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shadesoflsk · 2 months

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MOONTALK

pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN Reader.

summary: After retiring, Leon often has nightmares about his past. Talking under the moon's gaze seems to help.

warnings: Smut MDNI, just oral (m receiving), angst to fluff to smut hehe, mentions of death, violence, and alcohol, catholic symbolism, dad bod leon hehe (x2) subby leon, reader is called spouse.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: Hello! This is very simple since I'm trying to get better at writing smut for gender neutral readers :) There's not enough content and while I improve at writing the whole sex scene I shall bring you this! (I'm open to suggestions or constructive criticism.) As always, I hope you're having a good week!

The starry night is chosen to be Leon’s witness in the middle of his stolen slumber.

It’s a common occurrence, part of himself longs for the pain-filled activity since it serves as a reminder of his own life. Night terrors scare him more than his anxiety. The first one clings to his soul and threatens him with an inability to wake up. Helpless to his own mind, he prefers to be fully awake.

However, his brain isn’t his friend. Even when awake and aware of his surroundings, his mind would recreate scenarios he has lived before. Blood dripping and sticking to his combat boots, the smell of the iron-ish liquid filling his nostrils painfully making its home in Leon’s head, messing up with his perception of the world and himself.

Somewhere in that messed up path, he had found you.

He didn’t intend to, it wasn’t in his plans to. He had locked his heart and thrown the key somewhere in the sea of his failures.

A feeling of regret brimmed in Leon’s soul. How could his name be attached to yours if the sole mention of Leon Scott Kennedy brought memories of hell on Earth? A former rookie cop, ready to risk his life on duty turned into the government's best weapon. He’s made peace with that, ever since his mission in San Francisco his life has gotten significantly better.

But that doesn’t mean it has stopped hurting.

He once heard Jesus presented his left cheek to be slapped. In the past, he’d have imagined the mere thought of being that naive was ridiculous.

“You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.”

Now, that passage has been planted in his heart like a thorn that wouldn't go away no matter how much he pinched the skin. But rather than being a bothersome feeling, it shaped him into the man he is now.

He would never be Jesus, he knows that much. Ever since he was a kid, his connection to religion was always dangling between trust and distrust; faith and doubt. Fear crossed his juvenile and innocent expression whenever he came across a statue of the people’s lord and savior.

God bad, Jesus good. People good and bad. The Old Testament was the backbone for Leon’s hatred towards God. If this supernatural being ‘loved’ his people, why would he punish them?

Sins are ambiguous. Killing is bad. But if he had killed creatures that were no longer humans, is he a sinner without redemption?

He’s still coming around that last statement. Were they really no longer humans?

That’s why he prefers the New Testament. A fresh start, a new life being born. Jesus wouldn’t judge him for the man that he was and is.

And just like him, he turned his left cheek in a mission in San Francisco years ago, when he ended Maria’s life. Bitter and revengeful for killing her father, the woman made it her mission to murder Leon. But ultimately (and ironically) she ceased to exist in Leon’s arms.

‘Revenge’ was met with a ‘Now you can be with your dad again.’ Merciful, he had granted her a last moment of peace.

The soundless night heightens Leon’s senses. As he tries to brush off his worries, some footsteps break the unnerving silence that Leon is in. His ears focus on the soft pace that he easily identifies as yours.

Recognition turned into monotone and monotone into mundane. And don’t get him wrong, God he loves feeling he has finally found his home.

Leon’s arms are resting on the balcony railway, blue eyes focused on the starry night.

“You should be sleeping.” He flatly says without turning to face you. Not out of apathy but guilt. Not being next to you has woken you up.

“Can’t sleep without my husband.”

Sensing you approaching, he opts to tease, trying to divert your attention somewhere else. “Wouldn’t be my dear spouse if you weren’t clingy.”

“I’m not clingy.” But you wouldn’t allow Leon’s usual antics. You know them by heart, lighthearted jokes instead of facing reality. “I’m just worried,”

“You worry too much.”

“But I’m always right.”

A sigh.

Teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

“It’s hard to sleep sometimes.” The phrase is not directed at you, but a response to his own thoughts. For him, safe and sound sleep is a blessing he’s not lucky enough to receive.

“I know.” And then again, your reply isn’t about yourself. A feeble smile appears on your face out of empathy and partial understanding. Standing next to him, your elbows rest on the balcony railway, the chill air sending goosebumps through your skin. “Did you dream about something?”

Leon’s eyebrows knit in concentration as he mull over her question. When he tries recalling his past moment of slumber he is met with the usual gruesome scenario and the same gut-wrenching screams.

“Same old tale.” He exhales. In the past he would have had a glass of whiskey in his hand, tilting the content to one side as he gazed over the starry sky. But he made a promise, and as much as his past comes back to haunt him, he’d keep it.

“Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Why I don't believe you?”

He brings a calloused hand to his mouth as he registers your words. Under the moonlight, his expression gives away his exhausted state, a hint of darkness around his eyes, a permanent faint frown.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yet here I am asking.” It’s not until now that you notice Leon’s shirtless torso. Most of his scars are turning a light white color while his bruises are changing their hues. His body is not the same from a few years ago. His abdomen no longer shows off his chiseled abs but a slightly round and soft belly.

“Feels like I’m walking in circles.” He finally answers with his eyes closed. His restless mind can’t give him a break. Unable to completely live in peace, he finds himself pondering about his own humanity.

“The past is always clearer at night.” With an expression akin to resignation, he looks at you. “And the past tells me I’m a monster.”

The faint sound of the clock could be heard even when they were both gazing into the sky and letting their thoughts be consumed by the chill night. It reaches the dreaded ‘Devil’s hour,’ 3 AM.

“You aren’t a monster.” And it is the truth. While Leon is a complex man, it is not a difficult task to unravel and search through the layers he has covered himself in. His heart beats for the nation and therefore its citizens.

“If I’m not a monster then what am I?” He replies, his face growing somber. “If what I’ve done isn’t destruction what is it?”

“Salvation.”

It is far from salvation. It’s selfish to even think that way.

Sadly, Leon was the designated pawn to complete the job nobody wants to do.

Sadly, Leon is no more than a victim in the web of despair and destruction.

“Salvation.” He scoffs, a sharp ironic demonstration that your words weren’t the best. “I used to fight while the innocents kept falling at my feet.”

A glimpse of a past self appears in front of you. Chaos and loathing unfurls.

It’s been years since you last saw the man who used to drown himself in the deadly burning liquid. However, the alcohol no longer filled the empty spaces in his body and soul.

Truthfully speaking, nobody can fix or heal anyone. But you gladly took the role of being Leon’s partner in life. Not only romantically speaking. Silently, you made a home in Leon’s heart and he was too comfortable with you to ask you to leave him.

“You didn’t do it in the first place.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The government did.”

“But I was just another bullet in a gun.” He replies softly, his gaze drifting forward. Even after all of these years, he couldn’t completely shake off the guilt that kept haunting him. “Another man with his finger on the trigger… I was just a man with a gun.”

“And you’re also a man with a heart.” You respond immediately, not giving him a chance to continue his venom-filled words toward himself.

“If you were the demon you think you are, these late-night thoughts wouldn’t be haunting you as they do. You wouldn’t be mourning every soul even after all these years.” Your words bring a sense of comfort amidst the internal battle that is occurring inside him. The weight of his burden has always been more bearable with you.

“You think I’m that much of a saint?” A faint smile tug at Leon’s lip. A troubled expression on his face tells you he is still not believing your words. Or perhaps, he feels like he shouldn’t believe you.

“I don’t think you’re a saint. Humans are much more than black or white, good or bad. We are gray.”

Your statement is true. Humans are far from being one-dimensional beings. The balance has always been there and he knows it. When he was a child and religion was still an important part of his life, he remembers when Jesus protected Mary Magdalene.

‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’

Leon had stained his hands with blood and gore, but he had also saved countless lives when the odds were against him.

“God… I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” He laughs, finally bringing you closer to him with his arm around your waist.

“No, you’re just human.” You reply, admiring the view your balcony provides, you think about the endless possibilities in life. If you hadn't met Leon, where would you be? And if Leon hadn't met you? How his life would look right now?

Universe works in mysterious ways, if you hadn't been in the right place at the right time, you wouldn't have your soulmate next to you.

A comfortable silence sets in as Leon finally relaxes and gives his mind a break. There were days and nights in which his brain was weak, but that doesn’t mean he hasn't gotten better.

“I would do laundry and taxes with you in every timeline.” You break the silence with a quote from a movie both of you had watched and Leon being the moviegoer he is, you know he’ll recognize it.

“That's not how the line goes, you silly.”

Bingo.

“Then enlighten me, Mr. I know every movie by heart.”

“It is ‘in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’” He states matter-of-factly which gains a laugh from you. But in a way, you’re used to his antics and almost nerdy personality only you get to see.

But your words mixed with the ones from the movie hold a glimmer of truth. Even in a timeline in which he wasn’t an agent and just a regular citizen, you’d have fallen for him. Because his past doesn’t make him the man he is now.

In another life, you’d love him over and over again.

“But I’d do all those things in this life and even in the afterlife.”

His eyes fall on you, the glimmer in them now being obvious. Just a few words from his love would pull him out from his depressive nights.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m just amazing like that.” You wrap your arms around Leon's neck while his hands rested on your middle section. “Now hug me because I’m fucking freezing.”

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” Laughing, he pulls you closer in a tight embrace. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold. Besides… I need my cuddling partner every night.”

As both of you move out of the balcony and away from the cold wind of the night. Leon’s hands move painfully obvious to your rear. After his late thoughts, he only wants to feel you close to him.

“I don’t think you want to cuddle.” You remark the obvious. Leon just chuckles, nodding.

“Aside from being the perfect partner you’re also a mind reader?”

You step in your bedroom. Place that has been witness to Leon’s most vulnerable moments, from the times in which he'd come back from a mission to the ones in which both of you would get lost in each other's bodies.

His sanctuary, your heaven.

You smile at him as you motion him to sit down on the bed. Both of your eyes are locked in a gaze that says what you are feeling, love. No matter how hard his or your days could be, both of you could always come back to a partner that takes care of them. No matter the situation.

As he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, you lean closer and press a kiss to his forehead, to his nose, to his cheek, and lastly to his lips. This last one lingers more than the others, sweet and slow, like how you want to treat him tonight.

“I love you.” You whisper as you pull back from the kiss, your thumb grazing over his stubbled jaw.

“Love you more.” He responds with the same tenderness you have brought him. After saying his words, his hands traveled to where your hips were, attempting to pull you closer.

“Nuh-uh. Tonight’s about you, sir.” You have your mind set that this night is going to be all about the perfect husband you have in front of you.

With that, your lips once again found their home but this time it was on Leon’s neck.

With your lips giving some attention to Leon’s sensitive skin, you treat him like he was fragile porcelain.

After a few moments, you slowly lower yourself until you're between his thighs. Another reminder of how much his body has changed, his thighs were fuller and bit less toned than before.

He has seen you like this before, on your knees and with the sweetest of looks but dear God it gets better every day.

You press your cheek against Leon’s inner thigh, your hand rubbing the flesh that is still covered with his sweatpants. He was no longer an active agent therefore he had gained some weight which you completely love. He blames the alcohol he used to drink so much and the lack of high-impact exercise. But you always reassure him that you love him nonetheless.

Your hand creeps to his clothed crotch, you gently trace along the bulge that has already formed. Leon’s breath is starting to get heavier but nothing too scandalous, for now.

“I haven’t even touched properly and you’re already this hard.” You are trying to be gentle, but there’s something about having control over him even when you’re on your knees that just prompts you to tease him a hit.

“Might as well cum in the spot, don’t you think? Bet you’re already imagining me pulling down your boxers and stroking your cock.” The face Leon was making could send you straight to heaven.

“You’re the devil…” Leon tries, he tries to gather himself by making a joke. But his high-pitched speech comes out pathetic. A rebuttal? More like a whine.

“What? My handsome husband can’t handle the spice? I expected better.” The praise seems to hit a spot somewhere in his body because the way his hips just bucked and sought the friction of your hand was contradictory to his previous words.

“Please…” And after that whimper, you no longer want to tease the man. Especially tonight in which he deserves the best.

“Ok, ok. I gotcha…” You murmur, wasting no more time and pulling his sweatpants down. A wet spot is already formed in his gray boxers. Then again, more teasing words flood your mind but you brush them off.

With a gentle kiss on his inner thigh, your fingers hook around the fabric and slide it down. His dick springs forward, and as always, it makes your mouth water. It’s the same image as always, slightly curved lenght with veins you had memorized by now and a reddish tip that tells you how bothered and pent-up he’s been.

Marriage has always been depicted as a boring and monotonous lifestyle, in which you get bored of your spouse after a couple of years. In a sense, you understand where they come from. However, Leon and you always made sure to keep things interesting, and as corny as it sounds, both of you try to make the other fall in love again.

You press a kiss on his tip, holding back a laugh as you know how sensitive he must be. The slightest touch has him gripping the bedsheets.

“You’re teasing.” He says as his lips form a pout. His calloused hands flatten on top of your hair

“Am I?” You give his shaft a few kitten licks, not breaking eye contact while doing so.

Finally, your shenanigans are followed by your lips wrapping around his tip, sucking the area. That gains a whimper out of Leon, the ones you’re so used to.

When you first met the stoic agent, you wouldn’t have thought that he’d be so vocal in bed. Even when he was supposed to be on top, he’d let the most beautiful moans against your ears. asking for permission to continue, asking for permission to fill you up.

For a moment, your lips continue sucking off his tip. Your saliva coating the area and sloppily making out with the head of his dick. Your fingers wrap around the base of it, almost overwhelming Leon with the amount of attention he is receiving.

“Ah — Fuck…” His eyes roll back as you finally take him whole. The previous ministrations long forgotten as your mouth and part of your throat surround his sensitive cock.

You bob your head, slowly at first, controlling your breath as Leon involuntarily thrusts his hips making his tip hit the back of your throat. You place your hand on Leon’s thigh, to motion him to stand still.

“Shit — sorry, sorry…” His voice gets slightly higher, now his previous words turn into pleas or straight-up moans. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth as your tongue runs on the underside of his cock.

“Too good for me…” He’s reduced to just babbles and whines, his knuckles turn white as keeps on gripping the bedsheets, an awful attempt to drown more moans. As you continuously bob your head, Leon could feel his high coming.

Unconsciously and given his dazed out state, he brings his leg to your shoulder. You were completely focused on him and this simple action made your concentration break a bit. He’s putty in your hands, his brain no longer functioning whenever you are in control.

You’d edge him, you’d definitely tease him for that. But now, you just continue sucking him off with the inner side of his thigh brushing against your cheek.

“I’m gonna — Fuck…” It’s not a warning, but a comment, a needy announcement. As much as he denies it, there’s not a better image than seeing you covered with his cum, or watching you swallow it whole. It made him feel a sense of pride, knowing that his spouse is the one making him come undone.

And as your tongue runs along a vein, he couldn’t contain it any longer. With a high pitched whine and throwing his head back, he spills down your throat.

The warm liquid fills your mouth and some of it drips from the corner of your lips.

You stay still for a moment, collecting every last drop of Leon’s cum. When you feel Leon’s hand on your shoulder —the one that doesn’t have his leg on it— you know he was asking you for a break.

Pulling out with a pop, you gently move his leg for him to rest.

For a few seconds, you just massage your jaw as Leon tries to recover. Heavy breaths fill the dark room, allowing you to relax once again.

“You good?” You ask as you are sitting down on the floor.

“Yeah — Just… give me a second.” He laughs, closing his eyes. A loving smile forms on his face.

You laugh too, getting up from the floor, you admire the scene Leon provides you: All of his body exposed to you, his sweatpants and boxers pooling at his ankles, and his fucked out expression.

Heaven.

After a minute or so, Leon composes himself.

“I’ll make sure to wake up every night if this is the treatment I get.”

“Next time I will just tie you up to the bed.”

“Oh? I like the sound of that.”

Laughing, you slap his naked chest as he pulls you closer. Nights like this are a reminder of his humanity and his right to love and to be loved. The past can never be changed or forgotten, but he can learn from it.

💬shadesoflsk: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

author's note 2: I just had to mention eeaao! It's one of my favorite movies and I know Leon would love it. Sorry if it was too sappy of me but then again... I'm always like that.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader

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munson-blurbs · 10 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Summary: A baby shower has you reuniting with Eddie (and Harris). Unbeknownst to Eddie, it's right when he'll need you most--but is he ready to forgive?

Warnings: mention of pregnancy, small allusion to sex, mentions of Grandma Sweetheart's death, mentions of learning disability

WC: 7.4k

Chapter 11/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Mid-January in Hawkins is cold, with temperatures in the mid-30s, but a bundled-up Harris Munson is unfazed. Eddie happily watches as his son practically flies across the empty playground and heads straight for the swingset. In the warmer weather, it’s a coveted spot amongst the kids and usually ends in a battle, but the chill in the air means that Harris doesn’t have to fight for a turn.

“Daddy! Uncle Jeff!” he calls out, voice muffled by the blue scarf securely wrapped around the lower half of his face, “come push me!”

Jeff laughs with a shake of his head as he and Eddie trudge across the frost-covered grass. “You heard the man.”

“Ready to have a little gremlin of your own?” Eddie teases, hoisting Harris onto the swing, making sure his bottom is squared on the rubber surface. He catches a glimpse of the baby swing to his right, and his heart pangs at the memory of Harris being tiny enough to fit in there. “Lemme tell ya, it goes by quick. The days are long but the years are short.”

Jeff just gives a little nod, and Eddie can tell that he doesn’t quite believe him. “I’m serious, man. And all that stuff they say about not knowing what love is until you have kids? Man, I thought that was the biggest crock of shit. Like, of course I know what love is! I love my music, my uncle, even you guys,” he adds with a gleam in his eyes, referring to his former bandmates. “And then Harris was born, and I was like, ‘holy shit, this is what it means to love someone.’” He positions himself behind the swing, giving Harris another big push before stepping aside to let Jeff have a turn.

Jeff looks at him incredulously. Eddie Munson is no stranger to a good rant, but never one this vulnerable. He’s speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “Th-Thanks, Ed,” he manages, offering the white paper bag he’d picked up on the way to the playground. “Y’still like peanut butter creme donuts, right?”

“Hell yes!” Eddie cheers, pumping his fist in excitement. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the chocolate frosted confection, taking a huge bite triumphantly. “‘M tellin’ ya: Em and Abi’s Gourmet Donuts is the best thing about this town,” he exclaims with a mouthful of peanutty filling.

“Really?” Jeff chuckles, taking a honeycomb donut from the bag. “Better than a certain preschool teacher you may or may not be infatuated with?”

A blush creeps into Eddie’s cheeks, and he hopes he can pass it off as a reaction to the winter winds. “Not in front of…” he trails off, jerking his head in the direction of his son.

“Got it, got it,” Jeff smoothly agrees, but he still presses the topic in a roundabout way. “But, uh, any luck with that?”

“Nope,” Eddie cuts him off. “I’ve just been giving her space like you said, but she hasn’t reached out or asked about tutoring again.” He shrugs as though it doesn’t bother him, but both he and Jeff know that that can’t be further from the truth.

Jeff gives Harris a big push, smiling when he hears the boy’s giggle. “You haven’t called or anything?” he asks.

“Once, after I saw her during drop-off.” Eddie admits, twisting the ring on his pinky finger. “Left a message but she never called back.”

He plays it back in his head, a constant loop that he’d practically memorized before relaying it to your answering machine. As much as he wanted to resolve everything sooner rather than later, he was embarrassingly relieved when he’d heard your outgoing message. Still, the sweetness of your recorded voice was honeyed tea on a dreary day, and he didn’t anticipate his breath to hitch when it played.

“H-Hey, Sweetheart. Shit, can I call you that? Um, anyway, give me a call when you can. I think we should talk.”

The two men take turns pushing Harris and chasing him around the playground. At one point, Harris makes his way to the pole, painted school bus yellow. He reaches out with two chubby hands, but his feet stay grounded on the platform. “‘M scared,” he whimpers, still clinging to the pole.

“You got this, Mini Munson!” Jeff cheers, frowning when Harris remains in place. “Tell ya what: if you slide down the pole, I’ll make your dad do it, too.” He grins mischievously, and Eddie would discreetly flip him the bird if he didn’t have a better alternative.

“Yeah, bud, and then Uncle Jeff will go after me.” He mouths a silent ha at his friend, but neither seem to mind.

And after a few seconds of deliberation, Harris flings his body forward and slowly makes his way down, hands squeaking along the metal.

“I did it!” he announces triumphantly, turning to Eddie. “Your turn, Daddy!”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, but a smile dances on his lips. He darts up the jungle gym steps and hangs onto the pole. He could simply put his feet down and touch the ground, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he lets out a high-pitched, “wheeeee!” as Harris cackles loudly.

He claps Jeff on the back once his shoes touch the rubber turf. “You’re up, big boy.”

Jeff follows suit, mimicking Eddie and making Harris laugh even harder.

“Uncle Jeff, you’re so silly!” he exclaims, using hands and feet to clamber back up to the top and slide down the pole; this time, there’s no hesitation.

Harris repeats the routine again and again until Eddie catches a glimpse of the digital watch around his wrist. “We gotta leave in five minutes, Har Bear,” he reports matter-of-factly, hoping his lack of emotion will ward off any impending tantrums.

Harris’s lower lip juts out as his pupils dart back and forth between Eddie and Jeff. “Aw, why?”

Eddie crouches down to match his son’s height, pressing palms to his knees for stability. “We’re gonna help Uncle Jeff pack up the presents from the baby shower, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” He pauses, pursing his lips in concentration. “How did the baby get in Auntie Viv’s tummy?”

Jeff’s eyes widen at the question, and he glances at Eddie, silently willing him to say something. Eddie clears his throat, wracking his brain for a response that will placate his son’s curiosity without giving away too much information. “Um, well,” he begins, biting the inside of his cheek to buy himself more time before settling on: “when a man and a woman love each other, that love can make a baby.”

Fortunately, Harris seems satisfied with that answer, and Jeff hands him a chocolate donut to distract him from asking anything else. The boy plunks down in the grass a few paces ahead of them and takes a big bite.

“How is it?” Jeff calls to him, chuckling when Harris responds with a chocolate crumb-covered thumbs up and turns his attention back to the dessert. “Nice save,” he says to Eddie, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a little shake. “But what are you gonna say when he asks about his mom?”

“Jesus H; he’s gonna have to give me a few years to come up with an answer for that one.”

Despite every cell in your body urging you to stay away, you’re back in Hawkins. More specifically, you’re in Viv and Jess’s parents’ house, cleaning up after an overall successful baby shower. You’re spooning the leftover food into Tupperware while Jess washes dishes and her girlfriend, Robin, dries and puts them in their respective cabinets.

You’d returned to Grandma’s apartment last night after Jess begged you to come to the shower, lamenting that the party was going to be all of her sister’s lame friends and she needed someone actually fun to hang out with her and Robin. Her insistence, coupled with your desire to finish out the remainder of the school year, is why you’d tossed your suitcases into your sedan and made the trek. Yup, those were the only reasons; certainly nothing to do with–

“Have you talked to Eddie since you got back?”

His name alone brings a surge of emotions, none of which you have the energy to identify. “No,” you mumble, a heat blooming in your cheeks, “he left a message a week ago saying ‘we should talk,’ but I didn’t return it.”

Jess snaps off the faucet, hands still dripping with soapy water as she places them on her hips with an exasperated sigh. “What? Why not?”

“Because.” You try to leave it at that, but her defiant glare obligates you to elaborate. “Because I’m embarrassed!” you admit to Jess and Robin–and to yourself. “The guy practically chased me down the night we met, and now that he got to know me, he doesn’t want to sleep with me? Is my personality that much of a turn-off?” You snap the lid on a plastic container, desperate to end the conversation with your rhetorical question, but your friend keeps going.

“Look, I don’t know him that well–only what I’ve heard from you and Jeff–but he seems to really care about you. Jeff says he hasn’t seen Eddie down this bad, like, ever.” She lowers her voice. “Apparently, some old hookup was coming onto him, and he turned her down because he's, quote, involved with someone.” She raises her eyebrows inquisitively, though you both know that the someone in question is you.

“Wait, hold on–Eddie Munson?” Robin breaks in, nearly dropping the serving spoon in her hand when she makes the connection. “Metalhead, senior year three-peat, alleged Satan-worshiper Eddie Munson?”

“Well, the jury’s out on whether I worship Satan or I actually am Satan, but, yep, that’s me.” The familiar voice from the kitchen doorway startles the three of you; this time, Robin does let the oversized utensil fall to the floor with a clang.

Nerves send your heartbeat into a frenzy, and you have to rest your open palm on the countertop to steady yourself. Eddie stands before you, tip of his nose tinged red from the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Wh-What are you doing here?” You whisper the words, but you might as well be shouting with the level of anxiety steadily rising in your chest.

Eddie rocks back and forth from the soles of his feet to his toes. “Jeff asked us to help him load the gifts into the car.”

“Us?”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris flings himself into your embrace, and as soon as you stoop down to reciprocate his hug, he’s wrapping his arms and legs around your torso. “I miss you! When are we gonna do the alphabet and eat pizza again?”

Eddie looks over at Jeff; you hadn’t even noticed the other man behind him until Eddie’s gaze drifted over. You watch as the two men exchange a knowing glance, and Jeff quickly speaks up. “Hey, Har,” he motions the boy over to him, “why don’t you use your super strong arms to bring stuff out to the car? I bet you have bigger muscles than me.”

Harris begrudgingly lets go of you, sliding to the floor and dragging his feet to Jeff. He heaves a dramatic sigh and grumbles, “fiiiiiine,” and you and Eddie have to hold back your laughter at his theatrics.

“He is definitely my kid,” Eddie says once Harris has left the room and is out of earshot. He walks closer to you as you turn back to packing up the food. “You, um, never called me back,” he murmurs, placing one hand on either side of you, his chest almost touching your back. Robin and Jess creep out of the kitchen as quietly as possible, leaving you and Eddie alone.

You clear your throat and swallow your fear. “I didn’t have anything to say.” That’s a lie; there was so much you wanted to confide in him, but the thought of him rejecting you again, or getting another glimpse of the hurt you caused reflected in his deep brown eyes, kept you from returning his call.

“Well, I did.” His tone is calm but firm. “I just need to know one thing, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.” He pauses, gathering up his own courage before speaking again. “That day…why did you ask me to sleep with you?”

“I told you,” you say, desperately trying to keep your voice from wobbling, “because I needed to feel something.”

Eddie shakes his head, stepping back and crossing his leather jacket-clad arms over his chest. “No, but why did you ask me? Why didn’t you go to the Hideout and pick up some random dude?” His volume starts to rise, and he clenches his fist and drags it back down as if reminding himself to be quieter. “Was it, like, a convenience thing, or did you really think I’d be okay having sex with you while you were so upset?”

Your heart pangs at his question. It had never even occurred to you that he’d perceive it that way. Were you being selfish? Taking what you felt you needed? Admittedly, yes. But were you asking Eddie specifically because he happened to be there? Absolutely not. “No, Eddie,” you say, forcing yourself to face him, “it’s because…because I knew you’d take care of me. If I wanted to stop or slow down, I knew you’d listen. I trust you.” Speaking the truth aloud is like letting the air out of an overfilled balloon on the cusp of popping. Both you and Eddie visibly relax, easing a tension you hadn’t realized he was also holding.

The room is quiet for a moment. Eddie’s knee softly bumps against your thigh as he wills himself to close the gap he’d created. “You said something in your message about it never being meaningless. Not even the night we…we met.”

The reminder of your confession floods you with humiliation. You—unsuccessfully—threw yourself at him for sex and then left a message saying that you’ve been clinging to the hope of a relationship since your alcohol-laden first hook-up. How humiliating.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, but I told Jess that I’ve never been good at one-night stands. I always get too attached.” And it doesn’t help when I have to see the guy and his adorable son twice a day, you think wryly, but you store that anecdote inside.

Eddie shakes his head, lacing his ringed fingers with your bare ones. The pad of his thumb brushes against the knuckle of yours, both comforting you and zapping electricity through your body. “No, ‘s not weird,” he reassures you, giving your hands a squeeze. “I felt the same way, even if I didn’t realize it. I think that’s why I asked you to stay, why I held you…I’ve never done that before.” He’s sheepish but not ashamed; if he’s being honest, he’s pretty damn proud of himself for admitting it aloud.

You tilt your chin up knowingly. “Yeah, I heard you shut down a sure thing because of your involvement with someone.”

Your emphasis of that one word has Eddie dropping his head, letting go of one of your hands and covering his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Damn, word spreads around here like it’s the five o’clock news. But, uh, yeah, I did. Turn her down.” His tongue darts out to coat his dry lips. “Not that it’s any of my business, but did you, um, see anyone over the holidays?”

“Nope.” You shake your head, bracing yourself for what you’re about to tell him. Even though he’s the one holding you, allowing your bodies to intertwine, it’s nerve-wracking to be so vulnerable. You forge ahead, allowing the words to tumble out of your mouth. “I…I only want you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath gets caught in his throat. Want want want. Present tense, not past. “Want, like, present tense? Like you still feel that way?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t reek of desperation for a millisecond before realizing that he doesn’t care, as long as you still want him.

“Is that okay?” Your voice is small, an almost comic contrast from the bravado you used during your last in-person encounter.

“It’s more than okay, Sweetheart.” Eddie’s whisper matches yours. His thumb ghosts over the plush of your lips as his hand slips to your cheek, bringing his remaining four fingers behind your ears and to the nape of your neck. He leans in, drawing you closer with his tantalizing smoky scent and raw desire. One step in, noses nudging together–

“Daddy, look at me!”

Eddie whips his head around at the sound of Harris’s voice, nearly crashing against yours, and you stumble backwards into the counter, wincing as you make contact with the linoleum. You bite back the string of swear words on your tongue, both at the pain and the missed kiss.

Jeff is panting as he chases after him, bending forward at the waist and resting his palms on his thighs. “I tried to keep him entertained, but I was not prepared for this level of energy,” he huffs, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath. His eyes dart between you and Eddie, easily picking up on the guilty looks on your faces. He mouths “sorry” and shrugs, but the moment is already over.

Harris, oblivious to the burgeoning tension in the room, tugs on his dad’s sleeve in a demand for attention. “Daddy, wanna see me lift stuff?” He jumps up and down as he asks, making his words vibrate. “Uncle Jeff says I’m the strongest kid in the world!” He opens his arms the entire length of his wingspan to emphasize his point.

“Uh, y-yeah; sure, bud.” Eddie stammers. He looks over at you and you follow his lead, watching as Harris lifts a box of diapers with a dramatic grunt. When Eddie is sure that his son has fully turned around, he grabs your hand once more and gives it a little squeeze. “We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, and it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Ms. Sweetheart, you watch, too!” Harris insists; so you do, trailing after him all the way to Jeff’s car. Unable to see over the box, he walks it right into the back bumper, and Eddie has to step in and help him.

Once the diapers have been tetris'd into the trunk, Jeff closes the door and slaps it for good measure. “Well, I think that’s everything. Thanks again, Munson…Mini Munson.” He ruffles Harris’s mop of curls with a grin.

Eddie holds out his hand, pulling Jeff in for a hug when he takes it. “Congratulations again, man. I’m really happy for you guys.” And he genuinely is. He can’t wait to see one of his oldest and closest friends experience fatherhood.

He turns to you as Jeff heads back into the house to help Viv to the car. “Did you have anything to eat?” he asks. “I mean, we can go to Benny’s if you want. I was gonna take Harris.” The kid hasn’t had anything since breakfast except the donut, and he’s bound to get cranky sooner rather than later.

You shake your head. “No, I wasn’t really hungry. But I’m down to split a stack of pancakes with you, if you want?”

“Like you used to do with Grandma?” He remembers you mentioning the tradition during her eulogy. The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though his smile quickly falters when he notices the misty film glazing your eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“I’m good,” you reassure him, dabbing at your lash line with the heel of your hand. “Someone really special once told me that it’s okay to be sad, so I’m kind of giving that a shot.”

This time, Eddie’s grin remains. “Is that a ‘yes’ to the pancakes?”

“Yeah. It’s a yes.” You giggle when Eddie makes a fist and pumps it in celebration. “We usually got blueberry, but I’m down for chocolate chip,” you say, remembering his food preference from your first date.

“Nah, I can get behind blueberry,” he says. What he doesn’t say is that he would eat anchovy pancakes if it meant making you happy.

“But I want chicken fingers!” Harris scrunches up his nose, and both you and Eddie know that a hungry four-year-old is not to be challenged.

Eddie scoops Harris up into his arms, smacking a wet kiss to his chubby cheek. One day, his son will wipe them off, but Eddie’s glad that today is not that day. “Then the boy shall have the finest chicken fingers in all of Hawkins!” He declares in a deep voice before winking at you. “More pancakes for me and the pretty lady.”

Harris’s eyes widen. “So you do think she’s pretty–”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Eddie cuts him off. You duck your head as though that will ward off further questioning from Harris, but not before catching a glimpse of Eddie mouthing, “like a princess.”

You can smell the aroma of the deep fryer as soon as you pull into Benny’s parking lot. Since you drove yourself to the shower, you and Eddie take separate cars and meet there. The small diner isn’t overly crowded, and the three of you squeeze into a booth in the back corner. Eddie sits on one side and you on the other; you assume Harris will slide in next to his dad, but he chooses you instead.

Your waiter introduces himself as Ryan and places three sets of silverware on the table. He starts to hand you the menus, but Eddie politely shakes his head and tells him, “‘S all good, man. We know what we want.” He orders a plate of chicken fingers and fries for Harris and a short stack of blueberry pancakes for you and him. “Y’want anything to drink?” he asks you, and you contemplate for a moment before ordering a hot coffee, and Eddie gets the same.

“I want a coffee, too,” Harris pipes up, flashing his million-watt grin at Ryan, who holds back a laugh and promises that the food will be right out.

“So, Harris,” you start, taking a small sip from the glass of ice water in front of you, “how was your Christmas? Get anything good?”

“Mhm!” he chirps, swiveling his body to face yours. “I got a bunch of new Hot Wheels and some cool markers for drawing. They smell like fruits!”

“Very different from when I used to sniff markers back in my day,” Eddie jokes, and you kick his foot lightly in an attempt to silently tell him to behave. His eyes twinkle mischievously when you playfully roll yours.

“That sounds awesome!” you exclaim, bringing your attention back to Harris and adding, “I bet Mr. Will would want to see your new markers if you want to swing by my classroom on Monday.”

Harris’s face lights up, and he claps his hands together in jubilance. “Maybe I can draw something for him!”

“He’d love that,” you tell him, and the little boy squeezes his hands into tiny fists and lets out an excited squeal.

Ryan returns a few moments later balancing a plate of chicken fingers in one hand and the pancakes in the other. Your stomach rumbles; you didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were presented with food. Eddie peels back the film of one of the small plastic syrup containers, positioning it over the pancakes and cocking his eyebrow to get your approval. You nod, and he tilts and swirls it as you watch it drip down the sugary stack.

“How was your visit with your family?” He doesn’t refer to it as your visit home, because he hopes that you consider Hawkins your home now. He unfurls his napkin and pulls out the fork and knife, cutting into the stack, and you mirror his actions.

Harris stretches his arm out across you, and you realize he’s reaching for the glass ketchup bottle, so you twist off the cap and plop some onto his plate. He dips a fry into it happily. “About as good as it could be,” you answer Eddie. “Everyone kind of tried to act normal, but it was like they were trying too hard, y’know?”

“Was Grandma there?” Harris asks through a mouthful of fried potato.

You bite your lip, not quite sure what he knows and what Eddie wants him to know. Death is a tricky subject to broach with young kids, and you don’t want to say anything that will confuse or scare him. Luckily, Eddie jumps in and comes to your rescue. “Har Bear, remember I told you that Grandma went to Heaven?” He gently reminds his son. “That’s why you made that nice card for Ms. Sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harris’s expression morphs from inquisitive to concern, even as he chows down on a chicken finger. “Are you still sad?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, more to yourself than to him, “but it gets a little better every day. And being around my favorite guys helps put me in a good mood.”

Eddie presses a syrupy hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “Who, us?” He smiles and spears another cut of pancake with his fork. “How did you know flattery works with me?”

Before you can formulate a response–something teasing but not overly flirtatious–Harris poses a new question: “Ms. Sweetheart, do you have any babies?”

“Harris!” His son’s name comes out sharper than he intends, but Eddie’s too flustered to think twice. He looks at you apologetically, practically crimson from his cheeks to his ears. “Sorry, he hasn’t stopped talking about babies since I told him about the baby shower.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, giving his hand a small squeeze to show that you truly don’t mind Harris’s curiosity. You look at the boy and tell him, “I don’t have any babies, but I consider all of my students to be my babies.”

“Me, too?”

You chuckle and take a sip of coffee. “Of course, you, too!”

There’s a brief silence as you all eat–Eddie steals a fry from Harris’s plate and shoves it in his mouth before he can get caught. While hilarious, his timing couldn’t be worse, because he has no way of stopping Harris’s next statement:

“You and my daddy could have a baby. Because you’re a woman and he’s a man.” It’s matter-of-fact, said while dunking his food in the ketchup pile, as though this is something everyone drops into normal conversation. “That’s how you get a baby in your tummy like Aunt Viv.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter, not wanting to reinforce his inadvertently entertaining assertion.

Eddie is far less amused than you are, nearly choking on his swiped French fry. “Chrissakes…” he hisses, ducking and bringing his fist to his forehead, “Harris, eat your chicken fingers, quietly.” He breathes out with a puff of his cheeks as Harris obliges, completely oblivious to the meaning behind his suggestion.

A beat of awkward silence ensues as you eat a hunk of pancake, warm blueberry juice seeping into your tongue. Grandma used to joke around and say that the blueberries made it a healthy food. “Practically a fruit salad,” she’d tease with a glint of happiness dancing in her eyes.

Eddie, meanwhile, is desperate for a subject change. His palms are slick from what he’s like to think is merely embarrassment, but it’s multifaceted. The idea of the three of you sitting in Benny’s just as you are now, only you’re eating for two, has his stomach in knots. And if he even dares to dream about what getting you pregnant entails? He’s a goner.

“Harris has a birthday coming up,” he blurts out a bit too loudly, unable to control his volume. “He’s turning the big, uh, five.”

You can feel Harris eagerly kicking his legs next to you, so you match his enthusiasm. “Wow, Har! That’s a whole hand!” You hold up five fingers and Harris does the same, bringing his palm to yours.

“Are you gonna come to my birthday party?” He peers up at you with hopeful eyes, and you’re left scrambling for a response that doesn’t give away that you haven’t exactly been invited.

“Oh, I, um…”

“She’s going to check her calendar and see,” Eddie offers, and you exhale at his quick save. Turns his attention to you. “His birthday is February 6, but that’s a Thursday, so we’re gonna do his party that Saturday at the bowling alley. Just me, Wayne, and a couple of the kids from school. And you, if you can make it.” Shit, is he rambling? Was that too much information? You spend every day with kids; would you really want to spend a Saturday afternoon at a birthday party surrounded by them?

He’s not overanalyzing for long before you speak. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Do grown-ups get to bowl, too?” You perch your chin on your hand, blinking to emphasize your curiosity. Bowling has never been your forte, but you imagine you’ll fare quite well compared to a group of five-year-olds.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie laughs kindly, letting his arm cross the table so that the back of his fingers can graze your forearm, “that’s a given.”

The three of you head out to your cars—not before you and Eddie argue over who’s going to pay the bill, with you eventually winning the battle. He takes Harris’s right hand as you step off of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, and Harris instinctively slips his left into yours. He walks between you and his dad naturally, as though it’s always been this way. Like you all were a little family that made regular outings for pancakes and chicken fingers.

“Har, go get in your car seat, and I’ll be there in a sec to buckle you in,” Eddie says gently, opening the door for him.

Harris climbs in clumsily, calling back, “Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” His farewell ends with a yawn, suggesting that there will be a nap in the near future.

Eddie closes the door, shoving his hands in his pockets bashfully. It’s one of his nervous quirks, you’ve noticed, and you’re immediately inclined to reassure him about whatever’s on his mind. “Hey, um, could I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“I talked to the people at the school,” he starts, kicking at the gravel under his feet, “and Harris has that evaluation thing on Monday. Would you…”

You don’t even let him finish his request before confirming, “I’ll be there.”

Eddie’s body instantly relaxes, relief flooding through him at your words. “You’re amazing.” He looks around to make sure Harris can’t see before kissing you, lips quickly melding together. He has to pull back before he wants to, before either of you want to, to avoid getting caught. He tastes like coffee and syrup with a hint of berries, though the kiss is too brief to pick up on anything else. A stirring inside you informs you that he could kiss you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough. “See you, Sweetheart.”

Mondays are characteristically exhausting; kids are home for two days on the weekends and return behaving like they’ve never seen a classroom before. Today is no exception, but the coffee Eddie left on your desk this morning certainly helps. He’d tried to sneak in, but you’d caught him, and it took everything in your power not to plant a kiss on his cheek right then and there. Scrawled on the side of the to-go cup in his messy handwriting were three simple words that made your heart soar: For my Sweetheart.

What you didn’t know was that Eddie had thought about what he’d wanted to write for the entire car ride. Nothing too clingy, but nothing too distant. Not sappy but not brusque. Even the word my between “for” and “Sweetheart” was daunting; how would you feel about being his?

By the time the afternoon rolls around, neither of you are too concerned with romantic gestures. You and Eddie sit in the hard plastic chairs outside the school psychiatrist’s office. He’s already answered all of her questions, so now it’s simply a matter of waiting for the observation to end.

You can hear Harris giggling from the other side of the door, and you look over to smile at Eddie, but he either didn’t hear it or his nerves have built up an impenetrable barrier.

He exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and leaning his head back against the brick wall. It’s a sigh of defeat, not relief, and you lean over and squeeze his hand without a second thought. The edges of his skull ring dig into your palm, but you couldn’t care less. Your only priority is keeping him calm.

“Hey,” you murmur, crossing one leg over the other. He looks through you, not at you, and you brush a stray lock of hair from his face to ground him. Once he’s settled, you continue talking. “Everything will be alright. Either he doesn’t have a disability, or we’ll be one step closer to getting him the accommodations he needs.”

Eddie nods. “I know. I just…” He pauses for a beat, struggling to find words that accurately convey his myriad emotions. Besides anxiety about the unknown path that lays before him and Harris, guilt gnaws at him for his past misgivings. The careless sex with Harris’s mom, the stupid fucking tour that he just had to go on while she was pregnant, the blissful ignorance that he could have his cake and eat it, too. “I hate that he can’t learn, like, normally. Like the other kids.”

Your instinct is to tell him that Harris doesn’t need to be like the other kids, that he’s perfectly and unequivocally himself, but that’s not what Eddie needs right now.

“It’s tough,” you agree, “but Harris is a great kid with big dreams, and he’s not going to let anything stop him. All we have to do is support him along the way.”

Eddie ponders that for a moment, slightly amused at the accuracy of your statement, given what you don’t know. Beyond reading and math–both of which he’s shown improvements in since you’ve begun your tutoring sessions–Harris refuses to give up on his quest to get you and Eddie together. The hand-holding drawing was only the tip of the iceberg; Wayne’s since reported that the boy has asked multiple times about when “Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart will fall in love.” And, of course, he hasn’t stopped talking about your Saturday afternoon diner date, constantly badgering Eddie about whether or not you two were married yet.

Eddie rests his head on your shoulder, curly tendrils tickling your collarbones. All you want is to let him stay there as long as he needs, even if your legs fall asleep, but the nagging thoughts of passersby’s perceptions triumph over your desires.

“Eddie, I…” you trail off, gently lifting your shoulder so he’ll get the hint without you having to say it aloud. Self-consciousness pinkens his cheeks as he sits up, adjusting his posture and mumbling a soft “sorry” under his breath.

“S’fine,” you rush to reassure him, praying that he doesn’t misconstrue your professionalism with shame of being seen with him. You would comfort any of your students’ parents in times of distress, but let’s face it–you would never snuggle up to Jason Carver or Carol Perkins. “Just don’t wanna be accused of canoodling on the job,”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Canoodling?”

“It’s a word!”

“You’re the one with the fancy college degree, so I guess I gotta believe you.”

You giggle softly, brushing his Reeboks with your flats. “Seriously, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. The words replay like an enchanting melody. You’ve got him. You’ve got him, and you’ll have him as long as he vows to hold on.

“Mr. Munson?”

Eddie’s attention snaps to Ms. Cassie, the school psychologist. Harris darts from her office, a giant smile on his face as he leaps into his father’s arms. “Daddy, we played games! It was lotsa fun!”

“That’s great, Har Bear,” Eddie murmurs into Harris’s scalp. He looks up at Ms. Cassie expectantly. “How did everything go?” Is my son okay? Is there something wrong with him? Is it my fault? He doesn’t dare pose those questions.

The psychologist offers a smile, lacing her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Like Harris said, we had a great time. I’d like to speak with you briefly…” her gaze flits over to the hallway. “Is there someone who could keep an eye on Harris while we talk?”

Eddie’s heart sinks; privately, perhaps naively, he’d been wishing that there wouldn’t be anything else to discuss. Maybe a chipper, everything’s fine; he’ll catch up to the other kids on his own! But nothing so serious that it required an additional meeting.

“My TA can,” you pipe up, remembering that Will had stayed back to prepare an art project for tomorrow morning. Eddie puts Harris down, watching as you take his chubby hand in yours and make your way to your classroom.

Ms. Cassie starts to wave Eddie into his office, but he shakes his head. “Wanna wait for her to get back,” he tells her, and she nods understandingly. As soon as you return, the two of you take a seat in front of her desk. Paperwork is stacked neatly in piles across the top of it, and framed diplomas line the walls. Board games sit on the shelves, and Eddie can’t help but wonder which ones Harris played this afternoon.

“I want to start off by saying that Harris is one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with,” Ms. Cassie says. Her tone is even and patient, which makes Eddie more anxious. He wants to jump up and demand that she spill the bad news already, but he bites his thumbnail to calm his nerves. You notice the gesture immediately and inconspicuously grab the hand closest to yours, hiding your display of affection below the desk. Eddie grips so tightly that you have to actively suppress a grimace.

“The evaluation indicates that Harris meets the requirements to be classified as a ‘preschooler with a disability,’” she continues, “and as a result, he qualifies for special education services–”

“What the hell does that mean?” You wince at the vitriol in Eddie’s voice, and you rub your thumb over the back of his hand. It brings him back down enough for him to clear his throat and apologize, but you can sense that he’s still on-edge.

“That’s alright, Mr. Munson. You’re not the first parent to react that way, and I’m positive you won’t be the last.” She taps a small pile of papers on her desk to even them out before handing them to him. “The classification means that he will get an Individualized Education Program–IEP for short–that will help us target goals for Harris to make progress alongside his peers.”

Ms. Cassie drones on about short-term and long-term objectives, but Eddie can’t focus on what she’s saying. Preschooler with a disability. My son has a disability because I left, because I wasn’t there, because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. It’s all my fault. My fault my fault my fault–

“Eddie,” you whisper, but it’s no use. You watch as his ribcage expands and contracts faster with manic breaths, on the verge of hyperventilation. You shoot the psychologist an apologetic glance and pull Eddie from the office before he can launch into a full-blown panic attack. His body is like a ragdoll, and he trails behind you mechanically; if you let go of his hand, he’d probably stop dead in his tracks.

“Baby,” you say, bringing him to an empty classroom. The nickname rolls off your tongue easily despite technically being in your place of work. “Baby, it’s just you and me right now. You’re okay–”

“Harris–disability–my fault.” His words are low and gravelly, but you hear them without having to strain. They’re similar to the sentiments he’d uttered that day at parent-teacher conferences when he’d unexpectedly showed up at your door.

There’s no use trying to convince him otherwise, not when he’s like this, so you try a different approach. “I can talk to Ms. Cassie about rescheduling the meeting. We don’t have to figure everything out right away.” He nods, just a miniscule bob of his head, but it tells you that he’s cognizant enough to comprehend what you’re telling him. “In the meantime, why don’t you go see Harris? I bet he’s drawing something for you.”

That gets a smile out of him. “Y-Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t move; instead, he brings you closer to him and holds you to his chest so close that you can hear his heart beating. His body shakes, but it’s not until you feel a warm teardrop fall from his face onto the top of your head that you realize he’s crying. You wrap your arms around his lithe waist until you feel him begin to steady, staggered breaths becoming fuller.

Wiping the tear trails from his cheeks carefully, you press a tiny kiss to his nose. “Wash your face and go to my classroom. I’ll meet you there.”

“‘Kay,” he manages, wishing he had the means to express his gratitude for your words, your presence, you.

When he gets to your classroom, Harris is furiously scribbling on a piece of construction paper with his new markers. Eddie smiles, leaning against the door until Will spots him.

“Harris, your dad’s here!” he announces, and Harris looks up excitedly.

“Daddy!” he exclaims. “I’m almost done with my picture, hold on!” He grabs a blue marker and uncaps it, marking the paper with concentrated dots. He replaces the cover and slides the marker back into the yellow-and-green box.

He’s always so diligent with his art supplies, Eddie notes.

“Ta-da!” Harris spins the drawing so his dad can see. There’s three people–you, Eddie, and Harris. You’re standing around a large purple rectangle with a line coming out of each corner, which Eddie recognizes as a table. There’s a circle representing the plate of chicken fingers in front of Drawing Harris, and a circle between Drawing You and Drawing Eddie with blueberry pancakes. Just like on Halloween, he’s drawn a smile on everyone’s faces.

“He’s really good,” Will says, and Eddie looks at him in amusement. “Seriously, he is. He’s got great spatial awareness when he draws, which most kids don’t develop until later. And he’s got an eye for detail,” he adds, pointing to the blue dots on the pancakes. “Looks like you’ve got a little artist.”

An artist. Not a failure, not incapable, but an artist. A boy who could grow up and inspire the world with his creativity.

“I love it,” Eddie says finally, reaching out to take the drawing. He frowns when Harris snatches it back.

“This one is for Ms. Sweetheart,” he explains exasperatedly, as though this is something he’s had to repeat multiple times. “We already have one at home, Daddy. Renember?” His pout quickly becomes a grin when he sees you enter the room. “Ms. Sweetheart, I drawed this for you!”

“I love it!” You inadvertently echo Eddie’s statement as you hold the paper to your heart. “This is gonna go on the kitchen wall so you can see it when you come over for tutoring.” You turn to Eddie, eyes warm with understanding. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno,” he answers honestly. “Kinda sad, kinda mad, kinda relieved that there’s an answer.” He scratches at the stubble on his cheeks. “‘M just…really glad I don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I’m always here for you, Eds. You and Harris.”

Eddie’s curls bob up and down as he slowly nods. “Speaking of which, um, you said something about tutoring him? Are you feeling up to it? I can bring pizza—o-or not, if it makes you sad. We could do Chinese or something—”

“Eddie?”

“Ya?”

You look down at the drawing of your little chosen family at Benny’s. It’s certainly different from the times you went with Grandma, but you’re filled with the same feeling of belonging that you’d felt then.

“Extra olives for me, please.”

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shakespeareanwannabe · 2 months

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As You Wish, Chapter 6

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Potential Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, sadness, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to babies, swearing, references to the hospital

Sharp Memorial Hospital, almost 12 years ago

The skies were painted shades of lilac and rose, golden hues dancing just above the horizon as the sun played peekaboo with the clouds, not quite willing to give up the daylight just yet. Jake watched through the small window in the private hospital room, two small, warm weights resting against his bare chest. His wife of less than a year slept soundly in the uncomfortable hospital bed next to him.

Bob and Natasha had left a few hours before to get dinner, the WSO arriving the second he was invited to meet his new nieces, his partner following close behind. The two were never far from each other, and Jake knew that they preferred it that way.

“Knock, knock…”

Jake looked up and immediately rolled his eyes. Under his arms, Javy had two massive teddy bears, one pink and one purple. Behind him, Rooster stood with a bundle of balloons, looking like he’d rather be holding anything else.

“Hey fellas,” Jake whispered.

“Jesus, Hangman, don’t you ever put on a shirt?” Rooster scoffed playfully.

“It’s called skin to skin contact, dipshit. It’s supposed to be good for them,” he retorted, shifting Abby (or was it Charlie?) in his arms as she cooed softly.

“Easy with the language there, papa bear,” Javy laughed, depositing the two bears beside the side table and moving to stand behind Jake’s chair. “You’re gonna have to watch the swearing with these two little angels around.”

Jake chuckled softly. “Yeah, I know. Buttercup’s already given me sh—lip for it.”

“That’s why I love that girl,” Rooster nodded. “She knows how to keep Bagman in line.”

“Just for that, Javy gets to hold them first,” Jake cocked an eyebrow at his friend and rival.

“But there’s two of ‘em,” Rooster complained. “Why should I have to wait?”

“Because I’m his best friend? Because you can’t keep your mouth shut? Because I’m superior in every way?” Javy laughed, tugging the other chair in the room over and plopping down. “Alright, little ladies, come to Uncle Javy!”

“Better pick just one, or the Prodigal Son over there is gonna start pouting,” Jake smirked in Rooster’s direction, cradling his daughters closer when he flipped him off. “I can give you neither of them,” he reminded.

Rooster huffed. “Fine. Just gimme.”

Jake handed Charlie (it was definitely Charlie, he remembered now: Charlie was on his left side because her name has an L in it) over to Javy, who immediately started cooing at the infant as he cradled her head in his big hand.

“Hey there, girlie,” he whispered to the sleeping infant. “I’m your Uncle Javy, and we are gonna drive your old man nuts together. You just wait until you’re a little older and I’ll teach you all the different ways to make the vein in his forehead pop.”

“I regret everything,” Jake muttered, handing Abby over to Rooster. “Watch her head, man. Hold her like a football.”

“I know how to hold a baby, Bagman,” Rooster gripped, looking slightly awkward as he cradled the newborn.

“Coulda fooled me,” Jake returned, standing with a groan and pulling his shirt on. “Don’t hold her like you’re afraid of her, dumbass.”

“Dude, she’s like…fresh,” Rooster grumbled, tucking Abby a little closer to his body. “I’ve never held anything this new before.”

“You get used to it,” a quiet voice yawned behind them.

“Hey mama,” Jake grinned, swooping down to kiss his wife’s forehead. “How you feeling?”

Buttercup groaned and stretched, her joints popping. “Like I just went through 27 hours of labor and pushed two of your giant kids out of a 10-centimeter hole in my body?”

Javy shuddered. “A little graphic, Buttercup.”

“A little accurate, Coyote,” she shot back, leaning down to fiddle with the controls of her bed, raising herself higher. “Anyhow, its time for me to try feeding them again. And, before you ask, no. You’re not allowed to watch,” she glared playfully at Javy and Rooster.

“We have to go?” Javy pouted but handed Charlie back to Jake to deposit in his wife’s arms.

“Sorry, man,” Jake grinned. “But whatever she says, goes. I won’t be arguing with her for a long time after what she just went through.”

Buttercup smiled at him, exhaustion shining in her eyes as she accepted her daughter into her arms. “Thanks, baby,” she whispered. “Rooster? Can we get Abby back please?”

Jake turned to see Rooster standing stock still as he stared down at the sleeping baby. “Do��do I have to?” he whispered.

Jake chuckled. “Who woulda thought that it would only take my daughter to shut down Bradshaw’s attitude?”

Rooster shot him a glare as he handed Abby over to her father. “I’m with Javy…I’m gonna enjoy working with these two to turn that blond hair grey.”

“Sure, Rooster,” Jake laughed, cradling Abby to his chest as he waved them off. “Whatever you say.”

Clifton, Texas, Now

Bright sunlight streamed in through the small gap in the purple curtains, slicing across Abby’s face as she yawned and stretched before sitting up.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. The furniture in her bedroom was supposed to be walnut, not grey. Her window was certainly not east facing, and she did not have that many plaid shirts hanging in her closet. It was only when she heard Rooster’s heavy footsteps above her that she remembered. She was home, technically. Home in Texas, with her father and her uncles, as she had been for the past few days.

Abby’s cheeks ached as a wide smile tugged at her lips. The last few days had been so wonderful. Her dad was everything she ever could have dreamed and more. She’d spent the previous day just hanging out with him in the ranch office, eating sandwiches that Rooster had made for lunch and making each other laugh. The day before that, she’d tagged along with her dad to one of Javy’s football practices. She may not completely understand football yet, but she’d had a great time watching her dad and Javy coach the team of high school players. Every night, she hung out in the kitchen with Rooster, helping him make dinner and prep lunches for the ranch staff and the guests staying in the cabins. Each day had been better than the last, and she couldn’t wait to see how the rest of the week played out.

That day, she knew, would be the best day of all. Her dad had promised to take her out on a trail ride through the forest that bordered one side of the property. He had said that he had something important to talk to her about, and that phrase had sent her heart racing. She didn’t think that he knew about the swap (mostly because Charlie had reassured her in a late-night call that nothing about her dad’s behaviour seemed out of place), but she wondered if maybe he would tell her about her mom and sister. Maybe he was going to share the news that she and Charlie had been waiting to hear from their parents.

Anxious to hear whatever it was that her dad needed to talk to her about, Abby raced to get ready and made her way downstairs, only pausing when she heard an unfamiliar voice in the kitchen.

“But sugar…”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry. But I promised that I’d take Charlie out on a ride today, and I swear, I’m going to tell her today.”

“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that,” a high pitched, southern drawl responded, and Abby poked her head around the corner to sneak a peek at whoever was speaking. All she could see was her father, his hands cradling the hips of a tiny woman with bleach blond hair and painted on blue jeans.

“I know, baby,” Jake sighed. “I planned on telling her last night, but she passed out early. And I was definitely going to tell her about you the day before that, but Javy waylaid me and invited us to football practice. Rooster’s been keeping her busy in the kitchen after work too, so it’s been hard to get a moment alone with her.”

“Hard to get a moment alone with your own daughter? In your own house? On your own property?” The pout was clear in the woman’s voice.

“Savannah, don’t start,” Jake sighed again, removing his hands from her hips and turning. Abby pulled her head back around the corner before he could spot her. “You know that Rooster, Javy, and I own the place together. And she’s known them since she was born, so they’re as entitled to spend time with her as I am, especially when she wants to spend time with them.”

“I’m sorry, sugar. I’m just so excited for her to know.”

“I know, baby. Me too. I’ll tell her today, I promise.”

Abby poked her head back around the corner in time to see Jake kiss Savannah, and she felt her heart sink.

Turning on her heel, her feet pounded up the stairs and she launched herself onto her bed, scrambling for her cell phone.

A: Does dad have a girlfriend?

The answer came almost immediately.

C: LOL no he’s got no game

C: Why??? 👀

A: Because there’s a random blond lady hanging out in the kitchen and he’s calling her baby

C: You sure it’s him and not Rooster?

C: Uncle Roo has lots of hookups 🤢

A: Pretty sure I know what he looks like, thanks 🙄

C: You didn’t until a couple of weeks ago, smartypants

A: Thanks for the reminder

A: Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?

A: He wants to talk to me about something

A: What if it’s her?

A: Charlie?

C: Sorry, gotta go! Mom’s taking me to one of her book signings, and then we’re going to dinner and a show! Good luck!

Abby threw her phone onto the mattress and groaned, watching it bounce.

“Super helpful, sis…” she muttered, burying her head in her hands.

Her dad wanted to talk to her about something, and that something seemed to be a pretty, tiny woman with a grating voice. And, for all of Charlie’s reassurance, they had seemed pretty friendly and familiar with each other in the kitchen. The memory made her stomach churn.

What if he wanted to tell her that he was dating this Savannah lady? What would that do to their plan to make their parents see each other again? They had always known that their parents getting back together was a long shot, but they had hoped. And what if Savannah didn’t want her dad to change the current custody arrangement? What would they do then?

Abby felt her heart crack a little in her chest. She couldn’t imagine going back to the way things had been before, not now that she’d gotten a chance to love her dad and be loved by him in return. Not now that she’d gotten to cook with Rooster and coach with Javy and watch the three men barbecue while she swam in the pool. It was both fresh and familiar, terrifyingly new and heartwarmingly recognizable. She couldn’t go back to live in London, no matter how much she loved it, not when she knew that Seresin Ranch was waiting for her in Texas.

But what if her dad decided that he wanted Savannah more than he wanted her? It would be too much for her to bear.

Abby shook her head. No. That wouldn’t happen. No matter what happened, or why their mom decided to take her, and their dad decided to take Charlie, her dad loved her. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name. Once her dad found out that it was her, not Charlie, he’d want to make sure he saw them both an equal amount of time. He just had to.

A playful knock sounded against her door and her dad stuck his head inside.

“Hey, punk,” he grinned, the lines around his eyes and mouth deepening into crevices that spoke of a lifetime of joy. “You ready to go?”

She grinned back at him, the burden on her heart lifting instantly. Her dad loved her. If she was sure of anything at all, it was of that.

“Yeah, dad. I’m ready.”

Her backpack weighed down with sandwiches, apples, carrots, and enough water to feed a small army, Abby trekked into the stable, where Charlie’s paint mare, Lovebug, was standing, already tacked up. Her dad’s horse, a large grey gelding named Firewall, stood behind her as Jake finished cinching up his saddle.

“Hey, Charlie-girl, you all ready?” he called out, patting Firewall’s flank.

“Yeah, dad. Just give me a second!”

“More than a second, you two,” Rooster called, strolling in behind her. “Dude, there’s an issue with the AC unit in cabin 5. You want me to handle it like normal?”

“Cabin 5? You mean the same cabin that’s been giving us holy hell since they got here?”

Rooster nodded, a large hand reaching out to ruffle her braided hair as he passed her. “That’s the one.”

Jake sighed and rubbed at his forehead under the brim of his white cowboy hat. “Nah, shoot Toni a text and let her know to head in there and double check it. If there’s no issue, she can read them the riot act about wasting our time.”

Rooster grinned. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

Abby tuned out their conversation as she slowly approached Lovebug. According to Charlie, the mare was an easy ride, but loyal as all get out to Charlie, never allowing anyone else to mount her. Charlie had gotten her as a gift for her fifth birthday and the mare hadn’t allowed another rider since. Hopefully she looked and smelled enough like Charlie to be able to fool the mare.

“Hey Lovey…” Abby murmured; her eyes lowered as she held one hand out for the mare to sniff. “Easy girl…please let this work…”

The mare’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared as she anxiously pawed at the soft stable floors and whinnied, tossing her head back and retreating as far as she could, almost bumping Firewall.

“Whoa!”

“What the hell?”

Jake grabbed Firewall’s reins as he surged backwards to grab Firewall’s reins before he could retreat too far. Rooster leapt forward to grab Lovebug’s reins, easing her head down and petting her muzzle gently.

“Charlie, are you okay?” Jake called, clipping Firewall onto a long lead attached to the wall so he wouldn’t wander.

“Y-yeah…I’m okay,” Abby replied softly as her heart sank. She’d known that tricking Charlie’s horse was going to be one of the more difficult parts of their plan, but she’d never thought that the horse would react like that to her. If she couldn’t get Lovebug on her side, their plan was as good as done.

Rooster clipped Lovebug onto the wall and stared between horse and would-be rider curiously. “I’ve never seen her react to you that way before, kid. Anyone else, sure. But not you.”

“M-maybe she smells Champ on me,” she offered weakly, remembering how Charlie had taken a shine to the palomino at camp. “I…I don’t think I’ve washed this shirt since coming back from camp.”

Jake approached, cautiously patting Lovebug on her withers as he passed her. “Could be. Six weeks is also a long time for her not to see you. Maybe she’s trying to readjust. She’s always been a sensitive horse. Here…let’s try again.”

Calmly, Jake took Abby’s hand in his and slowly approached the mare, extending their hands for her to smell. Cramming her other hand in her pocket, Abby anxiously crossed her fingers and held her breath.

With a twitch and a nervous tapping on the floor, Lovebug extended her graceful neck and sniffed the tips of Abby’s fingers. After a tense minute, Lovebug released a long, almost weary sigh and nibbled on Abby’s fingertips with her velvety lips.

“There,” Jake said happily, releasing Abby after gently squeezing her shoulder. “She just needed a minute to forgive you for leaving her for six weeks.”

“Yeah…” Rooster murmured, staring at Abby and Lovebug with a piercing gaze. “I guess that’s it.”

“Thanks for the assist, Rooster,” Jake called over his shoulder, unclipping Firewall and leading him out into the bright sunlight. “We’ll see you around noon, alright?”

“Bye Uncle Roo,” Abby waved timidly, all too aware of the way his heavy gaze rested on her.

The green grass swayed in the cool summer breeze as the horses strolled among the trees, birds singing a sweet song as they flitted from branch to branch.

Everything was perfect…or it would have been if not for the burden on Abby’s mind. The image of her dad kissing that blond lady was running through her mind on a loop, burning itself behind her retinas, churning the scarce remains of her breakfast in her stomach.

“You okay over there, Charlie girl?”

Abby glanced quickly at her dad before turning her eyes back down to the pommel of her saddle. She’d been grateful that the trail was wide enough to ride side by side when they’d set out, but now she was wishing that it was narrower.

“Yeah,” she sighed quietly. “Why?”

“You’re never this quiet on a trail ride. Usually, you’re talking my ear off about something or another. That’s kinda why I wanted to go on this ride with you. Rooster and Javy have kind of been monopolizing your time since you got back from camp. I wanted some daddy-daughter time before you go back to school and realize how uncool your old man is.”

“I thought you said you were always cool,” she sniffed.

“Oh, I am,” Jake grinned at her. “I’m very cool. But 12-year-old girls don’t always recognize that.”

“I’m not 12 yet,” she mumbled.

“Trust me, I know and I’m very grateful for that. You turning 12…” Jake sighed. “I can feel the grey hair popping up.”

When she didn’t laugh at his joke, they lapsed into silence. All that had happened that morning had left a sour taste in her mouth and, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to shake it.

It’s not that she didn’t want her dad to be happy. She did, just like she’d always wanted her mom to be happy. But she couldn’t help feeling like she’d just gotten her dad back, that her dad owed it to her and Charlie to give their mom a chance. They deserved to be a family, especially after the almost 12 years of not even knowing about the very existence of the other half of their family.

“Do you remember the day I was born?” she asked suddenly, looking over at him.

“Of course I do, darlin’. Hard to forget the best day of my life.”

“Then you remember my mom?”

Jake reined Firewall in sharply, urging his horse to a stop as he stared at her. “Charlie, of course I do. Where is this coming from?”

“You never talk about her,” she replied simply. “I’m almost 12, dad. I think I deserve to know about the woman who gave birth to me.” She watched as his Adam’s apple worked in his throat, his eyes skimming over the terrain, the sky, anywhere but over in her direction. “What, was she not a good person? A one-night stand? What?” she pushed, knowing none of it was true but the image of Savannah dancing in her mind was turning her anxiousness into anger.

“Charlie, your mom…” Jake sighed, his free hand rubbing at his eyes under the brim of his Stetson as he lapsed back into silence. Abby clenched the reins in her hand tightly as the silence dragged on, but she refused to push. Even though it had only been a few days, she knew Jake well enough to know that he would fight back when he felt cornered. It was the military man inside him, the pilot who knew how to stay on objective, and if his objective was to keep his daughter in the dark, Abby knew that not even God himself would be able to convince Jake to change directive.

After what felt like hours, she peeked over at her father to find him staring down at the reins in his hand as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He looked…old. Now, Jake Seresin rarely looked his age; the deepening lines near his mouth and eyes, and the sparse sparkle of grey that decorated his thick hair and trim beard like tinsel being the only things that really gave the impression that Jake Seresin was anything other than eternally young. Charlie had shown her photos of her father in his flight suit, in his dress whites, in his khaki uniform, and the man in front of her looked like a shadow of that man. He wore no confident smile, no cocky raised eyebrow, no green eyes sparkling with a challenge. He just looked…sad, and Abby felt the last smoldering ashes of her anger sizzle out.

Reaching out carefully, she grabbed her dad’s wrist, and he looked up in surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “I…I’m sorry.”

Before her eyes, her father transformed, building a cocky smile and heaving it into place. “Don’t be sorry, punk. You’re allowed to be interested in your mom. But right now, all you need to know is that she loved you something fierce and that things between me and her just…didn’t work out. Boring adult stuff that you don’t need to worry about, alright?”

Abby sighed. “Alright. Thanks, dad.”

And suddenly, he looked like he was on the right side of ageless again, flipping his grip to squeeze her hand. “Hey…I know I should tell you about her, and I promise I will eventually because you deserve to know. But for now, don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand once more before releasing it and urging Firewall forward, Lovebug following suit easily.

“There is something we do need to talk about though,” Jake added in a quiet voice as they crested the ridge they were climbing and came to a beautiful lookout, the ranch and all its grounds laid out below them.

Abby’s blood froze in her veins even as the sun shone down upon them, and the memory of the conversation in the kitchen hit her full force. Savannah had been pushing her dad to talk to her about something, something important, something that left a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it since you got home, but you’re a pretty popular kid around here.” Jake sighed. “Listen, Charlie girl, you know you’ll always be my girl, but…I mean, it happened pretty quickly, so it’s not like I meant to keep it from you…I just…”

Blinking against the harsh sunlight, Abby zeroed in on a truck just pulling into the ranch and the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Uncle Javy’s back from practice! Race you to him!”

Before Jake could react, Abby kicked Lovebug into action and the mare surged forward, following the steadily declining path down the ridge back to the ranch.

“Charlie!”

She could hear the rapid hoofbeats of Firewall as he galloped after them, but she didn’t slow or turn to look where her father was. Ducking low on Lovebug’s neck, she urged the mare even faster, half wishing she could run her all the way back to London and her mother’s loving arms. She had been so deliriously happy the past few days, getting to know Seresin Ranch and the men who ran it, the men who were her family by birth. But now, with this Savannah person encroaching on her newfound happiness, she found that she missed her home more than ever. She wanted both worlds, Texas and London, her mom and her dad, and she didn’t want to share it with anyone but Charlie.

So, they ran, each hoofbeat bringing her closer and closer to the sanctuary she had come to call home.

After years of ranch living, Lovebug seemed to know the unwritten rules of the land and slowed to a canter, then a trot, and finally to a walk as they passed by the paddocks and came to a stop beside a red truck branded with the Seresin Ranch logo, Javy pulling a gym bag from the bed as they finally came to a stop.

“Whoa, girlie! Where’s the fire?” Javy exclaimed as she dismounted and bounced towards him, all too aware of the cantering hoofbeats following her.

“Nothing, Javy! How was practice? Do you need a hand with your bag? Do—”

“Charlotte Delta Seresin, what the hell was that?” Jake huffed as he hopped down from Firewall.

Abby felt herself flush. “I…I saw Javy, and—”

“I know, but I was trying to talk to you!” Jake sighed, handing Firewall’s reins to a ranch hand who had scurried out of the stable. “I’ve been trying to talk to you since you got home, but we keep getting interrupted. Baby, this is important.”

Javy groaned. “Jake, man, I told you that—”

“Coyote, all due respect, I’ve heard your opinion on the matter, but this is between me and my daughter,” Jake shot a look at his wingman, a look that clearly told Javy to stay out of it, but Javy refused.

“I know, man, but—”

“What on earth is goin’ on out here?” a sugary sweet voice called from the back door of the ranch house, and Abby watched as both her father and Javy bit back a groan.

“Can’t a man have five minutes of privacy around here?” she heard Jake mutter to himself before turning and pasting a wide smile onto his face. “Nothing, Savannah. I was just trying to talk to Charlie when she spotted Javy.”

“You mean you still haven’t talked to her?” Savannah pouted as she crossed the yard to stand a few feet away from them. “Sugar, you promised…”

Abby bit back a giggle as Javy rolled his eyes behind her back.

“Savannah, I know I promised, but this is a delicate situation and I want to ease my daughter into it.”

“Why is my kitchen a mess?” Rooster hollered, stomping across the yard to join the mini congregation that had now formed.

Jake rolled his head and groaned. “Five minutes…I swear, all I need is five minutes.”

“Oh, sorry, Brad,” Savannah smiled saccharinely at him. “I was just bakin’ a cake to celebrate my welcome into the family.”

“It’s Bradley. Brad-ley.”

“Savannah…” Jake hissed in warning, his eyes flashing.

“I’m sorry, Jakey, but I’m just so excited to be marrying you!”

In an instant, everything seemed to freeze. Abby could see her Javy moving, could see her father’s lips moving as he spoke to Savannah, but it all seemed to be in slow motion.

She had expected to learn about a relationship, to have her father come to her about the new girl he was seeing and discussing it with her. But marriage? Her stomach churned and her vision tunneled, red seeping in on the edges of the landscape. Sound returned with a roar, and she found her lips moving.

“Marrying you?” she was finally able to choke out. “You’re getting married?”

Jake sighed and turned his back on Savannah, who was still smiling despite the dressing down she had surely received from Jake.

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, but…yes. Savannah and I are getting married.” He reached a hand towards her with a bittersweet smile.

Every muscle in her body trembling, she stepped back from her father. “How could you?” she whispered.

Jake’s eyes slid closed, and he crouched down to her level. “Charlie, I know this will be an adjustment, but—”

“An adjustment?” she barked out a laugh. “You think that this is an adjustment? Springing some random woman on me and saying she’s going to be your wife?”

“And your stepmother, honey,” Savannah added, smiling brightly at her from over Jake’s shoulder.

“Like hell you will be!” she snapped, the slight British lilt to her natural voice almost slipping through the cracks. “You won’t even tell me about my real mom, but you think that you can just shove whatever woman looks your way into her spot in my life? That’s crap!” Abby dashed her eyes before stepping back again. “Is she even old enough to be my stepmom? Because she looks like she would’ve been a kid herself when I was born!”

Javy and Rooster both ducked their heads, their shoulders shaking slightly, but Abby could take no joy in their amusement, not with the betrayal stinging in her heart and the look on her father’s face.

“Charlotte Delta Seresin, I taught you better than to speak to me like that,” her father snapped, raising himself up to his full height and staring her down, shaking off Savannah’s hand as she tried to grab his arm.

“You didn’t—” Abby cut herself off before the rest of her sentence could escape. “You didn’t raise me at all.” That’s what she had wanted to say. This man, the man she had wanted to meet for her entire life, hadn’t raised her at all, either by accident or by design. He had left her and her mom behind, taken Charlie, and never looked back. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. “You didn’t think about me at all, dad,” she whispered, tears choking back any other words she may have wanted to share before she turned and fled, racing towards the stables.

Jake stepped forward, ready to chase after her, his heart sinking in his chest, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Just leave her be, man,” Rooster sighed, his eyes following his niece over the landscape. “She’ll come around.”

“Will she?” Javy scoffed. “Way to break the news, man.”

“I…I should talk to her,” Jake murmured, all too aware of Savannah retreating back into the house. “I should explain.”

“Let me talk to her first,” Rooster offered. “Let me test the waters before you boil yourself alive.”

Running a hand over the back of his neck, Jake finally nodded. “Alright. Thanks, man.”

“Don’t thank me, man. Not yet.”

Abby huddled in the office in the stable, the door locked tight against her and the outside world. A wave of shame washed over her as she remembered how she had spoken to her father. She never spoke to any adult that way, her mum had taught her better. Her mum…

Abby’s heart clenched with homesickness. She ached for her mother’s arms to wrap around her, for the sound of her Uncle Bob’s laugh or Auntie Nat’s teasing.

She fumbled for her cell phone, tugging it clumsily out of her pocket before opening the little green app and dialing the now familiar long-distance number.

“Hello?”

“Dad’s getting married!” she nearly shouted down the receiver, despair coating every sound she uttered. “He got engaged to some blond woman who looks like she’s half his age!”

“Abby?” Charlie yawned. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you! The blond woman from this morning is wearing a rock the size of my head and hanging off of dad! She said that they’re getting married, and he confirmed it!”

“Wh…what? No! It…it’s not possible!”

“Except that it is! He told me it was happening whether I liked it or not!” Silence greeted her claim, and she felt that red hot rage start to creep in again. “Would you say something, please?”

“What do you want me to say, Abby?” Charlie whispered, and Abby could hear the tears in her voice. “Dad’s getting married, and he didn’t bother to even introduce her to me.”

Abby sighed, the anger dissipating as quickly as it came on. “I know…”

“But he loves mom!” Charlie groaned. “I know he does! You don’t shut down that often about a person if you don’t care about them!”

“He shut down on me today too,” Abby agreed. “But it’s not like I can just tell him that he loves her. He would never go for that.”

“Can you find something to prove it?” Charlie’s desperation was clear. “Something to remind him?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno…a photo? Their marriage license? Anything that might remind him of her?”

“Where would I even find something like that?”

“In the office in the stable.”

Abby looked around. “I’m there right now, I don’t see anything.”

“In the safe under his desk. Or in the filing cabinet. I don’t know the code to the safe or where he keeps the key to the cabinet though.”

Abby sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Thanks…I’m sorry you have to deal with that while I’m having fun with mum.”

“It’s okay. Do…do you think mum still loves dad?”

“Abby, all her adult books are about a military guy falling in love with the woman of his dreams and the obstacles that keep them apart.” Abby could practically hear the eye roll in her sister’s voice. “She either loves him or she doesn’t know what else to write about.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I…I don’t want to think about that. Find proof. I’ll find proof too. Then we’ll tell them about the switch.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“You too,” Abby hung up the phone with a sigh before turning to face the little black safe that was tucked under her father’s desk.

“Alright, you…what could your combination be?”

She cycled through the obvious choices first: Jake’s birthday, her and Charlie’s birthday, her father’s military employee number, her great-grandfather’s number. With a wish in her heart, she even tried her mother’s birthday, but no such luck. So, she tried less obvious combinations. Javy’s birthday was a no-go, as was Rooster’s. Her grandmother and grandfather were also a bust. And it turned out that Jake Seresin was not the type of guy to use 1-2-3-4-5-6 as his combination.

“C’mon…c’mon, what are you?” Abby grumbled.

“Try 02-14-19.”

The sudden voice made her shriek and lurch away from the safe, turning to see her uncle chuckling from the doorway.

“Uncle Roo…you frightened me!”

“I frightened you, huh?” He sauntered forward, kicking the door shut behind him. “See, two months ago you would have said ‘You scared the crap out of me’ or ‘I’m gonna get you back for that, Chicken!’ Not, you frightened me.” He perched himself on the edge of the desk. “My girl Charlie doesn’t talk like that. She knows the words, smart as a whip that kid is, but being around a bunch of air jockeys on a ranch didn’t exactly lend itself to 20-point words like frighten.”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “W-what do you mean? I’m Charlie. Did you hit your head or something?”

“See, now that is something Charlie would say. You almost had me. But Lovebug doesn’t shy away from Charlie. Never has, never will. And Javy could almost make Charlie an assistant coach with how much she helps him out with his playbook…but not you. You don’t seem to know the first thing about football.” He fixed her with a stern look. “You’re not Charlie…are you, Abby?”

The dam inside her—the one that had been holding back all her fears and anger about her father’s surprise engagement, and the ache of her homesickness—broke and the tears burst forth. Quickly, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

She heard a heavy sigh before she was wrapped in a hug, strong arms pulling her against a lean body.

“S’alright, kid. I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

She pulled back slightly, trying to meet Rooster’s eyes but he kept them firmly on the ceiling. “R-really?”

He shrugged. “I figure you and Charlie have your reasons for this insane switch. Where the hell did you two meet, anyway?”

“Camp…” she hiccupped. “P-Penny invited both of us at the same time.”

Rooster sighed, but there was the slight twang of a chuckle hidden inside it. “Yeah, that sounds like Penny. She was pretty pushy about me mentioning the camp to your dad. Shoulda known she was pulling a Maverick level stunt.”

“Y-you’re not mad?”

“Nah…” he shrugged, releasing her and sitting back on the edge of the desk again while Abby straightened in the desk chair. “Just, tell me one thing. Is Charlie okay?”

Abby nodded. “She’s in London with my mum, Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat. She’s having a grand time.”

Rooster nodded thoughtfully. “So, what is the plan?”

Abby bit her lip. “Get to know our other parent, tell them about the switch at the end of the week, force them to meet to switch us back, and have them fall in love with each other again so that we don’t have to live with an ocean in between us again?”

Rooster sighed; his eyes drifting shut as his head rolled back. “Jesus…”

“Are…are you going to tell dad?”

She held her breath as his eyes opened again, this time turning to her with a fixed determination that sent a shiver down her spine.

“No…I’m not.”

“Really? But…why?”

Rooster shrugged. “One, because making your dad’s life a living hell is still one of the greatest pleasures of my life. Two, I always thought that the way your parents handled the divorce was wrong. Hell, I think they never should have gotten divorced at all. And three, Savannah pisses me off and I don’t think I’ll be able to keep living here if your dad actually goes through with it.”

“So…what does that mean for me?”

“It means, I’m gonna help you. And so will Javy.”

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#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #parent trap au #glen powell #as you wish fic #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x you

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therealhousewifeofharrystyles · 9 months

Text

Whatcha Doin' Step Bro

*Part 2*

Read Part 1 Here

Pairing: Harry Styles // Y/N (Step-Sibling EU)

Word Count: ~ 9k words

🔞WARNINGS🔞: adult language, rough smut, degradation, overstimulation, references to a filthy masturbation session, sexual fantasies involving a step sibling, inappropriate touching between step siblings, dom!harry, sub!y/n, cum fetish, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected p-in-v

[y/m/n=your middle name; if you don’t have one, you can just ignore it 😊]

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the thing. How wet his dick was, how he knew you were there at the doorway, the way he looked at you…and he just…came all over himself. You speed through your neighborhood streets to sink yourself into the realm of retail. It’s meant to be a distraction—a visual diversion to get your mind off of Harry and his dripping cock. But it’s as if a part of your subconscious is holding a marathon of your short-term memory, and the past 15 minutes loops on a suspiciously high-definition projector inside of your brain…

You wake up. Harry isn’t shitting on your day 1st thing in the morning. Life seems livable for an hour or so. You think it’s strange, but you want to savor it while you still can. As if he could sense your state of ease, Harry yells for you from his bedroom. You reluctantly decide to check on him. Being well-mannered, you knock on his door before entering. He responds strangely. Your imagination has brought you to dire conclusions. You open the door, growing concerned for his well-being. Then, boom—you get front-row seats to see your step brother and his stupid, perfect cock, and after his cum finishes shooting out of him like lotion out of a pump, he has the audacity to assume you’d want to sample some.

He’s such a scumbag. What—does he think you’re in some kind of pure taboo, bratty-sis, family strokes, sis-loves-me video?! Not that you ever watch those…or even know what they are…

Who are you kidding—you’ve explored this fantasy in the privacy of your bedroom more times than you can count. Especially since the other day when Harry fingered you in the laundry room and left you before you could cum. You’re still mad about that, by the way. Right after it happened, you bolted for your room where you shut your door behind you, dropped to your knees on the floor, and rubbed at your clit to finish what he’d started. You muffled your moans with your free hand as you rode out your perpetual orgasms. It was pathetic how quickly you’d gotten yourself writhing and humping against your fingers to the sick imagery of your step brother savoring your natural lubricant from his fingers. You’d only ever dreamt of something like that coming to fruition. You’ve been entertaining yourself in this perverse land of daydreams for so long—pretending to be repulsed by your step brother and his malignant vulgarity.

Meanwhile, your thoughts have progressively been plagued by filthy scenarios where you and your step brother participate in extremely inappropriate activities in places where it’s extremely likely for the two of you to get caught. The details aren’t too important…but they do change according to whatever Harry chooses to say and/or do to you each day.

For example—one time, it was late and you’d just arrived back home from a friend’s house. As you tiptoed across the first floor towards the main staircase, you were spooked by the sudden noise of someone clearing their throat in the living room. You froze and whipped your head in the direction where it came from, squinting in the darkness to try and identify any odd shapes or shadows. Then a phone screen lit up to illuminate his face. Harry’s face. Easily startled, you sucked in a gasp and knocked your elbow against the wooden railing. You clutched onto your arm to self-soothe and tried to hold in an echoing yelp. “Ouch…! Harryyy!” You whisper-yelled. Your eyes darted back to him as if he’d been the one to directly cause you harm. He wasn’t even looking at you; rather, he was pretending to be occupied with his device as if he was completely unaware of your presence. Prick. You knew he was up to something.

“Harry!” You hiss, slowly approaching him near the sofa.

That was when he finally acknowledged you by lazily lifting his gaze to travel up your figure, taking his sweet time in doing so. “Oh…you’re home.” His voice was both dull and bitter in its tone. You sensed more tension in the room than usual, and you wondered what sort of fight he was trying to pick at 2 o’clock in the goddamned morning. While you were sleepily making sense of the situation in your head, Harry went ahead and gave you a hefty clue as to why he seemed so peeved.

“So, how’d it go with what’s-his-nuts?” He shut his phone off before reaching beside him and clicking a lamp on. It took a few uncomfortable seconds for your eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. Due to the unpleasant combination of drowsiness, the lingering sting on your funny-bone, and the overall irritation climbing up your spine from Harry preventing you from going straight to sleep, you answered his stupid question with pure impatience. “His name is Max, and I had a lot of fun, actually.” You ended your statement with a sigh. The sound came off as more of a swooning sigh, but that was completely unintentional. You were just exhausted and you honestly didn’t feel like staying up even later just for your step brother to tease you about a guy you just hung out with. “Ah, I see…” he hummed, staring you and your body down as if it were his property to defend.

Max was just a friend, but Harry wasn’t convinced of that. It certainly didn’t help matters that you’d returned home so late wearing the not-so-conservative outfit you’d chosen to wear.

But you'd only participated in a movie marathon, and you both just lost track of time. Honestly—that was it. Sure, there may be a possibility that Max has a little crush on you. But he’s never tried to make a move on you or cross any boundaries. He’s nothing but a kind, funny, respectful gentleman towards you, and you value his friendship.

Harry has met him in person a few times and he’s always put on this protective older brother persona as some intimidation tactic to make Max nervous whenever he comes over. It’s like he’s a jealous boyfriend or something, except he’s your step brother, and he essentially has no valid reason to act the way he does. Regardless, you still had to put up with the grump and his accusatory attitude after every interaction you have with your friend.

“…Hope you kids at least used protection…” Harry’s expression grew even more resentful, but to his surprise, your face immediately reflected the same. “Wha—what the fuck, Harry?!” You whisper-yelled, stomping all the way towards him with your arms crossed over your middle. The man just propped his leg upon his opposite knee and huffed in disbelief. “Oh, c’mon, Y/N. Don’t play coy w’me. Everyone knows he’s dying to fuck you—”

“—Stop! He is not!”

“Ok. Keep tellin’ y’self that, babe—”

“—Don’t fucking call me that.” You held out an accusatory finger at him.

“Oi, whatever. I just hope he’s got a fresh box of Trojans at his place.” You made a face at him. “Ugh, just shut up, Harry.”

He hummed, dropping his leg down so he could spread his knees wide and sit back against the couch cushion with his hands behind his head. “Hmm…oh, by the way…” He slowly stood to his feet, towering over you as if he were twice your size. You felt the remnants of whatever power or tenacity you had slip from your lips in a tiny whimper as his chest brushed against yours and your nipples perked up at the contact even through the layers of your clothing. You swallowed dryly. The lack of decent moisture in your mouth almost made you choke.

Harry leant down so his lips and stubble tickled your cheek. “…Don’t you ever tell me what I’m allowed to call you. I can speak to you however the fuck I want. You understand me?” His voice was deep and harsh, his accent thick. It only got like that when he was serious. I guess this was one of those times. Your heart sunk to the floor. He carefully pulled away and you were actually quite aroused by his display of dominance…at first.

Your step brother was just trying to get a rise out of you. His method of doing so was really fucking hot and you desperately wanted to be a good girl so he’d reward you later…but that’s not what this was. No. Harry wanted to use your crush on him to his advantage. But guess what? You weren’t gonna let Harry walk all over you. Not when he got to have his fun making his way around the neighborhood with all the desperate housewives and their newly divorced 40-something friends.

He acted like he wanted you—like you were his. Except he was only interested in bedding the local cougars and milfs. You weren't either of those things…i.e.: you weren’t his type. And so why would you want to waste your time sneaking around with your STEP BROTHER, of all people, when he’d just humiliate you and leave you for someone more experienced anyway? It wasn’t worth the pain of rejection nor the embarrassment once mom and dad would eventually find out.

And so, instead of putting on your ‘good girl’ act, you glared at him. “HA! I don’t think so, you asshole. Fuck off!” Your voice was a bit more amplified than intended, but it didn’t seem to stir any commotion upstairs. Phew…

Harry, however, seemed to think you were a ticking time-bomb. Clasping a palm over your mouth as his other hand held the back of your neck over your hair, he shushed you and held you still whilst you struggled against his firm hold with flailing, combative arms. Your eyes were wide, your brows scrunched in frustration, and every muffled whine and grunt only further entertained Harry as he chuckled and held you tighter.

You pried his fingers off your lips just long enough to spit out the words, “L-Let go of m-me…you idiot!”

Harry laughed and replaced his fingers over your mouth where he previously had them. “And what are you gonna do ‘bout it, you little brat?” His lips curved up into a sneer. If you had the energy, you’d pounce right back at Harry and claw at those stupid fucking dimples until they were unrecognizable due to the scratches. Alas, your eyelids were becoming heavier with each blink and you were close to collapsing onto the floor. The two of you just stared at each other for a few dragging moments, quietly contemplating one another’s next move. But lack of energy was getting the best of both of you. Harry’s grip was weakening and your legs were wobbly.

You used the last ounce of oomph you had left to shut your step brother up for the night. Shuffling your feet, you nudged Harry backwards until he fell back onto his plush chair. You then stood right in between his spread legs, leaned down until your face was level with his—your hands on either one of his knees, slowly sliding up his meaty thighs and gently squeezing and raking your smooth nails up and down his sweatpant-clad legs. You never took your eyes off of him, but he allowed his eyes to drift down to your heaving tits which threatened to spill out of your tube top and bra, and then downwards to watch as your dainty fingertips and thumbs dared to graze his growing bulge. You fluttered your long, wispy eyelashes—your eyes dreamy and sleepy, but intoxicating nonetheless—and the words that flowed from your delicious, pink tongue into Harry’s entranced ears escaped your lips like they were silk ribbons caught in the breeze.

“Fine, Harry. Maybe I did let Max fuck me tonight…” Bluffing. Harry’s jaw tightened and you could see how hard he was clenching his teeth by how his veins by his temples were more visible. A smile was tugging on the corners of your mouth, but you didn’t want to blow it. So you continued, “…But I think what really got him going was when I told him I’m on birth control…” You grinned as your words drained the remaining seafoam green from his irises to make more room for his expansive pupils. Harry’s lips separated and his chest was rising and falling quickly. “…And you know what, I can’t really blame him…” you paused and reached your hand up to his head, gently combing your fingers through his soft, already-tousled curls. His hands were twitching and straining on the chair’s armrests. Then, dipping your head next to his ear and lowering to a whisper, you said, “…I like it raw.”

Harry huffed through his nose and smacked his head back against the cushion of his chair before he softly breathed out, “Fuck me…”

After that night, you’d conjured up a new fantasy where it would’ve been you and Harry curled up on the couch watching a movie marathon. Except in this scenario, you imagined sharing a blanket where all you wore was a skimpy little night dress as Harry spooned you from behind to keep you warm. And then, once you’d finally started dozing off in his arms, he’d lift the hem up and slowly glide himself back and forth against your pussy lips, coating himself with your dampness before eventually pushing inside of you so that you could also keep him warm. After all, it’s only fair that you share with your big brother.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

Harry’s shameless display of sin and indecency, jerking his dick off while you watched, left you with nothing but your soaked underwear, pulsing clit, and of course, questions. Was all that cum…for you? Your heart quickens as you rewind time in your mind for the thousandth time to admire your memory of Harry in his state of arousal. You think back further to how things had escalated to that point. You still can’t believe it. Harry had really yelled out for you just so you could be in the room when he…Jesus Christ! And what were you going to do once you got back home?! How could you act like nothing ever happened when you’d not only been denied an orgasm the other day, but then forced to watch Harry pleasure himself—to what seemed to have been you. Also, what was he hoping would come out of all this, anyway? No pun intended. What if you had a friend over and both of you had been at his door?! Ugh, nevermind. He would’ve loved having a bigger audience for his cocksure production.

Strangely enough, you feel both embarrassed yet incredibly powerful at the same time. Thinking over the specifics in your head pushes you to the conclusion that all of that cum had been for you. And, god, he asked you if you wanted to taste it. What if you’d actually accepted? Just a little taste, you think to yourself. Your mouth salivates as you imagine your lips wrapped around Harry’s sticky fingers and your tongue licking them clean—just like they had back in that laundry room; except your taste buds would only detect him. You envision your step brother holding your hair back so that you can lap up the remainder that had landed onto his laurels and all the way up to his butterfly tattoo. He made such a big mess of himself. If he put on the show just for you, why shouldn’t you give him the basic courtesy of cleaning him up afterwards? You catch yourself pouting at the realization that all of his delicious cum had gone to waste. What a shame. If only you’d been more grateful. He just wanted to share—GAH! NO, Y/N! That’s your STEP-BROTHER! Yeah, watching him bust one out as his hungry eyes devour you through his orgasm…well, that’s pretty fucked up as it is! He’s played plenty of pranks on you in the past. Surely, you can just pass this off as another one…? Yeah, right! You’d never be able to look him in the eye ever again. You wouldn’t be able to open his goddamn bedroom door ever again! At least not without picturing him laying back against his bed frame, his eyes all soft and sleepy, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead…and his big hand sliding up and down his lubed-up cock…then that hot, white fluid squirted out from his tip over and over again until his balls were drained.

Harry’s orgasm didn't just look intense, it most-definitely was. You knew it because his toes curled and flexed, his balls tightened, he almost choked on the air in his throat, and his legs were shaking by the time cum was shooting out of him. Every stroke was so deliberate and strategic. His fist would tighten around the head of his shaft and twist, and you saw how that made his hips thrust up off of the bed in reflex. The size of his load was impressive, and it raises your body temperature to fantasize how it’d feel to have it pumping inside of you. You remember studying him and memorizing each movement as if you were preparing yourself for a future occasion where it would be your hands doing all the stroking…but you keep having to tell yourself that you and Harry could never let things get that far. You’ll just use these mental notes on some other guy later, maybe Max? Nevertheless, that shocking performance of self-pleasure will be burned into your memory forever. You’re certain of it.

You wish you were disgusted. You should be. You shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much, but your body refused to react negatively to witnessing your step brother perform such lewd acts on himself. Honestly, all you want to do now is go home to the privacy of your bedroom and do the same to yourself. To use the events from earlier as your inspiration. Doctors recommend masturbation for stress relief all the time, don’t they? A therapist, however, would definitely have a problem with you fantasizing about fucking your step brother. After all, it’s not exactly the most conventional family dynamic.

Whatever, it doesn’t even matter. What matters is that seeing Harry masturbating had awakened something animalistic inside of you that you never knew was there in the first place. You didn’t know how much you wanted a—nay—wanted Harry’s big, thick, drippy, heavy, gorgeous cock to empty hot loads of cum so deep inside of you that it wouldn’t come out until a day later. Well, you didn’t know how badly you wanted him to specifically stuff your cunt full of his seed until right now.

As you walk out of the store with your shopping bag and receipt, you feel your phone buzz in your purse. You assume it must be your dad or step-mom checking in to see how things are at home. Lifting the screen up to your face, you’re immediately proven incorrect. The notification is not from your parents, but rather from Harry. You’re met with the contact photo of him paired with his message that reads:

“where u go, baby sis? 💔”

You scoff at his patronizing and just slide your phone back into your purse so you can continue browsing the shops. You couldn’t successfully distract yourself from Harry if you were texting him…it’s not like you’ve been thinking about him and his beautiful dick nonstop since you first left the house or anything…

*grumble-grumble*

Amidst all of your depraved sexual fantasies and your attempts to reject your physical attraction to Harry, you’d forgotten to feed yourself.

Yet another reason why you should’ve taken his offer, your inner monologue teases. You just scrunch your nose at your own thoughts, and then you remember you have leftover pasta from last night in the fridge. The growl in your tummy only intensifies from the anticipation of eating the cheese-filled noodles for lunch. A vibration goes off in your purse, but you ignore it. You’re feeling extra irritated now that you’ve realized how hungry and horny you are. It’s a lethal combination.

You make the desperate choice of buying an overpriced orange cream-sicle to hold you over for a bit—you actually started to feel lightheaded for a minute, there. As you’re sitting on a bench and sucking on the citrus sweetness, you take your phone out once again. There are more texts from Harry:

--12:30pm

“Miss u🥺👉👈” —12:39pm

“R u mad at me?”—12:45pm

“So u hate me n u want me 2 die😣” —1:07pm

Goddamnit. You huff a breath out your nostrils before sending a quick response.

“Go play with your foreskin, loser.” — read 1:07pm

You flip your phone face-down on top of your lap and continue to slurp on your ice cream. A couple minutes later, another buzz alerts you to check your notifications. Surprise—it’s Harry.

“That’s not very nice >:| besides, u know I already did that today🙄”—1:12pm

“How could I forget? I’ve been scarred for life thanks to you and your sorry excuse for a penis.”—1:13pm

“I think u accidentally sent that to me…I’ll send it to Max and let him know ur thinking of him😌”—1:15pm

You grunt and shove your phone back into your purse. Suddenly, you come to realize that your overwhelming desire/disdain for your step brother combined with your aggressive famishment has given you the necessary amount of confidence to return home and face the idiot without giving a flying fuck about the fact that you watched him bust a nut.

Of all people, Harry should be the one who’s embarrassed to look you in the eye after what he did. Why should you feel exposed when it was his bare cock and balls that were revealed to you in their entirety. Granted, Harry is quite gifted…but that’s beside the point!!! The point is that you are starving and you want those leftovers NOW! Harry can go fuck himself—Alone, this time!!!

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

Once you pull up to your house, the only thing on your mind is that bowl of rich, buttery alfredo tortellini you’ve hidden in one of the vegetable drawers of the fridge. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend? Nah. Carbs are the ultimate ride-or-die when you’ve got mixed feelings about a guy. It doesn’t matter how many calories it is. You deserve it! You’ve had a long morning, and it was time for a tasty reward, goddamnit!

You open the door and slip your shoes off before making your merry way towards the kitchen, bags in-hand. The rich aroma of garlic and cheese dances its way into your nostrils and your heart immediately sinks. Your legs scurry themselves at a cartoonish speed towards the room where the smell is wafting out of. The kitchen island slows you down to a stop, your feet sliding against the hardwood floor. You drop your purse and shopping bag with a *clink* and a *plap*. You stand in place with your little hands balled into fists at your sides as you practically burn holes into your step brother’s face. He’s sitting atop one of the counter stools that’s placed opposite of you. Wearing only a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs and his cross necklace, you see the irony as remarkably twisted. Especially since he used his hand with the cross tattoo to perform such unholy deeds to himself.

Wonder what God thought about today’s Sunday morning semen brought to you by Harry ‘wanna taste?’ Styles, you fume internally.

Not only does it look as if he’s just gotten out of the shower, his hair damp and extra curly, and his tan skin a little dewy. But he’s sitting right in front of you, eating your leftover pasta—fresh out of the oven in its foil container, it seems. Your lunch that you’d been craving so desperately has been unfairly stolen from you. Harry just looks at you with his elbows resting on the marble and stabs into another steaming tortellino with his fork before swirling it around in the air, blowing on it, and popping it straight into his mouth—his teeth scraping against the fork in the process.

You feel that your skin is red hot and your hands are shaking. Your jaw is clenched, your teeth grinding together in frustration. This man has no goddamn shame. None whatsoever. Just when you’re about to give him hell, he’s sliding your shopping bag towards himself with his foot and is digging through your new purchases. “Oooh! What do we have here?” Harry hums mischievously.

Your eyes widen. You jump at him and you practically claw at his snooping hands like a feral cat. What you just bought at the mall was none of Harry’s business! Wasn’t it enough that he was consuming your food right in front of you?! “Give me that!” You yell, internally debating whether or not it would be helpful to use your teeth as a weapon in this situation. You decide against it for both of your sakes. You don’t want Harry to think you’re giving him a hickey—you know he’d use that against you in any way he could.

In the end, you aren’t strong enough to fight him off, and he yanks out the first thing he finds and holds it up above your head to an unreachable height(for you). If you were 10, you would try jumping for it, but you’re in your 20’s and you have a set of tits that unfortunately obey the laws of physics. The last thing Harry needs is your boobs bouncing in his face at the same time as he’s dangling your new pair of red, lacy, crotchless panties from his finger. And so you huff and back away with your arms crossed, reluctantly accepting your fate. Harry, now standing like a building beside you, lowers the piece of lingerie to his eye level so he can study them closely. He smirks devilishly once he discovers the special opening.

“Y/N-Y/M/N!” He clutches at the pearls around his throat mockingly with his other hand and gasps. If you rolled your eyes any harder, they would roll out of their sockets. You’re completely out of patience at this point. You’ve dealt with quite enough in the past 72 hours, and you could use a fucking break.

Just when you thought you’d gotten the final nail in the coffin, Harry swaps the underwear in the bag for a different item. Something bigger. Something that has discreet enough packaging to be mostly disguised, but the logo on the front of the box somewhat gives away what it is…

“Oooh! What’s Tracy’s Dog?” He grins, shaking the ominous black box next to his ear. “How ‘bout we have a lil’ look-see, hm?”

You sigh, “Harry…please.” He looks at you and smirks again. He seems to be amused by your new toy, but you’re not in the mood for his shenanigans right now. These were meant to be private items that no one except you were to have known about. It’s ruined when your step-brother is in on the secret, because now it’ll just be an on-going joke that he’ll never let you live down until something better(worse) takes its place. This is the worst day ever. You can’t wait until classes start again in the fall so you can spend as much time away from that pest of a man as possible without your step-mom feeling offended by your constant absence. Your go-to excuse would be studying—and even if you weren’t busy with school, you’d find something to study if anyone in your family caught word that you had free time. You can’t fucking wait to get out of this house.

Harry lifts the cover off of the box to reveal its contents. A neon pink vibrator—with some…extra advantages, as well. He chuckles and picks up the manual, reading out, “Clit-sucking g-spot vibrator…woah, that sounds like a good time!”

Your eyes narrow at the man, hiding that you’re suddenly aware that he’s only wearing his underwear and that he’s also sporting a little bit of a semi. However, you’re trying your damned hardest not to look directly at it. It��s peeking out from the edge of your peripherals. In the process of fighting against temptation, your mind reverts back to a couple hours prior…when Harry’s hair was wet with sweat. His skin was shiny and glossy, but not nearly as reflective and oiled up as his erection. The sounds keep echoing through your ears. Shlick, shlick, shlick. Your step brother shamelessly voiced his ecstasy to you as you stood in the doorway and admired him in a stunned silence. When you abandoned Harry in his post-orgasm haze, you’d initially planned upon seeking an innocent distraction to entertain your erotically fiendish train-of-thought—anything that would help get your mind off of what you’d just witnessed. That plan failed once you’d arrived at the mall and found yourself exploring the shelves inside Adult World. An employee there recommended the Tracy’s Dog toy that you bought and told you that it would “change your life.”

Desperate for anything that would occupy your time for the next several days stuck in the house with Harry, you yanked your credit card out to pay for it. The nice cashier then threw in a complimentary pair of crotchless panties and you were sent on your way. Your previous plan to seek an innocent distraction morphed into purchasing a g-spot vibrator that also had a clit-sucker on the opposite end—and in your mind, the new ‘plan’ was to go home, wash the new toy, charge the toy whilst convincing Harry to go see a movie with his friends or some shit…you’d play with the new toy until it “changed your life” and then you’d end your activities with the leftover tortellini. It sounded like a great night.

It’s too bad Harry had to go and fuck it all up for you right off the bat. Now, you’re no longer sexually frustrated—you’re furious. You’ve had quite enough. Snatching the box from his hands, you shove at his bare chest and whine, “Harryyy!” He stumbles backwards a step or so, not expecting you to get physical with him. “Oi, ‘the fuck’s your problem?” His brows crease, him obviously puzzled by your sudden outburst. You’re upset, but you’re just as surprised at yourself as he is. You’ve never really pushed Harry before. Sure, you two are siblings—step siblings, but for the short time that you’ve lived in the same household, the two of you have always stuck to the verbal-type of quarreling.

In a way, even though he’s twice as strong as you are and you hardly used any force on him with that shove, you now almost want to apologize. But then you remember that you’re not in the wrong here. Harry is.

“My problem? You wanna know what my problem is, Harry?!” You raise your voice for emphasis. “You’re my fucking problem!” You start to step away towards the stairs, but you stop for a moment just to add, “And put that thing away, would you?! For Christ’s sake…” As you say this, you point to his crotch. Harry looks down and his hands smack over the front of his underwear to poorly cover his full-on boner which its unsheathed head was actually threatening to poke out from the waistband of the briefs. His cheeks flush a dark shade of pink as if he’s embarrassed, but you find it ridiculous that a mostly-concealed stiffy makes him blush when he’d had no problem performing as your personal little camboy just a few hours earlier.

You take your bag and purse and run up the stairs to your bedroom before slamming the door closed. At this moment, you wish your door could lock. Alas, you have to make-do trusting that your perverted step brother won’t barge in on you changing, or worse…

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

It’s been one day since the thing happened, and tensions have finally dissipated somewhat between you and Harry. You’re still not happy with him—for several reasons—but he hasn’t added anything more to the list, which you see as a silver lining. He’d actually ordered from your favorite Italian place and replaced your leftover tortellini with a fresh new order of it. To ensure that you wouldn’t worry about him repeating his offense from yesterday, he ordered two entrees for himself so that he’d have plenty of food left over and wouldn’t have any reason to touch yours.

You’re honestly delighted by Harry’s kind gesture. It’s unexpected, for sure. But a welcome surprise, regardless. After the two of you finish eating, you insist upon doing the dishes. It’s not like there’s much for you to do, but you want to make it known to him that you’re appreciative of his olive branch offering.

You’ve been in the kitchen for a while now—probably around 30 minutes—just cleaning out the fridge, dusting, scrubbing the counters, all that junk. You don’t know how much time has passed until the sun has finally set and you need to flick the lights on to see what you’re doing. You’re just about finished, washing your hands in the sink, when you feel a pair of hands grip around your squishy hips. “Sup, lil sis.” A voice hums deeply against the shell of your ear. The combination of unanticipated touch and sound makes you instinctually jump. “AHHH! Harry!” You gasp. You grab a towel to dry your hands and then you turn around to face him. A stupid smirk covers his stupid, cocky face. And yet you can’t help that tingling warmth that burns down your abdomen and zings its way straight to your sensitive clit.

You haven’t seen this smirk since he unboxed your magical clit-sucking vibrator contraption. It’s still in its box under your bed—charging, of course—because you’ve wanted to try it out when you have the house to yourself. You have the tendency to say some dirty things out loud when you touch yourself, and so you’d really like for Harry to be as far away from you as possible…even though you know he’s exactly who you’ll be thinking about, anyway…

This was so bad.

All you want right now is to jump up onto the counter and tug Harry in by his hair until his head is trapped between your thighs. The ache is killing you. Your step brother, of all people, is the one man you want to rail you against every surface in this goddamn house. You don’t care if the neighbors see. You don’t care if your parents find out. You just want your step brother’s cum. It’s yours. He’s made that clear to you. His cum is all for you. All for his pretty little step sis.

As you stand trapped with your bum pressed against the sink, his hands on either side of you, Harry speaks to you once more. “How’d it taste?”

You gulp at his words and hesitate. What’s he talking about? You never got to—ohh! He means…dinner…damn, your brain was really fucked.

“G-good, thank you.” Your voice ends with a nervous giggle. His eyes scan down your body before nodding and running a hand through his hair. “Hmm. I’m glad. M’sorry, again, by the way…” He bites on the inside of his lip shyly, looking genuinely apologetic for making you upset. You give him a forgiving smile and rub his upper arm and shoulder with one of your hands. “It’s ok. It’s my fault, too…” You humor him. “…I should really learn how to share with my big brother...” As your fingers caress and squeeze onto his muscular bicep, you blink your eyes up at him in faux-innocence. Harry’s lips part and his nostrils flare.

Your touch, no matter how light or seemingly harmless, has a serious effect on the man. You can reckon because simply grazing your fingers down his taught, tatted skin past the sleeve of his shirt—making prolonged, direct contact—has triggered his feral reflexes. Without a moment of delay, he’s flipped you around, pressed you face down against the countertop, and has your wrists held in one of his hands at the small of your back. He nudges your legs apart with his knees so that his other hand can slide in between them. 4 of his fingers massage up and down your covered slit in a swirling motion, applying more pressure when he knows he’s reached your clit. You’re just stuck in his grasp, your ass wiggling and grinding against his hand as you moan and beg. “Mmhh…Please, Harry…so good…feels so fucking good…oh my god!”

You feel him squeeze your clothed clit with his thumb and forefinger as he speaks against your ear, “Ooh, yeah? You like it when your step brother touches you like this?” Then he releases you before spanking you on your pussy and then rubbing it with his fingers again afterwards.

“F-fuck—yes! I love it,” you gasp.

Harry yanks you up by your hair, one hand holding your ponytail while the other still has your wrists manually bound. “I knew it. Knew you were holding out f’me.” He drags you stumbling over to the couch in the living room and positions you onto all fours atop the cushions. Now properly situated for him, you turn your head back to look at him. You can feel how dark your eyes have gotten by how narrowed your focus is—all you see is Harry.

Keeping eye contact with you, he smooths his palms up and down your ass. Your leggings are thin enough for him to squeeze at the fleshiness of which he immediately takes advantage of. You moan, shaking your ass and hips back to further entice him. “Shit…” he pants out. You giggle and do it again which in turn earns you a hard spank onto your right ass cheek. You immediately stop your taunting. Harry grabs you by your hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling you up to his chest with one swift yank. “We’re not just playing around anymore, Y/N…” Harry grunts in your ear. With his opposite hand, he gropes onto one of your breasts causing you to whine and arch your back at his unforgiving, heavy touch. He doesn’t seem to be concerned with the possibility of leaving marks and bruises all over your body. And you aren’t either. You’re enjoying this. Your desperate, throbbing cunt is aching for more of your step brother’s touch. It’s sick. It’s depraved. Your friends, parents, distant relatives—they’d be disgusted if they saw what was about to transpire between two step siblings.

Your thoughts on the matter?

Let them fucking watch.

Harry releases you and you drop down onto your hands. With quick and reckless fingers, he pulls your leggings over the swell of your ass, tugging back and forth to get them down your thighs to reveal your new red, lacy, crotchless thong. Your pussy lips glisten with arousal. Harry chuckles to himself once he’s rid you of your pants and smooths his hands up and down your bare ass. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this…” He admits with a hard slap against your right ass cheek. You face forward and blush to yourself, too shy to openly share the same truth. Although, you assume you’re making it pretty obvious to him that the feeling is mutual. “…When I fingered you a few days ago, I was so close to just fucking you right there against the machines…so close, Y/N.”

Before you can even make an attempt at a delayed response, he’s dipping his face between your legs and licking a fat stripe up your slit, stealing your wet arousal onto his tongue for his own selfish quench. You suck in a shaky breath and giggle, wiggling your ass back against his face. He groans and spanks you on your left cheek, then the right, then the left, then both at the same time, and then he grabs at your hips and pulls you closer towards him as he shoves his mouth and nose deeper into your drippy cunt and slurps you up. “Oh my god!” You choke out as you struggle to find something to solidly grip onto.

Harry pushes his sweatpants and boxer briefs down, his solid cock already weeping with precum and begging for a wet hole to fuck. His face is still buried between your legs when you take a peek at him from down below, your head upside down, and you see his package in all its beauty. You’re so ready to take him inside you, but you need to take care of something first. You whine, “W-wait, Harry, wait!”

He halts, pulls himself out from the comfort of your squishy thighs, then returns your gaze with his confused one. “What?” He slurs, his voice wet and drooly.

You shift your body so that you’re completely facing him now. “C-can I…?” Your thighs instinctively squeeze together before the words can even come out of you, and you let out a pathetic whimper. Harry licks his lips and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Can you…what?” His brow quirks up.

You don’t know if it’s a good time to ask this, but you’ve already started asking, so you might as well finish. You doubt he’ll refuse…but you also worry that you won’t get fucked if he grants you this request. What if this moment is the only chance for your desperate needs to be met?!

“Can I have a taste? J-just a lil’ one?” Your eyes flicker down to his bouncing erection that he’s now caught onto and is slowly stroking.

Silence. All except for the soft, wet rubbing sound coming from Harry carefully jerking his own cock whilst you’re sitting pretty on your knees with your hands laced together behind you.

You sigh and bow your head, attempting to hide behind your ponytail due to feeling embarrassed to have given such a silly request. But you know better than to sulk and complain after not getting your way. So you use your cuteness to guilt him instead.

“Please, Harry?” You’re really playing it up. Tears have actually welled up in your eyes to add to your act.

Harry blinks several times as if he had just been stuck staring into space for a moment. He’s dumbfounded, never having any woman beg to suck his dick before in his entire life. It’s a welcome surprise, and he shakes his head with a slight grin tugging on his lips as he responds to you. “Fuck yes, you can...go ‘head, love… sorry…fuckin’ hell…”

You practically jump up and happily clap your hands together, smiling stupidly at your success. Of course you realize that he’d only been floating around in his own little world when you asked the first time, and it wasn’t at all that he was refusing to grant your wish. Regardless, you feel that Harry can’t resist you when you beg. Looks like you’ll have to use this power against him forever.

You take his flushed dick in your hand, replacing his, and slowly pump him a couple of times before lowering your face down to its level. You keep your eyes on Harry’s as you stick your tongue out and flick it against the exposed tip, tasting the small bead of precum that was leaking from it. It’s salty. Musky. It’s Harry. You moan, nursing onto the tip with strengthening suction as if to be begging for just one more drop. He hisses and grabs onto your ponytail once again. You release your lips from him with a pop, giggling due to the knowledge that you’ve finally got a hold on this man. Then you begin swirling your tongue around the entire tip before wrapping your lips around it and sucking once again, but gently and sloppily this time, drooling and dousing his cock with your spit. Then you softly drag your glossy mouth up and down the underside of his cock like it’s a melty ice cream cone. Harry swears under his breath and takes his phone out of his pocket. He slides his thumb over the screen, opens the camera app and he clicks the record button. Your eyes flicker up towards the lens and you smile before sticking your tongue out flat and smacking Harry’s cock down onto it several times.

You’ve never been recorded doing such lewd things before, but you trust Harry. You know how protective Harry is over you, so there’s no way in hell he’d let anyone see something that’s only meant for him. This is just a dirty little secret that you’ll always share as step siblings. You guess it’s something that’s bringing you closer together. Or maybe you’re both just sick and disgusting.

You then hold onto the base of him with both hands and dribble a good amount of spit down onto him. Your fingers smear it all over his shaft until he’s completely covered, and you begin pumping him with one of your dainty hands as best as you can. You beam up at the camera and to Harry again, biting your lip, and you bow your head back down to lick all the way up from his balls to his slit. Harry pets his hand through the long, silky hair of your ponytail. The gesture feels loving and kind. You love the thought that he’ll save this video on his phone to watch later. You love to think about him thinking about you. And so you want to make a show out of this as much as you can before Harry can’t take it any longer and makes you stop.

You take his cock and wet it a bit with some extra saliva before bobbing your head up and down, letting it slide against your tongue over and over again slowly. Eventually, this starts to get a little messy, but nothing too bad. Your spit is just leaking a little from the corners of your mouth. However, you decide to kick it up a notch and take him deeper. You bob your head on him so that the head of his cock nudges your throat several times in a row until you are forced to let go and are gasping for air. Drool is dripping from your chin, your cheeks and lashes are wet with tears, and your eyes are clouded with pure lust as you stare up at Harry as he half-assedly points his phone camera at you and gawks at the sight before him simultaneously. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is gaped. This has been much more than just a little taste by this point. It doesn’t seem as though either of you could give a shit, as both of your minds are completely empty and neither one has hesitated or slowed down.

You finish the ‘performance’ by slapping your cheeks with Harry’s dick, still staring up at him as you do, and he twitches in your hand. The power you hold over him causes your sticky arousal to drip down your thighs and you end up rubbing them together to hold yourself over. Harry ends the recording, tosses his phone onto the carpet, and tugs on the back of his t-shirt, pulling it off. You resume your previous position on all fours. Your ass is stuck up high and perfectly accessible for him as he aligns himself up with your core. He rubs himself up and down your pussy to coat himself with your drippy essence. “I’m gonna fuck this cunt whenever and wherever I want…can’t be wasting my cock on any other slag…it should only go in here.” As he pronounces the last word, he pushes himself inside you all in one thrust. Your body arches in retaliation and you grasp onto the couch cushions with your shaky fingers. Harry wastes no time to let you adjust to his size and stretches you out by aggressively smacking his hips against your ass without mercy. It’s like you’ve been thrown into the middle of a race and it’s impossible to keep up. Your body is pounded into the couch until your knees fail to support you and you’re being yanked up to lean over the couch’s arm by your hair so that Harry can continuously bottom out until his balls slap perfectly against your clit with every plunge. And Harry’s not a silent ‘lover’ by any means. He’s proudly announcing his pleasure to every brick of this house to hear. You also learn how degrading his mouth can get as he continuously steals more and more of your innocence.

“Shit…your body was designed f’me, y’know that? Just f’me…just for your step brother to use as his little cocksleeve…” he seethes into your ear after having shoved his entire length into you and pausing for you to flutter and tremble from your insides out.

Your cunt is insanely wet, and you can feel that you’ve completely soaked through the cushions already.

(You’ll have to figure out how to handle that later…)

It’s as if Harry’s cock makes your hole splash every time it enters it. You’ve gotten to the point where you don’t know how much time has gone by, you can hardly breathe, and you honestly can’t tell whether or not you’ve basically just been orgasming over and over for the past several minutes straight. He’s pounding into your cervix so hard that it’s painful and you’re starting to whimper helplessly. Thank God your cats have chosen to mind their own business this time and are upstairs sleeping, because they’d probably develop some sort of innate hatred towards Harry after witnessing something of which, to the uncorrupted eyes of a domesticated animal, definitely looks violent in a bad way. What a time that would be trying to explain to your parents why your cats have been defending you with their very lives, triggered by even the smallest glance from your step brother. If this ever happens again, you’ll need to make sure it’s done in guaranteed-complete privacy.

You can feel hot tears streaming down your face from the force of Harry’s thrusts that have bruised his cock head against your cervix, but you don’t want any of it to stop. “Fuck, baby. Love it when you squeeze me like tha’…” he groans, gripping tightly onto your fleshy hips and lifting them up each time he slams his lower half into you. The atmosphere is tainted with the mixture of your sexes. The only consistent sounds are your gasping breaths and the *slap-slap-slap* of your jiggling ass clapping against Harry’s pelvis.

As you’re leant over the couch armrest, the carpet tickles your out-stretched fingertips and you feel braindead. Your thoughts are nonexistent—the only matter you can internally comprehend is satisfying the man connected to you. All you want is his cum; you want to be filled to the brim with it. You want to be overflowing with your step brother’s sticky seed so that you both can watch it drip out of your fertile cunt once he eventually has to pull out of you.

His thrusts are now becoming stuttered and shallow, losing their original relentless rhythm. You choke on a wet gasp as you feel your step brother’s rough hands grip onto your ass before harshly spanking it. Harry drags out a growling groan and pulls you back up to his chest by your ponytail, then wraps his other hand around your throat, still fucking you on his cock. You hold onto the arm that’s holding you up by your neck as he seethes into your ear, “I was gonna cum all over your pretty face, my pet…” *slap-slap-slap* “…But now I think…” *slap-slap* “…I’ll fill up this tight little pussy, instead…” You moan loudly, your head falling back to rest against Harry’s shoulder as he continues to sloppily pound into your slick hole. He bites your ear and slides his choking hand down to your loosely-covered breasts to tease and grope them during your final moments of intimacy. He flicks your nipples with both of his thumbs as you both reach the highest peak together—you having reached it for the upteenth time this session. Harry cries out, his hands now completely circled around your torso and holding you down onto his squirting cock. You’re rocking your hips forwards and backwards, your internal walls pulsing and milking him of every last drop until he’s shaking from overstimulation. Still having one left in you, you reach your hand down between your legs and circle your clit, swiveling atop of Harry’s un-softening cock. He shakily guides you by your hips, whimpering and gasping at the intensity he’s feeling in his extremely sensitive organ. Shockingly, as you’re fucking yourself to another orgasm on his cock, you feel a couple more small jets of cum shoot out inside of you; and as you look back at Harry, he’s a sweaty, whiny, weak, mess of a boy who’s been milked of all he’s got. You giggle, grinning victoriously at him before clenching your cunt and pulling off of him—attempting to keep all his cum inside of you. Some of it drips out, but you shove it back inside with your fingers. Harry watches with glossy eyes, rosy cheeks, and baited breath.

You steal his boxer briefs off of his calves and slip them on over your crotchless panties. Harry is laying back against the couch cushions, his glistening cock throbbing and slowly softening against his abdomen. Before you scamper upstairs to change your sweaty clothes, you give Harry one last goodnight present.

You grab your phone from the coffee table and click record. Then, you kneel down onto the floor between Harry’s legs, pointing the camera at his nude and spent form. You giggle to yourself and take his cock in your free hand. The camera picks up Harry’s face as he jumps, his eyes widening and his abdomen tightening in defense. You flip to the front camera to record yourself as you lick the remnants of both you and Harry combined off of his still-stiff dick, and you make sure to swirl your tongue around the tip before giving it a good suck—releasing him with a *pop*.

“Ahhh, fuck!” He whines.

You end the recording and kiss his swollen erection tenderly, making him squirm and giggle. You smile at his newly-expressed vulnerability. Harry realizes his mistake and straightens his posture. “Hm…uh…send that to me later, yeah?”

You smirk at him. “Sure thing, loser.” With that, you stand up and take off up the stairs with your phone.

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜

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misslovasstuff · 3 months

Text

Prompt: One piece men after a break up

with: Sanji, Zoro, Shanks, Kid.

author’s note: no warnings. I may be a bit biased cause I like the angst hehe. Enjoy.

Sanji

There was no way this man would let his partner go. He wouldn’t.

So if a break up happens, it’s not Sanji’s initiation.

It’s in his nature to give his all in a relationship. Sanji is selfless, gentle and loving: like a light beam that finds pleasure in warming his lover.

The break up hurts. Like a giver who has nothing to give anymore, a heart that stops beating for a while, it hurts exactly like a hand that is reaching for someone who is walking further away.

Sanji is pretty rational but love can sometimes turn that switch on his head where he lets his feelings guide him.

In the situation where he’s just got broken up with, you can find Sanji smoking more than usual, isolating himself and losing that little fire within through the smoke of his cigarette.

His eyes are mostly wandering off the distant horizon,he looks at his right: a part of his in pain of the memories that can’t leave his head. He looks at his left where he would usually find his lover grabbing his arm and resting their head on his shoulder: the empty spot that was supposed to be filled with love, a delicate touch, a genuine smile, wasn’t there anymore.

Heart sunk, lip trembles as a tear or two fall from his eyes.

Sanji would blame himself… for everything. He would doubt himself, where did he go wrong?

Doesn’t help that he’s not good at explaining his emotions or talking about his feelings, even with his friends. So he usually shakes it off with an ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I have to cook’

Time heals everything, they say. It takes him a while lot to get back to previous Sanji: The Sanji that wooed women and had heart-eyes. Sanji whose care and attention exceeded his limits, a man that did everything with love.

I don’t think he’d be fast to fall back in love, depending on how much disappointed he is, or rather say, how deeply in love he was.

He finds hope to love again, always. No matter how many times he gets let down, abondaned, Sanji’s fire will enlighten love in his heart like a candle that keeps burning, that flame keeping it alive.

Feelings will go away, he won’t try to wash them away quickly. It’s a process and he understands. However, his ex has his respect and that doesn’t change.

And when he loves again, of course he’s a bit afraid, but Sanji is a brave man that does not tremble before danger. He’d take risks for the person he loves. There would never be any comparison between his new and previous lover, any regret. But he would be much more careful, a bit more tensed at first.

So, after a break up Sanji keeps his morals as always. He’s courageous and still kind, not letting a breakup hold him down or change his perspective on love. He is so sweet and accepting of his partner’s decisions, the peace that comes from that helps him move on eventually.

Zoro

This man is drinking more than usual, so much so that he gets drunk, which is quite unusual for the not so lightweight swordsman.

He’s angry, not at his partner, never at his partner. Rather he’s thinking what went wrong, pointing fingers at everyone and everything else, including himself.

“Careful.” He’d say to anyone he hears talking bad about his ex-lover. He holds no resentment.

He’s a man half angry and half in love: it’s hard for him to let go, forget and put everything behind him.

Zoro may not look like it but he loves deeply. He grows immensely in a relationship; learning to express love the way he sees right. He’s shy, somewhat affectionate once he grows close with his partner.

It’s devastating when the person who brings out that side of him leaves and he can’t do any thing about that, can’t make them stay against their will.

This fact, accompanied with the devastating acceptance from his side, makes Zoro, in a sense, weak and strong at the same time.

There are things that remind him of his ex-lover, little details he glimpses upon but never talks about. Multiple times he tries to play it cool, trying his best to convince himself of their irrelevance.

His training hours extend, they become longer and more intense.

Zoro becomes moody, so much so that even his usual bickering with some of the crew members does not happen any more as often because they understand it’s best not to push him further.

He has their support, from the boys that give him a pat on the shoulder, to the ladies with whom he struggles to open up for such a thing but eventually does.

Zoro is back to being serious, starting to think whether the relationship was even worth the time?

He has goals to pursue and all. But, once he takes a deep breath and feels his soul breaking a little at the remembrance of his past lover, Zoro understands that it was definitely worth it if he feels so devastated about his relationship ending and his partner leaving him.

Zoro gets his guard up again after being a bit more vulnerable.

However, there is that gentleness in his eyes that even he doesn’t know where it came from, but it stays.

Love had made him kinder, not that he never was, but now he’s effortlessly expressive of his caring side, especially towards his crew.

He really postpones falling in love again, being in denial for a while even if it happens.

Zoro would avoid getting in another relationship for a long time, unless he’s absolutely smitten.

He usually never hesitates in anything else, only in matters of love.

Shanks

To him, a break up has happened more than once. However, that doesn’t mean he processes it easily.

Shanks seems like the type who doesn’t fall in love easily, so if he’s in a relationship, the chances are he’s head over heels and would do anything for his partner.

There’s a high chance of him initiating a break up. Mainly because he wants to protect the one he loves, thus this kind of decision tears him apart and haunts him.

The absence of his lover in his arms and the lack of love in the air will make him extremely unhappy. He’s a man that doesn’t go back on his word, but only he knows how every fibre of his being is begging to take everything back, to take his lover back.

Shanks doesn’t shed tears but he dissociates a lot. Lonely nights where he drinks occur more often now.

The men of his crew are very understanding, it helps that there are all mature adults.

Sometimes he’d read letters that he exchanged with his ex-lover and rub his temple, constraining himself from shedding any tear whatsoever.

Instead he drinks… and he drinks until the pain is not recognisable anymore.

After some time, I think Shanks wouldn’t be afraid to love again. He welcomes the feeling. However, it is when it comes to committing where he draws the line.

Because of the life he lives, enduring the extra stress of defending a loved one is just so much.

Don’t get him wrong, for sure he’s strong enough. But that doesn’t guarantee anything.

Shanks is strong-headed, so lots of his relationships have ended because of arguments. Whether they were real or orchestrated by him for the same reason, we don’t know.

Break ups do not change him, but he keeps memories close to his heart.

It’s hard to let go of someone you really love, but Shanks thinks that’s when you know it’s absolutely necessary to do so.

Can be that he goes for one night stands afterwards for the same reason he drinks so much, filling the void.

It’s difficult at first but as time passes, he finds peace and assurance in his decision and moves on with acceptance in his heart.

Kid

Doesn’t handle it well, at all.

Eustass is absolutely shocked, and he’s not a big fan of changes so dramatic in his life.

“Is this a joke?”

He’s angry but can not allow himself to pour that anger into his lover. Instead he stays silent, telling his lover to walk away already. No goodbye, no nothing.

He suffers the break up a lot. Losing people like that just sucks for him, especially if it’s someone so close. It’s like a part of him has left, a part he so carefully gave away only to never be given back again.

Cries. For sure. He’d curse himself, also resent to drinking and finding comfort in anyway he can.

Kid opens up to Killer. He talks about how he feels this is unreal and states how it freaks him out when people he loves abandon him.

Even though he feels things so intensely, so much anger and frustration, Kid heals quickly.

It helps that he leaves out all of his emotions at first, not buckling them up and letting them grow without expressing them.

After some time, he’s calmer when it comes to his previous relationship. However, if it comes up to discussion, he dismisses it with a serious look on his face which has a shadow of pain that it’s still in him, still in his heart that broke so fast and so easily.

Falling in love again happens naturally to him, he doesn’t push it. He sleeps with multiple people if he wants and doesn’t settle anymore for some time.

When his heart completely heals, when he feels like he wants to commit to someone again, the wound opens and it hurts a little so it might be normal for him to take a step back and perhaps not consider.

Men in love, usually, tend to love gently. Kid is like that as well, that’s what puts him to rage now. That tenderness that comes with love went away, and unless it comes up with someone else as naturally, he won’t consider another relationship.

He always talks about his break up when he’s drinking, it’s inevitable at this point.

Confessions of love prior to the break up play in his head and he blushes again.

There comes a time where he smiles at the memories of his past relationship, fully healed and fully moved on.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece sanji #one piece shanks #one piece zoro #one piece kid #sanji headcanons #shanks headcanons #zoro headcanons #kid headcanons #one piece posting #sanji angst #zoro angst #shanks #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #op sanji #op zoro

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 2 months

Text

Pairings: None

Word Count: 2,552 Words

Summary: The five times the daycare attendants killed an innocent Eclipse.

Warnings: Death, Murder, Child Murder, Mild Robot Gore, Child Endangerment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Fire, Panic Attack, Trauma, PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Sibling Bonding, let me know if I should add anything else.

The Six Eclipses

1: Annulus

The first time was the simplest. The orange and black bot woke up with no memory at all in a ball pit? Yes, the colorful round shapes meant this was a ball pit. He clawed his way out of it and giggled when the balls exploded around him as he surfaced out of the ball pit.

The animatronic decided he’d rather play, moving the balls around and playing with them, giggling the whole time. What was his name? He liked Annulus. He liked the sound of the name. He loved the nickname Annie especially.

Annulus peeked up over the castle wall as he heard voices and he watched two animatronics talking, holding onto the foam wall and smiling at the two. They looked like him and they registered to his systems as Sun for the gold and yellow one and Moon for the blue and silver one. Annulus only got alarmed when the both of them got startled seeing him.

“Moon! Moon!?” Sun screamed at the blue animatronic and Annulus cocked his head to the side in confusion as to why they were scared. Annulus looked back to see if something was behind him. But Annulus didn’t see anything behind him. Annulus looked back at the two other animatronics only to be face to face with a barrel pointed right to his face.

“Wha-” Annulus didn’t have the time to fully get the word out of his mouth before Moon fired off a laser from the barrel and Annulus’ body fell backward into the ballpit with steam rising from the scorched neck pipe where the circular head frame was missing, wires and all.

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2: Penumbra

The second time he woke up with a gasp, hands feeling over his face as he remembered the last memory he had. It was a sudden flash of pain in just his head and explosion levels of heat. That life was Annulus’, but it wasn’t his own. Not this one.

He decided he would be different. His name would be Penumbra. Penny. He liked that one. Penumbra loved that name. It was cute. He was glad to not be in the ball pit, it made him terrified that he could’ve felt that again. It was scary.

Penumbra was in a pretty starry sky, it was gorgeous. This looked like indoors though, that was the ceiling!? The ceiling was so pretty! Penumbra giggled seeing it, looking over the dark pretty indoor sky. Penumbra heard someone near him and looked back to see something leer toward him in the darkness and waved. The animatronic didn’t register as Sun or Moon so it wasn’t someone scary, right?

Penumbra felt a hand against his face and screamed feeling heat charge up, grabbing the arm that was holding him and attempting to fight the hand away, the hand registering to his database as Solar. Penumbra was screaming up until Solar’s arm cannon went off and Penumbra collapsed to the floor, the remainder of his head smoking as the wires singed with sparks and flames.

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3: Saros

The third woke up more slowly, groaning as he held his head and rubbed over it with phantom pains. Saros? He liked Saros. Saros was remembering slowly the past two deaths, very sudden and terrifying in retrospect. It left him shaking abut. But those were adults, right?

Now that he had time to think about things, Saros knew those animatronics were adults and he was just a kid in a way. He had no memory besides his prior deaths, really. Saros didn’t really know much, but the only adults he knew of were the ones that had hurt him before. Or…past versions of him? Saros didn’t know. But they were scary, that was for sure.

Saros wanted to ask them for help. Maybe they’d listen if he could ask them this time? Saros looked around to find he had woken up in a theater. It was a big place, actually. It was kind of pretty despite how dark it was. Saros followed the lights out of the theater and up into the concession booth, finding it was a red and orange and black bot half-asleep at the counter.

“HI!” Saros waved at him.

“Oh shit.” The bot that registered now as Solar, his killer last time fumbled a bit as he stood straight up and stared at Saros.

“Hello, my name is Saros, can I ask you if you can hel-” Saros got a shot from the arm cannon through half his faceplate, leaving him screaming as half his fragile head components had been blown to dust. Saros collapsed holding his head and trying to hold the components left of his circuit board together before he felt another blast from the arm cannon.

Saros’s body slumped to the floor with a quarter of his head left and oil dripping, catching fire in his engines just as Saros’ body was powering down, creating a fire on the floor and a mark of fire damage on the floor as well.

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4: Shadow

The fourth screamed awake, alerting someone around him. Shadow had a very short existence, very confused and scared. He was in the middle of the daycare surrounded by only Sun and cleaning supplies. Shadow’s screaming alerted Sun, who immediately panicked and ripped out Shadow’s wires. Later that night, when Moon woke up, Moon put Shadow’s body in the kitchen’s trash compactor, ridding them of Shadow.

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5: Astronomy

When Astronomy woke up, he was in an even more vividly colored daycare. Where was this? Lunar and Earth’s daycare? He hadn’t seen those two animatronics before. Maybe they were nicer than the other three?

Astronomy looked around and found a small blue animatronic just a bit taller than him. Astronomy was tiny, he was toddler-sized and Lunar was taller than him. Lunar looked more inviting, more kind. And he looked happy talking to someone that didn’t register as an animatronic. It was someone really tall with pretty blue designs that Astronomy didn’t hear the name of.

Astronomy hesitantly went up to Lunar and gently tugged on his sleeve, confused and afraid of Lunar turning out like the others. He was a very pretty light blue and almost glowing with nervous but kind energy. But that kind energy faded the second Lunar turned to him. But Astronomy persisted. Lunar was an adult and he needed an adult to help him.

“Mister Lunar? C-Can you help me?” Astronomy asked.

“Oh don’t play dumb, you arrogant prick!” Lunar snapped and the blue person disappeared. Astronomy looked up toward the blue person then back to Lunar, who was charged with electricity? Lightning? But he was buzzing with it.

Astronomy didn’t have time to get another word out before he felt lightning running through him, frying every circuit and blowing them out, making Astronomy scream as the lightning made scars and Lichtenburg marks across his skin, smoke billowing from Astronomy’s melting circuits before it fried his internals and his chip.

Astronomy’s body dropped to the floor like a stone, smoke billowing above him and sparks and jolts still going through him after Astronomy had already been killed.

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+1. Ultraviolet

Ultraviolet woke up in the balcony room. He didn’t know why but he was there, which immediately scared him and made him run as a large blue and green animatronic that registered as Earth saw him run to hide. He was scared of the animatronics here, all of them had killed him before except Earth! He didn’t like those animatronics and Earth couldn’t be any better!

The little blue one seemed friendly and smaller like him but he didn’t want to take his chances this time. Ultraviolet had hid in the dressing room behind the theater, looking at himself in the mirror. The features he had were pretty ones. He loved the pretty black and orange. It was a pretty combination.

In the mirror, Ultraviolet saw a pretty orange and black dress meant for the theater actors and it looked small enough for him. Violet took off his clothes and changed into the frilly black and orange dress and giggled as he twirled in it, hands holding the skirt and watching it floof around him as he sat on the ground like a princess.

Violet liked that he looked like a princess, he liked the fluffy dress. He felt cute in the dress. It made him forget about Earth until he saw her turn the corner into the dressing room and see him on the ground. Earth stopped dead seeing him but didn’t make a move yet, seemingly stunned to see him there. Or maybe it was the dress?

Ultraviolet didn’t know, all he knew was that Earth was scary and it made tears of oil prick in his eyes and fall over his face, sobs unwillingly leaving his voice box. Earth had crouched down in front of him but it just made him scramble back and hide under one of the mirror desks, curling up and hiding as best he could.

“Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, please!?” Ultraviolet sobbed out, shaking and Earth gently and slowly lowered one of her hands to touch Violet’s own hands.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re a little one, right?” Earth asked, voice soft and calm. It made Ultraviolet look up that she was actually talking to him without threats or yelling or panic. “Are you alright, little one? Do you need a hug?” Earth asked softly.

Ultraviolet sniffled and shuddered with a sob before tackling to hold around her middle, wailing and burying against her as her gentle hands rubbed over his back. Earth wasn’t hurting him. Earth wasn’t making him die again. She was comforting him, holding him while he cried.

“It’s okay, little one. You’re safe.” Earth assured him, voice still soft and calm enough it calmed him enough that the wailing petered down into hiccups and sniffles as Violet cried himself out, oil wetting and maybe staining Earth’s pretty skirt but she didn’t even seem to care.

“I know it’s scary, but you’re safe. Just breathe, little one. What’s your name? Do you have one?” She asked to calm him further.

“Ultraviolet.” He whispered, wiping his eyes with his arm but refusing to let go of Earth, too scared to let go of the one adult who hadn’t hurt him.

“Ultraviolet is a pretty name. My, that’s a very good name. And the nickname maybe Violet. Oh, I love that name, it’s so pretty like you in this dress, Violet.” Earth giggled and smiled, making Ultraviolet feel a lot more comfortable. Earth sat forward and offered Ultraviolet her hands to pick him up.

Violet immediately raised his arms to be picked up, letting her arms coddle him to her shoulder and hold him there. One hand was under his thighs and the other hand over his back and head to keep him in her shoulder as Ultraviolet clung his hands around her neck to hold on tight, feeling the warmth and affection she had.

Earth stood up with him in her arms, carrying him somewhere and Violet peeked to see they were going to the daycare with her hands getting more protective. It seemed Earth had known about Ultraviolet’s prior deaths and was protecting him from the other animatronics.

“Boys! Hello!” Earth called out and Ultraviolet looked around, seeing the four animatronics that had killed him in his last five lives and one other taller adult animatronic with rays and looked nervous but kind. He registered as Ruin in Violet’s systems and he looked kind. Kinder than even Lunar.

Either way, the sight of all four of the animatronics that had killed Violet in his last five lives made him inadvertently give a whimper and begin to shake, sniffles rising back up again as he pressed his face into Earth’s neck, clutching onto her shirt tighter so she wouldn’t leave him to the mercy of the mean adult animatronics again.

“Boys, I am deeply ashamed and disappointed in you. Not you, Ruin. I understood when you four all had told me that you had killed an Eclipse that had come around as I was under the impression that you all had been threatened or attacked and provoked into killing him. However, Ultraviolet here has no more than the mentality of barely a two year old and seemingly no memories whatsoever other than the trauma the four of you have inflicted.” Earth told them, her hand on Ultraviolet’s back rubbing it to soothe him as he whimpered and cried quietly, too scared to pay attention to the conversation. He was just happy that Earth was comforting him.

“Earth, he’s not a-” Moon began.

“That being said!” Earth cut him off. “I do not condone your actions any longer in the murders of those ‘Eclipses’. As far as I am aware, all five of them were innocent of crimes as well as children. You four should be ashamed of yourselves. If Ultraviolet is a reflection of them at all, then they did absolutely nothing to any of you other than exist.”

“Earth?” Sun asked.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear the excuses! Ultraviolet is a two year old with no memories of anything besides death! I will not entertain your excuses! All four of you will not interact with him until he’s ready to interact with you! Ultraviolet is a tiny toddler, smaller than Lunar even! How could four of five of you possibly have seen a toddler as a threat!?” She sounded really angry and it made Ultraviolet whimper and let out a cry, though not tears came out this time because his oil tank was too low to create more tears.

Earth relaxed and turned away from the other five animatronics, rocking Ultraviolet as she also calmed herself down. Her hand stroked up and down Ultraviolet’s spine and she shushed him, softly humming as she ran her fingers to rub his rays and that instantly relaxed Violet against her shoulder, breath getting softer and slower as he was slowly falling asleep to the feeling.

“I may be the baby sister but I am extremely upset with all of you four. Not you, Ruin. And I’m sorry if I scared you, Ruin. I know you haven’t seen me angry before, I apologize.” Earth told the group of other animatronics.

“It’s very alright, Earth. I understand.” Ruin assured her. “May I see him?” Ruin asked.

“Of course.” She smiled, sitting with Ruin as the other four went to talk to each other quietly like they’d been scolded by a parent. Earth slowly and carefully transferred Ultraviolet into Ruin’s awaiting arms and Ruin carefully held him the same as Earth had, though he sat in a rocking chair, which soothed Violet even more.

As if Ruin was an expert, the other animatronic’s rubbed and massaged Violet’s rays from the base to the tips, vanes getting Ruin’s fingers running over them and it put Violet fully to sleep from fussing slightly. Earth cooed softly as she saw little Violet go to sleep in Ruin’s arms and immediately began taking pictures and sending them straight to Monty while Ultraviolet continued to sleep, completely comfortable in Ruin’s arms getting soft fingers rubbing his back and rays to soothe away any nightmares.

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virtual-insanity28 · 1 year

Note

bllk 11 hcs on how they'd handle being broken up with because i think we need more ✨angst✨ in the fandom

Resolve and Grief

Blue Lock Headcanons

Characters | Gin Gagamaru, Jyubei Aryu, Ikki Niko, Hyoma Chigiri, Kenyu Yukimiya, Tabito Karasu, Seishiro Nagi, Meguru Bachira, Eita Otoya, Rin Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi + Shoei Baro, Reo Mikage, Yo Hiori

Warning | Angst—Breakups

Requests | OPEN and gladly taken <3

A/N | yessss, blue lock has so many possibilities for angsty stories, but nobody is willing to look at the harsh reality of ittttt lol

———————————

GAGAMARU is one who doesn’t mind relationships with people. It’s rare for him to hang out with somebody because he wanted to, so your sudden breakup with him surely leaves a bruise on his heart. He is so used to being by himself, yet you have been someone he trusted; his safe spot whenever he was struggling. It’s hard for him to adjust back to his regular habits before you came along. When he’s out on hikes alone, he can’t help but to mutter to himself softly as if you were there with him, keeping him entertained with your presence solely.

ARYU may be rather narcissistic, but he is someone who cares a lot for his friends. He isn’t necessarily an egoist, but his personality doesn’t extend as far as ignorance goes. That’s why, when you tell him you’re done with him, he…stares. Has he done something to upset you? What did he do? Were you just not ready for him? Was he…annoying you? The questions plague his mind, and he would seclude himself in a quiet room for days, pondering why you’d break up with a gorgeous man such as himself. Or maybe he wasn’t gorgeous enough…

NIKKO, as the shy yet intelligent boy he is, remains frozen upon your words. You’re breaking up with him? “But…why?” he whimpers. If you’re truly a menace and leave him shaking and crying, then you don’t deserve to live(jk/). Alas, either way, he’d bow his head down, his fluffy bangs covering his eyes, and sulk with large, hot tears running down his soft cheeks. For his coping mechanism? He wouldn’t have one. In fact, he’d be haunted by the memories he had with you, and consistently wallow about it but never to tell his friends about it. He’d hate for them to see him as a pathetic kid who can’t handle a simple breakup. Please, Nikko needs love. He deserves it. Don’t break up with this baby…

CHIGIRI is similar to Nikko…in a way. He’d watch your lips carefully, trying to process what you say with a clear and steady mind, before reaching out to your turned back, only to be greeted by air. He attempts to hold his head high, but feeling you disappear like that hits him with the harshness of reality. He’s a lot like what you see in the movies; spending a few days in his room, trying to keep himself together but failing. He’d get so bitter and snappy to people he genuinely cares for, his sister and mother even. It shocks a lot but it doesn’t at the same time. He’s Chigiri. Eventually, though, his sister and friends drag him back to his casual, less cold but still snappy demeanor he had prior to him dating you.

YUKIMIYA has dealt with a lot in his life. You breaking up with him was…surprising. He wouldn’t be as shocked as the average person, but he would ask you why you’d want to leave him. After your explanation, he’d accept it. Not without tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, though. He would never waste time to get better at soccer over a breakup, though. During practice, his teammates would catch him staring out the distance, not bothering to do drills or anything. That’s when they knew something went downhill with you and him…Add one more thing taken away from him…

KARASU is a cocky boy, but even he knows his limits. Upon your words and disappearance, he was left utterly shattered. He has dated before but all relationships ended with him in the lowest dumps possible. Not even Otoya or Yukimiya’s words of encouragement could help him. It’s only the process of time that helps Karasu. He may seem jealous or sad when he thinks about you, but he does learn to get over it and get on with his life.

NAGI moves on almost instantly. Oh? You’re breaking up? Should that concern him, or…Now, don’t take his aloofness personally. He isn’t well acquainted with normal feelings as one would expect, so a relationship overall is just like a bonus ending to him. He thinks about you, and he sometimes contemplates on texting you a video or photo that he saw since that’s what he’d usually do, but he doesn’t want to annoy you any further than what he had. He’s self-conscious but at the same time he isn’t.

BACHIRA, this poor boy…“You…what?” His voice is quiet and soft, sounding like a child as he tries to figure out the situation. He knew that he was weird. It was a reason why so many people didn’t want to be friends with him. When you wanted to date him, he was so excited that he practically squeezed you to death, and then…this. The sight of your back made him grab your hand, but he eventually let go after the distance already placed in between you two. The next few days were tormenting for him. He sat in his mother’s art office, painting pictures that portrayed his feelings(it was a coping mechanism she suggested for him), but he was always reminded of you, his best friend. Nevertheless, there would be no way possible for Bachira to forget you. Not in his wildest dreams.

OTOYA, this man would totally make a sad breakup mixtape after you broke up with him. It doesn’t matter if you were a quick date, no. Heartbreak hits this little artist hard. With Karasu and Yukimiya’s broship, he’d get back on his feet but he’d have constant reminders of you. His stoic expression wouldn’t admit his depression, though, which makes it hard for others to determine if he’s okay or not…

RIN heartbroken? What an unbelievable thing. Itoshi Rin, younger brother of famous Japanese Spain player Itoshi Sae, barely had emotions as is. He hates people, so it’s a wonder how the hell you even managed to date him. When his mother asked if he was okay after stating you weren’t together anymore, he shrugged and gave a bored stare. “They got in my way, anyways. I don’t care.” His voice, cold as ever, made his mother shiver, feeling bad for you. Rin doesn’t even think about you a single bit after your breakup. He couldn’t possibly care less. As long as it doesn’t interfere with football, he could hear the news that you died and he’d carry on perfectly fine.(Not actually. He throws an entire tantrum in his room like how he did when Sae trashed him).

ISAGI hates being left alone. Your breakup shatters him entirely. All of the things you did together, every single precious memory…just tossed out the window like that? But- How? Not even soccer can heal him from this scar, trust him, he’s already tried. He’s the ex that would text you, but then block you immediately afterwards, and then unblock you and text you again. He doesn’t do it to make you mad, he only does it because he genuinely misses you. But when enough is enough, he learns that you are gone. There’s no going back.

BAROU may seem like an intimidating person with no feelings other than greed, but he actually isn’t like that at all. Of course he does things on his own a lot, but he is probably one of the most sensitive guys out there(in Team Z at least). His nonchalance gets in the way of his public attitude, causing for him to be way more aggressive, but when alone? Oh, does this boy feel empty…What does he even do now that you’re not with him?

REO has money, popularity, and even his own fan-base. He could deal without you…can’t he? Like Nagi, you were the closest thing to a real friend. He treasured you like an equal to himself, and he even showed you his excitement over soccer. You were there for him, and now you aren’t. He doesn’t exactly know how to react to your breakup. Whenever he sees you in the halls or streets, he acts as if you don’t exist, but if you attempt to go up to him, he becomes a flustered mess. Has he missed you that much even after you broke up!?

HIORI is a very level-headed boy. He saw this coming. Your breakup went smoothly even with how sour everything was. Hiori foresaw your discomfort, and he merely agreed when you said you wanted a break. Though, despite his wisdom, he still can’t help but to blame himself. “Was I not good enough?” He repeats in his head while waiting for the loading screen of his game to pass.

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cherubkeery · 1 year

Text

The Gold

Had a shitty birthday so I decided to write an angst fic.

The silence was loud like a gun shot that had gone off. The moment when only a ringing could be heard. You played with the drink in front of you. The ice had already melted. You swirled the straw for a while. Then stopped. You were no longer interested in the drink in front of you. Steve watched you in this silence. His heart hurt, he’d known he done the worst thing he’d ever done to you.

“Did you ever love me? Or was I just simply a place holder because you couldn’t have Nancy Wheeler.” Saying her full name stung you but you rather liked the way the words stung your tongue. It reminded you how much this had shattered your heart to pieces. Remembered Jonathan’s poor heartbroken face as Nancy’s lipstick was smeared. Steve held the remnants on his own.

“I did. I do. I always loved you.” He said, he gulped. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by you. You’d always noticed the small details about him. Every fidget, every breath. If you were blindfolded, you only had to touch your hand in front of his face to know, it was his breath breathing softly against it.

“Liar.” You whispered. Finally stop eyeing the drink and meeting the eyes of the boy who hurt you. Scars; the only thing you saw him as now. He left one very deep scar down the middle of your heart. You could feel it, every breath you took. Because it hurt so much to do so.

“You don’t love me. People who love another don’t cheat. You love her. She’s been the girl your heart has always sang for. Always burned for. I just ended up in the crossfire.”

Tears were falling down his face. Your throat burned because you knew you would have wiped every tear away from his face. If it meant he didn’t have to hurt anymore. But no, you couldn’t do that here. Nothing about what he did was okay.

“I’m sorry. Okay I know you don’t believe me. But I love you. It hurts me that I hurt you.” You let out a dry laugh and shook your head.

“You know, I really thought you stripped King Steve off of yourself. But that’s all I see when I look at you. That’s all I’m going to see onward.” Steve face showed the hurt you knew he couldn’t hide. You had went for the lowest blow. He knew it, you knew it. That’s why you’d said it. It felt good for a second but the face he made. You wish you could take it back somehow.

No, it was okay. Really. This was how it was always going to be anyway. He was never over Nancy. He was never going to be over her. You pulled out your wallet, knowing in another occasion or another alternate universe where you two were in love and happy. He would have stopped you. And you would have let him. Not now. Not ever again. You slipped the twenty dollar bill out of your wallet. And placed it on the table.

“Good luck out there Harrington. I hope she’s everything you wanted and more.”

Steve went to stop you, he’d placed another crisp twenty dollar bill out of his own wallet. But it’s been too late. You’d made your choice.

“Please.” He choked out. “Please, don’t let this end like this. This isn’t our story.” He grabbed your arm, trying desperately to stop you from leaving the diner. From leaving him.

“What is our story? All I see is shards of a shitty relationship. That’s all this was. We didn’t have a story. Just forget me. That’s what you should really do. Don’t talk about me to anyone. Don’t tell your future kids about us. Erase me from your memory. Let me go.” You managed to pull your arm away from him. Walking away from the only boy you ever truly loved. He had let your heart bleed. And no one was ever going to do that to you ever again.

Forget everyone he’d ever knew, forget the relationship you’d had with him. That’s what you were going to do. And you were going to leave this damned hell town if that was the last thing you would do.

#stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst

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rogerswifesblog · 9 months

Text

- chapter 8 -

Previous chapter

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hello:) a short chapter from Steve’s point of view. Have fun reading and please don’t forget to leave some feedback and to reblog it. It means a lot, really.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x mermaid reader

Warnings: suicidal thoughts? Kinda?

Steve’s PoV

As soon as he got back to the compound he felt something was missing.

Well, someone.

„Pal, it’ll be-“ „I’m gonna go take a nap“, he interrupted Bucky, feeling incredibly bad about it but if he had to honest with himself he just wanted to crawl beneath his covers and sleep for the rest of the day..or as long as it’s take for him to forget about you.

Steve had thought you’d be more hurt-that you’d take some more time till actually disappearing into the depths of the sea but…maybe he was wrong, maybe you didn’t care about him as much as he cared about you.

As soon as he entered his bedroom he threw himself onto the bed, sighing dramatically. Steve threw the covers over himself, burying his head into his pillow. He took a deep breath and-

“For fucks sake”, the pillow smelled like you. He couldn’t really describe your smell, it has something salty or sea-ish in it, but was at the same time sweet. Addicting. It was addicting.

Even though he knew he’d hurt himself more while doing it-he pressed his nose back into the pillow, enjoying the last moments this would last. He was sure it’d be gone soon, but for now it was all he needed to feel at least a bit better. To have his heart feel like it was ripping apart. Breaking in million pieces…

Who was he kidding?

It was already broken.

He felt awful. He had never felt this bad before. Not even when Peggy had died and he had always believed he had been in love with her… but maybe…maybe he was in love now? Maybe love was supposed to feel like this? Like broken glass that was slowly falling apart with every touch. Steve felt like broken glass and was slowly falling apart with every reminder of you.

He felt empty. He felt empty after having given you his whole heart. You took it with you. Unintentionally. But you took it. And now Steve only felt pain, sadness and yet at the same time emptiness.

A single tear rolled down his face as he slowly felt himself falling asleep.

His dreams were filled with water. Deep waters, he could tell it was the sea. Was it one of his nightmares about sinking the Valkyrie? No…it was something different. It wasn’t a nightmare. He felt rather…at peace. As if he was close to home. As if the water was his home. Which…was weird. He hated the deep sea. Or any deep water to be exact.

And then he saw people. And a castle. And armor and…god there were so many guards. Where the hell did those dreams come from?

It was all blurry, like an old memory, but still clear enough for him to recognise the scene.

It was your memory-or rather, the current moment.

Then someone wrapped you in a tight hug and Steve woke up with a gasp.

You were home.

You made it home safely.

And he was…relieved? Maybe? Or was he rather angry? Heartbroken?

You just left him. And you made him watch your Happy End?

Where was his Happy End? It was supposed to be with you.

He thought it was forever after love…

That kind of love you read books about, that love you saw in movies-but he wasn’t in a movie. He wasn’t in a book.

This was life.

And he was never meant to have a Happy End.

He was a soldier. He’d always be a soldier, nothing else.

So that’s exactly what he’d throw himself into. His destiny was to fight. So he’d fight.

But not the fight he’d want to fight.

His fight was already over. His love was gone.

Steve was gone the next day. First he went to Fury, asking him for something he’d make himself busy with-a undercover mission in Europe, close to the Baltic Sea. Fine with him. He only told Bucky he’d be away on a mission and had no idea when he’d be back.

Within hours he was on his way to Germany to his new small cabin close to the beach, where he’d probably spend his free time too. Just watching the water…imaging you and what you were doing.

Maybe you were with your family, maybe with some partner, maybe…god what if they want you to marry someone?

He shook his head at that. This wouldn’t make sense, right?

He shook his head again, this time rather in annoyance about himself. All he wanted was to get his head empty from all the thoughts about you, yet it seemed impossible.

It’s like you filled up his whole mind, all his thoughts, just…just every fiber of his body.

A tear escaped the corner of his eyes, which he quickly wiped away not wanting to show any weaknesses, even though he was alone.

After unpacking his things he sat down on the porch, just looking at the sea. It felt in a way very calming…and at the same time very upsetting.

Would this feeling ever go away?

The days went by. He dreamed about the sea and merpeople evey night and during the same his mind was filled with you. Every.fucking.day.

He was sick of it-and he actually felt really sick.

Steve was tired. His whole body ached. He felt dehydrated, even though he still tried drinking as much water as possible-or at least enough. He wasn’t hungry-and if he ate, he felt like puking.

Was it some Virus? But on the other hand…he couldn’t get sick. It was impossible. The serum prevented him from getting sick.

And he'd felt like he was back in his skinny body, the sickly boy once again getting a fever after being too long outside without a thick jacket.

He didn’t miss the time when he had been sick.

Yet it felt like those times were coming back.

Could the serum stop working? Is he turning into his skinny self again? They had told him it would be permanent..but on the other hand, nobody ever lived this long to actually tell how the serum worked. It’s not like the serum was really tested a lot.

He should probably go back to the compound. Get tested. Have them check him in the lab, give them his blood and…he really didn’t care, if he had to be honest with himself. He’d be fine with dying here. Doesn’t matter if as a super soldier or not. He just felt tired. Tired from the mission. Tired from heartbreak, tired from…being alive.

After patrolling the nearby areas Steve went back to his cabin, opening a beer and just sitting down in front of the fireplace, just thinking and staring into the fire.

The bitter taste of beer made him furrow his eyebrows a bit. It wasn’t good. He wouldn’t even feel it. No buzz from the alcohol. He’d probably need to drink a whole bottle of rum or tequila to feel at least a little buzz…but he wasn’t sure about it. Only some of Thors alcohol helped him to feel any of it.

Sighing Steve took another sip. This time bigger.

The bitterness was like a reflection of his sour mood.

When would those feelings go away? It started to get on his nerves. He had never mourned this much after Peggy, so why was he feeling like his heart was tearing apart more and more with every day. Every minute.

Would he ever feel whole again? Would it ever stop hurting this much?

He was so sick of living like this.

At this point he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live like this. His life felt rather…lifeless. He only spent his time with the mission and after just drinking tasteless beer.

It’s like the meaning of his life just disappeared.

And maybe it did.

With you.

Maybe you took part of his heart, unintentionally leaving him completely broken.

Sighing Steve took another sip, listening to the crisping fireplace. Maybe when he comes back to the compound he could-

A harsh knock made him jump a little bit as he immediately stood up and walked to the door. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d taken his gun from beneath the coffee table.

Nobody knew his location. Nobody would visit him here.

So who the hell was it? An enemy?

When he looked through the peekhole he quickly turned the key, nearly breaking it before opening the door with so much strength he could feel the handle being ripped in half.

His breath hitched. His heartbeat stopped for a second, before racing like crazy as he tried to keep himself calm.

It couldn’t be-that’s impossible.

How-

What-

“Mer?”

Thank you for reading! I hope you like it. Please let me know by reblogging and giving feedback! It makes a writer (me) very happy

If you have any questions, hc, Drabble ideas, ‘what if…’-> flood my inbox!

Taglist: @jamneuromain @buckystevelove @katzvelvet @feltonswifesworld87 @mylifeispainandiloveit @kneelforloki @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bollzinurmouth @lilsiz @magnificentsaladllama wanna be tagged? Be active by reblogging and leaving feedback! I’ll remove those who aren’t active

#steve rogers #drowning siren #drowning siren q&a #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #flood my inbox #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x mermaid reader

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alsopartgekkos · 1 year

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A Sallow Grave - what did go wrong and why

So, a try to delve a bit into the whole quest situation, because for one I love trying to analyse stuff, and Seb has some unearthing of his sallow ass to do. Buckle up.

Spoilers for Sebastian Sallow’s questline, mentions of death, psychological abuse and just general rumblings in no particular order.

Part one of idk how many.

And for a start probably I need to say, that nothing in that questline was okay. And though I do not agree with Sebastian's actions, it’s interesting to see how everything led to this exact outcome, and how he is, undoubtedly, more a result of his upbringing and problematic teenagehood, rather than was inclined or destined to something inherently.

So let's start up with early childhood, shall we?

Little is known about the twins in earlier years, but they were raised in a full family, and their parents were described as passionate academics, passing thirst for knowledge and optimistic, open minded mindset to their children. It’s noted that they would spend days in the cellar, probably often leaving both Sebastian and Anne to themselves, which undoubtedly resulted in a strong bond between the two. Even years later for Sebastian it's never only just “my sister”, he underlines multiple times that Ann is his twin, the other missing half.

However tragic events come to pass, and due incident Mr. and Ms. Sallow are gone, and since it’s noted that usually children with magical ability exhibit it by the age of seven, the twins could’ve been between age 5 to 7, where children undergo most important psychological development. They were left on their own, just the two of them, Sebastian subconsciously later opting the role of a fatherly figure, a protector, probably the elder twin. They also left their home - the place holding happiest memories, for Feldcroft and living with their uncle.

Let us not actually forget that technically, and by Victorian standards no less, both Anne and Sebastian are orphans. Yes, they live with Solomon and he does provide for them, but they are perceived as two different entities altogether. There’s Solomon Sallow, separately, and there are the twins, and although it is never truly stated or hinted whenever wizards had different, more prodigious social structure, Sebastian and Solomon do verbally differentiate between the family. And they’re lucky in a way, because staying with close family is still better than any other sort of a magical orphanage.

The trick is, though, that Solomon as a person, probably was not ready for what he was dealing with, nor has the qualities of a child caretaker. He’s a former Auror: sure, providing safety for two kids, but he’s a battle worn veteran, who gave up the work of his life, plagued by his own wrongdoings [and not having luxury of therapy, let’s be honest], possibly troubled feelings against his brother and most likely PTSD in the form of rage fits. Which is no good thing for a child to be around.

[Enter the fanon territory, following by the post here, I do think there was some sort of sibling rivalry between Solomon and his brother, and I think that he was to a degree enamoured with the twins' mother. It’s really easy to spot in their conversations, that being “his father’s son” is his own trauma projected into a child, whilst Sebastian can’t comprehend why it’s a bad thing. For him father is a happy memory and a role model, this bright inquisitive mind. For Solomon his brother is, probably, an example of passion going too far, of obsession, his own lost opportunities. And he sees Sebastian growing to be just the same, even before Anne is cursed he’d been this way, so I assume there’s something going on there. Besides well asserting dominance in the household, bc somebody didn’t live well though Aedipus complex I guess.]

Being tasked with bringing up two kids isn’t easy even for a full family, let alone a man with issues, so we start at that. And before Hogwarts became an outlet for both Sebastian and Anne, about 5 years passed, where both of them were mostly formed as people.

We can assume from what both Anne and Sebastian tell, the relationship with their uncle has always been tense. And it’s easy to see why except for the above.

In the scene where he destroys a Shivelfig he is the one to get verbally aggressive first, and when blames his own outburst and Anne’s following seizure to be Sebastian’s fault. And something tells me that’s not the first time such an argument arises. [As Anne mentions below]

It’s certainly a gaslighting tactic to justify himself [Seb and his uncle have lots in common haven't they sometimes]. And that “what have you done” rhetoric stays with his uncle for the rest of the narrative, and is ultimately a poor communication method. He also intrudes in their safe moment of connection, overseeing the conversation, not to mention that he intrudes in their personal space with little regard to understand what happens [not even minding MC as a matter of fact].

After a shot argument he practically sends Sebastian, who only arrived, off, perfectly knowing what kind of bond the siblings have. It is a cruel thing to do, no matter how well justified. And acts with utter nerve as if nothing happened, casually dismissing MC in the conversation, getting quickly frustrated if their point of view does not align with his. It’s something many have experienced with a strict [and often unloving] parent. Not to mention he apologises on behalf of his nephew for some reason, not on his own, like sir you were rude.

[an interesting tidbit: he’s not looking at Sebastian. He’s looking straight at Anne, as if to make sure she understands that she shall not hope for the best and accept his better judgement as the only outcome. As Sebastian says “she’s not herself” ever since she stayed with Solomon, and if that isn’t a red flag well idk.]

And if you look at Sebastian [actually two times, second being with the relic], he’s absolutely helpless. His tantrums and his anger is not the first reaction to aggression. It’s fear. He watches hopelessly, brows raised and ashamed, how his uncle turns his achievements, his work into nothingness and he does not respond back immediately. [Which can be another form of response to domestic abuse] Because there’s still a child there, who is listening to what is said to him. And it’s absolutely heartbreaking to see.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #anne sallow #solomon sallow #sebastian sallow headcanon #if only these two could speak words through their mouths this whole shit could've been avoided #send uncle to therapy

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little-worm-grant · 4 months

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Marc's pov: Behind Closed Doors

1,402 words / 18+ only, no minors

Masterlist. If you like what you see, leave a like or reblog and follow me ♥ Summary: Some darker scatterbrained memories of abuse and trauma from the mind of Marc Spector and his formative years.

Continued: Steven's pov: Happy Simple Normal Life (comfort)

Warnings: Dead dove?? Heavy child abuse + family death. C-PTSD. Domestic violence. Childhood trauma. Self-hatred. No comfort, only hurt. Notes: To my fellow survivors. You were not a bad person. You were not a burden. You were not difficult. You were not evil. You were a child. You deserve to heal and find what makes you happy. Take care of yourself first, no one can do it better than you can.

Knew from the way the house sounded what mood his mom was in when he got home from school. How each person’s footsteps sounded, and their mood based on how they walked. Not a usual thing to pick up on, but Marc had gotten to know how she was. Knowing when to expect her to be at her worst made it easier to deal with it when she was less cruel.

TV was blasting some soap rerun. Less to watch and more for background noise while she moved around the kitchen. Any noise in the house was a comfort. Meant it was safe. It was when it was silent he knew to hide. Out of sight, out of mind. Most days he would rather stay out of sight.

Heading through to the living room he stopped at the kitchen doorway and watched her. She'd been chopping at the cutting board. Not looking happy, but not looking so sad either. If he stayed quiet for long enough he could pretend this was a good day. When she looked at him he saw that look in her eyes change. Disappointment he was back? Sad to see he was near? She reached for the drinks cabinet and Marc left for his room. Didn’t want to stick around and wait for her to start with the berating.

He rarely saw her smile anymore. He couldn't remember the last time she smiled at him, but he could remember a time. They’d been out grocery shopping and heading back to the car. Marc had seen old lady struggling to push her cart back to the car beside theirs so he helped. The woman complimented his mom over what a kind boy she had. His mom made some noncommittal comment and forced a smile in his direction. He could tell it wasn’t genuine by the way it never made it to her eyes, just out of sheer politeness for the woman. By that point, he'd take anything he could get. Whatever crumbs of kindness she’d give him he’d gladly accept. He wanted to show her he still had the capability of being good even if he'd done terrible things.

She cried on the drive home.

He didn't ask and she didn't point out why, but he already knew what the answer would have been. Should have been her Roro doing all that. Helping old ladies. Offering to do chores to get more pocket money. Helping their dad clean the car. Where Marc was more introverted and liked keeping to himself, his little brother shone as a people person. The true baby of the family. Everyone loved him. Marc was just trying to be more like him to appease his mom. Got him a smile, didn't it?

He remembered after one bad night, she'd come into his room and pulled him out of his sleep to pull him out of bed and beat him. Supposedly for not taking the trash out, but it was the middle of the night and he couldn’t remember her ever asking. She was drunk and not making much sense. Her insults always made the most sense.

This is all your fault.

You disgust me.

You're a horrible child.

Something is wrong with you.

You're evil.

Marc internalized it all. Every single word. Felt like he was going crazy, but maybe he was a bad kid. He got told it enough times he'd started to believe it. He often didn't do the right things. He knew he deserved most of it. But then when he went to the homes of friends and saw how much their parents fawned over their children. It filled him with a fit of bitterness and envy.

There was one family he loved. Treated him like he was their own. Preferred being there after school and on weekends instead of at home. He’d help them pick raspberries from their bushes to make into desserts. He was always allowed to eat his fill in raspberries. He also remembered stealing from them. Just once, but it was one time too many. A small decorative paperweight that reminded him of someone. Couldn’t tell you why he put it in his backpack. Deep down he knew it was wrong. Had a good thing going with this family. They were always kind to him and he'd stolen from them. He was never allowed back after that. His mom got the call and found the paperweight hidden in his room. She used it as part of her arsenal to give herself more reasons why she needed to beat him. He was a bad kid, after all.

There was only one time he’d been taken to the hospital for an injury and not for the constant noise in his head. His mom took it too far when she threw an object at him. He didn’t realize he’d been bleeding until he saw himself covered in it in the mirror. On the drive to the hospital, she went over what he should say. She stayed in the car while his dad took him inside. Couldn’t have a drunk parent and an injured child going into the hospital, no, that would have raised too much suspicion. He got taught early how the naughty kids’ home was worse than anything she’d ever do to him. How he'd be sent far away and lose anything he cared about. So he lied.

I fell.

I hit my head on the corner of the cabinet.

I hurt myself.

When it came time to glue the wound back up he thought they were going to use real glue and refused to let any staff near him. Got transferred to a children’s hospital where he’d be put under and stitched back up. Couldn’t remember if they ever asked him what happened.

More times than he could count, he remembered getting woken with ice water being poured over his face, or by being punched awake. All because he’d overslept and was late for school.

Took him years to bring the nightmares down to only a couple each month. He'd lived longer away from the abuse than he had within it. The only time he'd ever see his mom’s face was in his nightmares. After he’d left home, she never once tried reaching out to him. He felt it was better that way, but a small part of him hoped one day she'd come to her senses and tell him she was sorry. She’d never told him that before and it took him accepting Steven to realize he never needed it.

The most fucked up thing about it all? Marc still loved his mom. If he had to choose, he'd still choose her to be his mom. He just wished she'd believe him when he said it was an accident. He didn't mean to kill Roe. He never meant for his little brother to drown in that cave. He was sorry. He’d always be sorry.

He remembered long before Roe died, she would make him a hot chocolate and they'd sit together and talk for ages in the kitchen. She'd talk about her life. How she grew up in a big Latino family and was raised Jewish. Laughing over his silly nonsensical strung-together phrases in Spanish. She'd respond more seriously, teaching him in her mother’s tongue to make sure it got passed down to her boys. Prompting Marc to find more ways to be sillier with it and to make her laugh. He couldn't remember what her laugh sounded like anymore.

He vaguely remembered the way she'd look at him like she loved him. He remembered more vividly seeing those same eyes hate he ever existed.

Was he really that terrible? Why didn't he deserve to be loved?

Where was his dad in all of this? Right there. Pretending not to hear any of it. Going to Marc’s bedroom long after his mom had left with food or a warm drink to comfort him. Telling him he needed to listen to her. How he should appease her rather than talking back or arguing. How she wouldn't be so bad if he tried harder to be better. That he shouldn’t take any of it to heart. His mom was hurting too, but she still loved him.

Every single adult in his formative years had failed him.

He wasn’t going to be the kind of adult that turned a blind eye.

#dead dove do not eat #marc spector #oscar isaac #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #marcs pov #open rp #open starter

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problematicfanfics · 9 months

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Kinktober ‘22 Oct 3. Teacher/Student (WIP)

TOMBUR, 17!Tom 26!Wil, power imbalance, high school, drug use

no NSFW (yet)

lots of jumping around since it’s unfinished, ignore all errors

* ⋆★

Tommy wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good kid.

He would do his homework. He attended all of his classes. He’s averaged an A so far the entire year. So yes, by textbook definition, Tommy was a good kid.

1 Snapchat Notification: Anthony 🤯

“Right before p5 meet C hall bthrm”

“Bring cart Nathan feening 💀”

But he knew the only reason he ever made it through the day was thanks to his passing period restroom stops.

Anyone attending a “Western” high school can explain to you the ins and outs of the passing period bathroom breaks all the teens line up for. Each group eagerly awaits for a friend who has the supply.

And if you’re painfully unaware of the dark market being run in every bathroom stall, Tommy loves to explain it as a “social thing”. He’s just generally a better person like this. It’s an easy conversation starter, a fast in, a way to curry favor with more well-known kids in his school.

And he’s realized his grades have never been better.

Ever since he started smoking weed in his tenth year, he’s found he’s a rather studious smoker. His grades improved dramatically. Math seemed to make sense and he wasn’t struggling with anxiety from his testing. Stiff seats are easy to sit still in when your body finally relaxes. Class notes now fit smoothly in his brain between his knowledge of minecraft and song lyrics. Nothing negative seemed to be coming of his habits, despite the fear he gets from running in this little underground market. Passing a teacher in the halls can be a normal life versus permanent felony situation if they so much as ask to search his bag.

“…that fucking bitch doesn’t know her left from her right. Mate, I swear to God, she asked my chemistry teacher which one is which.”

Tommy chokes on the nicotine he’s hitting, lungs collapse into laughter. Promptly he erupts into a fit of coughing

“Yo, dude, get that checked out…” One of his friends in the stall next door said. “Ha, as if. Imagine being like… ‘Hey mum, my nicotine addiction might be affecting my health, mind if we take a look at it down at the ol’ doctor’s office?’”

The stalls laugh at the absurdity of ever revealing this secret to their parents.

Who cares if he’s started coughing from the metal shards when he laughs?

The day he truly understands he’s a functioning addict is when he makes his fifth stop in the C hall restrooms, waiting for his friend Jay while squatting on the toilet, as his other friend pretends to be doing “normal stall things” (as he puts it).

He knows the risks every time, six boys crammed into a stall to trade flavors and discuss about the girls they want and the bitches they hate, the snake “friends” who rat out others and the teachers they despise. He’s always ready to jump to shut everyone up when a teacher walks in. Sometimes, however, his guard falls.

Fifth period Tommy attends a US History class, something he had wanted to take since he saw it was an available course. His love for the subject, plus his new found study buddy, made the class a perfect choice in his mind.

Tommy didn’t mind attending the class. It had taken him upwards of three weeks to learn the teacher’s name (Mr. Gold, but the class called him Soot), and who he was (he was hired by the school three years ago and has been a teacher ever since), and his love life (he has a girlfriend, but all his classes found a picture of her on his instagram and they think he can do better).

He didn’t, however, have a hard time committing Soot’s appearance to memory.

His curly hair fell perfectly every day without a fail. The tight button up shirts he wore required him to roll up his sleeves if he ever wanted any relief from the room’s broken AC. It’s hard for Tommy to not follow his hands switching between the board and the lesson plan on his desk.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he thinks that Mr. Gold was finer than the heavens. It seemed to be a popular debate in this girl’s restroom, too; was Mr. Gold hot or was it just the power dynamic?

As Tommy sits with his legs up between the railing and the wall, inhaling his cart like it was his life force in preparation for his fifth period class, he turns his phone for his friends to see. “You can’t tell me he isn’t hot!” He says as he gives the phone over to an equally contorted friend of his. “Gold? Tommy, you’re crazy. He isn’t that hot.”

“Listen I’m not gay but I’d be a victim. I’m just saying.” Tommy takes the phone back as he preheats the battery. One of his friends nods in agreement.

As the debate continues over the attractiveness levels of Wilbur's instagram posts, Tommy pulls up an old high school yearbook photo of the man. “You can’t say you wouldn’t want William Gold to fuck you, I honestly think I give this man fuck me eyes in class accidentally.” Tommy practically yells to prove his point to Aj.

Suddenly, a loud presence enters the bathroom.

“Ok, I know there’s more than one of you in there. Everybody out.”

The boys look around nervously to one another as Tommy holds back laughter. That is definitely Soot.

There is a tense pause. No one wants to respond out of fear of punishment (and slightly because he had to have overheard the conversation they were just having). “Guys, I’m not playing games here. Let’s go. We can take this to the head if we need.”

Quickly the boys hop down from their acrobatic positions and grab their backpacks.

“One, two, three of you!” Mr. Gold sighs at the sight. “Wow, no! There’s more! Five? SIX? There were six of you in there? My God it’s like a fucking clown car.”

The boys shift nervously under his look. “Listen, I don’t care. It’s just protocol. You’re lucky I’m not taking you down to the counselor, it smells like weed in here.” Everyone exchanges quick looks as they continue to try to hide the obvious vapes inside their hoodie sleeves.

“So you just… don’t care?” Tommy pipes up. His friends shoot him scathing looks, as if telling him to not push their luck and get out while they can.

Wilbur seems taken aback by the question. “Well, it’s not that I don’t care, it’s just… Listen, don’t say I’m letting you guys smoke in the stalls. I’m not. I just think you’re smart enough to not be dumb with it again.”

“But if you were truly concerned for our safety wouldn’t you confiscate our shit?”

“Listen, this is great energy Tommy, how about you keep it up in class and stop giving me fuck me eyes the entire period. I get you’re high but try a little harder.”

The entire bathroom goes silent before erupting into laughter. People with no business in the situation Tommy can hear snicker in the background.

“I’ll make sure to have you work for your money today.” Tommy says before Gold shrugs him off to prepare for his incoming class.

“I am so sorry you have to attend his class now.” Tommy’s buddy Nathan pats him on the back. “The sexual tension during lessons boutta go crazy” Aj jokes as he motions Tommy to head to class with him.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Tommy says as he sits in front of the classroom door with his head in his hands. “How do I look him in the eyes? I’ll just skip class by going to the nurse.”

Aj jumps in front of him before he can leave. “We’re already five minutes late. Please let’s just go in. The longer you wait the worse it gets and you know that.” Tommy reevaluated his choices before finally agreeing that Aj was, in fact, right, and that they should attend class.

“Tom Simons, nice of you to join us.” Soot singles him out in the middle of his lesson. Tommy’s equally guilty friend slips into the back of the classroom undetected. “Please, take a seat.” The sarcasm drips from his lips.

Tommy sits in his usual seat far in the back next to Aj. The work was boring mundane class stuff. They used their laptops to research the battles fought during the American Independence War and Tommy finished within the first three minutes.

Tommy raises his hand to gloat to his teacher, ready for the victory as he tells Soot his work is “too easy” and to “give him a challenge.”

“I’m done, easy shit.” Tommy says when Soot finally strolls his way over to the seat. He wasn’t prepared for Wilbur to lean over behind him to read, or the way he said “Good job, Tommy” as he got up (he can’t help but imagine him whispering “good boy” into his ear).

His eyes shoot up to meet Wilbur’s. Every quick retort he had loaded to fire falters. He feels like he needs to say something.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Weren’t you just in there?” Soot makes a sarcastic sad face to mock Tommy’s surprised expression. “I remembered hearing a conversation about being a victim, if I’m not mistaken?”

Aj laughs as Tommy goes pale and forcefully chuckles. “Hey, haha, listen man, I-”

“Ok everyone, please discuss with the person next to you the notes you should have completed by now.” He redirects his attention back to the class, the low tone now projecting off the walls indicating he was referring to everyone.

Tommy turns to face his friend on his left. His shit eating grin left Tommy regretting his entire day.

“Can you send me the answers? I was too busy watching the in house entertainment”

About a week had passed since Tommy was caught, and he was being as careful as possible. Last thing he needed was another run in.

His fourth period lunch left quite a lot to be desired; in the mornings he was never hungry. Instead he fills himself with flavored air, weed, and a severely diluted once-iced coffee.

The lunch period only housed one friend every day, but on alternating days up to seven people would sit with them for lunch. Either way he was too high to notice anything happening around him. No difference was it to him if there was one or eight people, as long as he was being supplied the bodies didn’t matter.

These alternating days with a lot of people leads to everyone slowly making their way to the bathrooms after eating, using it as a pit stop and waiting out the remainder of their time.

Tommy had been waiting since 10:15, and the period ends at 10:30. He was finally getting his new cart today. For the last week he was either smoking scraps from all his empty carts at home or his friends’ at school. His “friend”/dealer had told him to wait in here but it was becoming ridiculous.

1 Snapchat Notification: Rizz 🤝

Rizz: “Soot’s on my ass but omw”

Tommy: “dude don’t come in here if Gold is gonna catch us.”

“he already doesn’t like me 💀”

Rizz: “Skill issue he doesn’t think i’m shady.”

“Or at least didnt before this.”

“Honestly Tommy i’d rather save my own ass and give u the shit before he catches me with 16 carts 💀 i’m dealing today i’m way overdue”

Tommy nervously taps his foot in the bathroom stall. He toys with the $50 in his pocket, rolling it up and flattening it. Honestly, he hates the way Rizz deals. His constant lateness, the sloppiness, as if he doesn’t care that this is something serious. This can be a crime if found out by the wrong person, and everyone will be in legal trouble. But to people like Rizz the real world doesn’t exist. The only reason Tommy continues to buy from him is because he gets a $15 discount (Tommy and Rizz’s cousin used to have a thing).

As he fumbles with the airbar in his hand he hears his “friend” walk in. “Open the stall door,” He knocks and Tommy unlocks it. “Here you fucking go.” He drops the cart in Tommy’s hand before opening his palm for the payment.

As he reaches for his pocket, the front bathroom door opens and the boys are sent jumping.

“What’re we doing here?” Gold asks the duo with his arms crossed. The door slams shut behind him.

“I’m paying him back for a meal he bought me last week,” Tommy explains as he gives the money to Rizz. “It was expensive.”

“I can tell. That’s a pretty big wad of cash. How much?”

“$50”

“And how much is a cart?”

“$65, so you can stop being weird about it now.”

“Ok, and so the constant going in and out of the bathrooms, Rizzario… is that just for fun or?”

He puts the money in his pocket. “It’s a pastime of mine. You should see the architecture up in here, truly stunning.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you get a kick out of it. Get to class.”

Tommy’s unfortunate second capture does not deter him from immediately smoking the cart with his friends minutes later in the same stall. He has been waiting for a week and he’ll be damned if he has to wait any longer. The lack of food in his system, along with his slightly reduced tolerance, makes walking to fifth period a little harder than usual.

Immediately upon sitting down it is revealed to Tommy by a kid sitting two seats ahead of him that there’s a test they are taking today and that he’s the only one who could “possibly forget about as big a test as this one.”, and he realizes he’s screwed up when even Aj is caught cramming at the last minute.

“Tommy, are you aware you failed my last test?”

“Yes Mr. Soot, I’m well aware. That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you today. I think I’m a pretty good kid. I do my work, I participate in class, and up until this point I have passed every test with flying colors. Please understand that I do try in this class and I’m not afraid to do extra work to get my grade back up. I’m not asking you to just change my score, I’m really wondering if there’s anything I can do to work for my grade.”

Soot turns to face Tommy, taking off his glasses and laughing. “A good kid? I’d hardly call you a good student.”

“What? Are you crazy? I actually do your work. I do more work than anyone else in any of your classes. I’ve never missed homework, or class work, or done poorly on a test before this. I always answer questions in class and respond when you try to have open discussions in class.”

“And yet, despite all that, you’re not a good student.”

“You’re mental!” Tommy exclaims. “Listen, if you don’t want to tell me where I can get extra credit in my grade, or if you just don’t want me to, then say it! I don’t want nonsense.”

Soot stands from his desk to address Tommy. The silence in the air hangs tight as the man evaluates his words. “You know you’re lying to yourself when you say you’re a good kid.” He finally says. “You know you come into class high every day, with barely any awareness. You babble off in group discussions for minutes on end, related to and not related to the topic. Your homework is subpar at best.”

“At least it’s done, man.”

“We’re not friends, Tommy.”

“Yeah, no shit, I know that. That’s why I came to you in person after class.”

“Mrs. Mark told me you resolve all your issues over email.”

Tommy’s mouth gets dry. Why’s he talking to Mrs. Mark about him? She never liked him much or his tryhard attitude in her stupid Advanced English Language class.

“Did she say I’m a bad kid? I swear she hates me. She’s always picking on me in class.”

“It’s honestly funny Tommy, because if you tried at all you could be such an exceptional student.” His demeanor shifts. Tommy can’t put his finger, but it seems like Gold has something he’s hiding. His mind instantly jumps to things Mrs. Mark could’ve told him. “Everyone keeps telling me that. Clearly it isn’t true if this is me trying.”

The tired teacher throws his hands in the air. “Once again! The lying! You’re so blind to it.” He walks back to his desk from the board for a final time. Throughout his speech he traces the wooden grain on his desk, eyes not leaving the boy’s. “Tommy, listen. You’re such a bright student. You’re wasting yourself with this crap. I know everyone knows you, I understand that you’ve gained quite a highly positive popularity status in this school when it comes to the social hierarchy. But if you just tried you’d see how much more you can do with yourself.”

“Forget it, Soot. I’ll just do better on the next one.”

“Maybe we’ll resolve this over email.” Gold writes out his number on a late pass before handing it to Tommy. “However, I am much more likely to respond over text.”

“No shot.” Kim says as she hands the money to the shopkeeper. “Strawberry Kiwi elf please, love.”

Tommy fumbles, laughing as he pulls out his phone “I swear! Look, it’s saved right here.” He shows her Gold’s contact on his phone, the only texts sent being a “hello” from each of them.

“Then let’s call him.”

“What?”

“If it’s really him, let’s call him. We’ll grab a coffee and walk down to the tracks and call him.” She grabs the box from the cashier. “Thanks, and can we also have…?”

“Cherry Cola Diamond please.” Tommy points to the wall. He reaches over the counter to grab it from the guy. “We can’t just call him. I feel so nervous. What if he’s actually just trying to get me in serious trouble? I mean, look at us.” He points around to the smoke shop they’re in. “This isn’t ok.”

Kim starts walking to the bin down the hall as she unboxes her new toy. “Listen babygirl. Everyone in the school wants that man. You should hear how people talk about him.” She ghosts the nic before dropping it in her cross body bag and strutting out the door, leaving Tommy to catch up. “Bag him, bitch.”

After much debate and argument, finally, at one pm on a saturday, after smoking a joint and walking on the train tracks, Tommy’s finger hovers over the call button.

“Kim, I can’t do it.”

“For christ’s sake,” She hits the button with his finger and puts it on speaker before shooting him an encouraging thumbs up.

As the line rings, Tommy seriously considers laying down on the tracks until the 1:30 pm train hits him.

Finally the line picks up.

The microphone shuffles up against some fabric before becoming clear. Soot’s groggy morning voice seems to burn through his ears.

“Hey, Tommy. Sorry I was sleeping. What’s up?”

He opens his eyes wide and shakes his head no to Kim, who just continues to nod her very adamant yes.

“What am I supposed to say?” He whispers to her.

“Hello?” Soot calls out confused.

“Ask him if he’s free to chat after school tuesday.” She says obviously as she rolls her eyes. Tommy just gives her an almost disgusted look back. “I can’t just… oh my god.” He redirects his voice to the phone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.” Was all he could manage.

Gold chuckles slightly. “Don’t worry. I needed to wake up anyway to grade all the homeworks.”

“You’re seriously gonna be grading homeworks?”

“No. You caught me.” They both lightly laughed before realizing they seriously don’t know what to say. “Uhm, what are you doing?” Gold finally asks.

“I’m hanging with my friend Kim, we’re under an overpass by the train tracks.”

“You’ll have to show me one day.”

“It’s right across from the school, maybe I’ll show it to you one day during your break.”

Kim squeals through her hands and kicks her legs like a middle school girl watching her friend call their crush.

“Yeah sure, I’d like that… Listen I should probably get my day started so I’ll-”

“Oh yeah no now of course, I understand. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Hope not, we don’t have school.”

“Ahaha, right. Forgot. Sorry, bye Soot.”

“Have fun Tommy,” Soot squeezes in before ending the call.

Tommy looks at Kim with a hatred in his eyes. “That was terrible.”

“…and then she made me call him!” Tommy explains his weekend to the morning bathroom bunch.

“You know Kim loves the drama. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s telling everyone right now!”

“Forreal man, why’d you even tell her that shit?” Kim’s ex boyfriend speaks up. “Trust me, she’s a conniving little shit.”

“I’m like best friends with her twin sister Janie ok? The friendship extends to her. Also she asked me to get nic with her. I couldn't say no, she always pays for me. Everyone thank Kim for the free nic.”

“Thanks Kim”s were mumbled throughout the stall.

Aj shoved Tommy hard enough he falls off the wall. “What did you even say? You can’t end there.”

“I was a nervous wreck! He like woke up to pick up the call and his voice was so fucking hot guys. It caught me so off guard to hear it was like one pm, I don’t know why he was sleeping…”

Tommy spent the remainder of their ten minute morning smoke sesh to fill them in on everything that went down, as well as field questions from his friends.

He wouldn’t lie, he loved it.

Just like with weed, it seemed as though good things only came with getting involved with Gold.

He was putting in good words with all his teachers (including Mrs. Mark!), he was the shit in all of his classes, and everyone wanted to know what was going to happen next.

Gold, as well as the rest of the staff of course, were painfully unaware of the rampant “teacher and student” buzz circling around the smoke circles.

Since Tommy’s last little stint with Gold it’s been one week and three days. Nothing has changed, except for having the favor of every teacher he has a class in. He’s too nervous to take the first step into a possible slippery slope of relations with his teacher (as any normal person would be. But sadly, Tommy is not a normal person, not by a long shot, and he knows this as fact as he lays in bed wondering what it would be like to have Gold 6 inches deep in him)

It’s hard to go to school when everyone thinks you’re fucking the teacher. It was supposed to be a joke, the whole thing; Tommy always chooses one joke a year to be his running gag. He had chosen the gay joke “crush on my teacher” route because of how ludicrous the idea of him and a male teacher ever getting together was to him. It was a joke he often made about the old, prehistoric male teachers he had in ninth year, as well as some of the older women too, though most were married and he always thought it felt wrong to talk like that about them.

The weekend rolled around once more and Tommy spent his time out late at friend’s houses, and finally out until two am on Sunday night. He had begged his parents for hours and when they said yes he didn’t care about the consequences of his decisions.

Finally, reality caught up to Tommy, and for the first time since he first started drinking in eighth grade he wakes up with a hangover. Classes seem damn near impossible to stay awake for. He deems his sunglasses aren’t providing enough darkness and accessorizes with a hat from the lost and found bin, in hopes that now the fifth period fluorescent light combined with seeing Soot’s arms won’t make him vomit all over himself.

He strolls into class three minutes late due to having been kneeled over the side of the toilet in the single stall gender neutral bathrooms just minutes earlier. Apparently it’s clear to everyone in the class he’s a hot mess, because all he can hear is everyone asking him if he’s doing alright. He dismissed each one with a “Yeah, no, just tired. You know how school is.”

Before he knew it he was face down on his keyboard.

Tommy was awakened thirty minutes later to the sound of a bang next to him. Mr. Gold had lifted the entire desk combo before dropping it on the ground. “See me after class, Tommy.”

He could probably feel the smirk from Aj’s face even if he was on the other side of the world.

“Really? Falling asleep in class? That’s a new low, even for you.” Gold reprimands him. Tommy stayed. Yes, even he is surprised by it. Usually he’s the first one out the door if a teacher has an issue with him. But something in him almost wanted to hear what he had to say. He was excited for the man to tell him everything he did wrong, how to improve, what to do.

“I’m sorry Mr. Gold. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

They both looked at each other for a minute. “What is your sixth period class?”

“Gym. Such a bore, I hate my teacher so much. She’s so pregnant she can’t even stand near us because she’s scared someone’s gonna hit her.” The two laugh at the situation. “I mean, I can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t just go on maternity leave. Almost all the female gym teachers are pregnant this year.”

“Hey, they got a lot of free time over the summer. What else are they supposed to do?”

“They don’t have to keep fucking like rabbits!” He jokes and they laugh.

Silence once again falls over the room. It’s like something stops them from ever holding a conversation beyond some jokes. They’re too scared to laugh for too long, too scared of being too close, and Tommy’s way too nervous to actually make the first move. Everything relied on Soot.

“Call me Wilbur.”

“What?”

“You can call me Wilbur. William isn’t my first name. Well, it is, but I go by Wilbur.”

“Real quick let me just,” Tommy pulls out his phone from his back pocket and changes Wilbur’s contact name. “I like it. And here, we’ll take a selfie for the photo.”

Tommy turned around and extended his arm to get the two of them in the picture, snapping it before saving all changes. “I think this was a productive chat, Wilbur.”

“Don’t call me that in class or we’ll have issues,” He jokes around (but Tommy feels the difference in the weight of those words). Tommy mocks him before grabbing his bag and heading for the door. “Before you go,” Wilbur stops him just inches shy of the door. “Want to show me that underpass?”

Wilbur called Tommy’s gym teacher, making her aware that the boy was “making up a failed test” and would not be able to attend the period. The two sent off on their walk, Wilbur with his messenger bag and Tommy with some snacks he had in his locker.

Their destination wasn’t far away by any means, but the walk felt like forever as they desperately grasped at straws in order to make small talk.

“So you got a girlfriend?” Wilbur looks at the boy before pulling out his phone. “This is her,” he says, showing a photo of a skinny blonde woman, eyes green, teeth white. “Her name’s-”

“Jenine?”

“Please stop stalking my socials.” Wilbur jokes as he puts the phone away. “But yeah, Jenine. We actually- well, she, actually - decided we should go on a break about four days ago. Took all her shit out of the flat.”

Tommy was taken aback by the demise of their relationship. They seemed really happy from all the posts he saw. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear, man.”

The brunet smiled genuinely. “Nah, don’t worry. Just got more space to put all my useless shit in”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, figured I’d put up shelves to fill the big empty spaces and pile it with games or books or whatever a normal person puts on their shelves.”

“Well what does a non normal person put on their shelves?”

“Youtooz. Way too many to be healthy.”

“I won’t lie, I have a collection too.”

jump #1

Tommy sits on the freezing bathroom stall tile. It looks clean enough to sit on, and he hopes the wet feeling on the back of his leg is actually just his imagination. His bag is over in the corner and his jumper is blocking the awkward vent between the door and the floor that someone might be able to see him through.

The smell of marijuanna that has permeated into the walls of the gender neutral bathroom made his head spin. Tommy couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. What was supposed to be a bathroom for people became a smoke spot. However, it doesn’t stop him from pulling out the crack wire from his bag and hooking it up to his school computer.

He turns the cool glass over in his hands and traces the black mouthpiece. It was almost empty and he didn’t have another 50 to drop. As he places the wires in their appropriate spots he pulls out his phone.

The glass heats up and he takes a hit as he types out a message to his dear friend.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

can i have a fifty

He knows he won’t respond. It was a dumb thought to even ask him, he fucked up the second he sent the text. Wilbur isn’t dumb. He’ll know it’s for a cart. There’s no way in hell he’d go as far as supplying the boy with drugs.

Wilbur (US HISTORY)

can i have a fifty

I’ll give it to you

after class, ok?

Tommy waits behind after class. Aj’s confused look as he walks out the door is all it takes for his stomach to get queasy again.

jump #2

“Tommy, do you know why I never wear these?”

Tommy, confused, replies no.

“I hate them. I like to think that if I just pretend I don’t need them my eyes will be able to see just fine again. Like a common cold, my eyes will just get over it. But that’s not true, obviously, as we know. You’re not a good student Tommy. You have some serious underlying issues that you’re just self medicating with weed and nicotine and adrenaline rushes. You try to trick yourself into thinking you’re a good student just like I try to trick myself into thinking I don’t need these.” He picks up the glasses before setting them back down. “I don’t know if you’re really all that ‘good’ of a student.”

“I do everything you ask!” Tommy yells. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked. Do you understand how stressful school was for me? Do you understand I had nearly no future in school before this? I was skipping my classes constantly to game and play with my friends. I couldn’t sit still or focus in class ever. Information never made sense. I have found what works for me. One day I’ll be old enough to learn I don’t need it to function. I’ll have options and resources available to get help. I don’t right now though. I have to work with what I have. Something isn’t right up there and weed fixes it. Sorry if you don’t like it but that’s how it is.”

“Tommy, you act like I dont smoke weed myself! I know what it’s like!”

Tommy falls silent. He furrows his brow and contorts his face. “You smoke?”

“Why do you think I gave you that fifty? Why do you think I never actually bust anyone? Tommy, I get it. I did the exact same thing. I still do. The only way I can ever grade all of your shitty homeworks is if I’m high. And I know what it’s like when there isn’t any other option because I didn’t have any. I want to find you what you need.”

“Probably a psych evaluation.” Tommy laughs to himself. “I’m serious, Tommy.”

“Wilbur, I truly appreciate the concern. But “teacher helping me find myself” wasn’t exactly in my life plan. It’s all laid out perfectly, I just have to make it to 18.”

Wilbur stares in disbelief. “Living every day just to make it to eighteen isn’t any way to live. Barely making it through your weekdays just to party on the weekends isn’t healthy.”

“No shit sherlock.”

“I think I will get you a psych evaluation if you keep talking back”

“Alright, fine.”

#poppytwt #problematicmcyt #problematictwt #problematic #problematicfanfics #tombur #poppyblr #ver’s wip poll

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captain-mj · 1 year

Text

Whiskey

Part 7 to Selkie Coffeeshop, I'm assisting my wife with the badassification of Rodolfo Parra.

Soap’s father was a stoic man but a rather good dad. He loved Johnny, doted on him.

Sometimes, he made mistakes. He said little things about his mom when he thought Johnny wasn’t around. Comments on how her dead eyed stare after getting orders was hot. How she could never really leave him. He was a shit husband, but even Johnny’s mom admitted he adored him. Johnny hated that about him sometimes. If he had been a bad dad, it would be so much easier to just hate him. Despise him. Not feel the grief and the shame for grieving someone who, at the end of the day, was such a bad person.

One of Soap’s core memories was the moment his father realized that no matter what he did, he couldn’t protect Johnny from his mom’s fate. He had grabbed the coat without thinking. Why should he? It had been laying on the couch next to other blankets.

“Johnny! You need to clean everything up. C’mon kid don’t…” He had trailed off, seeing his large unseeing eyes staring back at him. Johnny’s hands had started to shake, not yet used to this. His first ever order was to clean his room.

Johnny had quietly done it, something eerie around him. His father had looked at his mom, looking sick. His father was tragically human. Unendingly human. And for once, he had to realize that his son would be just like his mom. That someone else who thought the lack of autonomy was a plus. Someone else who wanted someone who could never leave.

Something changed that day. He became better to his mom, but he was overly protective. Afraid. Started teaching Soap how to defend himself. His mom had been nice enough to not point out that wouldn’t change anything. If someone had a coat, it didn’t matter how capable he was. How strong. How violent. How accommodating. How nice. How mean.

Soap was doomed the moment his coat fell from his shoulders as a small baby in his crib.

Wayne kissed along his neck currently. He had pulled the coat on, leaving Soap a slave to his whims. It wasn’t really a problem, it was early in the day and he knew Wayne would get drunk soon. He always did his first day back.

What was a problem was Ghost. Soap wasn’t a good person. He had hurt people like this before. He usually told people in advance that he was married of course, but sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes, he wanted to lash out and hurt someone. At first, maybe he did want to string Ghost along. Just a little.

But he was so sweet.

Seeing him look up at him in his bed. Breathing him in. The gentle way they had cleaned each other up.

When his husband asked, he described him as scathingly as possible. He had to. He didn’t want Ghost being a target. Yes, he could defend himself just fine, Soap was sure he could. But Wayne was a bad person and he’d feel better if he never ever touched Simon. Never even fucking tried.

Watched Ghost walk away though… Soap ached. It felt like he had ripped out his own heart.

His hand lazily went through Wayne’s hair. “What did you say to him?”

“That he could join us for a threesome any time he wanted.” Wayne laughed.

“He seemed hurt.”

Wayne pulled away, looking amused. “He was. I mentioned your little comment about him being clingy. Thought you liked that?”

Soap nodded and pulled him back to his throat. He felt his teeth sink in to a hickey that had been left. “I do. Just wanted to know how you did it.”

His eyes closed and he relaxed into the bed, noticing Ghost’s cologne was still in the sheets.

Was it his cologne? It didn’t smell that strong. Maybe it was the soap he used. Or just him.

“Sorry, I would’ve cleaned up more if I knew you were coming home.” He sounded so cheerful. His voice twisting into something that wasn’t his own. He had actually asked Wayne to do that. It meant he didn’t have to put inflection in his own voice.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. You look wonderful, you know that?” He finally pulled away.

Soap knew at one point he loved him. He had handed him his coat. Trusted him with his soul.

Wayne thought there were improvements that could be made. Ways he could be better. Soap always strived to be better anyway.

“Why don’t you keep the shop closed today? We can stay together all evening.”

Soap smiled. “Sounds nice. Want me to break out the whiskey?”

“There ya go, sweetheart.” He hugged him. It felt suffocating.

Soap tried to shake himself out of this slump. Usually, he could so easily slip into his role of husband, but his hands itched. They wanted to text Ghost and tell him he didn’t understand. That it wasn’t that simple.

But Ghost was human. He wouldn’t get it.

Soap watched Wayne drink himself into a stupor. The whiskey burned his throat. Didn’t go down as smoothly as it should. He kept drinking though. Until it felt like he could hardly stand.

Soap did grab his phone and he did call Ghost.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

A beep with no voice mail. Guess he hadn’t set his up yet.

Soap called again. He counted the three rings and the resounding beep. The third time he called, he didn’t even get the first ring in, it just disconnected as Ghost most likely declined his calls.

Soap sighed and leaned against the wall. Would he come in in the morning? Their little morning routine would be interrupted if he didn’t. He really wanted to see him again.

Soap felt his chest constrict and he looked at Wayne, still wrapped in his coat.

The thought was sudden. It hit him like a freight train.

How would Simon look in his coat?

He hadn’t really seen his face in proper lighting. When unmasked, there were usually bigger things happening that Soap needed to worry about or he purposely kept out of sight. He wished he paid more attention. Maybe he could piece together what he’d look like in it. Soft pale skin, scarred to hell but that didn’t change how handsome Soap thought he was, covered in his fur.

But Soap knew that even if he did date him, if somehow the stars aligned and they were in a situation he had the choice, he would never, ever let Ghost even see it. Soap had learned a long time ago that humans were cruel. No matter how much you thought you knew them, how safe you thought you were, they would betray you.

If Simon betrayed him, Johnny wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He dragged himself out of bed when he woke up and he opened his coffeeshop up.

7 am.

8 am.

9 am.

10 am.

Ghost wasn’t coming. Soap hated that he was disappointed. Should’ve kno-

The little bell jingled and Soap perked up. He immediately deflated when a different man walked in.

The man was small. Not petite, just a bit shorter and lean. “Hello. What’s your name?”

“Rodolfo.” He stared at him. Rather unnervingly. His dark eyes pinned Soap to the goddamn wall.

“What would you like to order?”

Rodolfo stood in front of him. “You did two things wrong.”

Soap paused. “Huh?”

Rodolfo stared into him. The air around him rippled softly and the light seemed to bend around his hair, making him look like he glowed. “First. You were mean to Alejandro. I get it. You’re a server, I’m not going to be too upset about that, ya know?”

“Alejandro?”

“Second, you hurt Ghost.”

Soap winced, realizing who Alejandro was. He also realized this was going to be a problem. “Ah. Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment before Rodolfo tilted his head. “That’s it? All you have? No apology?”

Soap stared at him. “I tried calling Ghost.”

“Don’t. From now on, just don’t contact him. He doesn’t need more of this. After everything that happened to him lately. Everything he’s been through, what did you get from this?”

Soap floundered for a moment before shrugging. “I was going to tell him.” Eventually. Maybe.

“You led him on.”

“Yes, I guess I did. I promise I never meant to hurt him. We got to know each othe-”

“Yes. You did. Why else would you do it?”

Soap didn’t have a response. “Is he okay?”

“Of course he is. He’ll be fine. I just wanted to know why.”

Soap stared at him, playing with the wedding ring on his finger. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why? Because I’m not married?”

Soap continued staring, willing Rodolfo to understand.

“You ever hurt him again, your husband will be the least of your goddamn problems.”

~~~~

Taglist, if you want to be added, just comment! Please make sure you can be tagged though: @the-snarky-dragon @elevenclouds @lukewarm-chickensoup @nervouspsychologynerd @korym @cthulhusstepmom @princess-heathen @revenge-of-the-bucket-demon @roachboy @shadowsnowberry

#johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #Selkie coffeeshop au

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dangraccoon · 1 month

Text

Jari'eyc - Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Word Count: 2214

Warnings: stress, migraine, Cid is a shitty boss, suggestive themes at the end

Mando'a Translation: uja - honey/sugar

« Previous Chapter Next Chapter »

Tech had been observing Hunter all morning. He almost seemed at war with himself- going through the motions as though it were a normal day, but every so often a burst of irritability would break through.

“You have a migraine,” Tech noted when the others had finally cleared out of the galley.

“Oh, do I?” Hunter snarked. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Tech scowled. “You should take something. Perhaps you should lie down as well.”

“It’s not going to work, Tech, you know that.”

“Well, I highly doubt that it would hurt. It may at least help a small amount, which would be better than-”

“I get it, Tech,” Hunter growled.

Tech watched his older brother press the heels of his palms to his eyes, feeling somewhat powerless.

“Perhaps we should check is there is any of the mix Jaine made left-”

“No,” he barked, slamming a hand on the table and instantly wincing at the loud noise. He took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

Tech didn’t reply. Hunter knew his younger brother would forgive this; Tech knew how the migraines affected him.

“How can you just… say her name like that? How can you think of her without any-”

“It’s not without emotion,” Tech corrected. “I feel the… hole left in the fabric of our squad. I have found the adjustment rather difficult. I have noted that I- I miss her, quite… dearly.”

“Tech?”

“She was a member of this squad before she betrayed us. At the end, I found that I was quite angry with myself that I spent so long wishing her out of our lives. Now that she’s gone-”

“She’s not gone,” Echo whispered, having appeared with Crosshair at the doorway. “We’re going to get her back.”

Crosshair scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Get her back? Echo, do you have a screw loose? She doesn’t want to come back. What she wants is to see us all dead or imprisoned.”

Tech watched his twin carefully; Crosshair didn’t speak much about Jaine anymore. In fact, to Tech’s recollection, Crosshair had only referenced her once in passing when Omega had asked about some of the left over supplies in the medbay.

“Something isn’t right, I know it,” Echo argued. “She wasn’t acting like herself.”

“Maybe that was the first time she was! Maybe, just maybe she’d been lying to us all from the beginning. She wormed her way into this squad, but she never liked us, never cared for us, never loved-” Crosshair’s voice broke and his gaze dropped to the floor. “We’re better off without her.”

They watched as Crosshair quickly left, his words weighing heavily over them. Echo sighed deeply, turning to leave the ship for a while.

The sunlight warmed his skin as he stopped to take in a deep breath. He’d been debating with himself if he should reach out to Crosshair. He’d lost a loved one once too. It wasn’t the same, and he knew that, but his heart still ached for his brother.

And, if he were being truthful, himself. It hadn’t taken him long to realize the pull Jaine inflicted on him. Her smile, her laugh, her touch; she was magnetic and after all, he was rebuilt with metal.

He knew very well the boundaries: you don’t touch a brother’s cyare, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have eyes. Above all else, she had been kind to him. She remembered him and his twin from years prior, she told him that she’d mourned his loss and then Fives’ as well. She was sympathetic to his story, but she didn’t pity him, she didn’t treat him like he was breakable.

She reminds you of me, a familiar voice always whispered in his head. He tried to shake that voice, but it always came back.

“Echo!” Omega called, just coming into view with Wrecker.

“Hey, kid. What mischief have the two of you gotten into today?” he smirked, willing the memories back into their box.

“Mischief? Us?” Wrecker laughed, earning a suspicious glance from Echo as he knelt to let Omega jump down from his shoulder.

“We just went into the city and there’s a festival tonight,” she grinned.

“Oh, really? What for?”

“I’m not actually sure, but Movri said there’s going to be music and lights and food!”

“Wait, who’s Movri?”

Omega’s eyes went wide for a very brief moment. “Movri is Wrecker’s… friend!”

Echo eyed the large man, who was quickly turning a deep red. “Wrecker’s ‘friend’?”

Wrecker laughed awkwardly, before glancing towards the Marauder. “I think Hunter’s calling me, I better go see what he wants.”

Echo chuckled as he watched Wrecker dart into the ship. “Tell me more about this ‘friend’ then,” he grinned.

Omega smiled, leaning closer and whispering conspiratorially. “He’s so nice! He runs the Sugar Planet stand in the market. He’s really good at making Wrecker laugh and I think Wrecker really, really likes him!”

“Really?” Echo smiled, ideas for reading his brother already starting to flow through his mind.

Omega nodded. “I think he likes him more than a friend.”

The two shared a very serious look before bursting into a fit of giggles.

—

“You’re late,” Cid noted, placing her data pad down on the desk. “Again.”

The hooded person scoffed. “Your intel was incomplete again.”

“Did you get the data or not?”

Irritation roiled off the figure. “Yes,” she said, gruffly. “It’s encrypted.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve got a guy for that.”

“And my cut?”

Cid glared up at her. “It’ll have to be split.”

The cloaked figure all but growled.

“Oh, stow it. You know if you can’t finish a job alone you don’t get the full pay.”

Cid leaned forward, picking up a small comm device. “Goggles, get in here.”

Moments later, the door slid open, revealing Tech, still engaged with whatever was on his data pad.

“You commed,” he said, not bothering to look up.

“Blue, this is Goggles. Goggles, Blue.”

Tech finally looked up at the hooded figure, meeting her eyes. Despite the shadow her hood cast and the armored mask that covered the lower half of her face, Tech could make out some details. Dark blue skin - no, it was some kind of paint, and her eyes; one light brown, one cybernetic, both scanning Tech with a scowl.

There was something about the man that struck a part of Raze’s memory. She was sure she didn’t know him, but there was something in the structure of his face and the way he carried himself that was eerily familiar.

“Raze,” she grumbled through the voice modulator in her mask.

“Tech,” he said cordially.

“Goggles will take the data stick and decrypt it. He’ll get half your cut, too.”

Raze’s head snapped towards the trandoshan as if to protest, but Cid interrupted.

“I can make it more,” she sneered.

Tech heard Raze’s jaw click shut.

“That’s what I thought. Now both of you, get out.”

As they left, Raze glanced around the room. More people had arrived, all wearing similar armor to Tech, except for a young girl, who was playing - and winning - a game of dejarek against a large man.

“Is there a problem?” Tech asked, paused a few steps ahead, turned back to face her.

“No,” she answered gruffly.

Tech led them to a booth near the back of the parlor, occupied by another man in armor who bore a striking resemblance to Tech.

“Who’s your new friend?” the other man drawled, toothpick stuck between his lips. He was watching them, his eyes scrutinizing every detail.

“This is Raze,” Tech reported, sliding into the booth. “Another associate of Cid.”

“How nice.”

“This is Crosshair,” Tech informed her.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Raze answered flatly.

Tech held out a hand. “The data stick.”

Raze reluctantly reached into a pocket on her thigh, pulling the data stick out and placing it in his hand. She crossed her arms over her chest. “How long is this going to take?”

“The encryption is not very heavy, it should only take a few moments,” Tech replied.

Raze heard a bit of a commotion behind her. Turning, she saw that the child had won the match of dejarek, much to the dismay of her large opponent. One of the men watching laughed, the other was watching her curiously. He was paler than the others with small pieces of metal poking out of his head. That odd sense of familiarity struck her again, stronger than it had with Tech.

They locked eyes for a moment, almost daring one another to look away. The stalemate was quickly broken when the girl ran up to him, chattering happily about something she couldn’t hear.

“I have finished decrypting the data,” Tech informed her, holding the data stick out toward her.

“Are you clones?” She asked bluntly before she could think better of it.

“Problem?” Crosshair scowled.

Raze eyed him suspiciously. “Not at the moment.”

“Will you be turning in the data stick or shall I?” Tech cut into their silent glaring.

“I’ve got it,” she huffed, snatching the data stick from him.

She stalked across the room, catching the eyes of the other clones as she did, only losing their attention when the door to Cid’s office closed behind her.

“Clones, Cid?”

“What about ‘em?”

“Didn’t expect you to be working with the Empire.”

Cid scoffed. “They look like they’re with the Empire to you, Blue?”

Raze eyed her, trying to get a better read on their relationship to her. “Can’t be too careful with that kind.”

“Like my safety matters to you,” Cid rolled her eyes. “Did Goggles finish with the data or are you just here to piss me off?”

Raze scowled, passing the data stick to her.

Cid nodded, throwing a few credits towards them on the desk.

“That’s not even a third of what you told me.”

Cid grinned sickeningly sweetly. “Maybe if you were on time and didn’t need help you would’ve gotten the full amount, but the price went down while you fucked around.”

Raze snatched the few credits off the desk, turning to leave, but the door wouldn’t open.

“What do you say?” Cid prompted behind her.

Raze huffed. “Thanks.”

As the door opened, she saw that the girl and the other clones had joined Tech and Crosshair, all squeezing into one booth to talk quietly. The kid saw her first, smiling and giving a little wave, the rest noticing and looking up to watch her.

Raze glared at her, before walking quickly out the door.

At the table, something like recognition thrummed in the back of Echo's brain, calling to him as his brothers talked around him. He pushed it away, a small chill traveling down his back.

“Echo?” Wrecker prodded at his shoulder.

Echo shook his head. “Sorry, what?”

“I just asked if you knew anything about Raze,” Hunter said, watching his brother closely.

“No,” Echo answered, a little too quickly. “I don’t think so.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to accept the response. He could feel the others' eyes on him, sure they accompanied variously confused expressions, so he just cleared his throat, looking down at the table.

“As for our next order of business,” Tech interjected. “Omega mentioned that there was a festival this evening.”

Omega perked up. “Yeah, Movri told us all about it!”

“Movri?” Hunter mumbled.

“Wrecker’s friend,” she whispered to him, a wicked grin on her face.

“Yeah, there’s supposed to be lots of lights, and good food,” Wrecker chimed in, his face becoming hotter by the second.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed at his brother, who was painstakingly avoiding his gaze.

“Can we go, Hunter? Please,” Omega pleaded, pulling on his arm just a little.

“Don’t see why not,” he shrugged.

—

“Festival in the city tonight,” Raze’s roommate called as she entered their tiny apartment.

“Heard about that.”

“You wanna go?” he asked, appearing around the corner from the refresher. He had a towel around his waist and he was still damp from a recent shower. “Could be fun.”

“What I want is to get out of this get up,” she groaned, rolling her eyes as she finally removed her hood and mask.

She set the mask down on the tiny kitchen table, depositing her gloves with it.

“I can help with that,” he smirked, sidling up behind her.

She sighed a little as his arms wrapped around her waist, his touch sparking electricity under her skin.

“Stars, you’re needy,” she scoffed.

“You were gone,” he mumbled into her neck.

“It wasn’t that long.”

“Three weeks.”

She rolled her eyes again, pulling away from him. “Yeah, three weeks only using a sonic; I must be disgusting.”

“We can take a shower,” he suggested, grabbing her hips in that way that always made her head spin.

“Didn’t you just have one?”

He shrugged, his signature crooked smirk falling into place. “I could take another.”

He dipped his head down, pressing a soft kiss against her lips.

“Forn,” she whispered as he pulled away, her eyes still closed.

“There’s no one else here, uja, you can use my real name.”

He pressed his lips to the space just below her ear, the one he knew would always drive her crazy. She moaned, her head falling back. “Stars, Fives.”

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Thanks for reading! - River

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