyman. You're not so scary like this.” 

Cabrera forces Joel to look up at him. The pressure accumulates behind his nose, painful enough to make his eyes water. “You burned my church down, Joel,” says his captor. “Money is replaceable, sure, but the leverage I had on this city… Hijo de puta. Just for a fuckin’ girl, Joel?”

Joel can't help but sneer. “Yeah, I enjoyed that part.”

It earns him a blow across the jaw, and he relishes the electric lash that wriggles down his side. Cabrera lets go of his hair and gestures with a glance to his men before he turns away, plucking his coat from the chair.

“Manuel.”

He watches Cabrera consider it: to indulge Joel, or to let him rot. 

The first hit he executed on Cabrera’s behalf earned him just ten thousand. Then thirty-something, having long ago left the Sisters, the hard wooden floors worn with the pressure of so many kneeling bodies, the Marines, and the sound of warfare, Joel didn’t have many places to stay. He took the red money, earned from the body and probably the pockets of a dead senator, and rented a place. 

Nighttime in the city didn't mean quiet, not outside nor in. That night, Joel sat on the side of his bed in a cockroach-infested Brooklyn apartment whose walls smelled of cigarette smoke, and he put his face in his hands. Leaving one war only to enter another, Cabrera told him, is just the way of life. You, Joel, are a killer. 

But that can’t be all, he thinks now, his hands bound and his blood singing in his heart. He wonders if you're asleep by now, if you've taken to his side of the bed like you used to, if you've stretched your hand across the linen for a taste of the memory of that love-like-sunlight. 

It's your blood, he realises, that courses through him. Your blood that tastes sweet as ichor, your blood that runs in his blue-green veins. It's your blood he hears whispering to him when the dreams go black as pitch and he cannot hope to breathe. 

The last contract he took for Cabrera earned him no prize but his freedom. Nothing but the smell of your perfume and your warm body tucked neatly into his every night and the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands could have satisfied him. He was not just a killer. He’d proven it. He’d lived it in eight years of gentle mornings, kissing you awake starting at the roots of your hair, and he’d loved it as much as they all had tried to make him love a God that never loved him. 

He’d never forgotten how to kill. But he hasn't forgotten how to love, either. That, he figured out all on his own. 

“All I wanted was peace. And your son took that from me.” Joel lifts his head to watch Cabrera: the way his spine stiffens, the way his eyes narrow minutely. “He killed my peace and so I killed him. So you can either pull your contract,” Joel says, feeling the snarl pull at his vocal cords like jagged claws as his voice begins to rise, “or you can die screaming like your bastard son.”

He barely lurches forward in the chair before a plastic bag is shucked over his head, suctioned tight around his throat. Two men hold him down as Joel struggles against his bonds, gasping against the cool plastic. He's overpowered, hands wrenching his shoulders back against the chair. He kicks out for leverage, but his strength is waning, and the brief high of losing consciousness brings him back to you. 

He took you to Greece for your honeymoon—or, rather, you took him. You were more travelled, more comfortable in the bright spots of the world, more settled in the spotlight. He thinks about how the sun adorned your skin like sequins, how eyes followed you everywhere you went, how you would see him frowning at all the attention and quietly take his hand. 

They don't exist, you would tell him. You're all mine now, Joel Miller. And it’s just you and me. 

Maybe there's a scrap of truth to fate. He's always been yours, long before he ever knew your face.  

He basks in the sunlight on the beach for the time being. You wore his sunglasses when yours broke. You let him apply your sunscreen and you tucked your head into his shoulder on the luxurious chair. You fell asleep with your hand on his chest. Joel spent an hour studying the band around your ring finger. 

Maybe Greece was a dream. Maybe the sun was a trick of the light and the clouds were smoke and the sky was black and the memory dwindles to a pinprick and he's grasping onto the image, your smile, your laugh, bells and perfume and a candle set at the foot of a golden statue—

“Stop.”

“Stop,” says a voice, and the air comes rushing back in. Joel wheezes, blinking hard to clear the spots or maybe to preserve the picture. But you're gone, slipping softly away as the brush of your knuckle over his cheek, and Joel is alive again. 

“Tommy?”

His brother doesn't look at him, but Joel sees the brief shimmer of gunmetal hidden in his waistband. 

He can feel the bruises blooming in a circle of fire around his throat. You’ll really be furious with him. 

Joel watches his brother pull the handgun and feels the ropes cut into the tender skin of his wrists, helpless as he feels now. “What in the hell…”

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel. 

[spacebarbarianweird]

How about a fic of Astarion not liking his bite mark touched but then Tav does it. 💕

Here we go! Hope you will enjoy it!

The Marks on Our Skin

The bite mark is the only place on Astarion's body Tav doesn't touch. Until now.

Tags: fluff, comfort, f!Tav, established relationship, post-game

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion finds solace in the late evening hours when the sky still holds a warm glow, but the sun is almost gone down. It's neither day nor night, a perfect in-between that he eagerly anticipates.

Emerging from his tent, he sprawls out on the grass with a book in hand, watching as the sky slowly darkens, revealing the sparkling tapestry of stars above.

Astarion props a bag beneath his head, and the fingers trace the cover of the book, its surface still bearing the faint marks of dried blood. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he recognizes Tav's scent.

Astarion opens the book and makes a mental note to convince Tav to learn how to read. He sets the book aside and chooses another, its pages also marred by blood, though not Tav's this time. The text is written in the archaic elven dialect, a challenging puzzle that demands his full concentration. Yet, as he delves into the words, the text starts sounding familiar. As if he already read it, many years ago, when his eyes weren't red and sun didn't burn.

Unwanted memories and thoughts creep into his mind, stubborn as vermin, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't divert his focus.

"How's my favorite man doing?" a loud voice yanks him away from the abyss he had started to slip into.

Tav.

She walks unsteadily, like someone who's had enough to drink, not to think clearly but can still stand on two feet.

"I thought you went to search for quests, not for a drink," he says without any hint of accusation. Tav collapses beside him, and he catches a whiff of ale.

"Are you drunk?"

"No. Well, maybe a little." She giggles and nuzzles into his collarbone. "What's four mugs of ale for a warrior like me?"

He chuckles. "Considering your body type, it's quite a lot."

Tav focuses, attempting to devise something clever to say, but gives up. She presses her body closer to him, and Astarion can feel her heart beating.

"It's very inconsiderate of you to get drunk without me," he teases, studying her face. A soft smile graces his lips as he cannot tear his gaze away from her.

"You can drink my blood, and then we can get drunk together," she playfully suggests.

"I'm not going to feed on you until you get sober," he plants as tender kiss on her forehead.

"Alright, alright, next time, I won't go alone," she concedes. "What if someone wants to harm me or hit on me? You'll need to show them to who I belong to."

He chuckles, reminiscing about the first few months of their journey when he cringed at her casual remarks about belonging to him.

"No, you're not mine," he would protest. "You're not my possession, not my spawn, not my … anything. You're an independent person. Please don't say things like that."

Over time, he understood that Tav's words aren't meant to diminish her self-worth. It is simply an innocent joke between two genuinely free individuals in love. It is her way of reassuring him that she isn't going anywhere, even when Astarion questions his own value in her eyes.

As Tav tilts her chin upward, a subtle flinch passes through him, a reminder of the bite mark they have agreed not to touch.

"I like your bite mark," she drunkenly admits.

He pulls away, and her head falls onto the grass. "Tav, what in the sweet hells are you talking about?"

"I love your bite mark," she repeats. "It proves how strong you are. Did you notice it's not just fangs? It's also incisors. The bastard was so hungry and desperate for prey that he almost gnawed a part of your neck. It shows how strong you are that despite all the horrors and pain, you never gave up."

Tav yawns, her eyes half-closed. Astarion is sure it wasn't just four mugs of ale. She probably remembers drinking only four. The rest is the mystery.

His fingers tenderly brush against her cheek as he asks, "Do you truly mean all that?"

Tav's eyes meet his, her response unwavering. "I do."

He rises to his feet, carefully lifting Tav into his arms, and carries her into the tent. He lays her gently on the bedroll. It seems like they aren't going anywhere this night. Anyway, he has some books to finish reading,

Astarion lovingly tucks Tav beneath her blanket, ensuring she is shielded from the chill of the night.

"Little Star"

"Hm?"

"Can I touch your bite mark?"

He hesitates. It is the only part of his body Tav hasn't touched yet.

"Yes."

He doesn't understand why he agrees. But it's already too late to take away the permit.

Sitting up, a silly smile plays on her lips as she wraps her hands around his neck. With an unexpected boldness, she presses her lips against the scar on his neck. He can feel the touch of her tongue, the graze of her own incisors against his skin, almost as if she is trying to drink his blood.

As Tav releases him, she nestles on her bedroll and dozes off peacefully.

Astarion remains in the tent, keeping a watchful eye over Tav. When hunger gets too strong to bear, he ventures into the woods to hunt.

When he returns before the sun rise, his hunger satiated, and his strength renewen, Tav is still asleep.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Tav exclaims when she realizes it is already afternoon. "Now we'll have to wait the whole day before hitting the road again."

"That's alright, darling. I hope you had fun yesterday. I don't remember ever seeing you so wasted."

"I remember fighting someone who said she'd kill every vampire she came across."

"Did you win?"

"I'm sorry! I should be offended by the mere suggestion that I could lose in a tavern brawl!" She crawls closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder, her tone turning more serious. "Did I hurt you yesterday?"

"No," he assures.

"Really? I mean, do you say it because you mean it, not just to spare my feelings? It would make me sick if I crossed your boundaries and made you feel… bad."

"Everything is alright. I mean it."

"Can I do this again?"

He nods. Tav kisses his bite mark. Again and again, and he completely melts in her hands.

Astarion marvels at the simple ministration and how it brings him such bliss. He has little faith in gods or divine rewards, knowing nothing could compensate for what happened to him. And yet…

There is Tav. Tav, for whom he wants to be a better version of himself. Tav who caresses his scars and makes the pain fade. Tav, whose blood is, in a way, divine.

Tav eventually pulls away and invites him to lay his head on her lap. "Will you read to me?" she asks.

"The book with bloody fingertips?" he inquires.

"Yep. What's this book about?"

"It's a collection of fairytales for elven children."

Tav's eyes glisten. "Exactly what I need with my hangover."

Astarion opens the book and begins reading. Tav starts massaging his scalp and occasionally lightly touches the bite mark. Sometimes, when he pauses and looks up, he finds Tav's eyes focused on his face.

Those are simple stories. About heroes, magic, dragons, monsters. Naïve. Stupid. Childish. But Tav likes them. In the same way, she likes a good fight, ale, and nights of passion.

Moreover, he can't help but think Tav is similar to these fairytale heroes. She is the hero who protects him, who makes him better. Who gives him all the hope he needs to survive the day.

And he will do anything to make her happy and safe.

"Tav," he whispers.

"Yes, my heart?" she replies.

"I love you."

Tav kisses his forehead "Well, I will never grow tired of hearing that from you."

---

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi

[amhrosina]

The Punisher vs. The Cat (Frank Castle x Reader)

MASTERLIST // TAG LIST REQUEST FORM

A/N: Coming out of my cave where I'm in the middle of some intense planning for a Frank fic to post this! Requested by a nonnie - they used she/her pronouns in their request, so I made the reader female, but it's only mentioned one time in the entire fic, and it's a sentence in passing, so it could be almost gender neutral if you squint! I hope you enjoy!

My requests are open, but please be patient! I'm currently working my way through them while also planning/writing the opening chapters to the fic I mentioned in my author's note.

Request: Hello! Can you do a Frank x reader where she has a cat who’s kinda jealous of Frank? but warms up to him eventually

Summary: Your cat, Mister, has beef with Frank because he feels like he doesn't get enough attention from you anymore.

(Warnings: illusions to smut (but no actual smut), your cat being an asshole, mentions of blood, frank being a soft!boy for reader)

You watched the clock as its hand passed over the two, gnawing at your bottom lip. You’d been sitting in your kitchen for over an hour, silently and patiently waiting for Frank to come home. You knew Frank was likely the most dangerous person out on the streets tonight, but that didn’t keep you from worrying about him. 

Your cat, Mister, purred in your lap, begging for your attention. Your hand had been running along his soft belly absentmindedly since you sat down, but Mister was an attention-whore, sort of like his mother, so you figured he had deemed your attempt at affection as “not enough”. 

A clang of metal from the fire escape had you lifting Mister up and setting him on the floor. Frank always made some kind of noise to let you know he was coming in. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of surprising you again. The first time he’d ever come in through an entrance that wasn’t the door, you had jumped at least three feet in the air and shattered the glass of wine you’d been drinking. 

Frank’s large form squeezed through the window and your heart thumped a little faster than usual. Every time you saw him, it took you a second to remember that Frank was yours. It was a fact, but one that you still had a hard time wrapping your head around. It felt impossible that Frank, stone cold and relentless Frank, could ever feel anything for you, yet here he was, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your forehead as a hello. 

“Is that your blood, or the other guys?” You whisper, eyeing the wet spots near his collarbone on his black shirt.  

“The other guys.” He responds, tightening his hold on you. 

You rose to your tiptoes, leveraging your weight against his, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. He responded almost immediately, pulling your body impossibly closer to his. It wasn’t always like this when he came home, but when he acted like this, you knew it had been a long night.  

His tongue scraped against yours and your knees began to buckle. An alarming howling coming from the kitchen had both you and Frank lurching away from the hold, ready to protect the other from harm. You rolled your eyes and groaned when you found the source of the howling. 

Mister was sitting on the counter, eyeing Frank with distaste in his eyes. Frank narrowed his eyes at Mister, stalking towards him like he would do towards an actual threat. Mister let out a hiss, which made you roll your eyes again. You stepped in front of Frank, reaching out to first scratch Mister’s head, then pull him into your arms. 

“Mister, tell Frank you’re sorry.” You mumble into his fur. 

Frank was doing a poor job at holding in his laugh. He couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous than you holding your cat out in front of you and telling him to apologize for hissing. Mister lets out another hiss towards Frank and jumps from your arms, scurrying into your bedroom. 

“He’s never going to accept me.” Frank pretends he’s been shot in the heart, covering the left side of his chest with both hands. 

You roll your eyes for the third time in less than a minute, and playfully shove Frank’s arm. 

“You just need to bond with him. He’s not used to another man in the house! When I adopted him, it was under the pretense that he would be raised by a single mother.” 

“Yeah, well. It’s time he grew up a little. Maybe paid a bill or two around here. The least he could do is let his mom have some fun.”  

Frank is smiling, stalking towards you again. You push yourself up on the counter, opening your legs and beckoning him towards you.  

“What kind of fun?” You ask, innocently. Frank’s eyes have grown hazy and lustful again, and you can’t help but feel a little spark of excitement in your blood at his gaze. You were in for a long night. 

// 

Later, long after Frank had taken care of you in more ways than one, Frank watched as you slept peacefully in his arms. Your bare body was pressed against his, and the sheets were barely covering your tits. If he could stay here forever, he thought, he would do it in a heartbeat.  

Unfortunately, he could hear his phone buzzing in the living room where he’d thrown it earlier in his haste to get undressed. He carefully unwrapped himself from your hold, sneaking quietly to the dark living room and slipping on his underwear before picking up his phone. He groaned. It was Madani, probably with another case for him to investigate.  

He sat on couch, hunkering down before Madani began her spiel that would inevitably take her 25 minutes to get through. A small weight on his thigh made him jump a little. Mister was sitting on the couch next to him, pressing his little paws into Frank’s bare skin.  

Frank was weary at first, not trusting Mister to not dig his nails into his thigh as soon as his guard was down. Mister, however, must’ve had a new agenda, because he began to purr, slowly climbing into Frank’s lap before laying down and making himself comfortable.  

A few hours later, a soft morning light filtered through the window, coaxing you awake. Confusion overtook your senses immediately. Frank wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, or at the very least without leaving you a note.  

You jumped from your bed and grabbed the clothes closest to you, which ended up being a pair of large sweatpants and one of Frank’s sweatshirts. You hurried through the door, stopping short when you saw Frank sitting on the couch. He was in a sitting position, but he was asleep. Mister was stretched out on his lap, legs in the air.  

You couldn’t help the dopey smile that overtook your face. Mister jumped down from Frank’s legs, meowing as he made his way towards you. Frank grunted awake, looking around in confusion. 

“I didn’t know you two were so buddy-buddy.” You chuckled. 

“He fell asleep on my lap. I didn’t want to move and risk the truce.” Frank ran his hands over his face a few times, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

You curl into Frank’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He immediately latched on to you, pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Frankie, you gentleman. Does that mean he likes you now?” You wonder, looking over your shoulder at Mister.  

Mister lets out a small hiss in response. Frank’s chest shakes with laughter, and you groan. 

“Baby steps, sweetheart. We’ll get there.” 

End note: I hope you liked it! You didn't request smut, but I didn't want to make it too fluffy, so I just did a fade to black instead. I'm soooo excited about this fic I'm planning rn, so stay tuned!

Tag List: @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys

[helloescapist]

Today's my birthday and I get to read a Shinobu fluff written by you. How lucky!!! I'm melting waaaa

Ah!!!! Happy birthday anon!!!!! 🥳

Wait wait,

A Special Day | Shinobu Kocho

Word Count: 875

Setting: Shinobu x gn!reader [birthday!!]

Content Warning(s): some cakes were harmed in the making of this short. Fluff <3

Icing layered upon icing, strawberries that threatened to slosh off the cake. The furrow brow and strained smile that the Insect Pillar forced upon her lips. The small vein in her forehead that revealed the inner thought process as the agitation settled in her quivering hand. The knife secured in her hand as it trembled, her teeth beginning to gnaw on her bottom lip.

                Flour spread across the counter tops, disarray as though a tornado had swept through the Butterfly Estate kitchens. Procured ingredients, rare and unusual for the time frame and the region in which she inhibited. The hours she had spent procuring them from foreign merchants at the port. Pans piled on top of pans, desperately needing to be scrubbed before irreversible damage set in. Not that Aoi hadn’t suspected that they had not suffered enough. Upon Shinobu declaring that she herself would prepare [YN] a cake for their birthday, she had set money aside and prepared for the inevitable replacing of cookware that would take place in her near future. It was not that the Insect Hashira did not comprehend the finer mechanics of cooking, or baking for that matter. She was capable of the basics, and understood that baking was in itself a science, similar to that of her poisonous concoctions she used in the field. Yet, despite all of her confidence and willingness to dedicate hours to researching books on the topic, the final product was….

                “S-Should we help her?” Naho inquired. Her small braids dipped as her chin met her collarbone. The fear evident upon her small features.

                Kiyo and Sumi nodded in agreement. The thought process was… fair enough. It was easy to see how Lady Shinobu would be gifting you with food poisoning if left to her own devices, but Aoi’s hands met the girls shoulders. Baring a stern arch of her eyebrows, shaking her head. All too aware of the way her sensei had dedicated hours to crafting this… cake. Her blue eyes following the older woman’s curve of her back. The small tool wielded in her fist. A small knife now deemed a weapon, procuring a measurement tool that had obviously been taken from the medical supplies. Meticulously measuring out the spacing of strawberries despite the way that the frosting was beginning to give way to the weight of the fruit. Adamant and determined, as the day that she had shooed off the Love Hashira upon insisting to provide her aid, Aoi shook her head to the young girls. “Lady Shinobu wants to do this for her love. We should respect that,” she shooed them from the kitchen doors. Insisted they return to work rather than peek around the door frames like little mice afraid of poisoning. Yes, it was best to allow the Insect Hashira’s devotion to guide her in this endeavor…. And Aoi would be sure to have the supplies ready just in case, the anxious realization that not all of the egg shells from Mitsuris recipe were accounted for.

Your eyes met her uneasy smile. The forced way her lips tried to form a grin, but gave way to a pout. The small quip of her eyebrow. The touch of frosting that dashed across her nose, flour that lacked decorum laced through her deep hair, where shades of violet strands should have been visible, obscured by the touches of white that threaded through her mane. Her amethyst eyes averted, stubborn as the love she held for you. The pout of her lips, and the beginning blossom of a blush that laid dormant under the icing upon her features. Her uniform shuffled and askew, as though she had lost a battle with a chef demon. The realization leaving you a little coy, giggling at the state of her clear annoyance. Disappointed in her homemaker capabilities, something she had never worked towards nor cared to before today. The swell of her cheek poked out as she turned her head from, you all too aware of the stifle chuckle The cake was… interesting. Slurred to one side, propped up with additional utensils as a way to offer some support to the cake foundation. Strawberries slipping from between the layers, far too eager. Excess icing, far too large strawberries left whole in her logical approach--- strawberries were wonderful. Why would you slice them? Not realizing that her refusal to do so, was her undoing. The cake in all of its rustic charms, looked as though a child had eagerly crafted it for a loved one. Shy of the tips of her ears, she offered to retrieve the cake Mitsuri had dropped off for you--- not willing to admit the sore space it left in her heart. Relieved only upon the warm smile that graced your lips.  The joy of seeing this meticulously messy cake before you, the affection of hours spent attempting to stray from her comfort zone. Though it was in all rights, a disaster--- the bashful touch of Shinobu’s flush indicated that the Insect Hashira was well aware… she had done this for you. She had strayed from her comfort zone, attempted a task she had never once considered before. For you. The smile leaving you beaming at her.

                What a special day.

[britswriting]

Desire (30)

Desire Masterlist

Read on Wattpad

Half ass edited because it's 1am and I'm tired lol sorry

T/W: Body shaming 

*Leighton's POV*

Being homesick was a familiar feeling. I felt it all the time when we first moved to California, but this time was different.

I wasn't missing a place. I was missing a person. My baby to be exact.

Something that was both helping and hindering that feeling was my new ink work. Right under my left collarbone near my shoulder I had "Gemma" in a fancy lowercase font with a pretty simple tiara above the last a, slightly crooked. I almost felt like it worked out perfectly. That now I'd have her with me everywhere I went, even if I did miss her physical touch.

She was becoming my little girl in an emotional way, and to be honest I did cry this morning over it. 

I never thought I'd miss her, but in the 6 months she's been alive, she's starting to mean the world to me. She's my child. Someone I love and adore. Even her 3am wake up calls don't bug me anymore and I'm able to push them to the point where I miss them whilst I'm in Italy.

Something that hit me like a ton of bricks was that my birthday was in two days, and I couldn't help but feel sad. My baby wasn't going to be with me for my birthday and honestly it wasn't something I knew I wanted. I almost wished I had brought her on the trip, or had just stayed back in general. 

I'm learning that dumb things mean a lot to me. Things like her being alive for my birthday for the first time felt like a milestone. There was a lot more to celebrate than just me, I wanted to celebrate her. 

I ended up having a pretty hard cry session to Sam last night about how Gemma didn't need me anymore after he said that she would be okay and that there was always next year. 

I just felt like they didn't get it.

Every time I talked to Gabe, he said everything was going fine and to be honest, it hurt. She was so clingy and whiny when I left and now she's magically fine? He did say her first tooth popped which of course added to my sadness and my aunt had sent me a video of Gemma on her knees, rocking a bit, sharing the excitement of her getting closer to crawling. I had so many emotions about this trip. I was missing so much. I never thought about how much could happen in just a week, but my sweet little girl not only has her first tooth, but is even closer to crawling, and I was missing it. 

Colby reminded me about all the firsts that I got to experience, and how now this is one Gabe has. Even if it was sad, I still got to experience so many firsts that her father didn't but it didn't take away the guilt I felt for not witnessing it first hand. 

We were now on our way to my grandparents house and I felt like my anxiety was making my skin crawl. 

"It's so pretty" Kat admired, a look of awe on her face as we got closer to my grandparents home.

"How are we feeling Leigh?" Sam asked, turning to look back at me. "Look familiar?"

I was quiet, looking out the window trying to spot anything that looked familiar. A building. A road. A tree. Anything. I was grasping straws here, and yet nothing. I shook my head, gnawing on my lower lip, my eyes locked on the scenery passing by.

"We're almost there Leigh" Colby informed me and I could feel the desperation in my chest.

Please look familiar. I silently prayed.

"It should be the third house on our left" Sam told Colby, Kat's phone in my face pulling me out of my thoughts. 

Kat's been trying to have me help her pick which photos were Instagram post worthy; claiming she wanted a girl's opinion. I don't even have an Instagram, I don't know why she's asking me. I knew absolutely nothing about the algorithm and what photos looked better and would prefer better.

The three of them were trying to make it seem like they were still in California and thankfully due to them not posting anything, no one has recognized us. The boys wanted the Italy videos to be a surprise, so the first part of the trip they were filming and the second half of the trip was considered our vacation.

Sam and Colby had been filming and saving Instagram Stories to post whilst we were away, dumb things like motivation videos, them doing a puzzle with Kat, random videos of them with their friends and even a few photos about them editing. They wanted no one to think they were out of the country and the extent they went to keep this a secret was bewildering.

We turned around the corner, entering a long dirt road. It felt a little familiar but things definitely looked different.

Kat was the first to speak up, her eyes captivated by the scenery in front of us, "This neighborhood looks cute" 

I'm glad they were excited, because I felt like I could be sick. There was something that didn't feel right. I felt like I couldn't breathe. Everything just felt unsettled and tense.

"You ready Leigh?" Colby asked, the car doors unlocking, Sam and Kat stepping out.

I didn't respond as I stepped out, Colby and I met at the side of the car, his hand on the small of my back.

"Ladies first" Sam said, motioning for us to walk.

I took a deep breath before walking on the cobblestone pathway. I knocked on the door, my hands shaking with jitters.

It's been so long.

The door opened and I held my breath, Colby's hand squeezing my hip softly. 

"Leighton?" 

Shit.

"Emma?"

"What are you doing here?' She asked, and I ignored her, "Is my grandmother here?" I asked, resisting every urge in my body telling me to turn around and leave.

"Yeah, come in" She let us in, her eyes locking on the three stooges behind me.

"Shoes" I muttered to them, slipping mine off. "Mormor will kick our pale asses if she catches us tracking dirt through her house"

Colby was kicking his shoes off as he leaned closer to me, muttering "Whose Emma?" 

"Uh..-" I stalled, not really wanting to talk about it.

I couldn't even try to finish my sentence before her voice filled my ears again, my spine cringing "So, who are your friends?" she asked.

Is it too late to leave?

"Um, this is Sam, Kat and Colby" I introduced, gesturing to them individually.

Before Emma could pipe up, my grandmother peaked around the corner, a smile on her face.

"Leigh!" She grinned, a thick Italian accent making itself known.

"Hi Mormor" I smiled, Mormor pulling me into a hug.

"I've missed you" She replied in Italian and I was very thankful that I remembered quite a bit. 

Especially because Nonno speaks a lot of Italian, it was his preference, so if I didn't know jack shit this visit would be very hard.

"I've missed you too" I replied back in Italian, her tight hold keeping me close.

We eventually separated and she started rambling about what it's been like since I was here last, not even letting me get a word in edgewise.

I peeked behind me at my friends who seemed confused due to how fast she was talking in another language. To be fair, I was also lost.

"Happy?" Colby asked in my ear, checking in.

I nodded slowly, wanting so desperately to grab his hand, but I wasn't prepared for any invasive questions yet.

"I've made Kladdkaka" Mormor announced in English this time, showing off her dessert on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?" Sam asked me and I grinned, excited over the desert.

"It's like a sticky gooey chocolate cake. I think we call it mud cake? Mormor would make it every time we'd visit. It was my favorite thing!" I grinned, Mormor nodding in agreement.

"She'd have so much chocolate covering her face" She smiled, reminiscing on when I was younger. 

"Logan, Landon and I would be chocolate cake monsters whereas Lexi ate it so daintily! Then she'd throw a fit when we ate it all before she could get a second serving" I laughed, the memories playing through my head like it happened yesterday.

"Is that why Lexi shoves food into her face so fast?" Colby asked, snickering and I grinned, nodding.

"Snooze you lose!" I exclaimed, Mormor shaking her head at me.

Mormor looked over at me, glancing between the boys before asking, "So which one is the boyfriend?", making me laugh.

Does Sam really look like he could be my boyfriend? Love you Sam, but like.... I can't imagine doing anything but hugging you. If anything, I'd consider him a good friend and I owe a lot to him, but dating him? That feels too far, even if he wasn't with Kat.

I don't even bother correcting her that we weren't officially dating. It mattered to us, not my grandparents.

Colby raised his hand so his elbow was at a 90 degree angle, doing a slight wave, catching her attention.

I noticed the surprise look on Emma's face and I couldn't help but feel cocky about it.

That's right bitch, this hot guy is mine

Mormor immediately stuck her finger his face, ranting in Italian about how if he ever hurt me there would be hell to pay, thankfully, Colby didn't understand her and gave me a "what the fuck" look when she pulled him into a hug, her small frame being swallowed by his broad one.

I grinned and gave him two thumbs up, trying not to laugh at the bewilderment on his face.

"Mormor, this is Sam and Kat, Sam is Katrina's boyfriend, and Colby's best friend" I introduced, wanting to clear up the air before she made some dumb remark towards them. 

Mormor gave us all a house tour, Emma trailing behind Colby and I.

Why was she still here?

I could tell Colby wanted to slip inside one of the empty guest rooms and grill me on who Emma was.

Around dinner time, Nonno walked out into the back garden where we were all hanging out after having done a quick photoshoot near Mormor's flower garden.

"Miss Leighton Rae?" Nonno called out, the door shutting behind him. I quickly got up to hug him, my sweater tugging up a little at the stretch.

When I put on the thin knit sweater this morning Colby immediately asked me what was wrong with me. It was really hot today, but I explained that Nonno didn't like tattoos, so I covered mine; to which Colby looked concerned, motioning towards his tattooed covered arm. It wasn't that he hated all tattoos, he just didn't like them on people that he considered his children. To him I was still that same little girl he saw last. I still held innocence in his eyes.

I introduced everyone, Nonno staring Colby down like he was a starved animal. I watched Colby literally gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down out of nerves.

I sighed at their interaction, walking over to stand next to Colby, resting my hand in the back pocket of his jeans, Colby jumped and then glared at me. I frowned when my hand got removed from his pocket, Colby following Sam and Kat inside for dinner.

I just wanted to comfort him and reassure him, but I guess that wasn't allowed.

I rolled my eyes out of annoyance, trailing behind Colby. It's not like Nonno had x-ray vision and could see my hand. Dinner was nice, Mormor made Kroppkakor and it was actually really good. Katrina seemed suspicious of it, but once Sam and Colby ate it she tried it when Mormor wasn't looking which made me giggle.

I tried to help clean the kitchen but Mormor quite literally smacked me with her broom, kicking the four of us out of her house after Emma suggested we go on a late night stroll.

Why was Emma still fucking here? This was not in the fine print of this trip. I want to fucking leave, or better yet, shove her down a damn well.

Good riddance bitch.

The four of us were strolling down the cobblestone path, passing houses as we went. My hand was intertwined in Colby, my head resting on his shoulder as I asked quietly if he was having a good time.

"I am, are you?" He asked and I shrugged, Colby giving me a weird look.

"Why aren't you-" He stopped, Emma interrupting him. "So Leigh, how'd you land a guy like him?" She asked a snarky tone to her question.

I pursed my lips, wanting so badly to deck her in the face.

"I think you mean how did I land someone like her" Colby corrected, my ears warming up as I hid my face against his bicep, smiling like a fool.

I felt his lips press a soft kiss against the side of my head, his hand squeezing mine simultaneously.

"I just mean, you're objectively hot, and she's well-" Emma started, but Colby was quick to interrupt her.

"I'd choose your words very carefully Emma" He warned, Emma's eyes widening a little, her lips parted out of surprise.

"Leigh doesn't mind. She's always been chubby" Emma finished, my jaw clenching.

Can I fucking punch her now?

"Yeah well at least I don't smell like road kill" I grumbled, pushing myself off of Colby and quickening my pace, my shoulder hitting Emma's, her body wobbling.

"What the hell Leighton!" She shouted, almost falling.

"Eat dirt bitch!" I yelled back, catching Sam and Kat's attention.

"Woah, what's going on?" Sam asked, but I ignored him and tried to walk even faster away from Emma.

She was not ruining my day. I need to get away from her.

I could hear someone's footsteps behind me, a hand grabbing my bicep, stopping me in my tracks.

Colby.

"Hey, it's okay. Remember how you said you wanted to react and respond differently? Please don't run away. She's not worth it" he reminded, guilt filling my chest.

"But she's a fucking cunt" I hissed, Colby surprised by my choice of words.

"But that doesn't mean you need to stoop as low. You know I love you and your body. You're perfect to me. Don't let her insecurities ruin your confidence" He told me softly, his hand now reaching for mine.

I stayed quiet, my veins still boiling with anger. I took a deep breath, wanting to change how I reacted to things.

I looked up with teary eyes, Colby's soft and concerned facial features staring right back at me.

"Don't cry Leigh, she's not worth it. You actually put on makeup today, is she really worth the black mascara smudges?" he asked, a small laugh leaving my lips.

"You're such a dork" I giggled, Colby's lips tugging upwards.

"But I'm your dork" 

"And you ruined it" I groaned, Colby grinning as he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around my waist before sliding down my back and squeezing my ass. 

"Your body is perfect. Don't let some bitchy girl you rarely see get in your head. If she wants to stay in the High School mindset, that's her problem. Show her what it's like to be a grown and mature adult. Kill her with kindness"

"Can I just kill her point blank instead?" I asked with hopeful eyes, Colby shaking his head at me,  his nose letting out a breath of air like he had laughed.

"We have a beautiful daughter to get home to, I can't have you stuck in an Italian prison. Why do you hate each other so much anyway?" 

"I don't want to talk about it right now" I admitted, Colby nodding, his hand intertwining in mine as we heard footsteps behind us.

"Are we ready to head back?" Sam asked and I nodded, thankful he wasn't asking a million questions right now.

The walk back was quiet. There were small murmurs but no one really said anything. I think the part that shocked me the most was even Emma stayed quiet and seemed like she felt uncomfortable. 

I was standing in the bathroom getting ready for bed, my pump attached to my chest when there was a knock on the door.

"Leigh, it's me" I heard Colby announce, so I unlocked the door and stood off to the side.

He chuckled, his eyes locking on my body as I moved away from the door "Are you pumping whilst brushing your teeth?" 

"Mhm" I mumbled, Colby shutting the door behind us.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Mm-mm" I shook my head, carefully leaning over to spit out the toothpaste. "It weighs down my boobs a bit, but I wouldn't say it hurts" I elaborated, moving so Colby could prep his toothbrush. "It's still weird to pump whilst she isn't here. Pouring it down the drain sucks. I thought about seeing if I could donate it or something, but it's quite the hassle, especially because we're out of the country" 

Colby locked eyes with me in the mirror asking, "Does it still hold bad memories for you?" to which I nodded.

"I don't think pouring breast milk out will ever not trigger that memory. I mean, I'm not crying over it anymore. It's just like a quick flash in my head every time I watch it go down the drain"

"I never got why it was such a big deal" he shrugged, but I could tell he didn't mean any harm by the statement.

"Well pumping isn't always easy. Your body produces this milk for the baby and then you pump it to save and or give to said child, when you just end up pouring it down the drain. It just... feels wasteful. Not everyone can easily do it. I don't know, it's hard to explain" I sighed, wiping my makeup removal wipe across my face.

"Do you care if I strip and change here?" I questioned, reaching for my clothes off the counter.

He shook his head, too preoccupied by his toothbrush to respond.

I stood in a bra and underwear as I grabbed my shorts, tugging them up my legs. "You've been wearing a thong all day and you didn't think to tell me?" He asked, catching my attention.

I couldn't help but snicker as I slid the band up to my hips, slightly covering my belly button.

"I didn't know I needed to tell you what underwear I was wearing"

"Turn around" He said, making a spin motion with his pointer finger.

"Excuse me?"

"Leigh, turn" 

I rolled my eyes and turned 180 degrees, my back facing him.

"Can I turn back now?" I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

"No, I'm admiring the view" he replied and I scoffed, turning back around and grabbing my baggy t-shirt.

"Hey!" He exclaimed as I tugged my shirt over my head.

"Shut up" I laughed, my arms reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. "Think fast" I called out, chucking it at his chest.

"Jesus" he laughed, the bra dropping to the floor. "Hell no, I can't" He immediately declared, confusing me. "You cannot lay in bed with me in a black thong with no bra" 

I snickered, shaking my head at him.

"Who said we were sharing a bed? I'm still Nonno's little girl"

"As if you weren't on your knees for me the other night" He scoffed, my cheeks heating up.

"Shut up!" 

"I'll happily return the favor" He chimed up when I squatted to grab my bra off the floor. "Oh you can just get on your knees again, damn" he said, his eyes wide at my crouched position.

I rolled my eyes, my face eye level with his crotch. Before either of us could react, I for some reason leaned forward, pressing my lips in a soft kiss against his clothed crotch before getting up, Colby's jaw dropped.

"Leighton Rae Fox!" 

I giggled, winking before exiting the bathroom.

I plugged my phone in, going through my texts when the bedroom door opened, Colby walking in and softly shutting it behind him.

"You're so going to hell for that"

"It's not like I gave you a half ass blowjob" 

"Might as well have" he grumbled, making me snicker.

"You mad baby?" I cooed, Colby glaring at me.

"You can't just press your lips against my crotch after informing me that you're in a black thong and no bra and then leave!"

"Uh... I think I just did?" 

"You're so annoying"

"That is not what you were saying when I had your cocked shoved down my throat" I eyed him, my eyebrows raised.

"See, annoying" He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief at me.

I pat the mattress next to me,"C'mere you big baby"

"I'm not a baby, you're a baby"

"How am I a baby?"

"You are what you give birth to" He shot back and I gave him a weird look.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I laugh, Colby tugging his shirt over his head.

"It means my cock is hard and we can't do anything about it" He replied back in an annoyed tone, climbing into bed with me.

"M'sorry" I slurred, pouting at him. "Your life is so hard"

"Shut up" he laughed, his head hitting his pillow.

"Mmmm no. I like hearing my own voice" 

"Noted" he sighed, tugging at the comforter.

I sighed, looking down at him. "If I knew you were gonna be mad, I wouldn't have changed in front of you. I didn't think it was gonna be a big deal"

"It wasn't a big deal"

"Well you're acting kind of pissy so.." I trail off, my lips pursed as I look down at him.

"I'm not pissy, I'm just turned on and I can't do anything about it. It's not exactly easy going to bed with a boner Leigh"

"I'm sorry"

"No you're not"

"I am"

"Yeah, you look real sorry"

"Do you want me to kiss it all better?" I teased, Colby glaring at me.

"Fuck off"

I laughed loudly, my hand quickly covering my mouth as I muffled the noise.

"Glad you find my pain hilarious"

Colby closed his eyes and I shifted to my knees, propping myself over his thighs before sitting down towards his knees. His eyes snapped open.

"What are you doing?"

"Saying sorry" I murmured, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against his parted lips.

"Leighton, we can't" He protested, but I kissed down his jaw and up his neck. "Leighton, I can't do this. Not in your grandparents home"

"I've always wanted to have sex in Italy" I mumbled against his sweet kiss, a small groan leaving his lips.

"We can't have sex, I don't have condoms and you aren't on birth control"

"That doesn't mean I still can't have your cum run down my hand" I replied, my voice muffled against his skin.

"Leigh" he groaned, his hips rocking up a bit making me snicker.

"All you have to do is be quiet for me and they'll never know. Don't you want a sweet release?" I asked, slightly teasing him as I lifted my head out of his neck.

"God, Leigh, no" he shook his head and I frowned.

"Are you being serious or are you just saying that because you don't want them finding out? Is your no as hard as your cock?" I asked, Colby's cheeks tightening as he broke out into a laugh.

"I hate you" He laughed, his eyes closed with a smile on his face.

He looked beautiful.

"I wish I could take a picture right now" I murmured aloud, my phone sadly out of reach.

"Mm, why's that" he hummed, his eyes opening as I shifted higher up on his lap.

"Ya look pretty. Wanted to capture it"

"I'm not pretty" 

"The prettiest" I hummed, leaning forward to kiss him again.

"You're mistaken" he protested and I giggled, pulling away so my face was hovering above his, my hair falling down my shoulders and around our faces.

"You're aesthetically pleasing, is that better?" I asked and he grinned, nodding.

"You're being mushy though!" He whined, "I'm very manly" Colby declared, puffing his chest out before letting it deflate, not being able to control the held back laugh.

"Mhm, so manly. So big and strong! My big protector" I hummed in approval, teasing him.

"You know, you could lose the sarcasm"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I don't know. making your boyfriend happy?" He cocked an eyebrow and I grinned, pursing my lips in an attempt not to fully smile at him.

"You like that word don't you. I can see you testing it out in that big head of yours. Mormor really got that nine letter word on replay in your brain didn't she"

"Sounds nice don't you think?" He asked, his hands resting on my ass, but surprisingly not squeezing.

"The title comes with a lot of commitment and expectation you know" I reminded, not sure if we were really ready for that step.

"I know, do you think I can't handle it?" Colby asked, his tone sounding like he was offended, his brow furrowed as his hands moved back up to my waist.

I frowned, trying to choose my words carefully.

"It's not that I think you can't handle it.. it's just.. your track record isn't the best" I defended, and I watched his lips part, ready to fight back, so I quickly spoke up again before it created an argument. "I just don't want to have high expectations knowing that we both have a back track record" I explained further, trying to place part of the blame on me.

"So what you're saying is you think I'm going to be a bad boyfriend" he argued anyway and I groaned, rolling off of him and laying on the bed beside him.

I let out an exhale of tired frustration before speaking, my eyes locked on the ceiling above us "I don't want to argue Colby. If this was a black and white conversation, the answer would be yes. I'm afraid of you being a bad boyfriend and me being a bad girlfriend. Of us being incompatible. You became a shitty friend when you were in your last relationship and I don't even remember what happened with that coffee shop girl... and It's not like I have the best track record with my last two.. I just don't want to jump into it too fast. I thought we were on the same page?"

"We're already acting like a couple, Leighton! I don't understand why you're so against it" He continued, sitting up in bed.

I really didn't want to argue over something so stupid, yet again.

Maybe it wasn't stupid to him though. Maybe this meant something...

"Why do you want the boyfriend label so bad?" I decided to ask, my neck turning to look up at him. "Sam said you didn't like labels. That you liked to mess around. You liked to hang out with people, so why is this different?  — Don't say I'm different. That's cliché as fuck. I told you I wasn't ready, and you seemed okay with that.. so why now?"

"I want more Leighton" He stated bluntly, his face showing zero emotion as he stared straight ahead at the bedroom door.

"More what?" I pushed, confused as to where his head was at.

"I want more! I want more from you, I want more from this relationship! I want more on social media! It's tiring to play a role without any of the credit! I've been by your side for almost a year now, I want more! I may have been a dick in the past, but I'm changing! — or I'm trying to! I'm trying to be better! I'm trying to be better for you! You have this idea in your fucking head that life is going to be perfect, that we won't fuck up! That's not how it works! We make mistakes! Why can't you try me Leighton? I put so much into this when you relapsed, I even watched your fucking baby, and you can't give me the decency to give me the benefit of the doubt with a relationship? Leigh if we're a lost cause just say it! Don't string me along! If you can't do this, or don't want to, then don't! It's as simple as that!" Colby snapped, hitting his breaking point.

"I didn't say we were a lost cause! I'm just nervous! There is a lot to think about Colby! First thing first, I don't want to fuck up Gemma's relationship with you! Even if we lived happily ever after... it's just.. Colby.. She's our little girl. I don't want to ruin that. It's not just her losing you, it's her losing Sam and Kat too! Maybe you're too far in your own world to realize that your friends leave when you do, but I don't want that for Gemma! She loves you guys, and I love that she is surrounded by people who care so much for her! I didn't have that! I've never had people want to be there for me just because I'm me! There was always a motive behind it! So yes Colby, I'm fucking scared! If we fuck up and we things over, she loses everyone she's ever known, and don't you dare try and tell me differently! When you wanted space, you didn't want Sam or Kat to contact me either! If you want me to play the villain in your story, then fine, but I'll be damned if Gemma becomes the victim!"

"I'm trying Colby" I spoke softly, tears prickling in my eyes, blurring my vision.

"It's never enough" He confessed, stopping in front of me, his blurred face being the only thing I could look at.

"I don't know what you want" I replied in broken breaths, struggling to speak through the formed lump in my throat.

"Leigh, I want you to be selfish. Put you first! Stop worrying about things that we don't even know are going to happen"

"I'm trying!" I whined, "You don't understand the weight put on your shoulders the second you have to think about your child! I'm trying so fucking hard to be better for her! To not be some washed up mother... it's hard and it's scary! Just because we don't share the same demons doesn't mean you get to invalidate mine! If you want a easier relationship, go find someone else!"

"I don't want someone else, Leighton! That's the fucking problem!" 

"I don't know how to make this better" I admitted, my voice quiet as I tried not to cry.

"I don't know either" Colby breathed out, his arms crossed over his chest, inhaling a deep breath through his nose.

"I don't understand why it's me you're so gung ho about" I muttered, looking down at my nails, my eyes catching the anxiety ring he had gotten me a year ago. "I can't help but feel like you all just want Gemma. That if I didn't have her, all of this wouldn't be here" I motioned to the room, Colby's brows scrunching together as I spoke. 

"You really think we don't care about you?" Colby asked, sadness laced throughout his tone.

"Colby, you found out I was pregnant... and your opinion about me changed completely. You went from hating me, to wanting to be involved. The second you knew I was going to have a baby, you, just like Sam, were overly invested. It was great at the time, I needed all the help I could get..  but it's never changed. You have this protection over her like you think you deserve something. Like she's some sort of trophy for you. I'm not in your life to be a surrogate to some fucked up fantasy you have. None of you ever want to hang out with me. Get to know me..." I trailed off, my chest tightening as I started to confess my deepest insecure thoughts. 

"What are you even talking about? We literally go out and talk! We did for months!" He pointed out, his arm extended out towards me, his palm facing the ceiling as his eyebrows were raised, a scowl on his face.

"You can't tell me it's wrong for me to think that without G, this wouldn't be here. You'd still be hating me, Sam and Kat more than likely wouldn't care as much... I'd be another shitty roommate you guys hated. Sam literally defended me to you because he knew I was pregnant! So many of his actions were because he knew my big secret, and the second you found out, it's like I don't exist to him! He used to be my go to person, and now it's rare if we sit down together and talk about our weekend plans. He was the person I originally was going to have be in my labor and delivery room. My whole relationship with you guys was surrounded by Gemma! Kat and I bonded over me being pregnant, and her being the only one who knew. I owe a lot to you guys, I know that.. hell, without Sam, I don't even know if Gemma would be here... but Colby, you have to understand where I'm coming from. How am I supposed to let down these walls, when no one is trying to break them down? You just get mad at me when I don't agree with you, and whenever I explain, you basically say my feelings are bullshit and that I need to just shut up and look pretty. We barely have similar interests, we bond over fast food and my baby. That's not enough for a relationship! What you want" I pointed at him, "and what I want" I pointed at myself, "are two completely different things!" I crossed my pointer fingers before pushing them in opposite directions, exclaiming my feelings to him. I let out a shaky breath, Colby staying silent as I ranted, "Tell me Colby, what is something we have in common? Something we can bond over?" I asked, my chest shaking as I tried to control my breathing, my eyes threatening to let the tears fall.

"Leighton, that's not the point-" He began and I swear my brain was going to explode.

"Yes it is! We don't have to share everything, but we need things we like to do together! My child and fast food isn't enough!"

"That's not fair Leigh! You don't even know what you like to do!" 

"You've never asked!" I pointed at him, my finger shaking.

"You like painting! That's it!" He exclaimed, trying to make a point out of his frustration, his chest puffed out, and his jaw clenched.

"Is that all you remember?" I asked quietly, swiping a tear away.

"What do you mean? That's all you've shown me!"

I frown, my nails picking at the once perfectly coated polish.

"I like cooking Colby. I'm not good at it, but I have good memories attached to it. I like watching trash TV. I know that's lame.. but it's something Aaliyah and I do together. We still do, not that you'd know. I like hiking. I used to do it all the time with Logan's ex. I just hate going alone, and it wasn't fun when I was pregnant. I like being in nature. I like road trips. I like getting in the car and just exploring. I like being spontaneous. Gabe and I bonded that way in High School. Recently I've loved taking Gemma on walks in her stroller. She gets so excited over nature.. I'm learning to bake. After all, it is where I work. I love to hang out with my family. I used to love making forts with Logan, and scaring the shit out of Landon and Lexi. I loved to get my nails done with Cynthia when I could afford it. I hate Halloween movies, and Aaliyah used to get mad at me because I wouldn't watch them with her and River was usually busy, so she was stuck watching Christmas movies with me, bitching to me about how it was too early for Christmas movies. I like going out. I'd like to go to like a bar and grill in High School and drink fancy fruity nonalcoholic drinks and play games. It was really fun. We'd play card games or board games.. I miss it. Bars hold bad memories now" I paused, my eyes glancing up at Colby, surprised I haven't been interrupted yet.

When I looked over at him, there was a deep sadness on his face, his cheeks and nose slightly red.

"I've uh.. been thinking about getting into knitting or crocheting.. I thought it would be fun to make like a baby blanket or something. Some sort of keepsake I guess..." I confessed, my hand running over the comforter. "There are things I like to do... that don't involve the baby. Even if she was brought along or did them with me... they're still things I like to do before she got here.. not that any of you cared to ask" I shrugged, leaning back against the pillow, defeat taking all the energy from my body.

"What do you know about me?" Colby asked quietly.

"Um, I know that you love that Kingdom Hearts game. It's why you got that tattoo. You said the game was life changing or whatever. I uh.. I thought about buying it to play it.. I just.. I don't really have the extra cash for it at the moment. I know how passion-ly you feel about your YouTube career. How much it means to you. Like you said, you wished I cared more about ghosts.. but I just.. I can't get into it. One thing I think is cool is witches. I know you guys have talked a bit about them, but I think they're cool. I think the history of them is cool. Anyway, I know you don't like cooking, so you tend to meal prep or order take out. You used to like Tender Greens and Chick-Fil-A. You love going on late night walks before bed. You said it calmed you down and helped you relax for the night. You're extremely competitive in Mario Kart, something you and Stas bond over. I know that your preference of pizza is pepperoni and that you and Sam liked doing pizza night at your place with your friends. It was a way to keep in touch with everyone. I always felt guilty that I couldn't join. I couldn't eat the pizza or drink or hang.. I feel like that part of my pregnancy contributed to our bonding and a reason it was so hard" I confessed, Colby's lips pinched between his two fingers. "I know that in sex you like the be the dominant one. You mentioned liking to use handcuffs and such.." I mentioned, twisting my anxiety ring. 

"And you don't because it reminds you of going to jail" Colby finished, his voice quiet, and I nodded, surprised he remembered.

"Yeah.." I agreed, trailing off as I exhaled, looking away from him.

"I forgot you liked hiking" He said, his voice still soft and somber as I shrugged. "When you knew me, I was pregnant, and I hated it. It's fine" I shrugged again.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, memories coming back to me, "You hate pickles and you thought my ham and cream cheese thing was nasty!" I laugh, tears falling down my face as I smiled at him, "And.. and you used to have panic attacks! 'Cause you helped me with mine" I continued, wiping my tears away.

"Fuck" I heard him exhale, my eyes watching him lean against the dresser, the palms of his hands resting on the top of the dresser behind him. "I'm sorry Leighton" he apologized, but yet again, I shrugged, brushing it off. "No. I mean that. I've been shitty to you. I can't even remember simple things!"

"It's okay.. I was never really your focus anyway" I replied back quietly, the scary truth being spoken into existence. "It's okay to keep me close because you're afraid to lose Gemma.. I just think we need to stop lying to ourselves. Clearly this isn't working. It never has.."

"But I really want it to" Colby said, his cheeks puffing out as he blew out stressed air.

"It's not good to force things.. it'll only make things worse" I replied softly, the whole mood in the room changing drastically.

"I'm afraid to walk away" He confessed under his breath, my ears barely catching the secretive confession.

"Why?" I questioned, my head tilted out of curiosity.

"Because the last time I left, you relapsed" he spoke the harsh words in a soft tone, my chest tightening at his words.

"Things are different now Colby. I'm in a place where I'll be okay. I'm living back in Minnesota with my aunt, my baby is getting bigger and stronger and is sleeping through the night.. I'm in therapy and I go to my NA meetings.. I'm doing the steps. Believe it or not, there was a time where I did this all by myself before you even came into my life. I'll be okay. A lot of the factors are different, and you solely leaving is not my trigger to relapse" 

"I know you've done this all before Leighton, that's what scares me" He confessed, pushing his body off the dresser and walking over to the end of the bed. "I care about you. I don't even want to think about something like that happening again" 

"Then don't think about it" I cheekily responded, Colby rolling his eyes at me playfully.

"I wish it was that easy"

"It'll get easier. Time has a funny way of healing things" I told him softly, a small hopeful smile on my face. My lips pushed together in a tight line.

"Now what?" He asked, his hand brushing against the comforter.

"I say we sleep on it, and figure it out tomorrow" I suggested, my eyes stinging from how tired and worked up I was.

"I hate when we do that" he groaned and I couldn't help but chuckle quietly.

"It's usually the best idea to not make rash decisions on a tired stressed out brain. After all, I'm going to need my beauty sleep if I have to put up with Emma tomorrow"

"Oh shit, that's right.." 

I laughed, shaking my head at him and turning off my bedside lamp.

"Come lay down, take a deep breath and get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day" I reminded him, smoothing out the blanket that was on top of me.

"I can't believe this is how our day is ending" He sighed, climbing into bed. He shuffled under the comforters before asking, "Do you think we'll be okay?" causing my stomach to both flutter and drop.

"I think someday we will be"

* * * * 

I put "replied in Italian" just so it was easier to read. I don't want these chapters to be complicated 

This chapter is giving Unbroken vibes. Not only with how the chapter went, but with the fact that it's 7k words.

Written on: October 8th, 9th, 13th, 14th, 15th 2022

Published on: October 15th 2022

Word Count: 7k

Part Thirty One

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Superheroes with Secrets: A Cape and Nothing Else (Fic Part 183. Set in 2001)

Around 2000 Words. 18+ in places. Please inform me if you wish to be tagged/untagged from posts.

Tags: @tantamount-treason @piratewithvigor @thedollmaker16

Reference Posts: ‘Giantess’/‘Blacklight Bandit’ Kirby Roussimoff x Shane ’Hurricane’ Helms (Circa 2001)

"You are so strong and sexy… Superman."

"All for you, my gorgeous Bandit."

"You should stop teasing me, you handsome beast."

"As you wish." He smirks, sliding into her slowly.

Kirby moans against his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist and scratching her nails down his back. He starts slow, his hips working against hers.

"Oh mon Dieu."

"Not God, just me." He chuckles, picking up his pace slowly.

"Never heard you complain about me moaning during sex."

"No complaints. Just teasing."

"You little beastie, Hurricane."

"I'm your beast." He smirks, bending down to bite at her neck.

"If you are my beast, then can I take off the mask?"

"If you want. There's, uh… a little makeup." He chuckles sheepishly.

"I know, raccoon boy." Kirby chuckles as she removes his mask and kisses him deeply.

"Still feel like kissing me when I look like a raccoon?"

"Very sexy raccoon."

"This raccoon can still fuck you senseless."

"Then why aren't ya?"

"Good point." He grins, picking up his pace even faster.

"Oh putain, mon amour." Kirby moans.

He's thrusting hard into her, licking up the dribbles of blood that dot her collarbone and neck.

"Oh my vampire king of love… oh fuck yes…"

"All yours, sweet thing."

"Oh Shaney baby… mon amour, mon roi."

"You taste so fucking good."

"Am I your favourite meal, mon ange? Is my blood your favourite drink?"

"Without a doubt."

"I like that, mon mari… I love being able to satisfy you."

"My love, you satisfy a hunger that gnaws at my soul."

"Have you been reading poetry, mon mari?" Kirby asks gently kissing him.

"Can't I be poetically brilliant myself." He chuckles.

"You can, but you don't usually say poetic things during sex."

"Do you like it?"

"The more accurate word would be love… I love it."

He smiles widely, quietly pleased with himself.

"You charmer, Hurricane… sexy husband."

"All yours."

"You gonna make me cum, superhero?"

"Damn right I am."

"I'm getting close, Shane… real close…"

"Cum for me, my love."

"Oh, Shane, I love you." Kirby murmurs as she cums, kissing him deeply.

"I love you too." He whispers.

"Are you just making sure I'm pregnant with Lilith."

"I think you're pretty certainly pregnant, but it never hurts to make sure."

"Cheeky little beastie."

"That's me." He grins.

Kirby chuckles softly, kissing him gently.

"God, you're perfect."

"Thanks for the reminder, my love."

"Less a reminder, more making sure you know it."

"I know it, my love, you keep telling me so I can never forget."

"Exactly."

"You gonna talk to your little buddy?" Kirby asks gently.

"Yeah, just gonna get rid of the raccoon face."

"I got some more baby wipes in our en suite, they might be useful for you, raccoon boy."

"Good call. While I'm up, I'm gonna check on Shannon and the food."

"Good idea my love."

He kisses her quickly before grabbing his mask to go put it away. Kirby settles into the bed, getting under the comforter and yawning. Once Helms washes his face, he goes to hunt for Shannon, who's sitting in the living room to watch for the delivery guy and sketching quietly. Helms can't tell what it is offhand, but he can see Shannon's pencil moving.

"Watcha drawing?" He asks, leaning over the back of his chair.

"Nothing!" Shannon squeaks, slamming his sketchbook shut and nearly jumping out of his skin, going even more pale when he sees how undressed Helms is.

"C'mon, I've never known you to be shy. Or is it an artist thing and you don't want to show anyone until it's done?"

"It's the artist thing," Shannon decides, breathing a breath of relief to not have to show off his book, "You'll probably see it someday."

"Well, we can see the finished ones over dinner, right?"

"Maybe… Shane, I never really show people this book. I only agreed to it cause Kirby asked and I don't want her to be more pissed at me than she already is."

"She's not pissed. Just gets protective of me sometimes," he shrugs, "food coming soon?"

"Yeah, any minute now."

The gate bell rings, announcing the arrival of their food. Shannon heads out to pick it up, carrying in multiple boxes almost excited.

There's a small crash from upstairs, obviously Kirby falling out of the bed, "I'm okay." She calls.

No matter how okay she says she is, Helms sprints up the stairs, terrified she fell out of the bed onto her stomach.

"I'm okay, I fell on my ass, don't worry, I'm fine." Kirby reassures, leaning against the wall and giving him a small smile.

He exhales a deep sigh of relief, "thank God."

"I was trying to get comfy, and rolled out of the bed, but I'm alright, my butt hurts, but it's fine."

"I'm so happy you didn't land on your belly…" he whispers, helping her up.

"Lilith is okay, our baby is fine." Kirby whispers, kissing him gently.

She can practically feel his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as they kiss. Kirby strokes his hair gently, trying to calm his nerves.

"I don't want to lose you…" he whispers shakily.

"Shane, you won't lose me, nor will you lose Lilith… you're okay, we're okay."

"So much can go wrong so easily…" he's practically trembling in her arms

"It's okay, hey, Shane, look at me, I'm okay, Lilith's okay, you are going to be okay, my love." Kirby whispers, holding him close and trying her hardest not to cry.

"Stay okay. For me, okay?"

"Of course, my dearest, of course."

"Thank you."

Kirby kisses his forehead, stroking his hair and holding him close to her.

"I'm sorry I freaked out…" he whispers.

"It's okay, I'm here for you as much as you are here for me."

"I've just read about too many things going wrong with having a baby. All the ways problems could happen. I can't lose my baby again and I can't lose the mother of my baby again…"

"I know, I know, I'm okay, I'm gonna be okay," Kirby presses his hands to her bump, right as Lilith kicks, "she's fine, my love, she's still there."

He gets down to his knees and kisses her bump, "Daddy's going to keep you safe, Lilith, I promise. I swear so hard that nothing will ever hurt you, do you hear me? You're going to grow up and be a person and I'm not letting anything happen to you or your Mama. Never. I love you too much to let anything happen." He whispers, his voice cracking a little in desperation.

"Shane, you'll worry yourself sick, my love." Kirby whispers, holding him steady and pulling Helms into a gentle kiss, pushing him back against the wall softly.

"I feel sick. The five seconds it took to get up here, I could almost see the blood…" he whispers, trying his best to calm down.

"Stay, breathe… just breathe."

He breathes deeply, resting his forehead on her shoulder

"You will be okay, count to ten and breathe, I'm not gonna let you move until I know you're calm."

He counts to ten softly, whispering ten with a quiet sigh.

"Good, you okay or do you need to count to ten again?" Kirby asks gently.

"I'm okay. I'm all good."

"Good, very good, mon mari… I love you, and me and Lilith are okay, I understand the fear, but we're okay."

"I love you too. I always will."

"We should get food, and I need to make sure you don't leave my sight."

"Not gonna leave your sight. Just gonna pull on some boxers. Maybe sweats too I don't want to leave swampy ass marks on all the chairs."

"Thought we were gonna eat in the bed, ya sexy goofball."

"You think we can fit all the food on the bed?"

"As Shannon said, leftovers for days, don't have to eat it all now."

"Good point."

Kirby kisses Helms gently, messing with his hair. Her touch through his hair helps him relax slowly. She messes with his hair as they walk downstairs to get food.

"Thank you, my love."

"Just making sure my husband is sane."

"I'm sane. I'm very sane."

"Are you sure?" Shannon asks, earning a look of 'shut up' from Kirby.

"He's right to ask," Helms chuckles softly, stretching his arms above his head, "yeah, I'm sure."

"Fy ngwr, we're just worried about you, because you worry the most, aren't we Shannon?"

"Yeah, Kirby's right, we worry because you're grey with stress."

"I appreciate the worry. But it's my job. I'm the one supposed to take care of you. All three of you. Just a little jumpy when I hear Kirby fall or carry anything too heavy. I need to keep you guys safe."

"Look, if I say I'm fine, I'm probably fine, if I scream, then something's wrong."

"If screaming happens, that's probably when my heart attacks will happen." He chuckles sheepishly.

Kirby pulls Helms into a gentle kiss, leaning her head on his shoulder after.

"I'll be okay. I'm okay. I'm fine."

"Just making sure, and snuggling."

"Snuggling is good too."

"Shannon, you decide which things we eat, I'm gonna make sure Shane's snuggled up in bed."

"Honey, I'm okay. We can eat down here." He assures softly.

"I just want to make sure that you're okay, you were trembling."

"Adrenaline rush wearing off."

"Nice cover story, but I don't believe it."

"The real story isn't good dinner conversation…" He murmurs.

"I'm just saying I can tell that was fear and that's all, you shouldn't have to hide how you feel from me, I'm your wife for goodness sake."

He sighs softly before looking up for a moment, "Shannon, can you give us a second?" He whispers.

Shannon nods and leaves the room.

"Remember how I told you about Elizabeth?"

"Yeah." Kirby murmurs.

"He left her in the apartment. The guy who killed her. Just left her on the floor, bleeding. I had to get rid of her myself and keep the landlord from finding out she was dead cause her name was on the lease. All the while, Harleen just wanted her Mama. There's so many nights I just see her body in my mind and I'll wake up in a cold sweat and have to hold you until I'm sure you're alive…" he whispers, powering through the lump in his throat.

"Oh my goodness," Kirby whispers, the colour draining from her face as she pulls Helms into a tight hug, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, I'm so sorry, mon mari."

He buries his face into her shoulder, "I can't lose you. She wasn't my wife, not even my girlfriend, but she was a special person to me, and I just… God, I just dumped her in the river…"

"You won't lose me, ever, I love you too much to let you lose me." Kirby reassures.

"I just can't imagine life without you…"

"You don't have to because it won't happen, I promise you it won't happen, you won't lose me."

"Please be careful. No more falling out of bed?" He chuckles weakly.

"I'll be as careful as possible, my love." She whispers, clearly on the verge of tears.

He kisses her softly, "she's in the past… but sometimes she invades my present."

"I know, I know… I love you so much, mon mari."

"I love you too. Beyond words."

Kirby pulls away slightly, hiding her face in her hands and trying to calm herself.

"We're both gonna have to be okay. We're both gonna see Lilith grow up." He whispers.

She nods, wiping tears away from her eyes and breathing deeply.

"You gonna be okay for us?" He smiles encouragingly.

"I'm okay, I will be fine, C'mere you." Kirby murmurs, pulling Helms into another tight hug.

He squeezes her tightly, "we'll be okay."

"I love you so much that I am so scared of making you more stressed right now."

[thetypingpup]

i can see yangyang being the type to enjoy biting BUT i can also see him making gnawing noises while do so, at least SOME of the time 😭😂 he's such a lil imp. (i think my mom is either your height or a little shorter and she expects me, 5'3, BARELY TALLER, to reach for things for her when i also can't reach very easily djdjkssk but yangyang seems like he loves being at least a little taller/older than someone so he can "act mature" around them)

nah i'm shorter, like a bit shorter 🤧🤧🤧🤧. but he totally would just like gnawing on your collarbone or something just because of the sound. idk why that's cute to me, but it is

[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Moon Will Sing

(AA break up series, part 9)

18+ tokophobia, termination of pregnancy, termination complications, near death experience, talks of loss of limb, confrontation, hurt/comfort, love triangle dynamics, tenderness

Tav has a painful decision to make, and Gale is there to support her. But things turn drastic, and with both the Ascendant and his patron on her heels, her circumstances change for the dire once again...

-

"I need to tell you something."

Gale's brown eyes appraised her knowingly. Pressing a hand softly to her belly.

"I think I have an idea what this is about."

Tav took a sharp breath in.

"How...?"

"Jaheira might have mentioned."

"Of course," She sighed.

She looked over at him, eyes wide with shaking fear.

"I don't think I can do it. It's too much."

He nuzzled into her hairline.

"I know. It's okay Tav."

"But what if it's yours?" She hushed.

"I won't lie, I thought about it. It could be nice, a little one around. But not if it means putting you through the hells. And if it's his?" He shuddered. "Gods, that would be... well, a disaster."

He trailed a hand along her collarbone.

"You forget I can feel what you feel with the spell binding us. And if this is what you'd feel... for nine months... I wouldn't do that to you."

Her face crumpled. Pushing into him in deep wracking sobs.

"I'm sorry," She cried. To him, to her Astarion, to herself. To everything that could be.

He held her steady as she poured her grief into him. Carding his fingers through her hair.

When she slowed he connected to her mind again.

Did Jaheira give you a tonic?

She nodded, it was sitting in her bag on the floor.

Do want to take it? With me?

She nodded again.

His mage hand retrieved the small bottle as she wiped her eyes, still wrapped in him.

Have you told...?

She laughed harshly.

How do you think that would go?

He nodded, sighing.

She uncorked the bottle and stared down at the swirling purple liquid.

Looked up at him in one last question.

He smiled warmly at her.

Be free.

She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth spin around her. Lifting the ends of her hair, kissing her along her whole body. A deep embrace flowing through her like water.

She downed it in two pulls, a earthy taste at the back of her throat.

Immediately she felt lighter, the gnawing anxiety that had been feasting on her dissipating.

Then an aching pain set in her pelvis.

She had expected this, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

She doubled over, groaning. Pressing her face into the mattress.

He rubbed into her back, massaging her hips.

"You're doing good. It'll be over soon." He reassured.

A wrenching spear of pain shot through her, stealing her breath away.

A deep clawing began ripping her apart.

Blood began to blur her vision.

No. Something was wrong.

"Gale," She gasped, looking up at him. Her face pallid. Blood gushing dark from between her legs. Getting one last sentence out before the darkness took her.

"It's his."

-

"She's going to be out for a while. Lost a lot of blood" Halsin sighed, his tunic covered in it. Rinsing his bloodied hands in a washbasin.

Gale picked at his hands, looking down at her as he paced. She was so pale, lips blue. Blood leaking out of her closed eyes.

"What..." He started, looking at the druid desperately. "What was inside her?"

Halsin shook his head, huffing.

"Something unnatural. Something malicious."

They both stared suspiciously at the covered basin that the expelled entity sat still inside.

"She was right to want it out. But it didn't leave easy." Halsin grimaced. "Definitely of our Ascendant friend in its nature. Vengeful."

"But she will recover?" Gale looked at him in strained hope.

Halsin was quiet for a moment. Running his hand wearily through his hair with a heavy sigh.

"I do not know. Time will reveal, Silvanus willing."

"You've contacted the others?"

Gale nodded. "We've exchanged sending stones as well."

"Smart man." Halsin brought out his own from his pocket, appraising it.

A crackle of magic singed at the air.

"Ah, that'll be her." Gale smiled, opening the gateway.

Shadowheart rushed through, her eyes only on Tav.

"Oh Gods," She moaned, taking Tav's cold hand in hers. "Oh please, please no."

She looked up at them with questioning frightened eyes.

"She's stable, for now." Halsin reassured tiredly.

"I'll kill him. That fucker..." She hissed.

"Indeed." Halsin sighed. "Tav is quite strong. But if she survives this, it won't be without lasting effects. Her insides are..." He shuddered. "Changed."

Shadowheart rested her head against Tav's belly, tears leaking quietly down her face.

Gale set a warm hand on her back, his other coming to push Tav's hair back from her brow.

Her eyes were darting under her lids, her breath rattling and fast in her chest.

He tried to reach her inside her mind but only saw a flurry of fear and pain.

"It's going to be a long night." He sighed.

-

Something woke him with a start. Looking around the decadently dressed room suspiciously.

Found nothing amiss.

He looked over at the woman laying next to him, her neck punctured.

Right. He sighed, disinterested.

Got up and pulled his silk trousers on.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

He reached for the seeing glass, never far from him. Flicked through the eyes of his informants. Seeing nothing. Not seeing her.

An anxiety settled into his belly.

She was out of his reach again.

"I told you to alert me if she moved." He hissed to the lot of them. Useless. "Where was she last seen?"

A raven showed a memory of her being pulled into a blue magic, disappearing.

Gale. Of course.

"Well, I'll just have to give Waterdeep a visit. I hear it's lovely this time of year." He sneered.

-

"You've made a grave mistake." A bone deep voice rumbled.

Tav tried to focus, lost in a swirling miasma of pain.

"By expelling my gift, you have refused my best offer. Pity."

Mephistopheles.

"You had so much promise. Fruitless whore."

She laughed at that, her spite bringing her back to her mind.

"I'm glad to disappoint you, devil."

"Oh, I do like the ones with bite." He cackled. "I'll make you a new deal."

"I'll release your beloved from the vampiric curse, and as before, you can give me half your life. However much of it remains. Or..."

He paused, relishing in the tease.

"I've already killed your peer, Raphael. These theatrics dont work on me." She reminded.

"And what an upset that was. Very well. Since I like you, I would settle for a limb."

She nearly laughed. Of course.

Her greatest asset was her dexterity and he knew that. Her acrobatics, the strength and precision of her body have served her through everything.

"Which one?"

"Oh, let's leave that as a surprise. It's more fun that way." He purred.

"You remind me a lot of him. He's a bastard now too."

"Oh flattery will get you everywhere, but not away from me."

"Consider my deal, fruitless one. It will not stand for long, and I'll warn you my gracious nature is very fickle."

She rocketed back to her body with a wet bloody cough, moaning out in renewed pain.

"Tav!" Shadowheart's voice to her right.

Eyes still coated in blood, a thick red haze she tried to blink away.

Tav tried to speak, but it only came out as groaning.

The pain was so severe she couldn't feel her legs. Wondering if the devil took them already, just to spite her.

Shadowheart pushed healing magic into her chest, lighting her up blue.

It helped her get her breath back, numbing the agony slightly but not fully dissipating it.

"I saw-" She gasped, searching for her with her hand. Trying and failing to sit up. "It was-"

"Shhh, save your strength. There will be time to speak later. Lay back." She urged her back gently with her slender hands.

"She's awake. Good." Halsin sighed somewhere to her left.

"Hey big guy." She smiled, coughing hard. Blood coating the back of her throat.

"Welcome back, my heart. I wish we could meet again on better terms."

Gale's voice, farther away.

"Everyone, we have company..."

-

Gale took sure steps towards the barrier protecting his tower, the others following behind him, where the Ascendant stood. Crimson eyes burning hate into him.

"I'm not letting you in." Gale stated frankly. "And honestly there are more pressing matters at hand. So if you don't mind."

If Astarion could have killed with his eyes he would've been dead on the spot.

"I know she's in there, wizard." He spat at him. "I'm not leaving until you produce her."

"She wouldn't want to see you, I'd imagine."

"Oh, she'll see me." He breathed, stepping closer. "We have much to discuss."

Shadowheart broke behind him. "She owes you nothing, you evil fucker! She's barely alive because of you!"

Gale winced. Discretion was key here.

Astarion was rocked back on his heel by what looked like shock.

His eyes searched Gale's frantically. Then filled with deadly promise.

"I will hunt down everyone you love and make them my spawn, so I can take them to the brink of death in the cruelest ways I can imagine. Over. And over."

"Let. Me. In."

As if he hadn't already warded those he loved long before this meeting.

"He's right, he won't leave." Tav hissed.

Gale turned.

She was steadying herself against the doorway, still pale as a sheet. Eyes red stained and sockets smeared with thumbed away blood.

"You've seen me now, happy?"

Gale could tell that she was trying for biting, but her tone was too exhausted, too bereft.

He stepped up to steady her as she lurched forward, gripping him on his forearm for support.

Astarion's eyes were wide, almost panicked. He stepped forward, nearly touching the barrier.

"Tav, what-"

You don't have to tell him anything.

She squeezed his arm to his words, a small sad smile on her lips. Turned back to Astarion.

"How did you find out you could bear an heir after the Ascension?"

Her question made Astarion blink. Gale could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"What a strange question." He scoffed.

"I think I know the answer, but I'd just like confirmation." She whispered, equal parts incensed and mournful.

Astarion stood on his back foot, clearly not liking where this was going.

Gale was appreciative watching him squirm. Obviously trying to still stay in Tav's good graces, but not a quick enough liar to come up with something plausible on the spot.

But they had more urgent matters to attend to. Like her health.

"Tav, we should get you back inside." Gale murmured, basically holding her body up at this point. Her fingers still gripping into his arm.

"Not yet." She hissed, then cried out in pain. A new wave of blood rolling down her thigh.

"Halsin!" Gale urged, and the druid was already there, picking her up bridal style.

Still, she stared death into Astarion, her red eyes never leaving him.

"You knew what that was, and you still put it in me. Without my consent. Knowing my fear. You knew."

"I will never forgive you for that." Her voice a cold whisper.

Gale almost pitied him. Tav's words had taken all of the wind out of him. Something close to remorse on his face.

As if sensing Gale's sympathy, he straightened up. Shooting daggers at him.

Halsin had already turned to take her back inside, her head falling limp into his chest.

"Go home, Astarion." Shadowheart hissed. "You've done enough."

Gale could see the vicegrip of rage return to his eyes. Petulant, he would not be told what to do.

"No, I don't think I will. Afterall, I must keep an eye on my consort. Being looked after by a trio of ineffectual doldrums." He scoffed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, scumbag." Shadowheart turned, following Halsin inside.

Just Gale stood on the precipice now, turning to follow them as well.

"She will be alright?"

He turned back to Astarion, surprise flicking across his face.

Gale sighed, leveling. "We don't know. Your offspring certainly did a number on her."

He seemed to consider that, that vein of anguish striking his face again. Just for a moment.

"You should release her to me, I'd take care of her. Far better than any of you."

Gale nearly laughed.

"Goodnight Astarion."

-

"Drink." Halsin encouraged, holding cool water up to her mouth.

Tav swallowed in shaky pulses. Suddenly so parched. Taking the glass from him and pulling it all down.

"Good. Very good." He hummed, his deep rumbling voice sending chills down her back.

"Have I told you your voice is heavenly?" She smiled.

"Flirting again. That's a great sign." He chuckled, checking her pulse on her wrist.

His eyes met the winding scars there, a pulse of sadness striking his features.

"Oh, my heart." He sighed, cupping her face.

She leaned into him, his large warm hand a balm on her aching skin.

"You're still cold." He sighed, bringing the blankets tighter to her.

"Well," Gale started, stepping inside. "Shadowheart is off. I can't believe she agreed to go."

Tav smiled. "The outpost needs her. And I think I convinced her I was in more than capable hands. Your barrier proved that tenfold."

"Well, thank you." He smiled, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"The spare room is set up for you." He handed a fresh set of blankets and towels to Halsin. "Though I imagine you'd probably prefer to be outside."

Halsin chuckled. "Guilty. I'll remain close." Turning to Tav. "If anything comes up, don't hesitate."

"Thank you." She hushed. "Get some rest, okay?"

Halsin stroked her cheek, then stood and went down the hall, closing the door behind him softly.

"I imagine Lord Ancunin is still nearby?" Tav sighed, more a statement than a question.

"Oh yes," Gale sniped. Coming to sit on her bedside. "Relentless, that one."

Tav snorted. "An understatement."

"How are you feeling?" He hushed.

"Half in the grave. Angry. Tired. Cold." She sighed.

"Can you hold me?" She whispered, pulling up the edge of the blanket.

"I would want for nothing more." He slid under the covers.

She folded herself into him, sighing. Her body was in tatters, a throbbing persistent ache radiating from her pelvis. Exhaustion pulling her deep into the earth. But she didn't want to sleep, not yet.

His body was so warm. She slipped open his robe and buried her head into his chest, the hair tickling her face. Running her hand up under the ties, finding the curve of his hip.

She heard his breath catch, felt the gentle pulse of arousal from him.

Her hands traced his hip bone, his waist. Fingers splaying and stretching over the smooth skin, trying to commit it to memory.

"Tav..." He sighed, she could feel his apprehension.

"Just let me touch you, please." She whispered.

I need to feel close to someone. I want you.

Tav, you're in no state...

But she could feel the swirling desire around his head. The need pulling him too.

Please don't deny me. I need you, Gale.

He leaned over her and softly kissed her. Cradling her face in his hand.

Her hands traveled him, his robe falling away. Fingers and palms gliding over his olive skin.

Do you remember in camp, how we were almost together?

He smiled against her mouth, lips carefully pouring his adoration into her.

Of course I remember. You were the most enthralling surprise. I could never imagine someone like you could want someone like me. Even if only for a moment.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

If I had chosen you... things could have been so different. Couldn't they?

He shifted over her, carefully balancing over her body. Kissing her like the last drink of an oasis.

Oh, yes. I would've taken you anywhere, to the mountains, to the sea. We could've layed together in my tower, gone to the markets, reveled in each other. Happy, so happy.

Tears flowed freely down her temples, still pink with remnant blood.

Her heart hammered.

Could we still have that? Could we try?

She felt the deep wave of his elation wash over her, so many tangling emotions. But one soared over the other.

He wasn't saying it, but he didn't really have to. And he could feel her hope, her fear and uncertainty. The damaged pieces of her heart threading together as close as they could manage.

Stay with me here, in my tower. If just for a while. We can try.

-

Gale whipped together a probably too extravagant breakfast, hair tied back, face stern in concentration.

The morning light basked through the stained glass, slanting the room in hues of purple, blue, green.

Halsin stepped into the chaos, a big smile on his face.

"Gale, hush for a minute. Listen."

He paused his fervent whisking.

Tav had gone out to sit in the garden, waving him away as she wobbled.

Now the most beautiful bell of a voice was rising out above the soft sounds of morning.

"She's singing." Halsin hushed, as if to speak louder would break the spell.

Gale set the bowl down, eyes closing.

Only in the quietest and far between peaceful moments in camp would she sing. It was endlessly enchanting, spellbinding him heart and soul.

A threading hopeful cry, soaring through the air. Surely she could Weave magic, maybe far better than him.

"I love her." Gale whispered. More to himself.

"I know." Halsin smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

They stood in silence, listening rapturously to her asking courageous call. How the morning seemed to respond in kind. Air woven with promise.

~

Part 10

[littlebabyyd0ll]

CLUELESS !

chapter one 🍓 rot your teeth.

based on the 1995 movie of the same, clueless! is an andrew’s peter parker x oc story. true to her name, sweet aurora is utterly clueless both to peter’s adoration and the fuck-hungry look that flash thompson has in his eyes every time she walks by. pure to the soul, peter admires the girl that his aunt and uncle took in after the death of her own parents, but slowly admiration turns to full blown lust. self preservation can only last so long when so many were so desperate to steal the innocence undoubtedly reserved for him. aurora couldn’t be any more clueless !

clueless masterpost

warnings: smut, peter and aurora living in the same household, no familial relation, masturbation (m&f), innocent!oc, innocence kink, size difference & kink, crybaby! themes, hyper femininity, sex, dacryphilia, oral (m&f), a whole lot of sitting in peter’s lap, light dom/sub undertones, loss of virginity, mixed feelings, more to be added.

"does this look okay?"

peter parker looked up at the heavenly words, music filled ears failing to allow him to notice the pretty girl in the doorway of his room. behind thick rims his big eyes widened, large hands reaching up to yank the earphones away. his jaw loosened, falling slack at the sight of such a sweet angel. she stood nervous as anything, fingers dancing in and out of one another. peter's breath was stolen away. a pair of unbuckled heeled mary janes sat pretty below her frilly socks, adding at least three inches to her height. his amber eyes trailed up her freshly shaved legs, lingering on the hemline of her little pink dress, sat halfway up her thighs. peter gulped at the sweetheart neckline and milkmaid sleeves. one of his favourite creations of hers — she'd hand made it. he could still remember helping her measure herself, giggling as she stumbled to get the right angles. blonde locks were sprawled across her shoulders, curling across her collarbones. he didn't know how it worked, but she'd managed to get the ends to curl inwards, like they did in the '90's. pouty lips were glossed and gnawed upon, eyes lined in little black wings.

somehow, the complete epitome of innocence and sex.

but he would never admit that.

"its not too much?"

"no — no!" he was quick to answer, wishing to diminish any and all of her insecurities. "its perfect, you're perfect." a grin spread across her lips, nibble fingers raising to push her curtain bangs away from her eyes. "you look perfect." peter tried his best to reemphasise.

"i'm taking the first one." a breathy laugh left her lips, pushing though his walls and latching straight onto his heart.

blinking heavily, "really, bambi, you look great." fuck flash thompson for getting to see her looking like this, a literal disney princess. aurora's bubblegum heart was too fragile for the likes of flash, he could pop it with the blink of an eye. that's what had peter so riled up, he just wanted to protect the sweet, naïve, clueless little thing in front of him. it'd always been in his desires — protecting people.

"will you help me do up the buckles?" quaint words lingered upon the air, one foot raising slightly from the floor. "don't wanna bend over in this dress."

she was going to be the death of him.

"yeah — yeah." nodding feverishly, the chestnut haired boy rose from his sitting position. with such long, agile legs, it was no issue to move quickly towards the nervous girl. peter tying up aurora's laces was no uncommon novelty, it was fairly often that one of her laces would become undone and he would be the first to go on one knee before her. just like now, she rest her pretty shoes stop his clothed knee. delicately, his long fingers latched the metal bar to strap the shoes up. he was always so gentle with her. her gentle giant. so unequivocally hers, and she had no fucking idea.

steadying herself on the doorframe as she swapped feet, "y'so good to me, pete." how could he not smile at such wonderful, fulfilling words? "thank you for looking after me." such a polite little thing. god, what he wouldn't do for her.

"it's my job." the boy shrugged with a cheesy grin, lightly settling her foot back down onto the floor and raising back to his full height. almost every time it took him by surprise how tiny she really was; how fragile, how innocent, how clueless. even now, with her mary jane heels and frilly white socks, she still stood much shorter than him, yet the perfect height for him to lean forwards, and plant a kiss atop her forehead. just as he did now. "promise me you'll be good." he spoke as he moved away, completely unaware of the blissed out look that had just been sitting upon aurora's face.

"i promise, peter. i'll be your best girl."

jesus christ, he was whipped. "you always are, rory."

it definitely wasn't aurora that he was worried about. it was flash thompson, and whoever the hell penelope's date was. that's why his jaw was set so tightly as may gushed over aurora's little outfit and uttered words of encouragement, he'd be silly not to ask you out here and now, oh, how i wished i still looked this young! peter didn't know what he would do if flash did try anything. it wasn't like he could put up much of a fight, just being a body of long limbs, asthma and awful eyesight. only his brain and clever wit was enough to win him an argument, not a physical fight.

"i don't need to tell you not to do anything i wouldn't do, do i?"

peter looked upwards at his uncle's voice, behind the thick rims of his glasses. the man with white hair looked at the girl so lovingly, as though he could never be so proud.

"trust me, ben. peter already gave me all the prepping possible."

his uncle winked his way, "attaboy."

just as the blonde began straightening out her dress, unknowingly allowing the hairs of her bangs to fall out of place, the doorbell rang. and there diminished his chances of reaching forward from his place next to the staircase and pushing the hairs behind her pierced, gold covered ears. peter parker didn't miss the way that aurora bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, oh so excited for her first real date. such a shame that it was with flash of all people.

may was the first to reach for the door handle, her aged skin grasping at the brass and tugging lightly, allowing enough space for the heavy, brooding figure to walk in.

a scowl sat upon peter's lips as flash's designer shoes stepped foot onto their hardwood flooring, followed by a long leg, black jeans coating the skin. a mop of raven hair passed the threshold, dark eyes already set on the girl standing oh so pretty in her handmade dress. peter couldn't help but hate the way her cheeks flushed under the intense stare, or the way that she fiddled harmlessly with her fingers at her navel. he hated that she looked so pretty for flash. he hated that her big bambi eyes were oh so wide and excited. he hated that flash looked at her as though she was something to devour.

and now, he hated that flash was looking at him.

"parker?"

"flash."

"what are you..." he stared across the four people in the room, no doubt piecing together how similar peter looked to the white haired man. dark brows creased together as flash's fist tightened around the flimsy bouquet, store bought and still adorned by the price tag. peter would've hand picked the flowers, including her favourite (and ever so hard to get) forget-me-nots and lillies and gypsophilas. not roses. "uh, you have a lovely home, mister and mrs smith."

a snort came from peter, completely missing the pleading glare that aurora sent him. may's smile widened, "parker. mister and mrs parker."

if this weren't flash, then peter would probably feel bad for the confusion against his face.

finally, aurora finally spoke out. "may and ben foster me." she explained briefly, accepting with open hands the flowers that were passed her way without a word, not trying to let a pout fall upon her lips.

"oh." said the thompson boy, eyes fluttering back to the boy beside the staircase occasionally. "it's nice to meet you both."

aurora passed the flowers on to may, who would no doubt find a pretty vase for them to sit in. "isn't he handsome?" the older woman whispered, obviously not quiet enough, as flash's chest visibly broadened with a deep breath. peter nearly rolled his eyes.

"where are you taking rory, kid?"

"benny's." flash answered ben's question, his eyes once again fluttering to the hemline halfway up aurora's thighs. "her friend is meeting us there."

"penny's going?" ben asked, more so directed towards the short blonde.

"penny's going." aurora nodded assuredly.

🍓

"so... parker is your brother?"

aurora frowned, having just explained the whole thing to the tall boy on their way up the steps into the retro diner. he hadn't asked her about anything else since he pulled away from the parker residence. his name is peter. "no."

"but you're adopted."

"n-no." she denied once again, allowing him to open the door. thankfully, due to her small stature, she easily slipped underneath his outstretched arm, stepping into the cozy, spaced out diner. "i'm fostered. ben and may aren't my parents. t-they're peter's aunt and uncle." she looked up once more, taking in his dark furrowed brows. "we have no relation."

"huh." said the boy. "always thought you two were, i don't know, like a thing."

clueless, "what thing?"

"a thing—"

"rory! flash! come, we're over here!" a sweet haze interrupted their interaction, the voice that could only belong to a girl who's hair was currently died electric red. a smile spread across bee stung lips, replacing the pout that once sat there. nothing could make aurora smile more than her best friend, the ever so talented penelope collins. said girl was sat down in a booth already, a mop of bright blonde hair sat next to her. aurora, who refused to wear her often needed glasses and a terrible eyesight for anything far, couldn't quite make out who sat next to her best friend, only that it was another girl.

subconsciously grabbing flash's hand, as she so often did peter's, the little girl pulled the much larger boy towards the excitedly awaiting redhead. she was all but skipping, eager to sit down opposite her best friend and indulge in their current affairs. her excitement stumbled, however, as her eyesight got clearer the closer she got to the red leather booth.

"is that...?" flash started, his own eyes squinting at the taller of the two sitting down, her blonde hair pulled up in a familiar ponytail. a striped sweater sat upon her shoulders as she snorted at something that penlelope said, blue-green eyes wide open and adorned with mascara. "gwen?"

it proved to be, as the brainiac looked upwards at flash's tone.

"hey!" chortled the blonde, flicking her hair out of her eyes slightly. both aurora and flash stood shocked, eyes no doubt as wide as saucers. "i didn't know you were aurora's date."

"you're gay?" the thick words hung in the air, striking aurora in the heart at flash's brash questioning.

aurora had to admit, she too was shocked by the sight of gwen stacey being penelope's date, of all people. not because of her sexual orientation — that didn't matter. but because gwen was such a good girl, undoubtedly doing enough to get into an ivy league or russel group university. penelope was the complete opposite, just doing enough to get by her time in school when she wasn't high off her ass or doting to rory.

gwen laughed breathily, brows furrowing. "if by gay you mean on a date with a girl, then yes." flash blinked. "i'm bi, flash."

"oh!" ever the himbo, "cool. i love gay people. BLT rights."

this time, it was aurora who looked up in questioning, "was that a joke?"

gwen and penny looked at each other for a moment, almost in shock. "i don't think it was."

blinking in aftershock, aurora allowed flash to push his hand against the small of her back, pushing her down into the booth. quickly she moved, not wanting to displease anyone at the table. flash shuffled in beside her, the smaller of the two not missing the way that his arm rest upon the back of her seat. she gulped.

"i was begging to think you guys had gotten lost." penny hummed, eyes searching over the tattered menu slip in front of her. "would've had to send a search party out for you."

"wouldn't leave you, pen." aurora hummed, shimmying her dress down her thighs slightly. "know you couldn't live without me."

penelope shot her a look over the top of the menu, a glint in her eye. aurora and penelope had been best friends since the day that she arrived in the grade below at midtown high. penelope, much alike peter, was somewhat the small girl's sworn protector. there was nothing that she wouldn't do for aurora, or her happiness. their year age gap made no difference to the two girls. they paid no mind to it, not when they adored one another so desperately. a stoner and a good girl, is there any better mixture for a duo?

flash, however, didn't seem so happy with the friendly banter. "what are you guys eating?"

gwen hummed, and it was only then that aurora noticed her arm was extended slightly under the table. gwen and penelope were holding hands. "i think we're gonna share a burger and fries. you want a milkshake, pen?"

practically with love hearts in her eyes, "whatever you want."

aurora smiled at that. with burning cheeks she turned towards the dark haired boy. he looked down at her, face almost blank. "you wanna share too?" she mumbled, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress.

dark eyes flashed towards her painted nails. unbeknownst to aurora, his fist curled on the arm that was extended over her side of the chair. she never did realise how fucking insatiable she was.

"nah. i need a bulk." he turned away from her, not daring to stare at the way her lips turned slightly downwards. "coach said we have to be on game for next season. i'll have my own burger and fries."

"okay, troy bolton." penelope's words went unnoticed by flash.

"okay," aurora nodded, trying her best not to sound displeased. his reasoning was fair enough. "i-i'll just have fries and a coke, then."

"get a water." he mumbled, raising his hand to call over the waitress. "it'll be better for you. coke'll rot your teeth."

🍓

"rory's applying to college this year."

gwen's brow furrowed as she bit down on a fry, "isn't that, like, what, a year early? you're in the grade below, right?"

"y-yeah." said the small girl, aware of the dark eyes baring into the side of her head. she swallowed hurriedly, suddenly hating the attention being provided to her. "don't tell anyone. everyone i live with doesn't know, may would freak out."

"why?"

"she'd think i'm wishing away my future, or my high school experience. i'd still graduate, just a year early. i-if i get into the fashion school i want."

gwen tightened her ponytail, eyes narrowed down at aurora. penelope gave an encouraging smile to the nervous girl, letting her know that everything was okay. this was all going okay. "you want to go to fashion school? penny said you were into art, i would've thought you'd want to go to art school."

nodding hurriedly, "i do! i love painting, but making clothes is what i'm much better at."

a thick blush coated her cheeks when penelope raised her brows. "rory made that dress that she's wearing."

gwen's eyes widened, "really?"

aurora would have replied, if it weren't for the sudden cool touch upon her thigh. the blonde jumped skittishly, doe eyes widening as she looked down at the hand grasping ahold of her skin. flash acted nonchalant, as though his big hand wasn't brushing up against the hemline of her dress. he spared her a glance as she looked up at him, only chomping down on his burger in acknowledgement. she gulped.

"she's gonna make my prom dress. it's already in the making, right?"

trying to distract from the hand that felt so heavy upon her skin, "yeah." she blinked a few times, trying to maintain her posture. "i'm using it for my portfolio, too. showing the progress, and s-stuff!" the words became exaggerated due to the nature of flash gripping harder on her thigh, acting like a vice. was this how it was meant to feel when they do it in the movies? trying to not make her distraction obvious, aurora quickly reached out and shovelled a handful of fries into her mouth, undoubtedly chewing like a madman.

"i can't believe you made that. it's flawless. can you patch things up? i'll have to ask you to have a look at my jacket, it's got these..."

aurora tried to listen, she really did. but she could barely hear gwen's words over the sound of her hurried beating heart. flash's hand just felt so hefty and prominent against her skin. she didn't know if it was comforting. her mind was in a thousand different places.

there was only one person that could help her out now, and they seemed to be able to read her mind.

"i need the toilet. rory, will you come with?"

she'd never been so relieved to hear that penelope needed to pee. a curt nod left the blonde, bottom lip pushed between pearly whites. she dared not make eye contact with penelope, or flash, as the latter moved out of the booth so that they could get through. a hand was upon her own within a second, quickly pulling aurora towards the marked ladies room. the shorter girl stumbled, trying to keep up the same pace as penelope. a huff fell past her lips when she squeezed past the door, flinching at the loud bang as it slammed shut.

"what's wrong?" penelope was onto her as soon as the door shut, the redhead pushing herself up against the sink. a waft of tobacco and chanel perfume followed her movements, a familiar comfort to the blonde. hazel eyes lingered on the bashful blonde, who anxiously rubbed her arms up and down. no answer came straight away. "is he making you feel bad? do you not like him? too full on? say the words, rory, and I'll drag him out of that booth by his ear."

"what? pen— no! it's not that, he just..." the blonde dragged a hand down her face, brows furrowed in heavy thought. her heart was still pounding. "I just wanna take things slow. I like him, I really do."

fatal mistake.

poor, clueless, neglectful little rory. why pay so much time to someone who wasn't willing to do the same? someone who merely eyed her hungrily, as though she were a piece of meat? someone who would walk away, the second she left the table.

whatever smile sat on her lips as she pushed past the door to the ladies room fell in an instant, happy giggles falling empty in the air. her heart dropped to her stomach as bambi eyes met the guilty baby blue of gwen stacy. and only gwen stacy.

flash thompson had left.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

Mob!tom and reader where the reader does something stupid and tom yells at her. Angst to smut pls- 🦟🦗🦟🦗

y'all know i been on that peaky blinders train and indulging me on purpose thankyew

warnings: language, oral, unprotected sex, y/n with a big dick energy lol

***

"NOBODY FUCKING LISTENS TO ME!"

His voice pierces through the walls of your mansion, and you're sure the maids could hear. Knuckles so white from gripping his whiskey glass, they might even crush it into pieces.

Tom has had a bad day. Paddy got shot on a bust he shouldn't have been in in the first place. Harry's deal with the Irish hit a snag, and it looks like a war is about to break out. To top it all off, you went out partying near the borders of enemy territory against his wishes.

But as his white-hot rage rings in your ears, your entire body freezes up. Your whole demeanor turns icy after the brief shock.

"Fine," you conclude simply, turning on your heels to walk out of his study. "Have it your way."

"Y/N, wait." he gets up and beats you to the door, blocking it with his impeccably shined shoe.

You simply glare at him, unfaltering in your wordless challenge to the mighty mob boss of London.

He meets your gaze. "I told you to stay out of Islington and stay out of trouble," he seethes, his voice lowering into a simmering whisper.

You cock up an eyebrow. So?

"You disobeyed direct orders."

"You don't get to boss me around, Tommy. I'm not your soldier."

"I know you're not," he softens, reaching out to cup your face. "You're my wife. My life."

"Tommy..." you try to push him away, but you're finding it more and more difficult to resist him.

"We strike them on Tuesday--"

You roll your eyes at his words. Leave it to Tom who still manages to bring it back to business even in his apology for letting business get in the way.

"Listen to me. Tuesday, and it'll all be over and you're free to go wherever you please."

A heavy sigh escapes your mouth, and he takes it a sign of relent. He kisses your lips, your neck, your bare collarbones. Deep and earnest and hungry.

It's the oldest trick in the book, but it's the oldest for a good reason; it's the one that works every single time without fail.

He leads you to his lush leather couch and lays you down gently, unbuttoning your dress and licking and sucking and biting as much skin as he can. Down your chest, on tops of your breasts, up your inner thigh...

"You're my whole life, darling," you hear him murmur before tearing your lacy panties off and smothering himself in your wetness.

He eats you out like his life depended on it (maybe in truth, it really did), tracing infinities on your clit and fucking you gently with his tongue. Coaxing your forgiveness in the filthiest way he can.

Your resolve chips away bit by bit at every wave of pleasure he gives you. And as he brings you to your high, nice and slow and warm and pleasant, you want nothing more than to have him inside you.

You sink down on his cock, the quietest little cry breaks the silence in the room. He meets you halfway, head thrown back and jaw dropped in your warmth.

Your manicured fingers grip his dark curls like a vice and he all but groans. "Don't ever raise your voice at me again."

"I won't if you won't get yourself into trouble like that again."

His words are met with a scoff and a gentle gnawing of his neck as you ride him faster, harder, dirtier.

He licks his thumb and slips it between your bodies, finding his way to your sensitive clit. He rubs it just as relentlessly, sending your body into a shock of trembling orgasm that squeezes his cock into emptying its load inside you.

It's not the apology you wanted, and it's not the outcome he aimed for, but damned if it isn't good.

[ms-rampage]

Baby Trickster

Fem!Reader x Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural) 

Warnings: Nothing bad

Summary: Chuck visits his youngest Archangel son and his s/o. 

Requested by @aida690adriana

[Read Michael's here]

Note: I was suppose to post this a few days ago. Lucifer's will be coming soon. I'm trying to write all the Asks i have in my queue.

________

You and Gabriel are happily in love with each other. You two get along perfectly, you both clicked immediately!

He has a great sense of humor, very charming and one hell of a lover. A sweet tooth. 

You didn't know he was an Archangel until you saw his wings. At first you thought it was all in your head or you were seeing weird shapes, or that your mind was playing tricks on you. 

You two are making out in your bed, he starts to get a little frisky. Moving down to your collarbone, leaving lovebites on your neck. 

"Gabe" you giggle, letting him mark up your neck. 

He's practically gnawing at your skin, wanting others to know you're taken. 

"Gabriel" you moan, running your hand through his hair. Biting your lip.

He chuckles against your skin, you can feel him smiling against the crook of your neck. 

"You know you love it" he teases you, his hands roaming your body. 

When that time came, and you saw his wings. You couldn't help but stare at them.

"Uhh Gabe?" you mumble, looking up at the shadow like wings behind him.

"Yeah babe?!" he responds, looking at you with a concerned face. 

It takes you a few moments to get the right words out. He notices what you're staring at, and he immediately puts his wings back in. Breaking your focus on them. 

You shake your head, "Sorry for a brief moment there, the shadow behind you looked like you had angel wings" you tell him. Chuckling a little. 

He clears his throat, and tells you the truth about himself. 

"Uhh Y/n. There's something you should know" he mutters.

It doesn't take long for you to understand what he's telling you. He was able to convince you, but you still had slight doubt. 

"An Archangel?!" you exclaim. Thinking this man is messing with you. 

"Yeah, ya know. Warriors of Heaven and all that jazz" he tells you, taking a seat never to you on the couch. 

You stammer, "No, no, no you-you're messing w-with me". 

He sighs, stands up and shows you his wings. You gasp at the sight. His beautiful golden brown wings. 

You feel your breath shorten, all the hairs on your body stand up. Goosebumps all over your body. 

"W-what. Y-y-you're rea-really" you stutter, "An angel?". 

He nods, "Yes, I'm an Angel". 

Over time, you got used to your boyfriend being a celestial. That you in a way forgot about him being one. 

This particular day, you and Gabriel are laying on your couch, in your shared home. 

You get a knock on the door, and Gabriel answers it. 

"I'll get it!" he says, getting up from the couch. Before he even opens it, he senses a familiar presence. 

He opens it, and sees his father. 

"Dad?" he mutters. 

"Hello Gabriel" he greets his youngest son. 

"What are you doing here?!" he whispers, trying to keep his voice low. 

He teleports behind him, "I heard you have a partner Y/n". 

You hear your name, as well as an unfamiliar voice. You sit up from the couch, "Gabe? Who is it?". 

Chuck hears you and he goes to the living room. You get up from the couch and you see him. 

"Who are you?!" you ask, seeing this unknown man in your living room. 

"Hello Y/n" Chuck says, smiling at you. 

Confused, "Uhh do I know you??". 

He sits in front of you, "No but I know you" he tells you. You look over at Gabriel, giving him a look of confusion. 

"Y/n this is God, or Chuck" Gabriel introduces you to his father. 

"God?" you question, looking back and forth from the two, "Like in the Bible??". 

"He's my dad" he informs you. Still confused, and thinking this is all a dream. 

"What?!" you mumble. 

Chuck sighs and stands up. 

"I've heard about you two" he tells the both of you, "I thought it was a one time thing, or some sort of one night stand". 

You look over at Gabriel who looks just as confused as you. 

Chuck breaks the few seconds of silence, and just gets to the point. 

"So where are the kids?!?" he asks, with a smile on his face. 

You and Gabriel look at him in complete confusion. 

"Kids?" you mutter, eyebrows raised.

“Yes children” he tells the both of you, “You know? Tiny, small humans that haven’t comprehended their existence yet”. 

“I know what children are. I was one myself several years ago” you tell him, “I can’t get pregnant by Gabriel". 

God chuckles, and jokes "Is he missing? I get that he ran off with the pagans and all but is he messing up the one thing humans love?!?". 

He glares at his father, "Haha very funny dad" he says sarcastically. 

"Because Nephilims are half human and half celestial. So me getting pregnant will kill me” you continue, feeling like you shouldn't be telling him all of this because he should know all this information already.

You look over at Gabriel with wide eyes, and he has the look of embarrassment. Acting like he's not embarrassed because you knew he was.

"I thought those years of doing porn helped out" he jokes again, trying to embarrass his son in front of his girlfriend.

"You know I can prevent you from dying" he tells you, "You'll have a save pregnancy".

"What?" you both say together. 

"Y/n won't die" God tells the both of you. 

You and Gabriel have had sex before, but he always pulled out before releasing himself onto you. Trying not to knock you up.

He places two fingers to your forehead causing a cold breeze to fly through your home. You look at Gabe, and down at your hands. Confused.

"Uhh what was that??" you ask him. Trying to keep your shit together and not freak out.

"You're protected" he tells you, "You won't die when you have the Nephilim child". 

He turns to his youngest Archangel son, "Gabriel I think you should keep this one, because I like her, I know you need her, and also don't use protection". 

He rolls his eyes, and shows his father out. 

"You two should get busy!" he shouts as he leaves your home. 

[yandere-daydreams]

I like the concept of a yandere bathing their darling. It's the extra layer of vulnerability that's spine-chilling and humiliating for the darling, to say the least. I'm curious to know what this scenario would be like with Ochako and Katsuki, if that's alright. They're a sweet pair, after-all. "What could go wrong"?

These two really are one of my favorite pairs, if only because of the ‘friendly rivalry’ they’d have when it comes to their Darling. And grooming is just so symbolic… it’s impossible to resist, honestly.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships and Psychological Abuse.

~

It must’ve been Ochaco’s idea.

She was always the one who came up with these kinds of things, activities and gifts so coddling, they never failed to leave a bitter taste in your mouth, regardless of how much you cared for your partners. Katsuki wasn’t better, changing the apartment’s locks twice a week and leaving another hidden camera in your room every other day, but he gave you distance when you asked for it, and he didn’t push when you put your foot down. Ochaco didn’t push either, honestly.

No, she didn’t push. You were sure of that.

When you tried to put up barriers with her, she shoved.

That was how you ended up displaced and bared and curled into yourself, your knees pulled into your chest despite the warm water that surrounded you. Her bath was massive, circular and tiled, giving its occupants more than enough space to sit apart, and yet, Ochaco insisted on slotting herself against you, her chest pressed against your back and her legs on either of your sides. Her hands alternating between massaging your shoulders and tracing aimless patterns into your skin, the line between the two actions becoming more and more blurry with each passing second. A collection of Katsuki’s expensive soaps and products sat less than an arm’s length away, but they went unused. You couldn’t delude yourself into thinking her goal was cleanliness, anymore.

She hummed, lightly, but stopped as you both heard the front door of her apartment unlock. You tensed further, moving to push yourself up, but Ochaco only crossed her arms over your midriff, keeping you pressed against her as she spoke. “He’ll find us,”  She assured, nuzzling into the back of your neck absentmindedly. “Give me a few more minutes, angel.”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t resist, biting the inside of your cheek and listening to the distant sounds of rummaging and muttering. It must’ve been a bad day, but you weren’t surprised. Every day was a bad day, when you had a temper as easily affected as Katsuki’s. “He sounds angry,” You mumbled, for lack of a better response. “We should greet him. It’ll cheer him up.”

Ochaco didn’t indulge you with an argument. Instead, she held you tighter, keeping you held against her until the bathroom door swung open, knocking against the nearest wall with a sudden, unnerving thud. Katsuki only hesitated for a moment, giving himself time to sigh and shake his head before making his way towards you. Ochaco glanced over him as he rolled his sleeves, but she only bothered breaking the silence once he was seated on the edge of the tub, his glower just beginning to burn into your form. “Rough day, buttercup?”

“Fuck off, round face.” His tone was stern, harsh, but he was gentle as he ran his fingers through your damn hair, combing it out the knots like it was second nature. It was relaxing to him, you guessed, it must’ve been. No one would do something they didn’t enjoy with so much care. “You know I had to deal with that fucking terrorist attack alone, today. If things were a little rough, it’s only because someone couldn’t get off their lazy ass and help.”

Ochaco leaned towards him, narrowing her eyes, but you interrupted before she could respond. “There was a terrorist attack?” You asked, perking up. Ochaco’d been home since you woke up, but she hadn’t mentioned anything. You weren’t allowed to watch the news when she around to catch you, either. “Where? When? Did anyone get hurt? Uraraka, why didn't you--”

You were cut off by Ochaco’s laugh, unstifled and obvious. Like she didn’t care whether or not you heard. “We agreed you’d stop worrying about that kind of thing when you stopped working,” She said, squeezing your side playfully. “Don’t get too excited, now. You’ll give the poor boy a heart attack.”

“I can still worry,” You countered, glaring over your shoulder. “I’m not a hero anymore, but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about human lives. If there’s another villain group trying to rise up, I have the right to know about it.”

Katsuki was the one to grin, this time, a low chuckle seeping its way through pursed lips. He made an attempt to hide his disapproval, but it was half-hearted, only furthering the pang of hurt that ran through your chest. For a moment, you considered voicing your discontent, but with how sad it would make Ochaco and how angry Katsuki would get… it wasn’t worth it. You didn’t have the energy for another screaming match. “No, you can’t. ‘Human lives’ aren’t what’s important, not anymore. Call it a compromise.” His hand left your hair, dropping to your chest, barely skimming over your collarbone before rising back to your chin, catching your jaw in a tight, firm hold between his forefinger and thumb. You grimaced, attempting to jerk out of his hold, but Ochaco caught your shoulders, draping herself over you and keeping you in place. She was exposed, uncovered and on-display, but you were so much more exposed than she was, so much more vulnerable. You always were, when you found yourself pinned between her and Katsuki.

“You get to stop caring about everything that goes on out there-” He spat the words, as if the world outside of their apartment was something to be feared. A danger you should be thankful to be free of, rather than a burden you desperately missed carrying. “-and we get to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet and crack your fucking skull open. Everybody wins, yeah?”

“And it’s so stressful to have our baby fretting over every little thing.” Ochaco was on her knees, by now, kneeling as she made herself comfortable in the crook of your shoulder. “We’re the heroes, and you’re our favorite little cheerleader. If you’re going to be stubborn and focus on something you don’t have a say in anymore…” She trailed off, straightening her back. You could feel her smile press into the top of her head as she looked towards Katsuki. “We might have to tie ‘em up after all, Bakugo. Just like you wanted.”

Katsuki flushed, stuttering out something embarrassed and incomprehensible, but you went place, Ochaco’s remark serving as a grim reminder to the reality of your relationship, to the real reason you stayed, even with Katsuki’s paranoia and Ochaco’s pampering, her coddling, her baths. It was a joke, you knew that, a reminder of an off-hand comment Katsuki must’ve made once or twice, but there was a gnawing, lasting feeling that you shouldn’t try to test your theory. That you should behave, before one of them thought of something worse than petnames and misinformation.

While the two were still bickering, you took Katsuki’s hand, moving it to your cheek and leaning into it. “You’re right,” You admitted, your scowl softened into a meek, submissive frown. A frown Katsuki could tolerate. “I’m… I’m being immature, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bring it up, especially when you two work so hard to keep me safe. That’d just be ungrateful.”

Katsuki smiled, and Ochaco nodded, stripping you of what was left of your defenses. They’re both so pleased with the development, they don’t even notice it.

The water had gone cold minutes ago.

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 85 Xs1)

"Day 12: Chicago"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@lovemythsworld

@crystalbaby12

Considering how intoxicated they got all day and night yesterday, it's surprising that Luna and Colson are awake before any kind of knock hits their hotel room door. It's probably because of the uncomfortable, tangled positions they'd found themselves in from last night.

Getting comfortable at the top of the bed, they snuggle together. Colson running his fingers through her golden hair as they talk about different things. He wants to fly his tattoo guy out to meet them in Kansas City on Thursday.

"Think it'll hurt?" Colson asks Luna about the head tattoo he wants.

"Hmmmmph...." Luna giggles to herself.

Remembering the pain, Luna touches the back of her head. Just above the divit that slopes into her neck, at the very base of her skull, about three fingers wide and long, she has the replica of an old CA license plate tattooed there. Instead of numbers, it has the word WARD, like a vanity plate. A registration sticker sits expiring in the bottom right corner on June of 1999. The hidden piece is the only ink Luna has for her mother.

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Known as Lizard or Izzy. Patti and Robert never named their daughter. The forgotten baby was named by a nun in the orphanage she was raised in. Never being adopted and always a ward of the state, Luna's mother's name legally became Elizabeth Ann Ward. Patti feeling immense guilt when her daughter contacted her regarding her grandchild, she legally changed Luna's name as soon as she adopted her after Izzy's death. The marking being the first tattoo Luna ever got. Never forgetting her true home. Or that first sense of insatiable pain. Always keeping her hair long, only three other people know that she has it. One of them being the artist. Colson isn't one and neither is her grandmother. Having gotten it done the summer she turned 14yrs old with Jackson and Opie, the undercut grew out just enough by time she'd come home to NY. That wasn't the only first for Luna in The Summer of 2005. That same year, Jackson got his first bike, teaching her how to ride and handle a gun. It was also the first time Luna ever had sex. Popping her cherry with Jackson on a warm late July night. It had been a wild summer filled with surprises, love and rebellion. Luna gaining and losing many different things in those three months. Springing into action a long series of events.

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

"YEAH. On the back of your skull? You're gonna feel that vibration through your teeth, eyes, ears... It's gonna hurt like a Motherfucker." Luna says with a smile playing on her lips.

"Shit, I didn't think of it like that..." Colson admits, not noticing Luna's detail.

"You'll be fine. Don't act like you don't like a little pain." Luna lifts up, biting his lip.

"Mmm... " Colson pulls Luna into him.

Kissing her deeply, Luna feels her body flush. Pushing up and climbing on top of him, she pins him down against the bed. Lightly biting along his neck. Each one a little harder as she makes her way to his nipples. Making Colson laugh and squirm as she drags her hands down his body as she bites his tattooed sides and stomach.

Holding his hard dick and excited eyes, Luna licks the bottom of him from base to tip with her wide, sopping tongue. Keeping his eyes in place with her antagonizing blue, Colson groans out. She gives him a wicked smile and a devious look before she lightly squeezes his cock and sinks her teeth into the meat of his thigh. Hard but not too hard.

"Ahh!! You fucking bitch!" He jerks. Laughing, while grabbing her. Colson carefully lifting and flipping Luna on to her back. "I'm gonna fuck you up!" He claims as she giggles.

Holding her down, with one large hand planted in the middle of her chest with a long arm, Colson slips his tongue up through the warm folds of Luna's pussy. Tasting peaches, he smiles before biting her back on her thigh.

"Motherfucker!!" Luna shrieks

Colson throws both of her legs over his shoulders. Coming back up to her face, he presses his tongue into her mouth. Aggressively kissing her as he holds her down.

Enjoying his dominance, Luna finds his cock with her hands. Grabbing it, she shifts her hips as she guides him inside. Pulling his blonde hair back, making him groan out as he starts to fuck her.

"Jesus FUCKING Christ, Loons!!" Colson growls into her ear, as he pulls out of her grasp to gnaw on her neck.

Luna claws the tops his arms, keeping her left leg straight. Her right leg grips his neck, curve of her foot resting perfectly on the back of his head. Driving into her deeply. Colson and Luna buck against each other hard as their teeth nip and hands grab at each other's bodies.

"Fuck. Oh, Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, FUUUUCK MEEEE!!!" Luna cries as Colson happily follows directions.

Making them both cum. Dropping her legs from his shoulders, Colson stays between them. Laying on Luna's right collarbone. He can see the bandage for her gunshot wound.

"Fuck..." His stomach churns as he looks in the other direction. Hating everything about it.

"Do you need a dress?" Colson pops his head up after a moment.

"A dress?" Luna asks, confused.

"Yeah... For the wedding. Shit. I guess you need two, hunh? He moves off of her to lay on his side.

"Awww..." Luna kisses his sweet lips. "Yeah... I uh, I don't know yet. I have an idea of what I want... But... I don't know... You?" She asks.

They haven't made any solid plans regarding either event. The only thing in place is their word, a twisted guitar string, an already scheduled festival and an almost dual residency for one of them. All with the idea of being legally married sometime next month.

"Don't you dress me?" Colson honestly asks her.

"Are you fucking five?" Luna asks him with a gnarly look. "Am I supposed to dress you?" She gives him a terrified look.

Both of them laugh, neither knowing what the fuck they're doing. THIS is gonna be a hot mess, they agree.

"We need help." Luna admits. "At least for after TownHall... We can wing EstFest."

Colson agrees with her again. They want to have a gathering afterwards at The Cleveland House for those who attend the small ceremony.

Wrapping his arm around Luna, pulling her into his chest, Colson kisses her head.

"We're getten' married, Kitten." He hums into into the top of her head.

Luna smiles, resting deeper into him. A wave of euphoria washing over her. A happy Yup escaping her lips. Neither of them ever expecting this in their lifetime. Colson a forever player. Luna thinking her heart was broken.

Hearing the knock, they get up. Burning and banging it out again in the shower. Luna snorting Percocets as Colson rails his own Adderalls.

Passing joints back and forth as they get dressed. Colson in loose grey pants and a Metallica shirt. Luna in all black skinnies and a tank.

Sliding on her red Vans, she pulls on the red baseball hat and her leather. Colson slapping her ass as she yelps walking out the door.

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

Colson's playing a sold out show at the Aragon Ballroom tonight.

As The Crew and Tech finish setting up, Luna and everyone hangs out in the parking lot. Most of them boarding around. All of them burning.

Luna stops as she feels her phone ring. It's her grandmother. Leaning up against the wall, Luna takes it.

"Hey Mom-Mom..." She greets Patti.

Patti asks Luna how the tour's going. Luna telling her Wild, like any other. Her Mom-Mom always appreciating Luna's candidness. They go on to touch base that Luna spoke to her therapist, Kylie, last week. She reassures her grandma that she did and will this week also. With that Patti cuts to the chase. She wants Luna to do her a favor. Luna hates her grandmother's favors.

"Seriously, Mom-mom?" Luna sighs with annoyance.

Patti wants her to fly out to NY next Tuesday and appear on Ellen. Always thinking her connections are the right move for her granddaughter's career. It's exactly how Luna ended up on Riot Records.

"What if Ash isn't available?" Luna tries to wiggle out of it.

Her grandmother pisses her off when she tells her that's Just Fine, Ellen wants to interview her, not Ashley.

"What the FUCK, Mom-mom? You know I don't like doing interviews. And on fucking daytime TV. You gotta stop doing this shit to me, Man. Did I not just flip shit in my room over feeling too looked at.....? You fucking suck right now....." Luna complains.

Pressing on Patti tells her it's good exposure for Nightmare and her cause. That Luna knows Ellen as a family friend and that she won't cross any boundaries. Sometimes she can be an old dick.

"Yeah. Clearly you've never watched her show." Luna angrily retorts. "I'll do this one, but Mom-Mom, that's IT. DO NOT commit me to anything else before asking me first." Pressing it even further, Luna throws in a zinger. "What did you always tell me?... Hm? Not to ASSUME anything... because it makes an Ass outta You and Me.... Next time, I'm gonna say No and you're gonna be mad when you look like an Asshole." Luna tells the older woman.

Blowing Luna's threats off, her grandmother tells her to watch her for the producers phone call and that she'll see her when she gets home. They exchange I Love Yous and GoodByes before hanging up. Still leaning against the wall, Luna grabs her skateboard and looks down. Thinking about her conversation with her grandmother.

"This is fucking bullshit.... I don't wanna fucking go on TV.... Ahhhhh!!!" Her brain screams. "Ash better be able to fucking come."

Calling Ashley, she can't. She'll be in Europe somewhere with Dom. Luna zones out of the conversation once she doesn't hear what she wants.

"MOTHERFUCKER.." Is all she can think.

Colson had noticed when Luna had first stopped skating. Looking over at her again, he stops himself. Holding his board, he watches her. She seems irritated by whoever's on the phone.

"Nobody better be fucking with her." He thinks, dropping his deck to skate over to Luna. "And it better not be fucking Tommy.... Or Jackson..." Colson can feel a fire lighting in his belly.

"What's up, Kitten?" He asks.

Gliding up to her, as he stops. One foot on his board, the other on the ground. Letting her's rest against her leg as wraps his long arms around her body.

"My fucking grandmom booked me on Ellen next Tuesday and Ash can't go with me." Luna complains into his chest.

"Shit? Again without asking?" Colson pulls her out of his chest.

"Yeah..." Luna sighs.

"Come're." Colson tells her.

They both let their boards go as he lifts her up. Luna wraps her arms and legs around his naked upper body. Burying her face into his neck. Inhaling his sweet aroma. The mixture of coffee, weed and his deodorant makes her nipples hard.

"I fucking hate when she does this." She whines.

"I know, Kitten." Colson comforts her as he kisses the side of her hat. "You just performing or you gotta sit down too?" He asks.

"I gotta sit dooowwn..." Luna continues to pout.

Colson can't help but chuckle. Luna tells him to Shut Up as her phone rings again. It's another NY number.

Sliding off of him, she takes the call as he skates off. Giving her a minute. It's the producers from The Ellen Show. They want Luna to perform Nightmare and THAT Type along with an interview. Luna agrees to all but THAT Type. She refuses to continue fueling this Bleta flame. Guaranteeing she'll have something for two sets, Luna unhappily hangs up.

"And now I gotta write a whole new FUCKING song...." Luna thinks, annoyed.

Flipping her deck over she goes to find Sam. She's rail sliding, ollieing and skating around the parking lot with Colson, Rook and Baze. Luna decides against saying anything at the moment. Choosing to rip her emotions out using the trucks beneath her feet instead.

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

Inside the ballroom, Colson goes over last minute specifics with Tech before he hits a light rehearsal with The Band.

They don't really need it, but they like to check the acoustics in new venues. Watching from SideStage, Colson asks Luna if she wants to try out What I Got.

"Yeah, why not? I wanna play lead on this one though." Luna says, tossing off her hat with her leather.

Walking over, she picks up a guitar and slides the strap over her shoulder. Striking it. She begins to play a different song with her own lyrics.

🎶Luna's 26yrs old🎶

🎶But Tuesday🎶

🎶She'll be a whore🎶

🎶Even though she already🎶

🎶Knows🎶

🎶It's fucking the wrong way🎶

Luna stares at Colson as she snarls at the next lyrics. She's still pissed at her grandmother.

🎶Don't be afraid🎶

🎶In the quickness🎶

🎶You get laid🎶

🎶For your family🎶

🎶Get paid🎶

🎶It's the Fucking wrong way🎶

Letting the guitar hang off of her, Luna sighs. Arms rests on the Fender. The 30s and time help Luna not notice the light pain in her shoulder. Colson walks over and kisses her forehead.

"I don't think that's really a duet, Kitty." He says with a small smile.

"I know..." Luna sighs again. "I'm just frustrated. I gotta come up with a second song by Tuesday."

Leaning the top of her her head into his chest as the instrument separates them. He rubs her back asking her Why. Understanding when she explains not wanting to use THAT Type.

"What about the one you sent me? Brooklyn Bitch?" He asks, lifting her face by the chin.

Looking up at him she says No, pulling away. Hands flittering in frustration. She'd have to change too many things and it's the complete opposite tone and message of Nightmare. Whatever it is, it needs to send it's own independent, strong musical statement. Another reason she doesn't want to use THAT Type, it's negative as all hell towards women and so far removed from Luna's platform. She needs something new. Something to hold hands with Nightmare. Sighing again, she places her head back against Colson's bare chest.

"Wanna put figuring out a cover on hold for a sec? So you can write this one?" He asks.

Looking up again, she asks If He Minds. Shaking his head, Colson leans down to kiss Luna. Lifting the guitar from around her neck.

"Come on... Lemme get you high, Baby Girl." He smirks.

Slapping her ass. He grabs one cheek, holding it tightly as they walk across stage.

Rolling her eyes, she feels her pussy swell from his grasp. Luna loves the way he man handles her sometimes, even distracted.

"I fucking hate when you call me that." She complains.

There is ONE person who calls Luna Baby Girl and they're the highest on her shit list.

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

Sitting on one of the couches on The Bus, Colson fires Luna up a joint. Handing it to her, he lights his own. Slouching down, Luna hits it as she kicks off her Vans. Swinging herself around, Luna lays back on the couch as she places her legs across his lap.

Colson slips her socks off and starts rubbing her slender feet. Pressing his large thumbs into her balls and high arches. Both still getting high. Luna closes her eyes, running her left foot over Colson's semi until he can't stand it anymore. Fully hard, he looks over at her asking Yeah to her smirk and shrug.

"YEAH!!" Colson shouts as he pounces on her.

Tickling and kissing her all over, Luna wiggles and laughs as they try to undress each other. Scooching all over the couch. Colson pulls her skinny jeans off and throws them across The Bus.

"Was that really necessary?" Luna laughs.

"Yes." Colson confirms as he dives back on to her.

Kissing and teasing each other, they wrestle around on the couch. Luna squirms too far off it, taking them both down onto the floor with a THUD.

With more space to control her, Colson bites Luna's neck as he dips his cock inside of her. Luna thrusts her hips up into him as she moans out in pleasure. They're tongues play in each other's mouths as they move their bodies together. Pulling back, Colson grins down at Luna.

"Told you I'd fuck you on the floor." He smirks.

"You motherfucker!" Luna bursts.

Gripping his waist with the leg wrapped around it, Luna pushes off with her right. She rolls them over using her right arm as leverage and left for force. Popping his dick back inside of herself once she's on top, she pulls up her right knee to protect her new crab. Dropping her hips and left leg, Luna pushes Colson all the way inside of her. Pressing on his chest with her hands, she rocks her hips in a titled circle.

"Who's fucking who on the floor now, C!" Luna taunts his groans.

"You're such a fucking biitchh..." He growls, enjoying her pussy controlling his cock.

"Yeah. But you love this fucking BITCH, don't you?" Luna provokes Colson while riding him faster. "Don't you."

Colson grips her hips tighter with a loud Yes. Bucking hard against him, they're both on the verge of cumming.

"Say it." She demands.

"I FUCKING LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH!!" Colson shouts as Luna fucks him with authority.

"FUCK YEAH, YOU DO!!" She cries out before they both cum. "Holy Fuck balls, Bunny...."

Luna pants, dangling her head backwards as she leans her hands on his thighs. Still grinding into him. Colson admires her heaving chest and enjoys her warm pussy and soft moans.

She's startled when he comes flying up, wrapping his arms around Luna's body when he hears The Bus doors open. Quickly tucking her inside of him, she's not sure what's going on until she hears his firm YO.

Next comes a "Bullet? What the fuck, DUDE? Why... You know what.... Get the fuck out, I'll be talk to you in a minute." Colson says to whomever walked onto The Bus.

"Who the hell was that?" Luna asks once he releases her.

Colson runs his hands through her hair. Pulling her in for another kiss.

"My boy, Bullet... Come on, let's get dressed. I'll introduce you." He tells her before he kisses her again.

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

"MY MAN!!" Colson exclaims dapping and hugging a large bald man.

The guy is HUGE. Benny and Colson are the same height but Benny's got an easy 150lbs on Colson. This dude that Luna's watching, has at least another three inches on them both. An easy fifty pounds if not more of solid muscle on Benny. He's not huge, this man is a mountain.

"Kitten!" Colson catches her attention. "This is Bullet. Bullet, meet Luna Smith, THAT Brooklyn Bitch. And as of next month my fucking WIFE." He grins with pride.

"Hi!" Luna gives the man a bright smile as she shakes his hand. "How do you guys know each other?" She asks.

Colson explains how Bullet is his other bodyguard.

"Ooohh... They called in you cause of OUR reckless asses." Luna calls him right out, putting two and two together.

"Naaahhhh..." Bullet shakes his head with a smirk.

"Mhhm... Well, at least we greeted you with a fucking bang-bang." She snarks, making Colson and Bullet erupt into laughter. "I gotta start working on this song. Catch you in a bit?" Luna asks as she kisses Colson.

He nods in agreement, kissing her back as she tells Bullet It's A Pleasure. Heading off to find Sam.

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

"Imma like this one..... She's a little pistol." Bullet thinks of his first impression of Luna. Noticing how Kells had stopped to cover her tattooed body when he walked in on them. He'd never done that before with any other female Bullet's walked in on him with. Just kept on fucking. "If she is what they say she is, I guess I'd wanna keep that ass to myself too." He muses to himself. Acknowledging that Kells's Girl is not only sassy but STACKED as he watches her walk away.

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🎶Did we ask//You for It//When we begged//Was it nice//While we were//Asking for It//Did we beg you twice🎶

Luna's in Colson's dressing room, sitting on the floor with her guitar, notebook, a joint and a pen. She's trying to write a new song. Wanting the same message as Nightmare, but melodic wise is trying to return to her roots. That raw energy. She doesn't want any mixing done. Just to run it straight through. That hard hitting garage feel.

"FUCK.... I'm so glad Sam's already here. I need a fucking bassist..... There's no way I'm pulling Tim in for this....." She thinks as a pain shoots through her heart.

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

Luna's original band, Dysfunctional Baggage consisted of four members. Luna on lead guitar and vocals. Justin on rhythm guitar and back up vocals. Sam, obviously being the drummer and Tim, Justin's bestfriend, their bassist. They had formed in 2011. Playing local NYC spots. Doing small East Coast tours. None of them wanting to be famous, having only the need to create music. And they did. A lot. The Band cut four albums on their own before they disbanded in 2015. Justin and Tim's addictions overshadowing their work. That's when Patti pushed Luna onto Riot Records as a solo artist. Locking her into a four year, three record contract. Sam had stuck with Luna as an unsigned artist, not wanting to be pigeonholed but still create with her friend. Having lost Justin within the first year of her contract, the three records sound nothing like Luna. They're very dark and bluesy instead of energetic and empowering. Justin's suicide never going public but Luna's words making it abundantly clear to their fans. It had wreaked her. Had she not been forced to create, she probably would've lost her music also.

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

Ashleigh pops her head in.

"You're on in 15, Loon." She informs her.

"FUCK! Okay. Thanks Ash." Luna responds.

Looking at her mess on the floor, she doesn't have time to clean it up. Pulling her clothes off, she dresses for The Stage. Throwing on a corset, booty shorts, thigh highs with a garter, a random flannel and knee high boots.

Keeping her hair loose, she pulls on her leather before heading out to perform with Colson.

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

"God DAMN!!!" Colson's mind flashes as he takes Luna's hand, leading her from the piano. "Imma fuck the shit outta that ass TONIGHT." He thinks as he raps to her.

Bouncing around the stage together, playing off one another, Colson feels his dick growing hard as Luna snakes around him. He pulls her into him. Poking her lower back with his raging cock. Reminding her of LA.

🎶Let me paint the picture. Counter in the kitchen. Taking all your clothes off. Findin' my religion. You're my pretty little vixen and I'm the voice inside your head. That keeps telling you to listen to all the bad things I say🎶

They hit the chorus together. How they want each other forever. Throwing their arms up as they laugh and sing about tattooing each other on their bodies to take each other wherever.

The Band exploding around them with lights and smoke. The crowd going wild when Luna grabs Colson's chin. Belting the last chords.

🎶I'm all in🎶

🎶There is no maybe🎶

Colson grabs her ass, pulling her into him for a strong kiss. Their bodies ripping chords on his guitar between them.

"I love you." Colson whispers to her, whipping her around to face the crowd, he holds her against him. Arm around her neck. "Give it up for my soon-to-be Bride, THAT BROOKLYN FUCKING BITCH!!!!" He screams.

Luna grins and shakes her head. Thanking the crowd as Colson kisses her cheek and releases her.

"Kill em, Bunny." She tells him before trotting OffStage.

That's exactly what he does for the next 45mins. Jumping into the crowd, climbing up random shit, performing his fucking heart out.

Luna doesn't bother to head back to the dressing room. Standing in between Sam and Ashleigh, she hits the bottle one hands her. Then a joint from the other. Singing along with them, enjoying the rest of the show.

"Thank you, Chicago!!! You were fucking sick!!!" Colson shouts before coming OffStage after encoring Sail.

Luna throws up a Bye to Ashleigh and a confused Sam as he tosses her over his shoulder. It's a scene her and Ashleigh know all to well.

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

"Get that shit off, NOW." Colson demands after setting Luna back down on her feet.

"What 'chou do before me?" She asks as she strips.

"There is no before YOU." He tells her as he scoops her up.

Sliding himself inside of her, Colson presses Luna up against the dressing room door. Sucking all over her neck as he bounces her off of his dick.

Luna cums for him easily with the way he talks to her and the way his cock treats her. Her walls gripping him tight, she makes him cum with her.

Sitting down on the couch, Colson's still inside Luna as she rests her head against his bare chest and neck. Quietly enjoying each other for a moment.

"What do you wanna do tonight?" He finally asks her.

Lifting up, she grins. "Same thing we do every night, Pinky.... Take over the fucking world."

Colson laughs out an I Love You before flipping her into her back and fucking her again on the couch.

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

With a school bag full of liquor, drugs and toys, that's exactly what they do. Take over the fucking world as Colson, Luna, Sam, Baze, Rook and Slim rip their boards around DownTown Chicago.

"I didn't know you grind!!!" Luna grins as Slim cruises beside her.

"Bitch, black men do everything!" He laughs.

"Shut the fuck up." Luna tells him with a grin and a shake of the head "Why your bitch ass never come out with us before then, hunh?"

"Cuz I do what I WANT!!!" He laughs mimicking Luna as he pushes off to gain more speed.

"Why wanna be like me???" She teases him, gaining her own speed and sailing past him.

Stopping abruptly, Luna yells "SAMMMMMYYYY!!!"

She's found a park. It may be gated but Luna found a park. The Boys watch as Luna tosses her board and bag over the fence. Next goes Sam's board. Luna's almost up the fence as she reaches down to help her girl.

"I guess we're going to the park..." Colson shrugs after watching The Girls disappear. "Heads up!!!" He yells before tossing his board over to them.

Following suit, Colson and The Boys hop the fence too.

Inside the park, Luna and Sam climb up the jungle gym. Sam finding and sliding down the slide first. Luna going down sideways calling for Squish The Lemon. Everyone one running towards her. Rook and Sam take one set of steps as Slim and Baze find others, running across the jungle gym to the slide. Colson beats them all when he climbs up the side. It only takes Colson's weight to knock Luna off.

Scrambling back up to the top, they hoot and holler as they slide and slam into each other. Knocking each of them to the ground. Luna's stuck between Baze and Rook as Slim comes tumbling down against Sam. It's Colson's force that sends Baze and Luna flying into the air. Both hit the ground laughing.

"YOU WIN!!!!" Luna calls out, not bothering to get up off of the warm summer ground.

"Lezzzzz goooo!!" Sam shouts, pulling her up and towards the swings.

Luna LOVES to swing. It's the ultimate childhood release for her. The six of them all grab a swing, pumping their legs hard as they breeze through the air. Flying high.

"On three, who can make it farthest!!" Baze shouts out the challenge.

Dipping into the air faster as they glide, Baze calls ONE! TWO! THREEEEEE!!!! Sending them all flying into the night sky. Surprisingly, they all land on their feet. Colson winning having lept the farthest. Slim a close second.

"Guess white men can jump." Luna sticks her tongue out at Slim before she grabs Sam's hands and runs off.

Jumping onto the Merry-Go-Round. She calls The Boys over. Slim and Rook jump on with them as Colson and Baze do the hard work of pushing. Running around full force multiple times, they jump on too. Colson grabbing ahold of Luna and a bar as The World spins around them. Laughing as the warm summer air whizzes by them.

All of them lay back, dizzy as the sky starts to move slower. Passing the bottle and multiple joints amongst them.

"Is this the shit you do when you guys disappear??" Slim asks as he hits a joint, enjoying the childishness of the night.

Colson, Luna, Rook and Baze erupt into laughter. Yes. Yes it is.

"I Cone-Fought Loons in Detroit!!" Rook laughs. "I bet I'm the only person in The World who's whooped her ass!!" He states to the others laughter and Luna's Fuck You.

"What fun shit you got in the bag tonight, Looney?" Colson asks.

"Ahhhh... Idk. I think I have a football!!" She pops up off the metal toy.

Digging through her bag, she pulls out a Nerf football to everyone's excitement.

"WORD!!" Slim shouts, jumping up as Luna tosses it to him. "Colson gets Luna so I get Sam..." He starts picking teams.

"Aight.... I get Rookie." Colson agrees, popping up too, pulling Luna up with him.

"What the fuck, yo!?" Baze asks as last pick.

"You wit me Truck, let's rock these Fools!!" Slim reassures him.

Picking goal lines, they can't agree on touch or tackle. The Boys calling touch while The Girls holler Fuck That, Tackle. Colson declaring tackle it is.

They run a couple plays. Luna and Sam displaying that not only can they catch a football but each can also spiral one. Running around competitively against each other, Luna tackles Sam with no thought. Stopping their fourth down.

"FUCKING LUNATIC!!!!" Rook screams in excitement.

If you haven't realized yet, Luna and Rook are tiny people best friends. Both adoring and finding each other hilarious.

They're in the middle of another play when they see lights and hear a Hey.. What Are You Kids Doin'!? Grabbing their boards and Luna's bag all six of them haul ass. Tossing their shit over the fence as they all escape.

Laughing hysterically as they shoot off into the Chicago night. Rounding a few blocks, they slow down. Colson firing up a joint as Baze does too. Luna pulling the bottle of whiskey back out of her bag. They cruise back to the Aragon as they continue to enjoy each other, passing joints and the bottle between them as they continue to get fucked up. Slim happy he came out.

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"Wait. We're outta fucking alcohol???" Luna asks once they're back on The Bus. "How is that possible!??"

It's 2A. There is NO WAY they're hitting the road dry.

"Hold The FUCKING Bus." She directs Colson. "Let's go." She states grabbing Ashleigh and Sam's hands.

Chicago is the joint you wanna be in if you need alcohol late night. After a short search, Ashleigh finds a package store only three blocks away. With the bottle of Jameson still in her bag, Luna demands Ashleigh down it. She needs to be on their level.

Always the responsible one, Ashleigh doesn't mind when Luna demands she cut loose. Pouring the last eighth of the bottle down her throat.

Linking arms, The Girls laugh as they burn a joint trying to follow Ashleigh's GPS. They only get lost for fifteen minutes.

Relieved, giddy and drunk, Ashleigh, Luna and Sam drop to their knees in the whiskey aisle. Praising the Liquor Gods. Not caring who's around.

Each grabbing three handles. Six whiskeys and three tequilas. They head to the counter. Sam and Luna losing their shit when Ashleigh mistakes a Captain Morgan cut out for a person. She's drunk.

"We gotta get you out more, Boo." Luna laughs, throwing her arm around her.

After paying, they stumble down the street. Ducking their heads together as they laugh.

"Take me with yooou next time... I'm so tired of being the Moooooommmm... I had so much fun just being fucked up with you the other day." Ashleigh slurs.

"I got you, Sugar." Luna beams, wrapping her arm around Ashleigh's swinging waist.

They're a block away from the venue, when they're approched by four men.

"What do we have here???" One asks as they circle The Girls.

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To be continued......