Yeah, this wasn’t checkers.
If he was somewhere else and with someone else, perhaps his doubts and conscience would’ve stopped him—or at least his fear. But he didn’t stop. She was touching him, expertly and he was far too inexperienced to do anything but submit. Lost in the sauce, among other things. He was touching her too, for a bit, but once she started on him he lost the ability to do anything but react. She knew what she was doing and he did not, it was obvious.
She kissed him hungrily, lustfully and in a way he wasn’t used to. It stirred him and combined with the dexterity and softness of her fingers it was enough to have him audibly moan and groan.
There it was, he thought, the point of no return.
His shorts, comfortable before, felt extremely tight and constrained. Her attacks were relentless and he could barely catch his breath as he leaned back and felt his hands leave her—though her hands remained persistent and her kiss constant. He was laying down again or was she laying him down? Her hands continued working and his waistband inched downward due to her vigor.
He finished the job, shorts down to his ankles.
Nope, there it was, the real point of no return.
She played him like a fiddle, but that was fine, he wanted to play and be played. This game was better than the one they were being forced to play. This was a decision and mistake all his own.
She had hit the bullseye, the rest of the dominoes fell like a house of cards. Checkmate.
He was done, incapable of thinking about anything but the lack of guarantees the future held and the promise of what lied in front of and on top of him. He wanted her, hungered for her and he knew it. He knew what she was and what he was doing. What other message should she have taken? He had been kissing her and holding her hand and cuddling with her for two days. He hadn’t wanted to play checkers either. That was when you knew shit had gotten bad—when you started believing your own bullshit. Or realizing that it all had been bullshit.
This is what he wanted. Right now? Ivy was what he desired. He wanted to be distracted. He wanted to feel good. He’d deal with the consequences later. Let the chips fall where they may.
He needed this. He deserved it.
Fuck anyone who thought otherwise.
sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
[night 3 -> day 4, still private, i apologize for not a single thing, cw for Sexual Content™]
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Hunger, and possessiveness. Ivy knew the feeling. The feeling that at least this moment was hers, that he was hers, words stuck to the roof of her mouth that she couldn't speak. He wasn't hers, not even close, he was a toy she'd borrowed with no intent to return, that was fine. She didn't have to say anything, and the sounds coming out of him were more than enough of a response. She wondered if this was inevitable, her spontaneous idea, her Hail Mary. Every touch, every kiss recast into foreshadowing. She wondered what was on his mind. She wished there was less on hers.
Time enough for that. She'd pushed him down, already, lips locked on his, shorts out of the way, she positioned herself, carefully, she—
had forgotten, something, important.
Mottled bruises up and down her side. She'd walked with a shuffle, a half-step, because proper strides stabbed her over and over. A few seconds of running had been agony, falling even worse. Her rib was broken. Six weeks she didn't have. When she shifted a sharp pain reminded her suddenly of what, exactly, she was asking herself to do.
She looked down at him, half-lidded eyes, her breathing was heavy. That could mean anything.
She moved, and a sound escaped her, and it could have been a moan, if that was what he wanted to hear.
She'd wanted to forget, for a while. Pain whited out the mind too. A wish on a monkey's paw.
She moved, again.
The rest was static.
Time enough for that. She'd pushed him down, already, lips locked on his, shorts out of the way, she positioned herself, carefully, she—
had forgotten, something, important.
Mottled bruises up and down her side. She'd walked with a shuffle, a half-step, because proper strides stabbed her over and over. A few seconds of running had been agony, falling even worse. Her rib was broken. Six weeks she didn't have. When she shifted a sharp pain reminded her suddenly of what, exactly, she was asking herself to do.
She looked down at him, half-lidded eyes, her breathing was heavy. That could mean anything.
She moved, and a sound escaped her, and it could have been a moan, if that was what he wanted to hear.
She'd wanted to forget, for a while. Pain whited out the mind too. A wish on a monkey's paw.
She moved, again.
The rest was static.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
For what seemed like a few seconds, as she guided his body into her own, time seemed still.
She gazed down at him with a half-lidded expression—it felt unnatural and yet she looked right at home. She was looking down on him, it seemed, taking him in. His hand found her heart, it was beating just like his own. Her eyes didn’t match her expression. He grasped at her pulse.
She seemed to see him for what he was in an instant.
All his pretending, all his posturing—it melted away. A gasp left her lips and for a second he was scared that he had hurt her but resolve burned in her eyes much brighter than fear or reticence in his.
And for a moment, he ignored his fears and worries and the world outside. The universe ceased to exist outside his thighs and breathless gasps and sighs.
Rah-rah-rah, one night for the rest of his life.
The one night ended up being a little under two minutes. There was no rah-rah-rah.
That didn't sound as good though.
She rolled off him and curled up under his arm, his body coated in sweat and his face flushed.
He had expected to feel good, for a few moments he had. Now those moments were gone and he was left with nothing but himself. He felt a relief, like an itch had been scratched—but he had far bigger problems than being itchy. What was Ivy trying to do here and what was he? What did he owe her? What did this make them? Did she expect him to die for her? Was she just horny? It had all happened so quick…
Yeah and you really resisted. You wanted that. You wanted her and now you feel moody?
Grow the fuck up.
He stared up at the ceiling. He had imagined feeling different after this, but he didn’t. He had expected a respite but all it stirred up was a restlessness.
He lifted his arm and sat up.
He didn’t want to lay down with her, he didn’t want to be here, but he felt obligated to stay considering what had just transpired between them.
“I’m, uh, really thirsty.”
He got up from the bed, the shitty hospital mattress he had just been deflowered on and headed towards the bags. He couldn’t be next to her. He felt…dirty. Sticky. Exposed. This had been a mistake. He didn’t know what he had been expecting.
Not this.
He didn’t bother dressing himself as he made his way to the bags and fished out the water bottle.
He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally and to make matters worse he seemed to be inventing ways to make himself more stressed.
He had one bottle of water left, he had only three after Lori spiked his on day one. One last water bottle, for the rest of his life.
He chugged it.
He threw the bottle on the floor when he finished.
She gazed down at him with a half-lidded expression—it felt unnatural and yet she looked right at home. She was looking down on him, it seemed, taking him in. His hand found her heart, it was beating just like his own. Her eyes didn’t match her expression. He grasped at her pulse.
She seemed to see him for what he was in an instant.
All his pretending, all his posturing—it melted away. A gasp left her lips and for a second he was scared that he had hurt her but resolve burned in her eyes much brighter than fear or reticence in his.
And for a moment, he ignored his fears and worries and the world outside. The universe ceased to exist outside his thighs and breathless gasps and sighs.
Rah-rah-rah, one night for the rest of his life.
~~~
The one night ended up being a little under two minutes. There was no rah-rah-rah.
That didn't sound as good though.
She rolled off him and curled up under his arm, his body coated in sweat and his face flushed.
He had expected to feel good, for a few moments he had. Now those moments were gone and he was left with nothing but himself. He felt a relief, like an itch had been scratched—but he had far bigger problems than being itchy. What was Ivy trying to do here and what was he? What did he owe her? What did this make them? Did she expect him to die for her? Was she just horny? It had all happened so quick…
Yeah and you really resisted. You wanted that. You wanted her and now you feel moody?
Grow the fuck up.
He stared up at the ceiling. He had imagined feeling different after this, but he didn’t. He had expected a respite but all it stirred up was a restlessness.
He lifted his arm and sat up.
He didn’t want to lay down with her, he didn’t want to be here, but he felt obligated to stay considering what had just transpired between them.
“I’m, uh, really thirsty.”
He got up from the bed, the shitty hospital mattress he had just been deflowered on and headed towards the bags. He couldn’t be next to her. He felt…dirty. Sticky. Exposed. This had been a mistake. He didn’t know what he had been expecting.
Not this.
He didn’t bother dressing himself as he made his way to the bags and fished out the water bottle.
He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, and emotionally and to make matters worse he seemed to be inventing ways to make himself more stressed.
He had one bottle of water left, he had only three after Lori spiked his on day one. One last water bottle, for the rest of his life.
He chugged it.
He threw the bottle on the floor when he finished.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
The shortest possible eternity. It wasn't enough.
It was genuine agony, the pain in her side like a knife slipped between her ribs in perfect heartbeat rhythm, but when she rolled off of him and tucked herself under his arm it stopped being white noise, she stopped feeling so numb. She bit her lip, suppressing any noises that this time couldn't be mistaken for anything other than hurt. Her eyes welled up, he couldn't see her, it was fine. Comfortable, almost, even if their mattress was thin and their bodies were slicked in sweat. Among other things, on her side. When the pain subsided she'd slink off into the other room, take another shower, maybe, or just wipe herself off on one of the mattress sheets, did being clean mean anything anymore?
Ace was warm, at least. Warm and familiar.
And then he was gone.
When he sat up she laid still for another moment, too exhausted, too sore to process anything quickly, before jolting upright. Another shot of pain through her. Ace was walking away? He couldn't do that. Where was he going? She'd sat up too fast. She felt woozy.
Water. He was getting water. Okay, fine. Ivy's heartbeat had just begun to slow and now was back at full speed, racing in her ears. Paranoid. He was allowed to drink water. She'd like some herself if she had the energy to stand. Something about him, still. The tightness in his voice could mean a lot of things, embarrassment, shame, nervousness. Sadness, fear. Anger. How quickly he moved away could mean a few things, and had she imagined him flinching away from her before he'd sat up, like something had suddenly hit him, like he'd only then realized she was there?
She was probably overthinking. She had given him everything she could. What did that make him, if he ran away now?
"Ace?" Her mouth was dry, her voice muted. She opened her mouth again to ask a question that died on her lips.
It was genuine agony, the pain in her side like a knife slipped between her ribs in perfect heartbeat rhythm, but when she rolled off of him and tucked herself under his arm it stopped being white noise, she stopped feeling so numb. She bit her lip, suppressing any noises that this time couldn't be mistaken for anything other than hurt. Her eyes welled up, he couldn't see her, it was fine. Comfortable, almost, even if their mattress was thin and their bodies were slicked in sweat. Among other things, on her side. When the pain subsided she'd slink off into the other room, take another shower, maybe, or just wipe herself off on one of the mattress sheets, did being clean mean anything anymore?
Ace was warm, at least. Warm and familiar.
And then he was gone.
When he sat up she laid still for another moment, too exhausted, too sore to process anything quickly, before jolting upright. Another shot of pain through her. Ace was walking away? He couldn't do that. Where was he going? She'd sat up too fast. She felt woozy.
Water. He was getting water. Okay, fine. Ivy's heartbeat had just begun to slow and now was back at full speed, racing in her ears. Paranoid. He was allowed to drink water. She'd like some herself if she had the energy to stand. Something about him, still. The tightness in his voice could mean a lot of things, embarrassment, shame, nervousness. Sadness, fear. Anger. How quickly he moved away could mean a few things, and had she imagined him flinching away from her before he'd sat up, like something had suddenly hit him, like he'd only then realized she was there?
She was probably overthinking. She had given him everything she could. What did that make him, if he ran away now?
"Ace?" Her mouth was dry, her voice muted. She opened her mouth again to ask a question that died on her lips.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Light. There, in the middle of the dark near where they all wound up camping sleep off this damn dull day, Wyatt could see a light.
He was supposed to be keeping watch, taking his turn to watch over Bret and Tirzah as they slept, one positioned on either side of him. The floor of a shack made for better sleeping than what he and Bret had managed so far. When the weather was dry, they could sleep on the ground. When it rained all the damned day long, though, that was a different story. He wasn't about to soak up swamp-ass and foot-rot just for the sake of being a tough guy. Ain't nobody a brave enough boy for that... though Wyatt did feel a twinge of sympathy for the servicemen overseas who had to sleep in what were arguably even worse conditions. How anybody could do that was beyond him; give him the cold hard floor any day.
But now, he couldn't sleep - not because it was his job, because beforehand he'd been ready to nod off and hope that he woke from his nap before either of the other two woke up and figured out that he'd been sleeping on the job. To make matters worse, Bret was insistent (in private, naturally) that one of them two always stayed up, because he wasn't about ready to trust their necks to Tirzah. Wyatt supposed Bret had a point. Bret also wasn't the one getting his dick tugged, so maybe Bret was also just the slightest bit sour on her. But anyway, no, Wyatt wasn't able to sleep because he'd gotten curious about the damn flickering glow in that bigger building out in the distance.
Him shifting, standing and walking around wouldn't be a problem. He was expected to move around a little when it was his turn to keep watch, make sure nobody was snooping around all as quiet as could be, and to watch the flanks of their little shelter. Bret snorted every so often... but Wyatt was sure his sleep was heavy enough that he wasn't going to wake up. So this time, when he felt like investigating that light, he wasn't going to just tiptoe around the perimeter. Get up and slink off like usual, yes, but now he'd be headed off in a straight line.
He hadn't really been sure what to expect, coming up to that glowing window with that big ol' .45 in his hand. He was smart enough to bring a backup too, with the alligator-tooth sword strung up around his back. Tirzah had fixed it up for him using the strap of one of the daypacks, maybe Ron's but he couldn't quite recall, that had been eviscerated for its contents. It made for a handy belt that kept him with something to swing around if he ran out of bullets or a gun otherwise wasn't the best idea. So sure, he wasn't sure what to expect when he looked in that window, but he'd be equipped to handle it. The window, on closer inspection, had had something draped over it, a sheet. Messing around with it nice and cautiously would probably just cause it to flap and flop around and alert whoever was inside, giving them a chance to strike. But, like all things in life, brute force would prove itself the correct option. All Wyatt had to do was snatch up the sheet and, in one motion, pull on that motherfucker to yank it right off of whatever was securing it, like pulling back the curtain on a game show. He'd be prepared for whatever was behind it, gun at the ready.
Never mind, he wasn't equipped to look at a dude's dick. That unpleasant sight was offset by a girl in bed- pink hair- Ivy. That was Ivy. Naked. Dude naked. Dude that wasn't him. And on some level Wyatt had been able to identify the man there in the room with Ivy as Beats, as ol' Ace-ito, but the animal brain was in control right now and right now, it told him to barge through that window like the motherfuckin' Kool-Aid man with a big uproarious 'OH YEAH'.
Except the Wyatt Carter version went something more like "THE FUCK IS THIS!?", which probably wouldn't have done well with the FCC in those commercials.
He was supposed to be keeping watch, taking his turn to watch over Bret and Tirzah as they slept, one positioned on either side of him. The floor of a shack made for better sleeping than what he and Bret had managed so far. When the weather was dry, they could sleep on the ground. When it rained all the damned day long, though, that was a different story. He wasn't about to soak up swamp-ass and foot-rot just for the sake of being a tough guy. Ain't nobody a brave enough boy for that... though Wyatt did feel a twinge of sympathy for the servicemen overseas who had to sleep in what were arguably even worse conditions. How anybody could do that was beyond him; give him the cold hard floor any day.
But now, he couldn't sleep - not because it was his job, because beforehand he'd been ready to nod off and hope that he woke from his nap before either of the other two woke up and figured out that he'd been sleeping on the job. To make matters worse, Bret was insistent (in private, naturally) that one of them two always stayed up, because he wasn't about ready to trust their necks to Tirzah. Wyatt supposed Bret had a point. Bret also wasn't the one getting his dick tugged, so maybe Bret was also just the slightest bit sour on her. But anyway, no, Wyatt wasn't able to sleep because he'd gotten curious about the damn flickering glow in that bigger building out in the distance.
Him shifting, standing and walking around wouldn't be a problem. He was expected to move around a little when it was his turn to keep watch, make sure nobody was snooping around all as quiet as could be, and to watch the flanks of their little shelter. Bret snorted every so often... but Wyatt was sure his sleep was heavy enough that he wasn't going to wake up. So this time, when he felt like investigating that light, he wasn't going to just tiptoe around the perimeter. Get up and slink off like usual, yes, but now he'd be headed off in a straight line.
He hadn't really been sure what to expect, coming up to that glowing window with that big ol' .45 in his hand. He was smart enough to bring a backup too, with the alligator-tooth sword strung up around his back. Tirzah had fixed it up for him using the strap of one of the daypacks, maybe Ron's but he couldn't quite recall, that had been eviscerated for its contents. It made for a handy belt that kept him with something to swing around if he ran out of bullets or a gun otherwise wasn't the best idea. So sure, he wasn't sure what to expect when he looked in that window, but he'd be equipped to handle it. The window, on closer inspection, had had something draped over it, a sheet. Messing around with it nice and cautiously would probably just cause it to flap and flop around and alert whoever was inside, giving them a chance to strike. But, like all things in life, brute force would prove itself the correct option. All Wyatt had to do was snatch up the sheet and, in one motion, pull on that motherfucker to yank it right off of whatever was securing it, like pulling back the curtain on a game show. He'd be prepared for whatever was behind it, gun at the ready.
Never mind, he wasn't equipped to look at a dude's dick. That unpleasant sight was offset by a girl in bed- pink hair- Ivy. That was Ivy. Naked. Dude naked. Dude that wasn't him. And on some level Wyatt had been able to identify the man there in the room with Ivy as Beats, as ol' Ace-ito, but the animal brain was in control right now and right now, it told him to barge through that window like the motherfuckin' Kool-Aid man with a big uproarious 'OH YEAH'.
Except the Wyatt Carter version went something more like "THE FUCK IS THIS!?", which probably wouldn't have done well with the FCC in those commercials.
She said his name, half a breath and a quarter of a whisper.
His eyes turned to her, naked and pleading and for a second he wanted to go back to the bed with her. He shooed the thought away. He didn’t love Ivy, he knew she was bad news. He had kept her around because of that. He had intended to use her, he had used her in a way he thought was innocent and harmless. Now he had used her in a way that felt grown up and real. He had meant to use her and he had thought of every excuse to allow it. The kisses? Drugs. The hand holding? I mean, she could barely walk. Why had he let Connor go and stayed with Ivy?
Because he knew Ivy wanted him and needed him and he trusted that more than he trusted Connor. He wanted that more than he trusted Connor.
Using her as an emotional crutch had been his MO since he had sipped that poison water. It was only now, at the inevitable conclusion of playing with someone’s heart in a desperate situation that he felt truly disgusting. He couldn’t look at Ivy, he stared at the floor.
He had thought he was good, he had thought he was honest, realer than real.
He was fake and it had never been more clear. He was desperate and it never was more obvious.
He wished he had found Meilin instead of Ivy. He was supposed to have found Meilin instead of Ivy. It would’ve been okay if he had relied on Meilin instead of Ivy.
Fuck…Mei…Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Damn it! What the fuck am I gonna do when I find her now?!
He was spared that typhoon of guilt for a moment though as the awkward scene he was in was interrupted by the loud voice of Wyatt Carter—a Wyatt Carter who looked like he was going for the sack on third and long. Naked and panicked he did the only thing that made sense.
He squared up, putting up his dukes. He spun towards the window Wyatt was coming through, his heart racing and his fists shaking. Exhaustion immediately replaced by panic and adrenaline. If the Carter twin's goal was to scare the shit out of Ace, mission accomplished!
“What the fuck! Wyatt?! Shit! Shit! Chill! Chill! Chill! Fuck!”
His eyes turned to her, naked and pleading and for a second he wanted to go back to the bed with her. He shooed the thought away. He didn’t love Ivy, he knew she was bad news. He had kept her around because of that. He had intended to use her, he had used her in a way he thought was innocent and harmless. Now he had used her in a way that felt grown up and real. He had meant to use her and he had thought of every excuse to allow it. The kisses? Drugs. The hand holding? I mean, she could barely walk. Why had he let Connor go and stayed with Ivy?
Because he knew Ivy wanted him and needed him and he trusted that more than he trusted Connor. He wanted that more than he trusted Connor.
Using her as an emotional crutch had been his MO since he had sipped that poison water. It was only now, at the inevitable conclusion of playing with someone’s heart in a desperate situation that he felt truly disgusting. He couldn’t look at Ivy, he stared at the floor.
He had thought he was good, he had thought he was honest, realer than real.
He was fake and it had never been more clear. He was desperate and it never was more obvious.
He wished he had found Meilin instead of Ivy. He was supposed to have found Meilin instead of Ivy. It would’ve been okay if he had relied on Meilin instead of Ivy.
Fuck…Mei…Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Damn it! What the fuck am I gonna do when I find her now?!
He was spared that typhoon of guilt for a moment though as the awkward scene he was in was interrupted by the loud voice of Wyatt Carter—a Wyatt Carter who looked like he was going for the sack on third and long. Naked and panicked he did the only thing that made sense.
He squared up, putting up his dukes. He spun towards the window Wyatt was coming through, his heart racing and his fists shaking. Exhaustion immediately replaced by panic and adrenaline. If the Carter twin's goal was to scare the shit out of Ace, mission accomplished!
“What the fuck! Wyatt?! Shit! Shit! Chill! Chill! Chill! Fuck!”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Silence. No name, no sound. He didn't even look at her. Concerning felt like the right word. She'd opened her mouth to speak again when
loud, it was just loud before it was words, it was noise, then it was words, then it was a voice, then it was not Ace's voice. Someone else was here and she was going to die naked and teary-eyed and sticky and honestly, that figured, after the last few minutes. It was terribly swift and terribly on the nose for a karmic punishment, but God did supposedly work in mysterious ways, though implying God had any place on this island seemed at best naive. It wasn't like she had the energy to do anything useful, run or hide behind something or whatever, her body was utterly spent. Ivy couldn't even scream, the noise that came out of her was more like a squeak, a mouse about to be eaten.
Not even anything in range to cover herself with. The thin blanket they'd been using long-since kicked away and out of reach, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at.
At.
Ivy blinked, and he was still there. Wyatt. Wyatt? She should have recognized his voice, it couldn't be. It was. Wyatt?
He was—god, this was surreal. Ace was yelling back, none of the words mattered. Wyatt looked like... himself, he was alive, nothing was certain between announcements, she was so happy he was there that she stood and that hurt like hell because of course it did. She stumbled forward, caught herself on the reception desk, barely didn't fall. Thighs clamped shut. She was still naked, wasn't she? That blanket still felt far away.
She saw the look on Wyatt's face now, looking closer, and it occurred to her that he had a gun, which didn't scare her as much as it should. It also occurred to her that it was perhaps her job to calm him down, which seemed like a noble goal to endure some more pain over, even if she was wavering like a willow in the wind. She used the desk to stabilize her as she wobbled closer, her other arm still crossed over her chest in some impossibly pointless attempt at modesty, as though everyone in the room and on the other side of the camera hadn't already seen everything. It felt strange, anyway, to not make the effort.
She slipped away from the desk, coming up half behind Ace, steadying herself against his arm, wide-eyed, still. Wyatt. There were some pieces she wasn't putting together here, yet, but there was time enough. Why was he so angry? She could fix that. She was good at that.
"Wyatt?" she murmured, her voice was still a ghost. She wanted to touch him but couldn't decide if that was a good idea, yet. Everything was hazy, half-drunk still on sex and pain, she still wasn't so sure he was real. A million questions came to mind. None of them really seemed to matter.
"You're alive," she settled on, weakly. Her side throbbed. She thought she might cry again, for a few reasons.
loud, it was just loud before it was words, it was noise, then it was words, then it was a voice, then it was not Ace's voice. Someone else was here and she was going to die naked and teary-eyed and sticky and honestly, that figured, after the last few minutes. It was terribly swift and terribly on the nose for a karmic punishment, but God did supposedly work in mysterious ways, though implying God had any place on this island seemed at best naive. It wasn't like she had the energy to do anything useful, run or hide behind something or whatever, her body was utterly spent. Ivy couldn't even scream, the noise that came out of her was more like a squeak, a mouse about to be eaten.
Not even anything in range to cover herself with. The thin blanket they'd been using long-since kicked away and out of reach, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at.
At.
Ivy blinked, and he was still there. Wyatt. Wyatt? She should have recognized his voice, it couldn't be. It was. Wyatt?
He was—god, this was surreal. Ace was yelling back, none of the words mattered. Wyatt looked like... himself, he was alive, nothing was certain between announcements, she was so happy he was there that she stood and that hurt like hell because of course it did. She stumbled forward, caught herself on the reception desk, barely didn't fall. Thighs clamped shut. She was still naked, wasn't she? That blanket still felt far away.
She saw the look on Wyatt's face now, looking closer, and it occurred to her that he had a gun, which didn't scare her as much as it should. It also occurred to her that it was perhaps her job to calm him down, which seemed like a noble goal to endure some more pain over, even if she was wavering like a willow in the wind. She used the desk to stabilize her as she wobbled closer, her other arm still crossed over her chest in some impossibly pointless attempt at modesty, as though everyone in the room and on the other side of the camera hadn't already seen everything. It felt strange, anyway, to not make the effort.
She slipped away from the desk, coming up half behind Ace, steadying herself against his arm, wide-eyed, still. Wyatt. There were some pieces she wasn't putting together here, yet, but there was time enough. Why was he so angry? She could fix that. She was good at that.
"Wyatt?" she murmured, her voice was still a ghost. She wanted to touch him but couldn't decide if that was a good idea, yet. Everything was hazy, half-drunk still on sex and pain, she still wasn't so sure he was real. A million questions came to mind. None of them really seemed to matter.
"You're alive," she settled on, weakly. Her side throbbed. She thought she might cry again, for a few reasons.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Boy. Boy." Wyatt raised his own arms and hunched his shoulders over Ace. The gun came up too, with Wyatt treating it as little more than an extension of his own hand. Probably not the safest thing in the world, to be pointing it all over God's creation, but just in this moment he didn't really give a fuck. "Boy you drop those fucking arms before I TEAR THEM OFF."
He barely heard Ivy since she was talking about as loud as a damned gnat. That hushed almost-kinda-croaking whisper was really hot when she spoke up to him laying naked beside him at that party. Wasn't so hot here. She was cute, yeah sure, but that wasn't going to get her out of hot water. Even her covering herself up agitated him because what the fuck was she hiding anything from? He'd seen her naked before and she was cool with it then. She sure fucking wasn't hiding herself from Ace, now was she?
"Yeah, yeah I'm fucking alive," Wyatt snarled. "What, were you thinking of me while fucking this limpdick clown?" If only he'd run into Ivy sooner. How long had she really waited, though? Did she even make an effort to look for him, or were things still so weird that she wouldn't dare, even with the horrific event of a lifetime cracking them over the skulls? "And why would I be dead anyway? You ain't heard my name at all, because I've been busting my ass to stay alive without gettin' myself in a bad spot for it."
And Bret helped.
"Fucking... Why shouldn't I fuck this guy up right now!?"
His hand clenched, opened, and clenched again.
He barely heard Ivy since she was talking about as loud as a damned gnat. That hushed almost-kinda-croaking whisper was really hot when she spoke up to him laying naked beside him at that party. Wasn't so hot here. She was cute, yeah sure, but that wasn't going to get her out of hot water. Even her covering herself up agitated him because what the fuck was she hiding anything from? He'd seen her naked before and she was cool with it then. She sure fucking wasn't hiding herself from Ace, now was she?
"Yeah, yeah I'm fucking alive," Wyatt snarled. "What, were you thinking of me while fucking this limpdick clown?" If only he'd run into Ivy sooner. How long had she really waited, though? Did she even make an effort to look for him, or were things still so weird that she wouldn't dare, even with the horrific event of a lifetime cracking them over the skulls? "And why would I be dead anyway? You ain't heard my name at all, because I've been busting my ass to stay alive without gettin' myself in a bad spot for it."
And Bret helped.
"Fucking... Why shouldn't I fuck this guy up right now!?"
His hand clenched, opened, and clenched again.
“Yeah, yeah, put my hands down for the asshole burstin’ in like the fuckin Juggernaut and flashin’ a gun all in my face—fuck outta here Carter!”, Ace barked, “And I ain’t ya boy, son!”
He did lower his arms though, but he poked out his chin and still remained posted up if not full on in combat mode. He wasn’t backing down—he never did with Wyatt. He still did listen to his Linebacker and found his hands at his side. That probably wasn't the wisest move, still, this had a degree of familiarity.
When little nice guy Declyn came in with a gun on day one, Ace had been scared. When Wyatt Carter, the coalesced form of HGH did it, Ace instead felt emboldened. Wyatt was his friend but they also were competitors. Talking shit was what Wyatt did and if you couldn’t keep up, you got fucked up in more ways than one. Weak in the knees but quick in the mouth, Ace felt almost back at practice shouting back at Wyatt. Like Wyatt had just gotten off a big hit or Ace had just broken his ankles for a touchdown. It would’ve been comforting, if it wasn’t murder fuckin’ island and Wyatt was likely to murder him where he stood as he was to embrace him as a teammate.
Even Wyatt calling him a limp dick, fuck, it was enough to make him homesick. He asked Ivy why he shouldn’t fuck him up and Ace should’ve been quiet. It would’ve been smarter to be quiet. But have you been paying attention? He only rarely did the smart thing.
“Pffft, I ain’t some nerd who’s gonna let you shove me in the locker and take my lunch money Wyatt,” he said with a confidence, his arms weren’t up but he still stood tall, Ivy at his side—he wasn’t going to look like a little bitch, “You may fuck me up, but I swear as my limp dick swings I will get a few licks on your grande por gusto ass. So if you gonna fuck my ass up, you best shoot me dawg! Because I am comin’ at you swingin’ two ways!”
The past three days had been a roller-coaster. He for sure was stuck on the loopity loops.
He did lower his arms though, but he poked out his chin and still remained posted up if not full on in combat mode. He wasn’t backing down—he never did with Wyatt. He still did listen to his Linebacker and found his hands at his side. That probably wasn't the wisest move, still, this had a degree of familiarity.
When little nice guy Declyn came in with a gun on day one, Ace had been scared. When Wyatt Carter, the coalesced form of HGH did it, Ace instead felt emboldened. Wyatt was his friend but they also were competitors. Talking shit was what Wyatt did and if you couldn’t keep up, you got fucked up in more ways than one. Weak in the knees but quick in the mouth, Ace felt almost back at practice shouting back at Wyatt. Like Wyatt had just gotten off a big hit or Ace had just broken his ankles for a touchdown. It would’ve been comforting, if it wasn’t murder fuckin’ island and Wyatt was likely to murder him where he stood as he was to embrace him as a teammate.
Even Wyatt calling him a limp dick, fuck, it was enough to make him homesick. He asked Ivy why he shouldn’t fuck him up and Ace should’ve been quiet. It would’ve been smarter to be quiet. But have you been paying attention? He only rarely did the smart thing.
“Pffft, I ain’t some nerd who’s gonna let you shove me in the locker and take my lunch money Wyatt,” he said with a confidence, his arms weren’t up but he still stood tall, Ivy at his side—he wasn’t going to look like a little bitch, “You may fuck me up, but I swear as my limp dick swings I will get a few licks on your grande por gusto ass. So if you gonna fuck my ass up, you best shoot me dawg! Because I am comin’ at you swingin’ two ways!”
The past three days had been a roller-coaster. He for sure was stuck on the loopity loops.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Oh. Oh. Ohhh. Yeah. Okay, she got it now.
Ivy probably should have gotten it sooner, but in fairness to her she was thoroughly out of it, and perhaps more importantly it was completely stupid. Not that saying that out loud was a particularly smart tack to take, with Wyatt in specific or on the island in general. Honestly, though. Was this really the time for this kind of territorial pissing contest? The testosterone in the air was strong enough to clear a room. Wyatt raging, Ace responding in kind despite the literal gun in Wyatt's hand, despite the fact it could literally get him killed, blood and bone and the smell of sex still heavy in the room, she felt...
Better. She felt better. She felt her panicked heartbeat start to slow.
She'd lived this a million times. Teenage boys getting in each other's faces about nothing important, posturing like peacocks, throwing their weight around, that was the football team. The gun didn't matter. Nothing had changed.
She breathed. She reached out, still cautious, dropping the arm she'd been using to cover herself (because who had she been fooling, really?) and touching Wyatt's.
"Wyatt," she said, slowly, employing the tone she imagined she'd use with a small child if someone made the terrible mistake of leaving her with one.
"We're not... we aren't dating. Remember?"
Ivy probably should have gotten it sooner, but in fairness to her she was thoroughly out of it, and perhaps more importantly it was completely stupid. Not that saying that out loud was a particularly smart tack to take, with Wyatt in specific or on the island in general. Honestly, though. Was this really the time for this kind of territorial pissing contest? The testosterone in the air was strong enough to clear a room. Wyatt raging, Ace responding in kind despite the literal gun in Wyatt's hand, despite the fact it could literally get him killed, blood and bone and the smell of sex still heavy in the room, she felt...
Better. She felt better. She felt her panicked heartbeat start to slow.
She'd lived this a million times. Teenage boys getting in each other's faces about nothing important, posturing like peacocks, throwing their weight around, that was the football team. The gun didn't matter. Nothing had changed.
She breathed. She reached out, still cautious, dropping the arm she'd been using to cover herself (because who had she been fooling, really?) and touching Wyatt's.
"Wyatt," she said, slowly, employing the tone she imagined she'd use with a small child if someone made the terrible mistake of leaving her with one.
"We're not... we aren't dating. Remember?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Wyatt glared down at her. Like, way down, because goddamn he'd almost forgotten how... just how tiny she was. Like a child reaching up for the lowest sturdy branch of a tree, she looked like, telling him words he didn't expect at all, and wanted to hear even less.
Oh, what, they weren't OFFICIAL? He didn't put a ring on that shit? So now Ace was free to give her beef injections as they passed the time? Who was Ace to fill that void after all they'd been through, after Ivy and Wyatt had those fantastic nights together, after her blow-up with Bret and her leaving him, after the emotional torment of not speaking for a while because of an ended relationship but after the trip they'd totally...
Oh.
The hand with the gun in it lowered first as its weight became acutely aware to him, like Ivy's words had injected something that restored Wyatt's ability to actually feel things when he had felt like he could hammer nails through a board with his forehead and laugh it off. Saw that shit on Youtube, always figured it didn't look that hard, and if you squint and tilt your head the right way Ace kinda resembled that nail. Only now he was looking like kind of a sad sack in over his head. And the worst part was...
"... Son of a bitch, you're right." Wyatt said at the quietest volume he'd used in the room tonight. He lowered the other arm, staring between Ace and Ivy in disbelief before turning around and taking a few steps into the center of the room, away from those two. "You're fuckin'..." he muttered, trailing off. He was going to repeat himself, but leaving it at 'you're fucking' seemed pretty darned appropriate too. He nearly ripped his own teammate in half because Ivy was giving him some. It stung, it really did, but they hadn't made anything official, and everybody needed a little bit of... what was that word, 'catheter' or something, like a release from all the shittiness. And maybe if he hadn't arranged a deal with Tirzah to get his rocks off, he'd have some ground to stand on to be wrong.
"Sorry." He heaved a great big sigh, still facing the other direction with his gun-toting hand pressed against his belt at the thumb and first knuckle, scratching the top of his hand with the other. He turned around to look at Ace- god damn it dude's still naked. Look at Ivy. Even though Ives kinda looked like shit right now, probably hadn't bathed in a few days... it brought him some sick sense of joy to think of it like, 'Ha, I had her at her best, you gotta get discount damaged goods' and he only thought it a little wrong because that was still adorable 'You're too cute to want to break your bones' Ivy.
"Sorry, man. It's just been... well, you know. It's been THIS place."
Wyatt looked back to the window, his brow at least straightened, even if his jaw hadn't quite unclenched.
Oh, what, they weren't OFFICIAL? He didn't put a ring on that shit? So now Ace was free to give her beef injections as they passed the time? Who was Ace to fill that void after all they'd been through, after Ivy and Wyatt had those fantastic nights together, after her blow-up with Bret and her leaving him, after the emotional torment of not speaking for a while because of an ended relationship but after the trip they'd totally...
Oh.
The hand with the gun in it lowered first as its weight became acutely aware to him, like Ivy's words had injected something that restored Wyatt's ability to actually feel things when he had felt like he could hammer nails through a board with his forehead and laugh it off. Saw that shit on Youtube, always figured it didn't look that hard, and if you squint and tilt your head the right way Ace kinda resembled that nail. Only now he was looking like kind of a sad sack in over his head. And the worst part was...
"... Son of a bitch, you're right." Wyatt said at the quietest volume he'd used in the room tonight. He lowered the other arm, staring between Ace and Ivy in disbelief before turning around and taking a few steps into the center of the room, away from those two. "You're fuckin'..." he muttered, trailing off. He was going to repeat himself, but leaving it at 'you're fucking' seemed pretty darned appropriate too. He nearly ripped his own teammate in half because Ivy was giving him some. It stung, it really did, but they hadn't made anything official, and everybody needed a little bit of... what was that word, 'catheter' or something, like a release from all the shittiness. And maybe if he hadn't arranged a deal with Tirzah to get his rocks off, he'd have some ground to stand on to be wrong.
"Sorry." He heaved a great big sigh, still facing the other direction with his gun-toting hand pressed against his belt at the thumb and first knuckle, scratching the top of his hand with the other. He turned around to look at Ace- god damn it dude's still naked. Look at Ivy. Even though Ives kinda looked like shit right now, probably hadn't bathed in a few days... it brought him some sick sense of joy to think of it like, 'Ha, I had her at her best, you gotta get discount damaged goods' and he only thought it a little wrong because that was still adorable 'You're too cute to want to break your bones' Ivy.
"Sorry, man. It's just been... well, you know. It's been THIS place."
Wyatt looked back to the window, his brow at least straightened, even if his jaw hadn't quite unclenched.
“Nah, it’s okay, I’m sorry too, shit’s crazy bro.”
And he was sorry, he just didn’t know for what. Or he did know and there was just too much shit to say.
He looked at Wyatt with a curious expression and when Ivy touched him and then he turned around an even curiouser one. He felt a pang of jealousy and awkwardness go through his own heart, not just because he had just lost his virginity a few moments ago and then went toe to toe with Wyatt Carter with his nuts hanging. But because of the palpable history between Ivy and Wyatt. Ivy was his first but she had had plenty before him, twin brothers even, Connor before that—fuck. The girl had a type and all. He knew that. He had always known that. He didn't know why it bothered him now. He had no right for it to bother him now.
He shook his head, he was in over his head, what else was new?
He walked towards the bed and picked up and slipped on his basketball shorts quickly before finding the blanket and making his way to Ivy to drape it over her. He had thought about looking for her clothes until he remembered how she had entered the room. Try as he might he couldn’t forget.
“S’good to see you papo.”
And it had been.
“You scared the shit outta me.”
And he had.
“You been by yourself?”
And he was sorry, he just didn’t know for what. Or he did know and there was just too much shit to say.
He looked at Wyatt with a curious expression and when Ivy touched him and then he turned around an even curiouser one. He felt a pang of jealousy and awkwardness go through his own heart, not just because he had just lost his virginity a few moments ago and then went toe to toe with Wyatt Carter with his nuts hanging. But because of the palpable history between Ivy and Wyatt. Ivy was his first but she had had plenty before him, twin brothers even, Connor before that—fuck. The girl had a type and all. He knew that. He had always known that. He didn't know why it bothered him now. He had no right for it to bother him now.
He shook his head, he was in over his head, what else was new?
He walked towards the bed and picked up and slipped on his basketball shorts quickly before finding the blanket and making his way to Ivy to drape it over her. He had thought about looking for her clothes until he remembered how she had entered the room. Try as he might he couldn’t forget.
“S’good to see you papo.”
And it had been.
“You scared the shit outta me.”
And he had.
“You been by yourself?”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
And that was that.
It bothered her. Wyatt Carter should not be so easy to pacify. She knew, considering the circumstance, considering that the stake here was watching bits of Ace be blown out of his body, that she should be happy, but it shook her out of her momentary football field reverie. They couldn't afford to blow things off with a fist-fight or a fuck you, here, especially since any unforgiven insult could be taken to the grave. Ace had been friends with Wyatt longer than she'd been more-than-friends with him; had Wyatt really been prepared to hurt Ace over her?
She remembered what she'd heard about the aftermath of Connor's basement party, after Myles had sent her home.
There had been something intoxicating about it, back then, knowing she could inspire that much passion. Here she wasn't sure she wanted that responsibility. Was it wrong, then, to admit that, now that he had apologized and had not turned Ace into a blood splatter on the wall, it still made her kind of happy? That he was so angry about a perceived slight? She hadn't known what the future would have held for them, after the trip, it was still so tense, they'd been texting but avoidant, she'd been hopeful but not expectant.
It didn't matter, anymore. Both of them couldn't make it out of here alive, but it resolved something unresolved within her, anyway, without him having to say the words directly. In another world, another lifetime. It shouldn't mean anything, but it did.
She felt Ace slip from her side and broke her gaze from Wyatt to follow him, still on edge from before Wyatt's appearance, as though he might just walk out the door, as irrational as the thought was. He brought her the blanket and for that she was grateful, wrapping it around herself like a cloak; she pressed her head against his arm affectionately with a quiet "thank you." That he'd thought of her resolved something, too.
You been by yourself? Wyatt could have taken care of himself for three days, easily, but there was something sad about the thought. She didn't imagine many people would trust him. She knew the feeling.
That said, he had his gun, and... was that a sword? A sword with him, which implied he'd either borrowed someone else's weapon or stolen one. No bags, though. She didn't imagine he'd leave his bags unattended, though she supposed it was possible he'd hid them somewhere. She tilted her head thoughtfully and made her best guess.
"... You're camping somewhere else, right? With someone else. You don't have your bags with you, I mean."
It bothered her. Wyatt Carter should not be so easy to pacify. She knew, considering the circumstance, considering that the stake here was watching bits of Ace be blown out of his body, that she should be happy, but it shook her out of her momentary football field reverie. They couldn't afford to blow things off with a fist-fight or a fuck you, here, especially since any unforgiven insult could be taken to the grave. Ace had been friends with Wyatt longer than she'd been more-than-friends with him; had Wyatt really been prepared to hurt Ace over her?
She remembered what she'd heard about the aftermath of Connor's basement party, after Myles had sent her home.
There had been something intoxicating about it, back then, knowing she could inspire that much passion. Here she wasn't sure she wanted that responsibility. Was it wrong, then, to admit that, now that he had apologized and had not turned Ace into a blood splatter on the wall, it still made her kind of happy? That he was so angry about a perceived slight? She hadn't known what the future would have held for them, after the trip, it was still so tense, they'd been texting but avoidant, she'd been hopeful but not expectant.
It didn't matter, anymore. Both of them couldn't make it out of here alive, but it resolved something unresolved within her, anyway, without him having to say the words directly. In another world, another lifetime. It shouldn't mean anything, but it did.
She felt Ace slip from her side and broke her gaze from Wyatt to follow him, still on edge from before Wyatt's appearance, as though he might just walk out the door, as irrational as the thought was. He brought her the blanket and for that she was grateful, wrapping it around herself like a cloak; she pressed her head against his arm affectionately with a quiet "thank you." That he'd thought of her resolved something, too.
You been by yourself? Wyatt could have taken care of himself for three days, easily, but there was something sad about the thought. She didn't imagine many people would trust him. She knew the feeling.
That said, he had his gun, and... was that a sword? A sword with him, which implied he'd either borrowed someone else's weapon or stolen one. No bags, though. She didn't imagine he'd leave his bags unattended, though she supposed it was possible he'd hid them somewhere. She tilted her head thoughtfully and made her best guess.
"... You're camping somewhere else, right? With someone else. You don't have your bags with you, I mean."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Huh?"
Wyatt turned back to Ivy. Ace had put on some shorts, finally, so nobody had to stare at his dong for an unnecessary amount of time. Ivy covered up too, unfortunately. Actually, on second thought, it must have been a little awkward to stand around naked with somebody fully clothed in the room with you. Normally he had a... slightly different proposed solution to that problem, but even he had to admit it just wasn't the time or place. Plus, unless one of them was assigned a box of condoms or something (he highly doubted the terrorists were that sick in the head), there was Beat-Jizz dripping around in there somewhere. Fuck playing sloppy seconds and winding up with another dude's manbutter on your dick.
It had taken a moment to process what Ivy actually said, but Wyatt answered her before she needed to repeat herself: "Oh, yeah. We're cooped up nearby." He thumbed out the window and in no specific direction in particular; 'out this window' was as specific as they needed, really. "I've been traveling with Bret since day one. Woke up with him kicking me in the dick, ain't life just funny?" He shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and moved on. Just like old times. "So yeah, my bags are there. Thought I'd bring all the supplies I needed to ruin the day of whoever was stupid enough to keep their lights on in the middle of the night over here. No offense."
Wyatt turned back to Ivy. Ace had put on some shorts, finally, so nobody had to stare at his dong for an unnecessary amount of time. Ivy covered up too, unfortunately. Actually, on second thought, it must have been a little awkward to stand around naked with somebody fully clothed in the room with you. Normally he had a... slightly different proposed solution to that problem, but even he had to admit it just wasn't the time or place. Plus, unless one of them was assigned a box of condoms or something (he highly doubted the terrorists were that sick in the head), there was Beat-Jizz dripping around in there somewhere. Fuck playing sloppy seconds and winding up with another dude's manbutter on your dick.
It had taken a moment to process what Ivy actually said, but Wyatt answered her before she needed to repeat herself: "Oh, yeah. We're cooped up nearby." He thumbed out the window and in no specific direction in particular; 'out this window' was as specific as they needed, really. "I've been traveling with Bret since day one. Woke up with him kicking me in the dick, ain't life just funny?" He shrugged his shoulders, grinned, and moved on. Just like old times. "So yeah, my bags are there. Thought I'd bring all the supplies I needed to ruin the day of whoever was stupid enough to keep their lights on in the middle of the night over here. No offense."
She pressed her head against him and looked at him with her big green eye, the other covered by thin pink hair, and he felt like melting. That, that look right there—it had gotten him in trouble from the start. He mouthed back ‘you’re welcome’ and tried to look at his feet.
He desperately needed his armor back, he had relinquished too much of it to Ivy’s presence. She didn’t want him and he didn’t want her, it was foolish to think this was anything but a relationship of convenience. Who she wanted was Wyatt. She had left Bret for Wyatt. She had torpedoed her reputation for Wyatt. Who does that? If he cheated on his girlfriend it wouldn’t have been with like, a damn near exact fuckin’ replica.
It wasn’t with a damn near replica.
He felt bad for liking the feel of Ivy next to him. He wanted to move away, he needed to stay. He was still. She felt nice. He hated her. He didn't mean it.
Wyatt mentioned that he was actually with Bret and Ace felt her flinch and jump at Bret’s name. He wanted to hug her but didn’t want to piss off Wyatt. He had wanted to hug her but he couldn’t trust himself to have it stop there. He wanted to touch her, to let her know it was okay, but instead they existed in this teasing purgatory. His regret and desires mixed in a cocktail that burned extremely hot going down. He was glad Wyatt was there, truly, being around Ivy was a bad move for his critical thinking.
"Nah, you right, that was dumb as fuck," he said with unease, "We lucky it was you and not someone crazy."
He paused.
“S’good y’all found each other, you and Bret,” he didn’t know if he meant that, “We ran into Connor yesterday, he’s chillin’, all things considered.”
He desperately needed his armor back, he had relinquished too much of it to Ivy’s presence. She didn’t want him and he didn’t want her, it was foolish to think this was anything but a relationship of convenience. Who she wanted was Wyatt. She had left Bret for Wyatt. She had torpedoed her reputation for Wyatt. Who does that? If he cheated on his girlfriend it wouldn’t have been with like, a damn near exact fuckin’ replica.
It wasn’t with a damn near replica.
He felt bad for liking the feel of Ivy next to him. He wanted to move away, he needed to stay. He was still. She felt nice. He hated her. He didn't mean it.
Wyatt mentioned that he was actually with Bret and Ace felt her flinch and jump at Bret’s name. He wanted to hug her but didn’t want to piss off Wyatt. He had wanted to hug her but he couldn’t trust himself to have it stop there. He wanted to touch her, to let her know it was okay, but instead they existed in this teasing purgatory. His regret and desires mixed in a cocktail that burned extremely hot going down. He was glad Wyatt was there, truly, being around Ivy was a bad move for his critical thinking.
"Nah, you right, that was dumb as fuck," he said with unease, "We lucky it was you and not someone crazy."
He paused.
“S’good y’all found each other, you and Bret,” he didn’t know if he meant that, “We ran into Connor yesterday, he’s chillin’, all things considered.”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'