#They aren’t coming back and I still love them

[wordsinhaled]

People call Charles Edwin’s guard dog and Edwin thinks it’s going to offend him, getting more up in arms about it than Charles ever does. But it doesn’t seem to bother Charles at all. And Edwin doesn’t understand, not at first, not until Charles tells him, “So what if they think I’ll bite if they lay a finger on you? Not exactly wrong, are they?”

Suddenly, it makes sense. Why Charles takes the comments in stride. Why he seems to take pride in the suggestion.

Charles feels like Edwin should have someone who is willing to do all that for him, go that far for him—and of course that someone’ll be Charles himself. Edwin reflects that he’d never had that sort of fervent devotion from anyone, certainly not when he was alive, and no one has come close since but Charles. He reflects on how good it feels to be fundamentally seen, valued in such a way.

Still, Edwin worries—does Charles know that Edwin is just as dedicated to keeping him safe, his heart and his spectral body and his soul? That Charles is the most precious gift Edwin never dreamt to be given, and—

Does Charles know that, every day? That he’s more than his teeth? That he’s more than everything Edwin could want? That he’s sweetness and light?

It’s Charles’ loving touch that Edwin yearns for and craves, when he’s laughing harder than he ever has, in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is asleep and it’s just him and Charles in the warmly-lit office, tipping against each other on the tiny sofa that never feels cramped when it’s keeping the two of them near. The actual joke goes forgotten in the self-replenishing haze of their giggles, their shoulders knocking together, Charles’ ankle hooked around Edwin’s.

Edwin’s hand lands on Charles’ jaw, barely-there fingertips turning Charles’ head, easy, so easy, to look at him. To catch Charles’ gaze, deep and shining and—they’re so close to each other, a bit heady with leftover mirth, and Edwin will never forget that it’s Charles who moves first to press his smiling lips to Edwin’s, simple as ever, like it’s the next line in their conversation.

It knocks the breath straight out of Edwin: the breath he hasn’t needed in three-odd decades. But it’s all right because Charles’ mouth is opening against his, so right and inviting, and Charles is gasping too like he’s in the same dizzy predicament, and Edwin never wants it to end.

“Charles,” he says, “Charles, my darling, are you…?”

Charles’ eyes are dark as ink when he pulls back, only far enough to nudge his nose against Edwin’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, smile flashing bright like a slice of the moon. He closes his eyes, a flutter of lashes Edwin can feel against his own cheekbone, followed by the soft drag of a kiss. Then another. “Should’ve seen it, really,” Charles goes on, in between still more kisses, words said into Edwin’s skin. “‘Cause you’re it for me, Edwin, aren’t you, love? I just didn’t see. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when you first—”

“Never mind,” Edwin says, “tell me now,” and then they’re kissing once more. The testing scrape of Charles’ teeth over Edwin’s lower lip, the nibble on his upper, is tentative, too tentative, and Edwin ought to have known, he ought to have suspected… but still he doesn’t, doesn’t expect the keening, tremulous moan that tumbles out of him at the promise of it all.

Charles chuckles, the sound settling in Edwin’s belly, making a home in his chest. “You like that?” he asks. Awed. Still hesitant. The laughter from earlier still layered in Charles’ voice, along with a new sort of hoarseness, a new sort of rasp Edwin could listen to forever. “Don’t wanna put you off, do I, love…”

“I will hardly be put off, Charles. In fact, I—” Edwin swallows, convulsive and wanting, sees Charles’ focus drop to his throat, find the soft underside of his jaw as he tips his chin up. “I would not have you hold back with me. Set your hands where you wish. Your mouth—where you wish. Your…” It is his turn to close his eyes.

“My teeth,” Charles finishes for him softly. “Wherever I…?”

“Yes,” Edwin says. “Yes.”

[ripplestitchskein]

What I loved most about Sinsmas is how well it’s setting up what will be the probable trajectory of Season 3 while resolving the conflicts of Season 2.

Octavia and Blitz are set on a similar path, realizing that Stolas needs more than they can give him, but not because they aren’t enough but because he has a mental illness. This conflict is setup explicitly to tie in with Barbie, Blitz will realize that whatever happened probably wasn’t as much his fault as he thinks, she just needed more than he could give alone. So I stand by the speculation that resolving Stolas and Blitz next season is going to be directly paralleled by Blitz and Barbie but will at the same time bring Octavia and Blitz into an accord.

Stolas will be getting several more reality checks and will spiral pretty hard, but I am holding on to faith that we will get a happy medium between getting proper treatment and reconciling his relationship with Blitz. I think Sinsmas did a great job setting up him as not realizing his continued unhappiness, even though he got everything he wanted with Blitz, is not a reflection on their relationship being ill suited but because he does have a mental illness that he is not treating properly or sharing with those around him. Blitz sidestepping the horse backstory while Stolas pulls back on asking him for help getting his meds was a perfect and succinct way to show this upcoming conflict.

Just excellent visuals with that all around. Blitz being the one to snuggle and try to be close to him while Stolas is the one closed off and refusing to relent was really solid. I would bet on this being the opening imagery of S3, some rehashing of Blitz trying but Stolas remaining closed off and that leading to a split that is slowly repaired over the course of the season, ending with them finally embracing each other.

The subtle cues from the imps of hell during the domesticity montage also great. Just this hatred Hell has for Stolas and how they will have to fight to be together. Like this was echoed in the fight with Andy as well, Stolas succumbing to being swallowed alive by a monster and Blitz going after him. Depression metaphor wow. The fight itself could be echoed in S3 too but this time with them working together.

And then everything with Millie, like her still not being on the same page when it comes to a family with kids while Moxxie and Blitz are opposed. Her reassuring Moxxie that her not wanting this doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him, and how that will play through S3.

Seeing Loona taking more responsibilities and stepping in for her father, seeing her with friends excited about board games. Too cute. I don’t know where she’ll go in S3 but I love her development so far and how they’ve taken a quieter approach to her parallels with Octavia and Stolitz.

Just a really great season finale.

[katsu28]

the way you love

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: loving george russell is as easy as breathing sometimes, especially with the way he loves you. loosely inspired by stardust by zayn. (2.8k)

a/n: welcome to the first of four holiday fics! i'm hoping to post one a day until christmas eve, so stay tuned :)

Maybe you should’ve waited inside for George to pick you up. 

Granted, you haven't been out here long, and you know he’ll be here soon, but it’s cold. Frigid wind whips your hair around your face, scraping over your skin harshly. 

You nuzzle a little deeper into your scarf in a poor attempt to protect your cheeks. 

The two cardboard cups clutched in your hands do help a little with the biting cold. One for you, one for George, both filled to the brim with steaming coffee from the little shop down the street from your building. 

They’ve rolled out their holiday cups today, as noted by the festive little scene printed across the sleeve. It makes you smile, and you think George will probably like it too. 

George’s sleek car pulls up in front of you with a gentle rumble not long later. You’re expecting him to be smiling when he gets out, but when his head pops over the roof of the car, he just looks concerned. 

“Blimey, have you been waiting out here the entire time?” He exclaims incredulously, rounding the front of the car quickly. 

You barely have time to nod before he’s easing the cups out of your grip. Only once they’re secured into cup holders inside the car does he grab your hands, bringing them up to his mouth to breathe a little warmth back into them. 

“Didn’t want you to have to wait on me,” You say, as if it’s any excuse to have been standing in the freezing cold. Really, you just wanted to see George as soon as he came to pick you up. You’ve just seen him only last week, but it feels like forever. 

“Darling, it’s freezing,” He reasons. He’s smiling now, despite the attempt to keep his firm composure. 

You frown. “I missed you.”

He kisses you instead of answering, short and sweet, but still bursting with affection. 

“Hi,” You say softly, nuzzling deeper into his broad palm after he pulls back an inch or two. His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, bringing some more much needed heat back into your skin. You won’t tell him, but your nose had been starting to lose a bit of feeling. 

“Hi. I missed you too,” He replies, fondness dripping from his tone. 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course. Longest five days of my life.”

That makes you grin even harder, pushing forward for another quick kiss. “Mine too.”

“Glad we feel the same.” He looks very pleased. “Shall we get a move on? We’re a little early, but I know how much you hate being late to things. I even told Alex to expect us early.” 

You’re set to head to Alex Albon’s Christmas party in a little bit. George goes every year, but this is the first time you’re going too. You’re excited, nervous, and a little bit scared at the prospect of finally getting to meet all of George’s friends at one time. You've met a handful of them individually, gradually, George happily introducing you as his girlfriend every time, but never in such a large social setting like this party. 

You aren’t quite sure what to expect, but if the ones you haven’t met are anything like the ones you have, you’ll be just fine. 

“And what did he say about that?” 

“That Lily is relieved someone competent is coming round to help out, so I’d say he’s pretty okay with it,” George says, chuckling. “C’mon, let's get you out of the cold.” 

You allow George to help you into the car, letting out a comfortable sigh at the blazing warmth of the car interior. George has always liked to keep your shared spaces running hot despite your wishing for the opposite, but for the first time ever, you’re actually grateful for your boyfriend’s temperature preference. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” He teases as he climbs into the driver’s seat, nudging at your shoulder. “See, I told you you’d come around someday.” 

“Only because it’s cold as shit outside,” You huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I got you coffee.” 

“Thank you, darling. Though I wish you hadn’t sacrificed your health to do so.”

“I know you had another late night yesterday, thought you might be tired. It’s fine, really, I didn’t mind,” You insist, shaking your head. 

“You’re very sweet,” George says softly, leaning over the center to press a kiss to your cheek. 

You’re not sure what comes over you, but you turn at the last moment so he catches your lips instead. He lets out a noise of surprise, but has no hesitation in kissing you back happily, slipping a hand around the back of your neck to pull you closer. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss until your lips start to tingle, and even then, you’re reluctant to pull away. There’s something intoxicating about kissing George that makes you want to do it forever. 

“If we stay here any longer, we might actually end up being late,” George murmurs. He blinks at you, long lashes fluttering open and shut slowly. His breath fans across your skin on every exhale, cologne invading your senses until all that surrounds you is him. 

“That would be bad.” 

“Mm, awful,” He agrees. Still, he doesn’t make any attempt to pull away, perfectly content here, hiding away with you in the coziness of your close proximity. His nose drags along your cheek, lips following the path until he reaches the corner of your mouth. 

You exhale shakily. “Alex and Lily are expecting us.” 

“They are.”

“So we should go.” 

“I mean, we don’t have to…” George trails off, letting his head tilt to the side. 

“Yes, we do. Someone roped us into helping with party prep.” 

He sighs rather heavily, handsome features screwing into overdramatic annoyance. “Starting to regret that right about now.” That makes you giggle. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with so we can go home.” 

“There’s that holiday spirit!” 

The drive over to Alex’s is fairly short. It actually takes more time to make yourselves presentable and not at all like you’ve just been making out in the car, before making your way up to Alex and Lily’s. George has brought presents for both of your friends—a watch for Alex and a bottle of perfume for Lily, he’d informed you in the elevator, bought by him, but a gift from the both of you. 

The door swings open with a blast of music and the smell of something delicious not seconds after you knock. Alex stands just behind it with a gracious smile on his face and a flute of something bubbly in hand. 

“Hi, welcome—oh, thank god you’re here,” He breathes. Then he stops, stares at the two of you for a few moments, as if he’s studying the both of you. A knowing smirk quirks his lips right after. “George, you’ve got lipstick on your chin, mate.” 

George’s hand flies up to his face, rubbing furiously. His cheeks have flushed an embarrassed pink at his friend’s smug observation. 

“I’m just kidding. But it was funny to see you panic,” Alex snickers. 

“Ha ha, hilarious. Maybe I won’t give you this gift after all.” 

Alex takes both boxes eagerly, tucking them under his arm with a wink. “Come on in, friends.” 

The flat is decorated tastefully—festive, but not gaudy. You assume Lily had done most of the decor rather than Alex.

Speaking of—

“You’re here!!! Thank god!” Lily exclaims, barely paying George any mind before she whisks you away, chattering away immediately, wanting your opinions on everything from the appetizers to the seating arrangements at dinner. You cast a helpless glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend, who merely gives you an amused wave back. 

You do what Lily tells you needs finishing up until the rest of the guests start to make their arrival. Most of the other drivers are in attendance, save for a few who’d opted to spend the holidays home with their families. Charles and Carlos are here, Lando and Oscar, Yuki, Pierre, Zhou and Franco, to name a few. 

The bundle of nerves in your chest starts to unravel as more familiar faces trickle in, and you’re able to catch up with a couple of them. You’re chatting with Kika and Pierre about what’s new with Simba when a hand touches the small of your back. 

Instantly, you know it's George. His touch is the only one that sends butterflies through you. That’s never happened with anyone else before, but with George, you feel alight with a certain energy every time. 

You lean back into him on instinct, tilting your head up to look at him. His cheeks are slightly rosy, hair still perfectly coiffed, save for one curl that has escaped to hang over his forehead. You reach up to brush it back and he smiles, sliding a hand around your waist. 

“So sorry to interrupt, you lot. Just wanted to pop in and see if anybody needed a refresher on their drinks,” He offers, though his gaze rests solely on you. 

“Thank you, but we’re good, mate,” Pierre replies, as Kika shakes her head to decline too. 

George says your name, lips lifting into a small smile as he juts his chin at your nearly empty glass. 

“Thank you, Georgie,” You say gratefully. “Don’t forget to—”

“Make it sweeter? Yes, I know how you take your drinks, darling,” He hums, kissing your cheek quickly before retreating with your glass. 

“You’ve trained him well,” Pierre teases, winking at you. 

“I think he was born that way,” You admit. 

That isn’t a lie. According to George’s sister, who you’d had the pleasure of meeting a few months back, he'd always been very kind, very caring, even when he was young. It’s one of the many qualities of his that has you falling in love with him a little more with every passing day. 

George leaves you to your own conversations after bringing you your drink, but you see him periodically throughout the night. He always looks like the life of the conversation, talking animatedly, listening with rapt attention when he’s not yapping away. 

Even as he’s listening intently, it’s like he can sense you’re looking at him, because he finds you almost instantly, sending a smile or a wink your way. That’s another lovable quality of his—knowing where you are even when he’s not with you. Like you’re two magnets being pulled towards each other at all times.

The more you chat with everyone else, one thing becomes obvious. George talks about you a lot. Not enough to be obnoxious, but he's mentioned you to many of his friends. 

Charles knows you’ve been looking into learning how to play the piano because George had asked him something about which pianos were the best. Yuki offers up a few cooking tips because George had mentioned you wanted to try your hand at a new dish. Lewis congratulates you on a big project you’d finished at work a while back, telling you that George had been singing your praises in the garage right after you'd called. 

If you look back at it, George has always been one of your biggest supporters. 

Always wanting you to call him whenever something big happens because he can’t be there all the time, always doing things for you when he’s away so you never for a moment feel like he's not thinking of you. Sending you flowers, ordering you food from your favorite spot in Monaco even though he's a thousand miles away because he knows it’ll make you smile. Even just texting you a picture of something he saw that made him think of you. 

George makes you feel so, so loved, all the time. Like, wherever you are in the world, no matter, everything will be okay because you’ve got him. You could be on some far off deserted island in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the land to live off of, but if George is there with you, it wouldn’t be all that bad. 

Sometimes you wonder what your life would’ve been like if you’d never met him, but you never get far with those thoughts. You can’t even imagine what life would look like without George Russell. And honestly, you don’t really want to. 

“Ready to head out?” George’s voice draws you out of your thoughts, and when you refocus, he’s right in front of you, holding out your coat. For a moment, you can only stand there, blinking back at him like you’ve just laid eyes on him for the first time ever. 

He falters a little under your intense staring. “Darling? Are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

“Sorry, yeah. I’m fine, I’m just…tired, I think.” 

“Let’s go home then. Stay the night at mine?” 

“Duh,” You say. Your obvious tone makes George chuckle a little bit as he helps you slip into your coat.

“How silly of me to even ask.”  

After finding your hosts to thank them for the great evening and subsequently being invited for a game of doubles padel with them one of these days, you're off. 

“I don’t have any skin cleanser,” You say suddenly, just as George has pulled onto the main road.

“What?” 

“At your place. I don’t have my cleanser, the one I always use before bed.” 

“The one in the little green bottle?” 

“Yeah.” You frown, slumping back in your seat. In hindsight, it’s really not the biggest deal in the world, and you’re not sure why you’re making it one. But for some reason right now, you’re focused on it. 

“Lucky for you, your wonderful boyfriend bought a bottle just in case this happened. He figured you’d probably forget it one of these days.” 

“Is there a reason my wonderful boyfriend is referring to himself in the third person?” You giggle, shifting in your seat to face said thoughtful boyfriend. George’s cheeks are flushed a little pink. 

“Yeah, I thought it was a little weird too. Anyways, there’s a bottle in the bathroom cupboard.” 

“Thank you, Georgie. You’re always so thoughtful.” 

“Y’know, you could just move in with me. That way you won’t have to worry about not having things at mine anymore.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he speaks, but you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows nervously. “You’ve already got loads of stuff there anyways, why not just bring it all? You wouldn’t have to drive across the city every time you come over, for one.” 

“I barely drive to yours anyways, you know. You always insist on picking me up,” You tease. George smiles, but you can tell he’s serious about wanting you to move in with him. You sigh, squeezing his hand. “Babe, I’d love nothing more, but…I could never afford to live with you.”

“I’m not going to have you pay rent or anything like that, darling. I wouldn't ask that of you.” George’s nose wrinkles, like it’s absurd of you to even think about it. “Just your company would be more than enough, honestly. Make the place less empty, more like…home.”

You can already imagine it. Falling asleep next to each other every night, waking up tangled together every morning, getting to come home and unwind with each other after long days. Breakfasts and afternoon teas and dinners you’d make together in George’s massive kitchen. Your stuff mingling with his in every room of the place. 

Maybe you’d adopt a pet together one day, one that could keep you company every time George was away for races. 

“Okay,” You say softly. You’ve already convinced yourself. “Let’s live together.” 

George pulls to a stop at the red light, taking the opportunity to lean over into your space and kiss you gently. “Let’s do it, darling.” 

Taking the next step in your relationship seems daunting, but George will be there to soothe any anxieties you have. He always is. 

“Oh no! We forgot about the coffee.” He frowns, plucking the still full cup out of the holder suddenly. Then he shrugs, taking a giant sip of it. “Cute cup.” 

“George, it’s cold!” You exclaim, tugging at his sleeve. “Just throw it out when we get home.”

“It tastes fine!” 

“It’s probably stale.” 

“I think it’s delicious.” 

“You’re so weird.” 

He chooses to ignore the muttered quip, letting a giant grin stretch his lips instead, eyes gleaming with excitement. “You called it home.” 

“Well, it is now, isn’t it? Or will be soon enough.” 

“Sure will. I’m thinking we move you in tomorrow.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. “I have to get out of my lease first. It might take a while too, my landlord is kind of an asshole.” 

“I’ll give him double whatever you’re paying right now to let you out of it early. No, triple.” 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate bribery, but he is a Mercedes fan.” 

“Paddock passes and VIP club access to Monaco next season, done.”

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[djarins-cyare]

(Angsty) WIP Weekend

Thank you to the following lovelies for tagging me in various WIP posts over the past month (you are all wonderful 💚):

@ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@secretelephanttattoo @the-blind-assassin-12 @the-mandawhor1an

Once again, I’m humbly offering up a snippet because I’m still eyeball-deep in the writing stage of my (now several months late) Secret Relationship fic for the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge. It now stands at just over 57k words, but I swear I only have two more chapters to write. Happily, I have a whole 3 weeks off work over the holidays, so I’m aiming to release it next month.

I won’t bore you with why I had to expand it again, but let’s just say angst fans will be well-fed.

In fact, since my previous WIP offerings from this fic (see here, here, and here) have mostly been smut-adjacent, I’ve decided to give you a taste of the angst for a change…

(Sorry it’s shorter than my usual snippets; it’s tough to find a decent chunk I can share without spoiling anything)

You fight for a week. Each day, he comes over, imploring you to calm down, eat something, see his point of view. He tries every tactic – soft words, hard orders, pleading eyes – but every attempt only feels like salt in a wound that will never close. Each day, you hurl back insults, curses, and even whatever objects are within reach. A glass shatters against the wall near his head. A boot catches him in the gut. You hope each impact carries a fraction of the pain he’s inflicted on you. You scream a lot. You scream until your throat is raw and you taste blood. Sometimes, your screams are molten with fury, blistering the air. Other times, they collapse into broken, keening wails, your voice trembling with the weight of all the misery you can’t contain. You cry a lot. You cry until there’s nothing left – until the tears burn instead of soothe. The memories torture you whenever your eyes close, echoes of your dreams being torn apart in a single evening. With every tear you try to blink away, your losses replay on the back of your eyelids with excruciating clarity. Your body can’t handle the strain. Your hands tremble constantly, whether from exhaustion or rage, you no longer know. Your chest feels tight; every breath is an effort. Sleep offers no relief; it’s a battlefield of nightmares that leave you thrashing and gasping awake. Yet you don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop. It’s the only shield against the endless void threatening to swallow you whole. Fighting is all you have left now.

The high level of angst will be balanced by an equally high level of smut, don’t worry 😏. But the good stuff needs to be earned.

As usual, if you’d like me to tag you when I release the chapters, please raise your hand or communicate your wish however you see fit. You can also join my tag list if you like.

Apparently, Tumblr is now limiting the number of links per post, which includes tags 😡. Since my WIP posts aren’t particularly frequent, I always try to tag as many people as possible, so I guess I’ll just put them in a reblog…

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 10

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: slight angst, mature language | masterlist | 09 | 11 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

❀ ❀ ❀

The wooden planks beneath your feet are slick with mist, the chill seeping through your sneakers and biting at your skin. The water below laps gently against the beams, a sound that used to soothe you. Now, it just feels hollow — like everything else.

You hug your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that has nothing to do with the night air. You aren’t even sure why you’re here. Maybe for closure. Maybe because you still need to see him one last time. To understand how everything you built together fell apart so violently.

Footsteps behind you, hesitant and uneven, interrupt the quiet. He’s here.

You turn slowly, and there he is.

Rafe.

His hair is tousled and damp, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and something more — something deeper — clouding them. His shoulders slump under the weight of everything unsaid, and when his eyes lock onto yours, you feel it. That electric ache, raw and unresolved.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches between you, sharp as broken glass.

“You came,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, like it physically pains him to get the words out.

“You asked,” you reply, your words coming out quieter than you intended. Your heart aches at the sight of him — how can you still feel this way about him after everything? But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down deep.

He takes a step forward, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes trace your face, lingering on the tear-streaks on your cheeks, the way your jaw is set firm. Like you’re holding yourself together with sheer willpower.

Even now, when everything is shattered, his voice drops into that familiar rough drawl. “How do you still look this good?” The compliment, if it even is one, is soaked in bitterness and disbelief. “I’m falling apart, and you… you look like you just walked out of one of those memories I can’t fucking escape.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but you fight to keep your composure. “Don’t do that, Rafe. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

He laughs bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “What’s it supposed to be, then? Just another night where I realize I can’t ever have you back?” His voice cracks, his eyes burning into yours. “I can’t stop fucking thinking about you. Every night. Every goddamn second.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and you wipe it away quickly. “Thinking about me doesn’t change what you did. It doesn’t fix how you treated me.”

“I know.” His voice trembles, and his hands shake as they fall from his hair. “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

You want to say something cutting. Something to make him feel the weight of what he’s done. But all that comes out is a strangled whisper. “You made your choice.”

He flinches, his face twisting. “I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to, Sunshine. I—I didn’t mean to push you away.” He takes another step, his hands trembling. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

The nickname hits you like a punch to the gut. Sunshine. The name he used to call you when everything felt right between you two. Now it only feels like a lie.

“Don’t,” you say, voice sharp. You take a step back, arms crossing over your chest like a shield. “Don’t call me that.”

He hesitates, but then his gaze softens. His voice breaks as he whispers, “I can’t help it. You’re still my sunshine.” He reaches out, like he’s about to touch your arm, but pulls back, his hand falling to his side. “Even if you hate me for it. I can’t stop myself.”

You press your lips together, your chest tight with grief and frustration. “You wanted to trap me, Rafe. You couldn’t stand the idea that I had a life outside of you.”

“I wanted to be enough for you.” His voice is desperate, eyes pleading. “I wanted to be the only thing you needed.”

“But that was never the problem.” You shake your head, your voice trembling. “I loved you, Rafe. I chose you, over and over. But you were so busy trying to keep me somewhere I already was, that you didn’t realize you were pushing me away.” You let out a shaky breath, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. “By the time you noticed, I was already gone.”

He steps closer, eyes shining with tears he refuses to let fall. “I can’t let you go.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

His hands reach for you, but stop short, like he’s afraid to touch you, afraid he’ll break you again. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You didn’t want me when you had me. And now you want me to stay?”

His shoulders sag under the weight of those words. He looks at you like he’s dying inside, like the thought of losing you is something he’ll never recover from. And maybe that’s true. But it doesn’t matter now.

“I never wanted this,” he chokes out, tears running down his face. “I just wanted you.”

“But you chose something else.” Your voice breaks, and you step back, each movement like walking through shards of glass. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

You turn, tears blinding you as you walk away. The sound of your footsteps fades into the night, and he doesn’t follow. Behind you, the boy you loved shatters in the dark, his sobs swallowed by the empty silence he created.

a/n: 🥳🥳 10 chapters of while you were sleeping eek !! the final past chapter!!

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley

[l-starsz]

(part 1)

part 2:)

once we made it to the restaurant after a sort of long car ride whilst singing along to our playlist, billie placed a gentle kiss on my lips right before we stepped out and walked hand in hand inside. we knew finneas and claudia were already here since we saw their car parked outside when we pulled up. i was honestly excited to see them since it had been a while.

once we found the table they were at, we sat down and joined them, me and bil sat together, whilst they were sat together on the other side of the table. we kept out hands interlinked under the table, just wanting eachothers presence in that moment. although we both loved intimate moments together, we loved having sweet moments equally.

we’d been sat there for a little bit before billie came up with a great idea. well it was great in her mind. i hated it. because i couldn’t get what i wanted. she decided she would tease me. for her own entertainment. i first felt her hand let go of mine to rest on my knee for a few minutes, before it slithered all the way up to my thigh, and then my inner thigh, right next to my core.

i shuffled in my seat a bit, slightly slouching to try to get her closer, but she just moved her hand and interlocked it with mine once again. she did this a few times. i was desperate. again. i was soaked, and needy. and sat in a restaurant with my girlfriends brother and his girlfriend. there was nothing i could do about it.

i squirmed in my seat every so often, trying to make myself as comfortable as i could with the wetness practically soaking through my underwear and my jeans. i noticed billie looking at me every so often, smirking and running her tongue over her teeth before looking back at fin and claudia to listen to whatever they’d been saying.

whenever i tried to join in with the conversation, bils hand went back to that one spot. at this rate i was shocked she hadn’t started trying to touch me properly under the table just to see how quiet i could stay. that wasn’t going to happen though. she wanted to see how long i could last without her touch.

“need to go to the bathroom angel. come with me?”

i nodded and we walked to the bathroom together. once we made it into a stall, she pushed me against the door and pressed her lips against mine. i quietly moaned into the kiss which made her hold onto my waist tighter. when we eventually pulled away to breathe, i just looked at her, trying to beg her for anything with only my eyes, but a smirk came to her face as she gently kissed me once more, taking my hand, and then leading us back to the table. wow.

i was so desperate it was unreal. i didn’t know if i could make it home. i had to though. after a few hours, we were finally going home. i was tired, but more horny than ever before. we said our goodbyes to eachother, then me and bil got into the car. the whole drive home, her hand just stayed in place on my thigh.

i tried moving her hand closer, but she just giggled and moved it back to its original spot. i did that a few times before she spoke.

“you’re a needy girl tonight aren’t you baby? my needy girl.”

i whined before i spoke.

“i need you billie!! you’ve teased me all night, please!!”

“when we’re home angel, remember what i said earlier?” she asked, glancing over at me as i nodded and pouted. we still had a while until we were home. i knew that she wasn’t gonna change her mind, so i sat there and waited. the last thing i wanted was to make her mad which would mean that she wouldn’t touch me at all.

“when we get home, i want you laying on the bed for me. keep your clothes on.”

i squeezed my legs together and nodded.

after what felt like hours, we finally made it home and i rushed to our bedroom, laying on the bed just like she’d told me to. she took her time coming upstairs, trying to make me wait longer. i was getting so frustrated. as soon as she got on the bed next to me and straddled my waist, looking down at me, i pulled her further on top of me and smashed my lips against hers.

i’d had enough of waiting. i needed her right that second. it seemed like my impatience worked, because her kisses trailed down my neck. she sucked and bit my neck, leaving marks all over before practically ripping my shirt and bra off, marking my tits too. my back arched upwards as she sucked on my nipple, tongue swirling all over it whilst her hand was busy with the other one. her free hand was resting on my waist. small whimpers left my mouth as she moved to suck my other nipple.

her hand moved down from my waist, to my jeans where she struggled to undo the button and zip, but eventually got it. she pulled away from me and stood up off the bed, yanking my jeans off and pushing my legs apart before placing herself between them.

her tongue was soon enough running through my folds, settling on my clit. she circled it a few times, then sucked, then moved back down slightly and pushed her tongue inside of me. she switched between the two a few times to get me wetter, and closer. once i was dripping onto the sheets, she focused on my clit.

she flicked her tongue against it, making me moan louder and louder. i was almost screaming her name as she sped up. i tried to close my legs around her head but her hands firmly held them apart. i whined and squeezed my eyes shut tight.

“billie can i cum?” i whimpered.

“of course angel. been such a good girl for me tonight. cum for me pretty girl.”

she didn’t have to tell me twice. i came so hard over her tongue and moaned way too loud. her pace slowed down as i rode out my orgasm, small whines leaving my mouth. she carefully pulled away from me, a small smile on her face as i opened my eyes and noticed her chin entirely coated in my arousal.

i honestly almost came again at the sight.

she pulled me in for a kiss before switching our positions and pulling me to lay on top of her. i closed my eyes and was immediately asleep. she tired me out. and i wouldn’t want it any other way.

a/n: this could’ve been better i’m sorry😞

[queen-of-the-avengers]

More Than Meets The Eye

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~3.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Natasha stays over for a few days and kicks up drama for you and Bucky. She makes you realize that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Bucky Barnes.

One in a Million Series

Square Filled: day-in-the-life (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Natasha is usually very pristine and professional. She is widely known across the state as one of the best realtors the business has ever seen. She has clients who go for multi-million dollar homes, and she scores nearly every single sale she gets. If she acts out in public, it can largely affect her business, so she tends to keep to herself.

Not when she has alcohol in her system.

Like tonight. She’s in a fling with a musician who she only needs whenever she’s stressed, but it works for both of them. There aren’t any strings attached and they can still get their work done without the stress of a relationship. Natasha turns into a whole other person when she’s drunk. The slut in her comes out and she becomes even more bold. She’s normally shy and reserved.

Not tonight.

Whenever the musician is in town, he tends to stay at her place since he’s only in town for a few days. She texted you twenty minutes ago from a club downtown where the musician is playing. Clubs are not your thing but you’re there when she needs you. After checking in at the door, you push your way inside where there is a sea of people on the dancefloor.

You’re standing on a ledge that overlooks the club. You can either go upstairs where there are more private areas for people just enjoying the music with some drinks while the party is downstairs. From where you are, you can see Natasha and the musician on the other side of the bar.

“Natasha!” You yell even though you know she won’t hear you. You push your way through the sea of people, trying to ignore the hot sweaty bodies bumping into you. “Natasha!”

She turns when she hears her name. “Thank God, you’re here.”

“What’s going on?”

“I caught him with another woman in my bed! My bed!”

“You were gone. I have needs. What do you want me to do?” the musician groans.

“That’s my apartment, asshole! I want your shit out now!”

“I leave in three days. You get it back then.”

You can’t believe how he’s acting but you really don’t want to do this here and now. You grab her arm and pull her toward you. “Come on, he’s not worth it.”

“He’s at my apartment. I don’t want to go back there,” she groans.

“You can stay with me. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She’d be more upset if she didn’t just have nearly eight shots earlier. Thankfully, she listens to you and leaves the club with you. Your car is in a gas station parking lot since there wasn’t any parking near or at the club.

“He’s not worth it, Nat.”

“I know, but still. It’s like I’ve got no game lately. All I want is a nice man who will take care of me.”

“Well, you got me.”

She wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I do have you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love drunk you,” you giggle. Ten minutes pass and you’re at your place. In the elevator ride up, you think about what the guys might be doing. “So, listen, the guys are home and I don’t need you to be all sexual and grabby like I know you get.”

“Got it,” she nods.

“I’m serious, Nat. Best behavior.”

“I hear you. Best behavior,” she grins.

“Wait here.” You open the door and walk inside. Bucky is playing video games, Steve is trying to read a book, and Sam is blowing straw wrappers at Steve. Some of them hit him and others fly on his book or lap. “Hey, guys. I have Natasha with me, and it looks like she’s going to stay with us for a few days.” Steve perks up at Natasha’s name. “Just letting you know, she is very drunk and she’s very bold and loose with her body. I am so sorry for whatever she might try on you guys.”

You open the front door and Natasha walks in with a sly smirk on her face.

“Natasha. Wow, you look amazing,” Steve says, forgoing his book altogether.

“Thanks, baby,” she grins.

“Okay, you can sleep on the couch tonight, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow. Let me get you some blankets and a pillow.”

You leave her with the guys and walk into your room. Seconds later, you hear the stereo turn on and loud music is blasted. You sigh knowing this was a possibility but hoped it wasn’t going to happen. When you walk into the living room, you see Natasha, Steve, and Sam dancing along to the music. Bucky is still on the couch, clearly not wanting any part of this.

“Natasha, you should really get some sleep.”

“Dance first! Bucky, come on!”

“I’m okay, really. I’m going to go to bed.”

She shimmies her way over to Bucky who stands up. She pulls him into her body, and he tries to politely get her off him.

“Natasha, come on. He doesn’t want to dance.” She lets him go and he slips by her easily. He looks at you as he passes but doesn’t say anything else. It looks like she won’t be sleeping anytime soon, so you put the blankets and pillows on the couch. “Okay, I’m going to bed. Keep it down in here, please.”

Ten minutes after you leave, Natasha starts to grow tired. Steve jumps at the chance to take her to bed even though he’s not going to do anything with her. He’s a gentleman and that won’t change even if she is intoxicated. He really likes her and if he wants to be with her, he’s going to have to show him he’s not just some fling she’s used to.

“Come on, let me show you to my bed.”

Steve wraps a strong arm around her waist and guides her to his bedroom. She flops onto the bed face first and is out like a light. Steve looks around and grabs a small blanket before draping it over her body. He joins Sam back in the living room and plops down on the couch with a grin.

“Why are you grinning?”

“She’s in my bed. I overheard some conversations she and Y/N have had. All she’s ever had are flings, so I’m going to show her that I can be the gentleman she needs.”

“Yeah, because that’s a way to get a girl into bed,” Sam laughs.

“Just you wait, Sam. It’ll happen.”

In the morning, you wake to Bucky nursing his second cup of coffee. Steve is sleeping on the couch which means Natasha must be in his bedroom.

“Good morning, Bucky.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Is that all you’re having for breakfast?” Bucky shrugs and you shake your head. “Not acceptable. You’re a growing man. You need proper food. I’ll make you some.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Nonsense. I want to. Do you like eggs? Pancakes? Waffles?”

“No, Y/N, I’m fine.”

“Eggs and bacon it is,” you smile. “You can have some with me. Plus, I’m sure Natasha and the guys will be hungry when they wake up.”

“I’m fine, Y/N. Stop being so nice to me. You don’t have to…”

“What?” you ask when he stops talking.

“You don’t have to take care of me.”

“Well, someone has to, right? Everyone deserves someone to take care of them every once in a while,” you smile and turn back to the food.

Bucky stares at you in thought. He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. At the smell of food, Sam and Steve wake up. The only person who is sleeping is Natasha, and you can only assume she is going to want a strong cup of coffee, so you start to brew a pot for her. Much like you assumed, she walks out of Steve’s room when she smells the coffee.

“Is that coffee?”

“Brewed a new pot for you. Extra hot. Extra strong.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Natasha. I hope you slept well,” Steve smiles.

“Thank you for letting me use your bed. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. Our couch isn’t the best, and I didn’t want your back all messed up.”

Sam looks at Steve who smiles knowingly. Natasha pours herself a cup of coffee while you plate the food. You slide one over to Bucky and smile at him.

“Eat. I can hear your stomach growling from over here.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word but accepts the food from you. After a nice breakfast, Natasha hops in the shower to wash of the stink from last night, and Steve strips his bed to wash the sheets. Natasha might smell good, better than most, but she reeked of alcohol last night, and he doesn’t want his bed smelling like that.

You get dressed in a green and white dress that goes down to your knees, and you walk into the bathroom where the lotion is. You pause when you see Sam standing by the sink with a toothbrush in his mouth… without toothpaste. Steve is standing by the towel rack looking at the large amount of products he keeps there. His hair is always silky smooth and his skin always looks amazing. He has some of the best products that you like to steal from time to time.

“What are you guys doing?”

“I’m brushing my teeth,” Sam says in defense.

“I’m just… doing things,” Steve mutters.

Bucky walks into the bathroom and pauses when he notices everyone else. “Is this a normal hangout spot now?”

“Nat, you’ve been in there for ages. Come on,” you say and squirt some lotion onto your hands.

“Sorry, I just can’t seem to find any towels that are bigger.” She slides the curtain back after she secures a towel around her body. All three men are big guys but their waists are slim, so they don’t need big towels, and all of yours are in the washer. “Oh.”

Sam stops brushing his teeth and stares at her while Steve blushes hard. He wants to look but every time he does, his face goes red so he clears his throat and turns away.

“Okay, come on. I have something you can wear.”

Bucky’s brain takes a few minutes to process what’s happening, so he freezes up when she tries to go past him. He barely gives her an inch to move, and you shake your head in disappointment.

“I am very disappointed in all of you.” You look at Bucky. “Especially you. I thought you were better than this.”

“I am sometimes.”

You walk into your room where Natasha is going through your closet for something to wear. You close the door to give her privacy, and she turns holding a shirt you got out of whim. Your style isn’t very flashy but she convinced you to get this shirt that exposes a bit more cleavage.

“No, I haven’t worn it yet. Yes, you can.”

“Thanks,” she grins.

She grabs a pair of jeans that she left over one time and puts those on along with the shirt.

“So, are we going to talk about last night?”

“I blacked most of it out. What happened?”

“You almost gave Bucky a lap dance, and it was cute to watch Steve gush all over you. That boy likes you.”

“Ooh, are we talking about boys?”

“Yeah, like your ex-boyfriend musician. Are you going to kick him out of your apartment?”

“He’s going to be gone in a few days. Can I just stay here until he’s gone?”

“Nat, that’s your place.”

“I know, but you don’t know this guy. He’s a PR nightmare. It’s best if I let him stay there until he’s gone.” You shrug. “Let’s talk about Bucky now.”

“Bucky? What about him?”

“Come on. You say Steve likes me? Bucky likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. We’re just friends.”

“You can’t be just friends with these guys. Do you really think none of them have ever thought about sleeping with you?”

“Stop, it Nat,” you sigh.

Someone knocks on your door and Bucky opens it.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m going to the store. Do you need anything?”

“Yes,” Nat answers for you. “You should go with him, Y/N, to get that thing you really need.”

“I don’t need a thing.”

“Yes, you do. You need that thing you were telling me about.”

“I wonder what that is,” Bucky mumbles.

“She’ll be right out,” Nat smiles. She closes the door on him and turns to you with a smile. “This is perfect.”

You look at her and your eyes widen. “No, you’re not doing this. You’re not going to come in here and ruin what I have with them. I’m finally happy after Jack, and I really like these guys. I think they’re starting to like me, too.”

“Do you remember telling me about your perfect man? Bucky is everything on your list. Physically strong. Check. Nice smile. Double check. Tall. Triple check. Blue eyes, kind, caring, knows what he wants, and older. Check, check, and check.” She walks closer to you. “Plus, did you see his feet? A guy’s feet always point to what they want, and his were pointing right at you.”

“How would you like him to stand?” You stand and point both feet outward like a duck. “Like this?”

“Come on, go. He’s waiting for you.”

“Hey, are you ready?” Bucky calls out.

“Be there in a sec, bro!”

“Did you just call me bro?”

You pause. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You open the door. “Talk to Steve. I think he can be good for you.”

“Only if you talk to Bucky.”

“Bye,” you roll your eyes.

The ride to the store wasn’t as awkward as you thought it was going to be, but being in the store with all these people, all you could think about were Nat’s words.

“So, how long is she staying?” Bucky asks.

He has a very short list of items to get, and he goes through the different aisles and puts them in the cart.

“Only for a few days. Her douchey ex-boyfriend is staying in her apartment. It’s a long story.”

Everywhere you look there are different kinds of couples. Older, younger, same sex… Everywhere you look, you’re paying attention to their feet. One older couple has both their feet pointed at each other while another couple has theirs pointed away from each other. That couple looks like they don’t enjoy each other’s company as much. Is she right? Bucky says something but you’re too much in your own head to hear what he has to say.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Stop taking care of everyone.”

You look down and notice his feet are pointing right at you. “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“What?” You look up at him. “Nothing. What?”

“What?” You move slowly around Bucky but he follows you by moving his entire body and not just his head. “What are you doing?” You keep moving around Bucky to get his feet away from you but he keeps turning so that they’re always pointed at you. “I know she’s your best friend, but I didn't mean to insult you. I’m just saying you don’t have to take care of her.”

“I know.”

You do a complete one-eighty around him, yet he still follows you with his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to see…”

“Look, I’m sorry if I insulted you, but what are you doing right now?”

“I’m just… walking like a friend.”

“Okay, we have one more item on our list and then we can go. We just need toilet paper.”

“I don’t use it,” you say slowly.

“You don’t use toilet paper?”

You chuckle nervously and shake your head. “I mean… That’s not what I meant.” There is some right next to you so you grab the first one you see and put it in the cart. “Okay, we can go now.”

“You’re so weird,” he mutters and walks to the cashier.

Fuck, Natasha. She said something and now she’s in your head like a goddamn parasite. You two leave the store and start the journey back home. Bucky stops at the light and turns to you with confusion on his face.

“Okay, what is going on with you, Y/N?”

“Why do you have to do that? Why do you have to say my name like that?” You imitate him. “Y/N. And why do you have to wear old man clothes all the time?”

“I’m not wearing old man clothes. You don’t like the way I dress?”

“No… I just…” You fan your face. “I just need some air.”

All the windows are open but Bucky doesn’t comment on it. Just then, a woman walks up to the window carrying a bunch of red roses and is trying to sell them at stoplights like this one. You respect her trying to make extra money, but you can’t deal with this right now. All you can think about is Bucky and the fact that you saw his giant penis and the way his feet kept pointing at you.

“Roses for the lady?” the woman grins.

“You want some roses? I’ll buy you some.”

“No, I’m okay.”

Still, Bucky takes out some cash and hands it over to the woman who then gives the roses to him.

“Here, take some roses.”

“No, I don’t want them.”

“They were two dollars. Just take the roses.” You have to get out of here. You unbuckle and open the car door before fleeing. “Y/N, what are you doing? It was a joke. Get back in the car!” you take off running down the street. “Y/N!”

You don’t care if you’re going the wrong way. You just needed out of that goddamn car. It takes you an extra twenty minutes to get home when it could have taken you five in the car, but you needed the walk. You trudge inside your apartment to see Natasha sitting on the couch with a realtor magazine in her hands. She likes to keep up with what’s popular around the city.

“I walked all the way home,” you pant. “I got out of the war and walked all the way home.”

“What happened?”

“You happened, Nat. You got in my head! His feet were pointed at me the whole time.” She nods and stands up. “Is it the way I’m dressed? Is it my posture?”

“Look, I’ll talk to him for you.”

“No, please don’t. Just let me handle this, okay?”

The door opens and Bucky walks in with the groceries. “Okay, what the hell happened, Y/N? I’ve been driving around for the last thirty minutes looking for you. We were in the middle of traffic and you just got out and ran away.”

“I was hot,” you mumble.

“You were so hot that you had to jump out of my car and run?” You lean to the right and fix your posture. “Why are you standing like that?”

“This is how I always stand?”

“I’ve never seen you stand like that.” He shakes his head. “Look, I was worried about you, okay? You can’t just… Don’t do that again, okay?”

Bucky walks away and Natasha grins at you.

“Are you even listening to him? He’s trying to tell you that he likes you.”

“No, he’s just saying he cares about me as a friend.”

“Let’s go ask him.” She takes two steps and you jump on her back to stop her. She turns into the fighter that she is and starts to wrestle you, and you two go crumbling to the ground. “I am trying to help you, Y/N!”

“I don’t need your help, Nat. I like being friends with him. Yes, he has a giant penis that I saw. Yes, he saw me naked. Yes, he might be my dream guy, but none of that matters. He’s my friend and all that will go away if I bring this up. What if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t like me?”

“A big part of my job is reading people. How do you think I managed to score as much as I have? I’ve managed to talk down narcissists and misogynists to buy more than the selling price. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. You never make the first move.”

“I have before, Natasha. I’ve been burned too many times to let it happen again. I like living here and that might go away because ‘you can read people’. I know you want to take care of me like I take care of you, but I have to handle this. Me, not you.”

“Fine,” she huffs out. “Thank you for letting me stay, but it’s best if I kick Troy out of my place. You got your boy drama and I have mine. Plus, I have a showing later in Beverly Hills I can’t miss.”

“You’re always welcome here.”

She leaves the apartment and Steve comes out of his room.

“Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she is.”

Steve sighs and flops onto the couch. “I don’t know how to do this. She’s not like any woman I have ever met. I thought we had a moment while you were gone, but it’s like it never happened with her.”

“Natasha has been hurt so many times. She had flings because in the last relationship she was in, he… I shouldn’t tell you this, but I will say this. She’s going to make you work for it.”

“That’s what makes it worth it,” he smiles.

“Good luck. She could use a guy like you.”

You’re exhausted by the end of the night, so you do your nighttime routine before going to bed. The first thing you do is brush your teeth. The door opens and Bucky walks in just as you start. You lightly blush just as Bucky grabs his toothbrush. You stand there in silence for a few minutes before you spit out the toothpaste in your mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry for how I acted before.” Bucky looks at you. “Nat said something that freaked me out, but I’m good now. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay,” he says with a mouthful of toothpaste.

He turns to the sink again and continues brushing, and you notice his feet move away from you and back to the sink. To hide your smile, you continue brushing your teeth, and your heart flutters.

x

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[bekolxeram]

I was reading a lot of fics about Tommy discovering Buck's new found stress baking habit post reunion, then this cringy idea popped into my mind. Now you get to suffer with me.

NSFW-ish

Lukewarm water, 360 grams. Honey, 10 grams. Dry yeast, 7 grams. Mix. Flour, 5… wait, no, wrong flour. Where’s my god damn bread flour? When was the last time I made bread? Oh yes, last month, right before Tommy and I got back together, it should be around… Ah, there, found it! No...

No!

Don’t get sentimental now, there’s no place for melancholy tonight.

“Sexy thoughts. Sexy thoughts.” Buck mutters to himself, desperately trying to stop his wandering mind from ruining his mood.

Think of Tommy. Hot, sexy, pilot.

The cyclic looks so small in his big yet surgically precise hand. It almost seems like he’s telepathically flying the chopper with his mind, not with his strong, steady arm. His fingers are long enough to engulf the control stick completely and more, sometimes he has to twist his wrist around just to flick the top… uh… the button on top.

He can feel the fabric of his sweatpants straining against his hip. The tight cotton shirt he picked out especially for the night feels extra tight around his rapidly warming skin. Good, it seems like his tactic is working.

And his pecs… that time when he wore nothing but his flight suit, umm... They’re so fun to play with, squeeze them, bite them, lick them, sleep on them, make them bounce. I don’t need to “explore” to be sure how much I love them. It’s not even about gender, I know a good pair when I see one.

Stop. No. He’s apologized. I’ve apologized. We’re all good.

It feels like all we do these days is to apologize, then have make up sex. Not saying it’s not good sex, but I want that light, fun sex we used to have, before we…

Don’t, don’t go there.

Anyway, oh, his beautiful face. The one stubborn strand of hair on his forehead that always refuses to comply with any hair product. The constellation of freckles scattered across his perfectly shaped nose. The sensual curve of his lips. The creases around his eyes and his cheeks when his whole face is lit up by that classic scrunchy smile. I swear they look even more prominent now… Oh! How could I forget, that delicious cleft on his chin. If there’s one saving grace coming out of the breakup, it’s his decision to double, no, triple his effort at the gym. His facial features look that much more striking on his now leaner body. Who gets over a heartbreak by becoming a Greek statue anyway? Pick up baking like a normal person, please.

Wait, I’m thinking about the breakup, aren’t I? Don’t. Don’t! Ugh… too late.

Buck lightly bangs his head against the counter in frustration. Deciding to focus on the task at hand instead, he promptly weighs out his flour, sprinkles in a pinch of salt, then pours the bubbly yeast mixture into the dry ingredients.

Just as he’s about to put his hands to work, he’s interrupted by a familiar rhythm at the door. Quickly wiping his hands on his apron, then pushing the waistband of his pants down by half an inch for Tommy’s viewing pleasure, he goes on to greet the man he’s been waiting for.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Tommy apologizes as he’s entering the loft. “I believe the infamous LA traffic still hasn’t recovered from the emergency freeway landing last year.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Buck shoots him a reassuring smile, clearly delighted by having his beloved in his space again. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be right with you. I need to finish this dough first.”

“But I thought you said you wanted to relax tonight? Aren’t we just gonna order takeout?” Tommy’s visibly confused by Buck’s ongoing culinary endeavor.

“Oh, this? This is not for tonight. It has to proof until at least tomorrow morning,” Buck replies absentmindedly, his hands continue kneading the dough without pause.

“You don’t have to, Evan. I’m okay with no breakfast at all,” Tommy walks around the kitchen counter to give the hardworking baker a kiss on the temple. “As long as I’m with you.”

“Um… no, I’m making these because my parents are coming to town.”

“Tomorrow morning?!”

“In a month. They’re coming to see Maddie in a month. I’m just stress baking because they…” Buck lets out a sarcastic laugh, “they stress me out.”

“Ahhh… is that so? Well, I’m happy to have learned this about you. I never knew you could bake.”

“I couldn’t. I picked it up recently, after you…” Those dreaded words have already slipped out of his mouth before Buck realizes. He’s been trying his damnedest to steer the night away from this particular direction, but as it turns out, he’s utterly powerless against the freight train of emotions he’s been keeping deep inside. He briefly considers changing the subject, but Tommy’s heard him already. He perks up his eyebrows, signaling Buck to finish his sentence.

It’s better to rip off the band aid now, than to let it snowball into something unstoppable.

“...after you dumped me,” Buck comes clean reluctantly.

Tommy drops his eyes and sighs in understanding, before gently wrapping his arms around Buck from behind. “I’m sorry, baby,” he presses his lips onto the golden curls in front of him.

“Chimney told me, you have a tendency to run away if you’re being pushed too hard. I should wait for you to reach out instead of… the other way around.” Buck keeps working on his dough, intentionally averting his gaze from the man behind him.

“Mmhmm.”

“It was… agonizing. I saw you everywhere. I saw you at home, I saw you at the fire house. I saw you at the coffee shop. I saw you when a helicopter passed by in the sky. You were like… a ghost, haunting me, every waking moment of my life. You know what? Not even just waking, you were haunting my dreams, too. The only thing that managed to stop me from texting you was baking. I had all the supplies at home because I was planning to surprise you with a cake for your birthday but…”

Tommy abruptly lets go and backs off. While Buck fully expects the night to be ruined after his long winded ramble, he mourns the sudden loss of contact nonetheless.

Still not looking up from the increasingly elastic mass on the counter, Buck continues, “I just have to knead it for… um… 5 more minutes, then I’m all yours. Let’s start over, yeah? I’m over it, I’m okay now. Let’s forget about it and just… chill. There’s this movie I…” He’s cut off by Tommy’s return, arms secured around his waist once again, chest pressed firmly against his back, the only difference being that Buck can feel Tommy’s body heat radiating this time.

“Ghost, you said?” Tommy whispers, lips barely grazing the hair standing on Buck’s nape.

“Yeah…” Buck shivers. He turns his head slightly to take a peek at the man behind him.

Yes, Tommy’s shirtless.

“Mmm, keep going,” Tommy demands, hands sliding under the hem of Buck’s shirt to roam around his midsection, lips softly connected to the side of his neck.

So Buck keeps going. Press. Rotate. Press. Rotate. Press. Rotate. Press. Rotate.

He feels two big hands caressing his shoulders, along his arms, then all the way down to his own busy hands.

“What are you making?”

“Ba — Bagels.”

“Umm… I love bagels,” Tommy lazily drags his mouth from Buck’s neck to his shoulder, leaving a trail of delicate kisses behind, “do you know how I like to take it?”

“How…?”

Tommy props his head back up, chin resting on the younger man’s shoulder. “Plain, with cream cheese,” he breathes straight into Buck’s ear. “So much cream cheese that it… oozes out everywhere. Leaking from the side, through the middle…” his tongue darts out to give that spot right underneath the earlobe an inquisitive lick. “I love it when it gets all over my face, painting my mouth white.”

Buck’s previously regular cadence starts faltering. He doesn’t know when to press or when to rotate the dough anymore.

“Hey, let me help you with that,” Tommy grabs a hand full of the dough, and squeezes, hard. Yet, the dough barely budges. “Oh, am I doing it wrong?”

Buck can’t help but giggle. “You have to knead with your palms, not your fingers. Here, let me show you,” he covers Tommy’s right hand with his own, and pushes the heel of his palm into Tommy’s wrist. “You want to fold the dough onto itself, then roll your palm out while pressing down. A bagel dough is supposed to be pretty stiff, so feel free to put your whole body weight into it.”

“Like this?” Tommy mimics exactly what Buck just showed him.

“I’ll give you an A,” Buck turns his head around, meeting Tommy’s gaze. Their faces are so close together, they can feel each other breathing. “You’re a fast learner.”

“I have the best teacher,” Tommy murmurs.

They naturally gravitate towards each other, like two stars on a collision course, until their lips clash together into a sloppy, filthy open-mouthed kiss.

Pulling back slightly to gasp for air, Buck’s pupils are completely blown out, leaving merely a thin icy ring around his dark pool of arousal. “You can use both hands if you want…”

“Let me try that,” Tommy surrounds Buck in his arms, pinning him against the kitchen surface. Then, he starts working on the dough, using his entire body, making sure to time every pressing motion with a thrust from the hip, rocking the younger man into the edge of the counter.

“Mmm — Ah…” the friction generated by Tommy’s movement alone is enough to make Buck moan. He never thought baking could be this erotic. “That — That works…”

He allows himself to enjoy Tommy’s sweet show of strength for a few moments before firmly gripping Tommy’s wrists, stilling him. “It’s — It’s done. Now we put it back into the mixing bowl,” he hastily drops the dough into the metal container, causing a loud thud, “and leave it in the fridge overnight.”

Tommy gives him one more kiss on the cheek, and a pat on his lower back, “go,” then steps aside.

Buck nearly trips over his own feet walking towards the fridge. He hears water running in the background, probably over Tommy’s talented hands. Wrapping up the stainless steel bowl with more than enough plastic wrap, then shoving the whole thing into an empty corner of his fridge, Buck is all too eager to return to Tommy’s touch.

Slamming the fridge door close, Buck whips his head around in a millisecond to catch an eye full of Tommy in his shirtless glory for the first time in the night. He’s drying his hands with a kitchen towel, finger by finger, his biceps flex every time he rubs a digit clean.

Buck walks straight up to the object of his desire, waiting no time to close their distance. Hooking an elbow around Tommy’s neck, he pulls him into a deep, urgent kiss, while his free hand travels down from Tommy’s clavicle towards his nipple.

“Wait,” Tommy stops the exploring hand on its track, “wash your hands first.”

Buck groans in frustration. He unties the knot in his back, takes off his apron, then swiftly treks towards the kitchen sink to prepare himself for the ensuing nighttime activities.

Tommy follows him, settling snugly behind Buck while he’s cleaning his hands. Tommy slowly dips his mischievous fingers into Buck’s waistband, pleasantly surprised to find bare skin underneath.

“Oh, no underwear? Someone’s eager tonight,” Tommy says in a seductive tone.

Roughly drying his hands on his own shirt, Buck spins around to face Tommy, “I’ve been waiting for you to notice…” Feeling Tommy’s fingers tapping the hem of his top, Buck peels it off right away, letting those enormous hands roam free across his body.

“Bed?” Tommy asks in between kisses.

“Couch.” Buck pants.

Just when Buck’s calculating in his head the logistics of moving to the couch without breaking contact with his man, Tommy withdraws his hand from Buck’s bare skin.

“Hold on tight,” Tommy suddenly grabs onto the back of Buck’s thighs and lifts him clear off the ground, carrying him towards the underside of the loft.

[puckpocketed]

Trying to absorb everything there is to know about ice hockey within the shortest amount of time possible really does strange things to a person. You come up against questions such as what do defensemen even do aside from skate backwards and do tummy time to protect their goalie? (Broadcasts aren’t the most informative) What the hell makes defensemen effective? What do the casters mean when they say “gap”? What are defensive details?

I love watching games back, I love trying to understand the game. I love hockey <3 But sometimes it’s nice to have help, and sometimes my favourite writers/podcasters collaborate!!

Here is part 1/3 of a podcast mini-series about defending, putting it here so I can have a copy of it in case it ever gets taken down + wanted to share with everyone some of my findings! (All episodes are available if anyone just wants to listen to them!) Transcript + edits done by me, all mistakes are mine.

Published 6th November 2024, Hockey IQ Podcast: Modern Defensemen (with Will Scouch) Ep #1 - by Hockey's Arsenal, hosted by Greg Revak (apple / spotify / youtube / bonus substack link)

part 2

[START Transcript]

Greg Revak: On the Hockey IQ Podcast today, we open up a new segment: we’re bringing back our favourite Will Scouch. If you’re on the Hockey IQ Newsletter you know his work by now.

Will, good morning. Earlier than most of us probably normally get up, but it’s a good day.

Will Scouch: Yeah, Greg, thanks for having me, it’s a lot of fun. Me and Greg go way back. We’re boys from years ago and I’m excited to hop on the show. I’m a keen listener, keen reader. 

[They exchange pleasantries]

GR: Beautiful. Well, today we’re gonna talk about three concepts. We’re gonna break it into three spots though, so everyone’s gotta come back next week and the week after that.

We’re gonna talk about defensemen, because everyone knows they’re important but how do we actually play the position well?

WS: Yeah, I mean, it’s a position that’s still, to me, being explored; both by, I’d say youth and junior coaches and pro coaches alike. There’s a lot of different ways that you can do it.

I mean, I watch a lot of hockey from around the world, all kinds of different levels. I’ve watched guys develop from 15 to 24 at this point, and just seeing how their games evolve and everything, and how effective various versions of this position is. And I think it’s a very interesting area that’s still being explored in a lot of really interesting ways, for sure.

GR: Yeah, I think back to David Savard; he comes out of the [QMJHL] as this high-flying offensive defenseman, and if we just forgot about the rest of his career and you just saw him today as this great shutdown, defense-first player, you’d be absolutely shocked.

I mean, you think about Rasmus Dahlin — kid didn’t even play full time defenseman until his actual draft year, he was still playing forward a ton. There’s so much to be explored here.

I feel like [to get a lot of] — for you NHL fans — to get a lot of value in the later rounds out of your defensemen, take those offensive players first, and we can find a lot of hidden gems later.

WS: Well, yeah. I mean, actually, I’ve said this a few times but your listeners probably don’t know, but I did a presentation during the pandemic at the Ottawa Hockey Analytics Conference about this topic exactly; how, when you look at the numbers and the defensive value of players in the NHL, I found that there were just as many in the top 50 defensive value of players in the NHL, there were just as many undrafted players as there were second round picks, second and third round picks combined.

So the draft isn’t really a great historical gauge on defensive ability. Offense is a different story from defensive players, which we could probably get into a little bit.

But I find, personally, that evaluating defensemen and projecting defense to the NHL is still really spotty and questionable. And I don’t know, in my line of work, watching a lot of defensemen, a lot of the ones who I think are some of the better defenders kind of go a little unheralded, because a lot of the time you don’t need to be particularly noticeable to be a good defenseman, but scouts are always looking for the noticeable guys.

So it’s a very interesting world and it’s a very interesting thing to pick through, but there’s definitely a lot of case studies you could dig into, and a lot of players you could look at as cases of, “Oh yeah, nobody was really paying a whole lot of attention to them!” or maybe people were thinking about them the wrong way. But if you think about things a little bit outside the box, you might be able to see something really interesting there.

GR: Yeah, so let's dive into why that may be. Classic example would be Lane Hutson, so maybe we'll pick on him a little bit, but I definitely want to talk about Rasmus Ristolainen, because he is an interesting case study that we wrote about on the newsletter.

So where I want to start with this is just modern day defending. How are defensemen defending today versus old times? A lot of times it was the big hit, separate the head from body. The puck’s somewhere, but let's separate the head from the body, and we’ll worry about the puck later — that is going bye-bye.

Every coach I talk to now, they prefer having the puck rather than having a head on a stake. So for me, it comes back to this old saying of, “position before possession.” We're gaining body positioning, we're not so much separating head from body, but puck from player.

All right, so we've got position before possession. It's super valuable in gaining the space that you need to have first whack in a puck or put the puck where you want it, or just push it to a teammate. Just having the idea of owning space and there's no better league at this and no league that values it more than the NHL. If you don't do this well in the NHL, sooner or later, you're going to find yourself out of a job making a heck of a lot less money in a league that probably no one really cares that much about. You want to be in the show, the big lights: you have to value this more than anything.

And this is actually the one thing that I noticed about Hunter McDonald. He's in the Flyers’ system now — he was an overager, but I was like, “This guy is unbelievable!” He’s a huge frame, you can’t miss him out there. He would just get the positioning before possession, and I was like, “Okay, that’s interesting, let me watch him further.”

And I feel like he’s going to be one of those bottom of the lineup guys who, unlikely, made it out of being an overager in the [United States Hockey League], going to college for a few years, but has those little details of a defenseman that you see in modern day play, which is positioning overall, which is an NHL trait to the nth degree.

WS: No, I know. I think I would definitely agree. Those are the players that are always really, really fascinating to me because you look at a guy like Hunter McDonald and the production just isn't amazing. But it doesn't — to me, when you look at defensemen, it almost doesn't really matter. That's kind of a very secondary-slash-bonus style of thing that comes with a player.

I see a lot of defenders every year and it seems like a thing where a lot of them, maybe at the lower levels, there is a little bit more of that “separate the head from the body”-type of player. And I think there are NHL scouts who still gravitate towards those guys but, at the end of the day when it all comes out in the wash, it's a lot of the time the guys that are kind of, I hate to say ”boring”, but just very effective, and just they're always in a good position.

The guy I always reference as a young defenseman who, I think, is just a really, really high-end defensive guy is Kaiden Guhle in Montreal. We're going to talk a little bit about Lane Hutson in a second, but Kaiden Guhle is a guy who, when he was in the junior level, just played such a great, balanced style of defense.

He was a good skater, but he had really good length. He was a guy who didn't just lay the body every single time, but he certainly could if he needed to. It was about his lateral mobility, it was about tracking rushes, keeping inside the dot lines, and preventing chances from inside and leading with his stick, but then finishing with the body if he had the opportunity or the need to do so. And he seemed to have a really good read of just how to do his job really, really well.

And so that's been a lesson for me for sure. He was a really interesting case study a few years ago, and he's become a pretty solid NHL defenseman. I mean, on a team this year that’s kind of struggling defensively I think he’s been one of the brighter spots on that defense group there, [he’s] doing a pretty good job at least suppressing chances against.

GR: I don’t watch as much as you do, prospects, but Guhle I did catch. For me, the play style wasn’t very good. He had elements of it, you could see the flashes, but he was just really brash. His decision making and his reads were quite poor. But the tools were there, and it was like, “Can he adjust?” Which I think he’s done a phenomenal job [of], and I think Montreal is probably the perfect place for him to develop a lot of that.

So I think you're spot on like, “Okay, how does he actually apply?“ Having assets is one thing, having the tools is one thing, but how do we properly apply those assets, those tools that you have in a good way? So I think another piece, for me, is if you do have the speed, is just making sure that you're controlling speed and then you're also keeping small gaps.

And just knowing with my high school team that no one knows what a gap is, let's define that real quick, which is: the difference in space between the forwards and the defensemen. So the space in between, “How much space are you [allowing]?” in hockey term slang. It's underneath you versus on the other side, which is above you or behind you. So, “How much space, what's that gap between D and O?”

(Editor’s note: He says O instead of F here, I assume because the person attacking isn’t always a forward. As in, “How much space between the defenseman and offenceman?”)

So you got the speed, shrink that gap as much as possible. Don't give them the space to operate or work in, or, I even call it the space to think, which [it often becomes] for forwards, especially unsophisticated ones.

WS: Yeah, I mean, that's really the bread and butter of a lot of the position. It's so much of this, like you said, gap control. I actually just did a bit of video work for a really high end player, [an] NHL draft pick playing in Sweden this year, who is producing really well.

But in terms of the defending side of the game, he's not the most incredible skater you've ever seen, he's not the biggest guy in the world. And a big thing that I noticed, that even at the professional level that was kind of a bit of a work in progress, was that gap management. Especially because the footwork wasn't amazing, [he was] keeping his feet a little too stationary, gliding backwards and sort of allowing that gap.

And when you watch the NHL that's the point of the whole exercise, watching the NHL and how they play. Forwards are fast and they're smart, largely. The guys who can score are the guys who know how to get through soft defensive pressure, the guys who know how to find lanes and cross up defensemen, and if you don't have the footwork or the mobility or the reach or all of it — all of the above — to track all that and manage it, then it's going to be a lot tougher to do your job.

But the interesting thing, though, is that there's a lot of different ways that you can get defensive jobs done. That's always been very interesting to me; seeing how different players approach the position in different ways and seeing the efficacy of that come out in the wash, and how their offense balances with their defensive ability. It's a very interesting world to dig into, for sure.

GR: Yeah, I think you've got a rabbit hole there. You just kind of opened up around defensive skating. What do clean feet look like? What does defensive posture look like, that actually allows you to have that kind of mobility?

So we'll leave that for another day. If anyone wants to go check it out on the Hockey IQ Newsletter, they can do so. Just look up defenseman skating development. We've got two good pieces there talking about building and maintaining defensive posture and keeping clean feet, which — actually massive base for anyone.

It allows you to have the proper gap that allows you to kill plays early, and ultimately, it's a lot about just controlling speed. You don't want McDavid building up to full speed. You don't want MacKinnon building up to full speed. You don't want anyone coming up to you at full speed. It's very hard to maintain that kind of speed going backwards [that we] even generate in the first place. 

How do you kill it early? How do you get a hand on someone? Or, my favorite example is just proper pivoting. A guy dumps a puck on you, how are you going back? What does that pivot look like?

I'll let you open that up because at the NHL it's almost too good, where you can't see what a bad example looks like, but you can see it's everywhere.

WS: Yeah, I mean, it's a make or break skill in the NHL. It's where a lot of defensemen die. I mean, it's a cliche at this point to talk about pucks in deep, to talk about [getting] pucks deep in the offensive zone, get below the goal line, dump and chase. People make fun of dump-and-chase kind of stuff. But if your team is built to do it, you can do it.

You can take advantage of defensemen in the NHL who just don't have the speed or the agility or the skating ability that some of your forwards might have. It is a lot easier to skate forwards than it is to skate backwards. That's just, you know, anecdotal, but also pretty factual — you're naturally going forwards.

I think an interesting trend that you're seeing a little bit more of [is] what they would call ‘scooting’. You're the coach; I don't know if that's exactly what the terminology would be, but [it’s getting] your defensemen in the neutral zone, kind of pinching a little bit more and having them skate forwards, tracking play towards the boards.

So it's not necessarily that they're doing their backwards crossovers, it's not necessarily that they're entirely skating backwards, but you see guys who are really talented skaters or do have a lot of quickness driving play to the boards in a more aggressive way than having the play in front of them. It's about them sort of tracking that play laterally, which is an interesting thing I think you're seeing more of now.

I think there are definitely coaches and systems that love to play their defensemen more that way, and the weak side defense can sort of fill between the dot lines for them and sort of leave the weaker side of the ice a little bit more open. That's kind of what I mean. There's a lot of different ways to achieve these kinds of goals, and I think you're seeing a lot of different things popping up to adapt to this. 

In situations where you have a dump and chase or something like that, or just getting pucks in deep or whatever you say, when you have a defenseman who has trouble with their footwork and turning around… Trust me, I'm a defenseman, when I play hockey, I strap on the skates — I play defense myself and that's where I fall apart, when I do fall apart. Which is often. But definitely, when play turns around and I’ve got to change directions or change my area of flow, it can be tricky. And in the NHL, I can only imagine how tricky it can be there. 

GR: Yeah. I mean, a good pivot you're looking at three steps total, like boom-boom-bam and you're there. You watch an amateur game and it could be like five, six, seven, eight chops before [they] finally get going and [it’s] looking like a proper forward stride again. [Or just] getting into a good defensive posture and positioning. It's total scramble mode.

A big one for me, too, is just the direction that you pivot. Do you wait for that offensive player to commit to their lane? It's just a great defensive habit in general, letting the offenceman make the first move. If you're making the first move, you're the one showing your cards. It's kind of like showing your cards first in Poker.

Let them make the decision and then you can pivot into them. Now you can get that position before possession, or at least get a chip on them, slow them down. You can either make it easier for yourself or your partner. So one, there's the clean footwork on the pivot, and two is making sure that we're controlling the speed and we're pivoting properly in the direction that we want to pivot.

There's a ton of times where I see, especially the lower levels, players coming up, they're in a bad spot, they're skating forward, defenseman skating backwards and they just chip it off the boards. And the defenseman is like a dog just following the puck and it ends up in the middle of the ice where the forward actually went. Again, the NHL is the best at this so it's really hard to see bad examples of pivoting into and controlling the space of the opponent.

WS: Yeah. I do a lot of work outside the NHL, and the biggest thing I notice is not necessarily the number of chops it takes, but the amount of time. You can see guys taking two seconds, maybe more, to get themselves turned around, tracking pucks below the goal line.

To me hockey is a game of milliseconds a lot of the time, right? I was working with someone years ago who really shared the idea with me that, in the NHL, generally goals are not scored if you have the puck on your stick for more than either half a second or a second.

I can't remember off the top of my head, but it's so fast in terms of; when you score goals in the NHL, it's when you touch the puck for a very short amount of time in the offensive zone and get a puck on net. And so, if you have guys who take too long — and “too long” might not be very long… If the difference is relatively short at the time you're making those pivots or those changes, but the [opponent has] got a lot more speed than you and you're [taking more] time to then start generating that speed to match the opponent, you're in trouble.

And in my opinion, I think that you want your defensemen to be more assertive. I always fall back on the strategy of; make them make a decision, make them commit. That might imply that you do the committing first, but that's where the importance of footwork and tactics come into question. 

You have to have strong support, whether it's from backchecking forwards or your partner. You want to be able to adapt to quick players who might fake one way, go another, and be able to use your stick or use your feet or both to be a factor regardless of what happens. 

It's very interesting to watch defensemen play. I find it really, really interesting to see the different approaches of different players and especially how they evolve and get into the NHL.

But yeah, I mean, [it’s so pivotal], the skating ability; defensemen who can skate, it unlocks so many doors for their career. If you're an elite level skating defenseman, it just unlocks so many doors that interest me. If you're not, and if that's not a strength of your game, then it can be a big struggle, especially against faster opponents. Even if you're big and physical and pretty good throwing the body or whatever, there's a lot more of the game in the NHL these days. Very, very interesting stuff. 

GR: I think that's actually the perfect segue into someone who, early in his career, threw the body too much and sold out too much on plays that he probably shouldn't: Rasmus Ristolainen.

Great case study, great case study from when [John Tortorella] started working with him to where he is now. Will, I'll send in the link here from the Hockey IQ newsletter so we can track a little bit better with each other. 

I found him to be a fascinating player. High draft pick, 8th overall in 2013. Really pretty, smooth skating, big body — has all of the tools that you would traditionally say, “Yep, that checks [out].” And then you looked at his stat profile and it was just abysmal. His micro stats were terrible. I think the only thing he was good at was D-Zone Retrievals, which, being able to take contact, it was kind of an easy thing for him.

WS: Yeah. I remember watching Ristolainen when he was in junior hockey, because that was the earliest years of me being kind of curious about that side of the game, and I did not really recall that being a premier area of his game.

I remember him being big, but pretty mobile, and has some skill to play around with. He did have a bit of a physical edge to him, but it feels like it was that tail end of an era in the NHL where those big, mean, physical guys were kind of in vogue, and people were kind of curious and needing guys like that. And I guess that's what Buffalo drafted him to be.

I remember being very surprised that he was in the NHL the year he was drafted. It just did not look like it was really working out there. And Buffalo just seems to have been not a great fit for him, they kind of turned him into something that he wasn't, but I do think that he's turned into some sort of serviceable defenseman.

But he, to me, is a great example of one that I always look back on and go, “Man, what if?” Like, what if things went a little bit differently for him? Because there was good stuff there, it's just I feel like the development was focused in the wrong areas.

To me, 65% of the work [is] scouting, and developing — the easy part is drafting good players, the hard part is developing them and bringing them along into being good NHL players.

So to me, if you can find the most amount of things that get in the way of that process being easy, then you're doing a really good job. And with Ristolainen, I feel like in his case they inserted more things to make that journey more difficult and sort of turned him into something that he wasn't, which is always a scary thing for me to think about doing to a player.

But it's not over for him, obviously. He figured it out. Obviously, Tortorella found something for him to do, and he has shown a little bit better. But yeah, he's always been a what-if guy for me.

GR: I always liked how Tortorella, after the 2022-2023 season, was doing his media stuff and he was like “Yeah, he's our most improved player.” You're a guy who's getting paid big bucks — I think he was making five million plus that year, still is, probably — and even him, he was like, “I was just bad the first half. And then around Christmas break, I started getting going. The second half was much better.”

Basically, the first half, they were just trying to rebuild his defensive game, and this is true for anything. Zach Benson's another good example of this. If you can't play defense in the NHL, you're going to be out quick. Benson can play defense despite being — I think they list them at five foot 10, but there's no way.

WS: Yeah, no, no. I know. He's a little guy, but he's another great example of a player where I, in my work, I do not care how big you are. I just care about how you play. Even in the NHL. And I feel like Benson's a really, really good example of that; a guy who, just forechecking alone is a really… The easiest way to defend is if he can cause turnovers in the opposing team's offensive zone, a guy like Zach Benson does that extremely well.

And if he needs to track guys through the neutral zone and backcheck, he'll do it, and he does it really well, and he does it at a speed that I found to be projectable to the NHL. And again, that's another one where I was a little surprised to see him in the NHL so fast, but he didn't really look out of place there.

He's had a bit of a slow start this season, but just a really, really talented player, and one where you kind of do look at and go, “Yeah, these smaller guys can definitely defend.” They just — the expectations are a little bit higher, and maybe for good reason, but he checks all the boxes for sure.

GR: Yeah. So for Rasmus (Ristolainen), there's two big things that, when I dug into this, that Torts was working at. At this point, I was so intrigued [that] I was tracking every single time Torts spoke and Rasmus spoke to the media. So I was like, “I wonder what they're actually doing?” Which, Torts can be tight-lipped, but he gives it away if you follow long enough.

The big one was just inside, like too much, he was finding himself, Rasmus was finding himself on the outside. So whether that be outside the dots, outside on bad ice, for whatever reason, or just finding yourself outside, like losing defensive side positioning to the offensive player.

If you finish contact, but now you're on the wall and your player's got to step to the net, that's trouble. There's a great, great clip the other night featuring, I think it was (Aliaksei) Protas [who] ended up scoring the goal and K’Andre Miller of the New York Islanders. So Caps — Rangers, not Islanders — Rangers… Where [Miller] went in soft, didn't really take positioning, got beat back to net, and Protas just put out a stick and just tapped it in, Igor Shesterkin never had a chance.

A similar idea of; okay, good, maybe you got some contact, you tried to make the stop, but you still need to maintain defensive side positioning. You still need to finish on the inside. So if you're doing contact, you can't overreach.

You just can't do that. You have to stay in good positioning.

And the second piece was just, finishing with contact to get stops, like stopping movement. Offensive play is a lot about movement, and defensive play is about stopping movement, AKA getting stops. So he would maybe make a play, or get a poke check, but the puck was still moving and could be easily on the other team's stick. 

So how do you make sure you're always staying in good positioning? Staying on the inside, as Torts put it. Or the other piece, which is getting stops, or finishing with contact — but smartly, not chasing the contact for contact’s sake? Being tactful in your play.

I feel like Risto really just learned how to play defense smartly. He was actually thinking and being intentional about what he was doing, rather than like, “I see a puck and a player, I'm going to go end that!” And then, boom, in the big scheme of things, it’s a net negative. Even though at the moment, it may have, especially to him — otherwise he wouldn't make the play — seemed like a positive, really it was a negative for the team.

WS: Well, that's the interesting thing too, going back to talking about junior players and the context in the draft and how defensive players might go a little bit underreported or undervalued in a sense.

I see this all the time, especially with North American defensemen, especially with Canadian ones, but there are definitely players who everybody talks about how good they are defensively, everybody talks about how solid they are. They're big, they're physical, they're mean, blah, blah, blah. But then when you watch things in detail, it's this sort of Ristolainen-style thing. You're talking about K’Andre Miller where it's like, they're along the boards, they're doing the thing along the boards, but they're losing.

They're allowing guys to get low on them, get through them, and even in the junior level, right? What good is it if you're trying to pin a guy against the boards and they give you a little shove, crouch down a little bit, chip the puck three feet out from you, you don't adapt to that, they get three feet of space on you, throw it out in front of the net, and boom, you got yourself a scoring chance, right? I see that all the time.

It's the focus on the body and not focus on the turnover, turning that possession back over, that really seems to be a tough lesson for a lot of defensemen to get over. I find that a lot of defensemen from the age of 18 to 23, in the grand scheme of things, their style of play doesn't drastically shift all that often.

And so, when I see things like that happening, I'm going, okay, I gotta either hope that this guy puts in the time in the gym and becomes, just, a strength nut, and pins that guy to the boards so they can't do anything, or they figure out a way to get into those situations, take a step back, chip at the puck. Really battle for the puck rather than focus on the guy.

Because I've seen it so many times with guys who are bigger and more physical, they apply it in a way where I feel like coaches will go, “Wow, look at you go, you're playing hard, you're playing the thing!” But then they escape, this opponent might escape, and create a little bit of space for themselves. And again, this is a game of inches, it's a game of a couple of feet, and every inch matters.

So in some cases, yeah, you get those situations where guys like Ristolainen, yeah, you're doing the thing, people clip the hits, people clip the physical play, but then five seconds later, someone's got some space on you and they generate a scoring chance. And so what do you really value, right? Personally, fewer scoring chances would be ideal.

GR: I love it. Last piece to wrap this up, because I think it'll go well into our next piece, which is point play. Shorting the zone.

I was able to find some phenomenal clips and do some photos of this for the newsletter. But the concept of; if you're watching a game in the NHL, if you can see all five of the people trying to break the puck out, low in the zone… A lot of it, you think about the NHL today, is like a swarm. We're going to do close support. I'm going to try to crowd the puck out.

A good way to respond to that is to short the zone, which basically means your defensemen, instead of hanging out at the blue line, are going to go into the offensive zone. And they're going to start with small gaps, they're going to be [at the] top of the circles, if not a little bit lower.

Tortorella is another big fan of this, so you can see it with the Flyers a lot, too. I would say [Sheldon] Keefe is another example of a coach who does this a ton. So you saw a lot in Toronto, now you'll see a lot more in New Jersey, which is  the perfect d-core to make all of this work. So I think Devils are going to be good for — that's going to be a great fit.

But just the idea of crowding in the space, setting small gaps, so when you do start defending, you can either cut a play off early — it's an easy pinch there if you don't have to go very far — you can cut it off. Or, 2; create a turnover in a much better spot than what is in your own zone. Why not make it in the o-zone? So from a positioning standpoint, phenomenal place to start, good way to kill plays early.

Before they can get going, before the team can build speed, and just being able to put yourself in a good spot to take advantage both from a defensive standpoint, but offensive standpoint.

WS: Yeah, I love when I see this being deployed. I think, again, I'm a geek, like I'm a math guy, and even just thinking about the numbers here, it makes such a difference if you think about it.

The offensive zone from blue line to goal line is 64 feet. So you're looking at the difference between a guy standing at the blue line being maybe 75 feet from the net or at the top of the face-off circle where you might be 20 feet closer, maybe 20, 25 feet closer. So you're cutting down the time at which you give the defense to adapt, the goaltender to adapt. You're cutting that time down by a third-ish, a quarter to a third. I'm ballparking here, but that automatically is just based on where you are on the ice.

If you can compress the offensive zone on your opponent, you're laughing. The second thing I wanted to mention here is this is, again, why skating ability and quickness and speed are so important to me. Because it is objectively a better position to be in when you're in that position — closer to the top of the face-off circles for your defensemen.

But if you do have a situation where the opponent has possession of the puck you have to get set up, you have to cover that gap, you have to cover for yourself, or you have to have some sort of system in place where a winger can cover for you if you're caught in the offensive zone. Ideally, you have your defensemen who can wheel up, get some speed going, get positioned well to counter that attack, and have a system that can swarm whoever has that puck in the offensive zone.

I think it's a really interesting trend for sure. It's a simple little thing, it's a concept that you see definitely a lot more now than you used to, but I'm all about it. It just makes sense mathematically, and it plays into exactly the styles of player that I always look for: guys who do pinch a little bit more aggressively, but have the mobility and the skating ability to cover for themselves.

I would rather have a player who tries something creative, or tries some sort of play that could lead to a high scoring chance, but may relinquish some space on the ice, but has the ability to cover for themselves.

And I can at least as a coach, rely on them — not that I'm a coach — but rely on them to cover for themselves. To go, okay, I can rely on them to try these things, because I know that if it doesn't maybe go their way, which happens in hockey all the time, I'm not going to be upset at this player, but I know that I want them to backcheck, cover for it, because I know they're capable of it.

I think that that's sort of the trade off that you have to live with, but I'm totally cool with it.

GR: All right, so we're going to call this end of the day on some modern day defending, and we'll pick up on point play in episode two.

[END Transcript.]

part 2 <- convenient link at the bottom <3

[devildomwriter]

You Go To See A Christmas Carol Part IV

It’s intermission and it’s not going quietly, if anything it’s getting much worse even with the cops gone.

Mammon: “…”

Satan: “You’re awfully quiet Mammon…”

Mammon: “Do you guys think I love money more than people?”

Everyone: “Yes.”

Mammon: “…”

Mammon: “Ya don’t think a ghost’ll come after me though right?”

Solomon: “I can arrange it.”

Lucifer: “So can I.”

Diavolo: “That sounds like great fun.”

Mammon: “Hell no, don’t you dare! Some ghost ain’t gonna teach me a lesson or make me cry dammit!”

Belphegor: “Then why were you wiping away tears when Belle left, huh?”

Luke: “Wow Belphie you actually stayed awake?”

Belphegor: “I enjoy watching Mammon’s future play out in front of him.”

Diavolo: “Hahahaha.”

MC: “Well, I think I need a drink, where was that bar?”

Lucifer: “I’ll show you.”

MC: “Can you walk there?”

Lucifer: “I only had two beers, that’s water to me.”

MC: “If you say so.”

Diavolo: “Perhaps I’ll get a drink too.”

Barbatos: “I can fetch it for you Young Master.”

Diavolo: “Thank you Barbatos.”

Solomon: “So…”

Diavolo: “…”

Solomon: “Are we gonna prank Mammon later?”

Diavolo: “Message me.”

Solomon: “Right.”

Mammon: “You guys are being suspicious!”

Asmodeus: “I’m back! What did I miss!”

Everyone: “Asmo!”

Asmodeus: “Hey guys! I could hear most of the play, that Scrooge guy is a lot like Mammon, yeah?”

Satan: “Sadly the resemblance is so uncanny I cannot separate the two in my mind anymore. You ruined a Christmas Carol for me Mammon!”

Mammon: “What the hell did I do?”

Simeon: “Well there’s still the ending, right Satan? And I’m sure Mammon won’t be so much like the character then?”

Mammon: “Huh? Does something happen to Scrooge?”

Simeon: “I’m not going to spoil anything for you.”

Mammon: “So…Asmo. What were you up to?”

Asmodeus: “More like who was I in to?”

Simeon: “Luke let’s get some popcorn.”

Diavolo: “I think I’ll go find Barbatos.”

Belphegor: “Beelzebub let’s get some refills.”

Beelzebub: “Okay.”

Solomon: “You know I think I’d like to hear this story too.”

Asmodeus: “Ugh, they’re all such prudes! But not you Solomon.”

Solomon: “I don’t know if that’s a compliment…”

Asmodeus: “Yeah so anyway I just charmed the cops so they thought everything was fine. They were kinda confused about why they were there to begin with but they got one look at me and that’s all they needed!”

Solomon: “You didn’t charm them, right?”

Asmodeus: “Into having sex?”

Asmodeus: “Hell no. I’m not into that dubious consent stuff, not unless it’s roleplay.”

Solomon: “Well that’s all I need to know. Where are they now?”

Asmodeus: “I sent them on their way. Told them they need a vacation from all this mess.”

Solomon: “Well they’re probably not even in the city anymore if you told them to leave…”

Asmodeus: “Aren’t I so kind! I’m even sending people on vacations!”

Solomon: “Sure…”

Mammon: “Hey Asmo? Didn’t ya have some fancy necklace on earlier?”

Asmodeus: “My Devicci? What! Where is it!? Mammon you didn’t take it did you!”

Mammon: “No! I was gonna though that’s why I noticed!”

Asmodeus: “Ugh! I probably dropped it in that room! Mammon come help me find it.”

Mammon: “Why me!?”

Asmodeus: “As punishment for trying to steal it!”

Mammon: “Fine.”

MC: “Oh, hey Asmo. Where are you going?”

Asmodeus: “My necklace!”

MC: “What!?”

Mammon: “His necklace!”

MC: “…okay then. I think I’ll get a second beer in case…”

Lucifer: “You’re a lightweight we’ll start you small. You’re in front of Diavolo and Luke remember?”

MC: “Right. Can’t embarrass myself in front of him, that’d be a nightmare. You’re used to it though so you can have my beer instead.”

Lucifer: “Hold on a minute?”

MC: “The lights are blinking we need to head back.”

Solomon: “Welcome back you two.”

MC: “Where did everyone else go?”

Solomon: “They weren’t interested in hearing about Asmo’s escapades.”

MC: “Oh. So are the cops gone?”

Solomon: “They are somewhere.”

MC: “Not here though?”

Solomon: “Not those two, no.”

MC: “Okay good. I didn’t see any on the way to the drinks either.”

Solomon: “I see. It must’ve calmed down then.”

Lucifer: “Finally. I don’t want to have to deal with anything else tonight, that fiasco earlier was enough.”

MC: “Yeah. They really thought Levi was trying to trap me too.”

Lucifer: “Hehe, Levi?”

MC: “The officer guy out front was really worried about me, I didn’t mean to scare him. He gave me a line to call if I needed help, Levi took the card to look up what it was and now he’s suspicious. …Where did he go anyway?”

Leviathan: “I’ve been here the entire time, how could you not notice me?”

MC: “What? You didn’t leave when Asmo was talking about…stuff?”

Leviathan: “Did he say something weird? I had my headphones on.”

MC: “Nope…”

MC: “Okay, so everyone’s here except for Mammon and Asmodeus…”

Luke: “No! Mammon has to see the end of the play! It’s really important.”

MC: “Luke I hate to break it to you but this play isn’t gonna set him straight.”

Luke: “Aww.”

Satan: “It was getting to him though.”

MC: “We can show him the movie.”

Luke: “There’s a movie?”

MC: “Yeah, we can watch it together later if you want.”

Luke: “Yeah!”

The countdown projected onto the curtains stopped and the theatre went dark. Murmurs turned to whispers and all was quiet as the story resumed.

Meanwhile, downstairs Asmo and Mammon were scrambling.

Mammon: “It’s stupid dark down here.”

Asmodeus: “Ugh I know! We have nocturnal vision why is it still so dark!?”

Mammon: “Do we have nocturnal vision? Did we ever get that…?”

Asmodeus: “Umm, I think we do?”

Mammon: “What is this place anyway? Buncha giant—aaaaah!”

MC: “Did you guys hear a scream just now?”

Lucifer: “…”

MC: “Never mind.”

[The Ghost of Christmas Present shows Scrooge his assistant spending time with his family and crippled young son, Tiny Tim. Even Scrooge’s heart is warmed by the young boy.]

[He is then zipped to his nephew’s Christmas party. The bright home is full of giant presents and fancifully dressed guests and Scrooge begs to stay. As the day continues the ghost begins to age.]

Luke: “Ew, how did they do that with his face?”

Simeon: “Makeup?”

Satan: “I think it’s a trick of the light?”

MC: “He looks like he’s melting. Solomon, you’re so far past that stage of life.”

Solomon: “Haha, you have no proof.”

Asmodeus: “Mammon you gave me a heart attack!”

Mammon: “Th-Th-That thing…”

Asmodeus: “Huh? Ooooh, it’s the Grim Reaper, looks like a giant costume that someone stands in like a puppet! How neat!”

Mammon: “Wait? Are we in the prop room?”

Sounds of squeaking wheels echo in the room as something large is being moved.

Staff A: “Get the reaper prop ready! And dim the lights just a little, we don’t want the audience to see anything!”

Staff B: “On it! Casey come help me with this thing.”

Mammon: “Shit! Hide!”

Asmodeus: “Shh! Be quiet! What are we supposed to hide in, they’re gonna turn the lights back on.”

Mammon: “This thing, there’s a door!”

Asmodeus: “Hurry, hurry!”

Staff B: “Did you hear something?”

Staff C: “Maybe it was a ghost?”

Mammon: “G-ghost?”

Asmodeus: “I cannot believe you’re my brother, they’re talking about us, dimwit.”

[The ghost of Christmas present reveals two small deformed children, Want and Ignorance.]

MC: “Damn he just defined my whole generation.”

[The ghost laughs as he dies and fades into nothing.]

MC: “Yeah, that’s still really accurate to my generation…”

Luke: “That was amazing!”

Beelzebub: “That’s pretty sad…”

Simeon: “You have such a kind heart Beelzebub.”

Beelzebub: “He was so big. Like jelly.”

Luke: “Huh? Did you think he looked tasty!?”

[As the second ghost disappears Scrooge recoils as the third ghost confronts him looking like a grim reaper.]

[Scrooge is taken by the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come through several scenes of people talking about and celebrating a man’s death.]

[Two men discuss the riches he left behind.]

[Others trade and sell the man’s things.]

[A couple rejoices that their cruel creditor is dead.]

[Scrooge begs to know the name of the dead man and is faced with his own gravestone. Scrooge pleads for his fate to be changed and promises to renounce his greedy, uncaring ways and finds himself back in his bed Christmas morning.]

Luke looked relieved unsure how this was going to play out and Diavolo smiled at the turn of events despite having seen this play before.

You grinned and held his hand choosing to relax but that was quickly changed.

Staff B: “This box is a lot heavier than I remember?”

Staff C: “Didn’t they put the toys in here or some kinda confetti canon?”

Staff B: “Oh yeah.”

Mammon: “…”

Asmodeus: “…Mammon.”

Mammon: “Yep…we’re dead.”

[Scrooge attends his Nephew’s party full of giant gifts and is welcomed inside.]

Scrooge: “I’m here… If you’ll have me.”

Nephew: “Uncle! I told them you would come!”

Nephew: “Come in! Come in! Martha the present!”

[The present burst open with confetti and a loud scream.]

Lucifer: “…”

Diavolo: “…”

Satan: “…”

Barbatos: “…”

Solomon: “…”

Simeon: “…”

Belphegor: “…”

Beelzebub: *munch* *munch*

Leviathan: “…”

Luke: “Huh!?”

Mammon: “…”

Asmodeus: “…”

Actors: “…”

Lucifer: “Hehe…hehehehe…”

Diavolo: “Oh dear.”

MC: “Umm…Lucifer…”

Solomon: “Where do you suppose he’s going.”

Diavolo: “…This isn’t going to go well…”

Mammon: “What do we do?”

Asmodeus: “Start singing?”

Without prompt, Mammon and Asmo begin trying to sing a carol in unison.

Nephew: “My it appears a few of my guests had a bit too much to drink.”

Scrooge: “You see them too?”

Nephew: “Why of course? You didn’t think you were seeing things now did you uncle? Besides I need not see them, it’s impossible to not hear such a ratchety sound.”

Mammon: “Ratchedy!? I’ll show you!”

Asmodeus: “Sweetie you were so off-tune, calm down!”

Scrooge: “Who’s that at the door?”

Nephew: “My, I don’t believe we’re expecting more guests. Perhaps carolers have graced our manor today to make up for this awful intrusion.”

Diavolo: “…”

Belphegor: “…”

Barbatos: “…”

MC: “Yep, he’s drunk.”

Dressed in the style of the cast, something he no doubt stole from another unfortunate actor lucifer walked into the scene like he belonged there.

Lucifer: “Pardon me good sirs I’ve come to collect a few uninvited guests I believe they mixed up the addresses on the invitations I sent out.”

Nephew: “Yes, please do collect your friends, I’m afraid they’re in quite the state given how horribly they’re dressed.”

Asmodeus: *gasp* “You did not just say that to me!”

Mammon: “Here we go.”

Asmodeus: “I AM fashion! You filthy peasants should be honored to lay your eyes upon me.”

Mammon: “On three?”

Lucifer: “Up you go!”

Asmodeus: “Hey don’t you dare carry me away like some drunk! I don’t care who these people are pretending to be they do not get to critique my style when they’re dressed like British hobos from the 16th century! I would know! I was there!”

The audience claps as Lucifer and Mammon carry Asmodeus off stage.

Previous • Next

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 5

Ezra Prospect x f!reader

Rating: M — some prospecting violence

A/N: I cannot even tell you how much this chapter kicked my rear end — it would have never been finished without the love and care and hand holding of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch ❤️ Both extremely insightful in their own ways, I am eternally grateful to each of them ❤️ Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

—

All morning he’s been watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

The weight of his gaze on your back every time you turn around, logic argues it’s because he’s guiding you into something he knows you’re nervous about. But in the end, shame wins out. It tells you that he knows what you were doing last night while he was in the shower. You contemplate just asking him directly, if only to relieve the feeling, to get it out in the open.

Instead, you keep your mouth closed and decide to put your focus where it should be in the first place.

“Go over it again,” you ask him.

He nods underneath the dome of his helmet, carefully picking his way along a nearly invisible path.

“It’s a wreck. Been one for a while. I came across it a few cycles back, but once I saw that she was no longer functional, I cut my losses. Went through her innards, took what I could – which,” he looks back at you, “mind you, wasn’t much.”

He faces forward again, holding a branch to the side for you to pass. You step carefully over a thick root, accepting the hand that he holds out for help.

“She had been long abandoned even then, so I don’t think we’ll encounter any unsavory protectors today.”

You can tell from the state of the path that he must be telling the truth. The indentation made by long ago steps is covered by overgrowth, a trench you can only feel rather than see. The ground slopes underneath the creeping vines, the crooked line of it hidden by lush leaves. You follow his yellow suit like a beacon, the color a distinct contrast against all the green.

With each step, nerves unfurl in your stomach at the idea that he might be wrong. That there might be another person there, just as eager to keep what’s theirs as you are to take it. The feeling creeps through your veins like the thick vines that crawl over the soil, and keeping your eyes on the familiar yellow in front of you, you squash down the nervousness with every break of one under your boot.

“Slow now. She’s close.”

He holds a gloved hand out to the side, and you peek around the curve of his shoulder. Just beyond the trees, there’s a pod covered in overgrowth, a relic left behind. The windows are yellowed with age, mildew growing over their oval openings.

The hatch is closed, and the area is silent and still.

He takes careful, scouting steps and you follow close behind him.

“Weapon out, Birdie.”

Your thrower already in your grasp, you tighten your hold on it.

You focus on his breathing for a moment, slow and steady through the speaker in your helmet.

“You good?” His voice crackles over the comm link.

When you look up, he meets your gaze with a level one of his own. Patient, checking in.

At the hesitation you can feel in your expression, he reassures. “I promise you, any occupants are long gone.” Reaching out, he lifts the barrel of your thrower. “Still though, can’t be too careful.”

You nod, and he takes the lead, shielding you.

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief.

The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels. There is a tense moment as he rounds the corner, but when he gives you the all clear, your shoulders drop their pressured weight. Relaxed, you both study the disarray in front of you.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust: the shards of broken monitor glass scattered on the floor, the torn seats with stuffing spilling out, the stripped panels from the wall. It’s easy to find the compartment you’re looking for: a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, wires spilling from its depths.

You curse silently. “Someone’s been in there.”

“They take everything?” he asks. Using the tip of his pistol, he nudges the lid off the top of a storage compartment and peers inside.

“I’m not sure.”

Setting your thrower and gloves to the side, you get down on all fours and reach into the open compartment. A tangle of wires obstructs your view and your fingers sift through them all, searching by touch alone.

Your arm disappears all the way up to the shoulder before you locate the sharp edge of the circuit board. Grasping it, you lift it free with a sharp tug. It takes forever to ease it out, but when you do, a grin breaks over your face.

Two converters. Worse for wear, but it’s something. Not near what you need, but it still feels like a victory nonetheless. Carefully detaching them from the board, you hold them out for his inspection, cradled in your palm.

“Look at you, my little channel rat.”

His levity sucks all of the remaining tension from the room.

You grimace. “What did you call me?”

“A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.”

Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?”

He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

Going back to the hole in the floor, you study the wires left behind for possible scavenging. “If you call me that even one more time, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His grin widens at your deadpan delivery.

“Deal.”

–

Back in the safety of your own pod, you pull in deep inhales of fresh air as soon as you lift your helmet off. There is a certain sort of pleasure to it, feeling the recycled air hit your cheeks. Inside the helmet, it’s humid and sticky, the blower pack in your suit not enough to combat the heat from your body. It’s built to keep you cool, but under the helmet, your hair sticks to your nape and your forehead with sweat. Under the helmet, your stale breath blows back into your face. Under the helmet, you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes - which is ironic, given the reason for it in the first place.

Ezra stands close, tossing his helmet down to fumble with the zipper of his suit.

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

“You good?” He checks on you, and when you nod your head but don’t say anything, he bends his gaze to your level. The stark lighting of the pod makes his eyes look even darker, and his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Right at the edge of your neckline, the heat of his palm brushes against your skin. “You sure?”

“Yea,” you reassure him, trying to ignore the weight behind your navel his touch brings. “It went good. Really good.”

“I think so,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Our first job as a duo, gone off without a hitch.”

He winks, squeezing your shoulder for a brief moment. When his hand slides away, you stop your body from chasing it.

“Here.” His voice pulls you from your reverie, a cleaning kit held outwards towards you. “You do this, and I’ll do dinner?”

Nodding, you take it from him.

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

If there was something that you’d never have expected from your first confrontation with the man, a scene like this would be at the top of the list. When your attraction initially began, it used to eat you up inside thinking about how you didn’t know him. You felt immature and foolish thinking about how the feelings were rooted in loneliness, sprouting from a life lacking attention and flourishing in close proximity. However, as scenes like the one in front of you became more common, it was easier to accept it.

The want that you feel coats the space like the dust that lingers in the air outside; ever present, in every breath you take. You try to ignore it, a small pocket of embarrassment bubbling up every time you think about approaching him, though he seems like the type who would be into whatever arrangement you’d propose. Especially given how long he’s been alone. Not only that, but the way in which he carries himself suggests he’s ever fluid, open for whatever comes his way. Adaptable, a side effect of his lifestyle you’re sure.

You know better though.

His carefree conversation is practiced, a facade. One meant to disarm and distract. You’re fairly certain he’s past that stage with you, given not only the amount of time you’ve spent together, but also the way he looks at you. Unguarded, in the morning after he wakes or in the evening, right before he goes to bed. Distracted, letting himself slip into thought, his eyes hooded as his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.

Sometimes though, sometimes you see him looking at you in the same way he looks at others: like they are something to study, his eyes keenly assessing.

That look always gives you pause. No matter how much you know he’d probably say yes, his motives are the question you’d really want answered.

Picturing the bare skin along his ribs that rippled in his stretch the other day when he emerged from the shower, you silently flex your hand, mentally fitting your fingers along the velvet skin. Safe in the secrecy of your own mind, you let your daydreams flourish – a bubble that pops when he approaches your cot.

“Not a feast, by any means,” he says, sitting down next to you. “But it’ll do.”

You accept the bowl gratefully, steam rising from its contents. He blows on his spoon, taking a bite. The motion makes his jaw work, and when he swallows, you watch through the fringe of your eyelashes.

“You did good today.”

His easy praise just slips off his tongue, and for someone who has spent so much time in the darkness, you keen under its light.

You smile over at him, and he returns it - but only for a fraction before it drops.

He looks away, down at his food. “The next one might be a touch harder.”

“How come?” you ask, your mouth full.

“Because it’s occupied.”

You stop chewing.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Unattended pods are a thing of rarity. Most are occupied, and their inhabitants can be…”

You raise your eyebrows when he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Can be…?”

“Protective of what’s theirs.”

His statement hangs in the air, his expression sober.

Swallowing hard, you sit with it for a minute. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Look,” he sighs, studying you. “I feel I should go alone, little bird.”

Frowning, you let your bowl rest in your lap. “What? Why? It’s too dangerous.”

He huffs in amusement. “You wound me with your lack of faith in my skills. I assure you, I’ve been navigating such situations alone for far longer than you’ve even been alive.”

The reminder of his age compared to yours should make you feel more at ease about his capabilities, but instead the statement temporarily distracts you. You take in his calloused hands, the lines that edge around the corners of his eyes, the grey flecks in his beard.

“I’ve taught you a lot,” he continues, “But letting the idea marinate, I believe it’s safer to keep you here.”

His suggestion catches you off guard. Everything about your arrangement has been with the word “partnership” in mind: he’s taught you how to dig, how to shoot, how to be aware of your surroundings. For him to want you to stay behind versus alongside him must mean there is something more dangerous about the situation than he’s letting on.

Not liking the idea of being separated from him, you press. “Trust me, I don’t doubt your skills. I’ve seen you in action.”

He sits up straighter, a proud smile stretching his cheeks, and you roll your eyes, undeterred.

“You’re the mechanic, I’m the muscle,” you mimic in his voice. “Weren’t those your words? If there is anyone there, you’ll deal with them so I can get the converters.”

“I’m afraid they won’t part with them as easily as your statement suggests.”

“I never thought they would.” You hold his gaze, searching. “Why don’t you want me there?”

He hesitates, and you can see a war within the depths of his eyes. Eventually, he answers, his voice softer. “I don’t want to subject you to…an avoidable confrontation. Not if I don’t have to.”

A beat of significant silence fills the space between you. Your dinners forgotten, the space around you shrinks to the size of the cot that you share. The urge to toss your bowl onto the ground and pull him to you builds the longer you sit with his statement, but there is something else about his words that tugs at the back of your mind.

You picture him walking into the Green alone, disappearing from your sight. Weeks with him at your side has you rejecting the mental image. Your stomach churns, your hand reaching out to cover his.

“If you go, I go.”

A grimace flashes over his features, the scar along his cheek highlighted for a moment. “I thought you’d say that.”

Rationally, you know he’s just trying to protect you, but you let your hand fall back, hurt. Busying yourself with your bowl again, you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey now,” he says, soft, but stern. “It’s not a lack of faith in your skills, trust me. It’s just that mercs out here are ruthless, raw. Their sensibilities have been swallowed whole by this place, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

His voice lowers even more, his tone gentle. “You remember what I said? About girls being rare in this place?”

You look up, and his gaze is fixed on yours, earnest and serious.

“I meant it.”

Apprehension flickers in your chest, but you remain firm in holding your ground. He can’t go alone.

“You really want to come with?” he asks.

You nod instantly. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, a hint of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Okay then, partner. Let’s talk about a plan.”

–

Ezra shifts on his cot, forcing his pillow into submission under his head.

“If you go, I go.”

Your words echo in his mind, your face appearing alongside. Your presence pulls at him from across the short distance between your cots, and he shifts again, rolling to face the wall.

He doesn’t want you to come with tomorrow.

He knows what this place is capable of, the way it carves out the morals of men to leave them shells of desperation. He himself has fallen victim to it, and though he hasn’t often found regret in his actions, he already regrets agreeing to let you come. He’s been here long enough to know that a partner is crucial to survival, but you…you’re unprecedented. You’re a girl. You’re something no one has seen in a long time, and he worries (an emotion he’s not used to) about how they’ll react when they see you.

If it’s anything like the way he reacts to you, you’re both in trouble.

You stir behind him, and he listens. You shift again, and he stills his breath.

The idea that you might be restless with the want you sated last night blossoms in his mind, heat pooling behind his navel. His fingers lightly scratch the wiry hair underneath it, just over where he aches. His cock twitches in interest, and distracting himself from the thought of everything that could go wrong tomorrow, he immerses himself in the thought of you.

You, right behind him, feet away.

You, trying to be quiet, slick need gathering between your thighs.

You, slipping your hand underneath the band of your leggings.

A phantom stickiness smears across the tips of his fingers, and they twitch against his skin. He teases at the band of his thermals, pretending his hand is yours. He moves it slowly, imagining your hesitation - eager, yet shy.

He thickens fully at the thought.

Unpracticed at hiding his attraction towards someone, he’s testing the limits of his self restraint with every minute spent in your presence. Constantly reminding himself of how vulnerable you are, the idea that you’d go along with any sort of proposition out of intimidation makes him sick. But you wanting it? You making the first move?

His hand (your hand) creeps a little lower, brushing against the base of his cock. It’s stiff to the touch, and he closes his eyes – only to be assaulted with the idea of someone else grabbing your hand to force it underneath their pants. His erection wanes, a series of images flashing through his mind: you screaming for help, you being forcibly dragged out of his sight, someone else taking from you what you never offered.

He softens.

His attachment to you is something like he’s never experienced before. This urge to keep you hidden from the world to protect you, while also helping you flourish. The need that coats him from the inside out, yet is forced to stay on a leash. It feels like a fever dream sometimes, the time he spends in the pod with you. A liminal place, a trapped sort of existence akin to hell itself in the way he wants you, but also something akin to heaven.

A companionship he’s missed, a presence he ached for and now has. Like you dropped from the sky, meant just for him.

He hears you shift again, and he frowns.

He should roll over and ask you if everything’s okay, but he knows it’s not. You’re probably worried about tomorrow and you should be. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be — as ready as this place will allow you to become before you’re thrown into the heat of the fire.

He also shouldn’t because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself. If he rolls over, he’ll see you — see your shadowed form in the darkness, the dips and curves of your body. He pictures himself being drawn to it, crawling the distance between your cots. Settling close to you, feeling the heat of your skin. Murmured, dulcet tones of soothing. His hands smoothing away your nerves.

His mouth being drawn to yours in the dark intimacy of the night.

He wants to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and tell you it will be fine.

But he doesn’t know if it will be, and so he stays still, guilt eating at his restless bones.

—

The pod stands alone in the clearing, silent and imposing.

Boot prints have tamped down the soil surrounding it, the greenery eaten away. The tracks are fresh, and they lead in every direction.

“How many do you think there are?”

Hidden in the green together, you speak lowly even though no one is tuned into your frequency but Ezra.

“Hard to say. I’d judge two, maybe three.” He shifts, trying to get a better view. “The size of their vessel doesn’t say much for numbers. Can’t be more than that.”

“Do you think they’re in there?”

Noting no sign of life surrounding the pod, you try to peer in the windows from afar to spot any movement.

He sighs, a heavy and resigned thing through your connection. He turns his head, and you do the same, facing each other.

“Unfortunately, Birdie, we won’t know until we open the door.”

He checks the charge on his pistol, flicking his eyes to your weapon in a motion for you to do the same. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grip your thrower. “Ready.”

Standing from your hidden spot, he takes an automatic lead in front of you. His slinking steps are careful, his breathing steady and measured. The dust motes surrounding you make the whole thing seem like a suspended dream, like you’re moving in slow motion along with them. For every step he takes, you do the same until you’re moving as mirror images, creeping closer and closer.

Anticipation and adrenaline have your entire body on high alert, yet the green around you remains eerily calm. There is no movement and no sound other than the gentle rustle of the trees, and while that would normally be muted underneath the dome of your helmet, your straining ears pick it up. A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck, your eyes focused on Ezra’s back as he reaches the pod.

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

He works the latch open with force, and you spot check the edges of the clearing. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest, and in contrast, Ezra seems as calm as ever. You think about your own pod in the middle of a similar clearing, and how your role has reversed in your weeks here. Once the trapped person inside, now the intruder seeking what belongs to someone else.

The hatch opens, and you crawl in behind him.

It’s empty inside, though clearly in use. Two cots are pushed against the wall, blankets and pillows crumpled on top of them. Thermals litter the floor, metal dishes are stacked next to the small sink, and there is a station of cleaning tools left out, as if someone stopped mid-task.

“Speed is of the essence, little bird.”

His voice grounds you, your eyes immediately scanning the floor. It takes a minute to find the sealed compartment, but you catch the edge of it underneath one of the cots.

“Help me move this,” you ask him, picking your way over to the panel. While you’re careful with your steps, he stomps without care on anything in his way: discarded papers on the floor, a dirty shirt. He lifts the cot with a grunt, and you drop to your knees.

The panel springs open and sifting through the wires, you wish you stopped to take your helmet off. It’s hard to get close enough to the floor with the dome limiting how close you can get, and a small huff of frustration slips from your mouth as you stick your arm down, down, down, stretching it as much as you can.

Just when you’ve reached your limit, you feel the edge of the panel.

“Anything there?” He delivers the question calmly, though you can hear the slight tone of urgency that slips through.

“Got it,” you grit through your teeth, tugging it free.

The edges of it catch on the neat wiring that surrounds it, and impatiently, you tear through it all. Lifting it from the floor, your eyes widen.

“Ten. There are ten, Ez.”

You look up at him in awestruck wonder, and he returns a tight smile.

“Speedy now. Show me how you use those nimble fingers of yours.”

You click them off with practiced precision, trying to tamp down the elation that you feel at the added weight of each one in the pouch attached to your hip. When you have all ten, you toss the panel back into the nest of wires and slip the lid back into place. Standing to get out of his way, you watch as Ezra unceremoniously drops the cot back onto the floor.

He smiles at you, a genuine one this time. “You did so good, Birdie. So good.”

Relief floods your chest at his praise. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, worsening as you sat in the bush and waited, and though you know you’re not out of danger yet, you take a moment to let your victory wash over you. A sudden, fierce wish to be back in your own pod with him takes you by surprise, a burning need to throw your helmet off and have him do the same so you can kiss him. Your body subconsciously leans forward, drawn to the idea and to him and to the need to have his praise breathed directly into your mouth for you to swallow.

A similar look flashes across his own dark features, and there is a beat of weighted tension. It swirls in the space between you, filling it — and breaking, when he grabs your hand.

He gives it a squeeze, leading you back towards the hatch. “Come on. Before they get back.”

Following the back of his suit out of the pod, you notice the surroundings of the clearing seem brighter, less ominous. The dust that floats through the air no longer seems threatening and nightmarish, but more like a pleasant dream. You take in the details for the first time today, your eyes fixed where the tops of the trees brush the sky – disappearing when you’re ripped from behind with a sudden, forceful jerk backwards.

“Ezra!”

Your thrower gets tossed from your hand, and the air is pushed from your lungs as your back hits the ground with a thud. You kick wildly and try to scramble up, and a sharp kick from behind keeps you trapped in place, forcing you onto your front.

Coughing, you lift your head under the helmet, but the edges of the dome obstruct your view. Straining, you squirm underneath the heavy pressure of a boot on your back, fighting to see where Ezra is. You can see only his boots, toe to toe with a stranger’s.

The voice above you is grizzled and deep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something we need,” Ezra drawls, and though you can’t see his face, you can picture it. The truthful admission comes out slow and confident. “We found it, so we’ll be on our way.”

You hear the charge of a thrower above you, and Ezra’s boots shift slightly. It’s a special sort of hell to hear him through the comm link without being able to see him.

“Go in there and see what the fuck they took,” orders the man pinning you to the ground.

You see his partner's boots walk out of your sight, and hear him climb the ramp to the pod.

“You stay right there,” he warns Ezra. “One move and I’ll shoot your partner here.”

Lifting your torso with a grunt, you shift just enough to get Ezra in your sights before the boot on your back forces you back down. Even though you’re prone and he’s being held at gunpoint—both at the mercy of a stranger—reassurance floods through you at just being able to see his face.

“That would be…regrettable.”

The shift in Ezra’s expression is cold and menacing, his fingers flexing slightly on the grip of his pistol.

“That so?” the man teases. His boot wiggles, shoving you deeper into the soil. “Feels kinda scrawny. Can’t imagine what use he is to you for someone so small.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ezra counters.

“Let’s see him.”

The words take you by surprise, just like the swift jerk of your shoulders. He flips you faster than you can react, his boots coming down to step on your arms and the tip of his thrower aims directly at your face – his eyes wide with surprise right above it.

“Is this – is this a girl?”

Your boot flies up to kick him in the back, and he grunts but doesn’t budge. You do it again, and he presses the muzzle of his thrower into your chest.

“Do it again and see what happens.” Antsy, he glances up in the direction of the pod and yells to his partner. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Taking advantage of his split second of distraction, you use every ounce of strength you have to bow your back off the ground just enough to catch him by surprise. His boots falter, taking the pressure off your arms and you quickly sit up, driving your elbows into his thighs. He growls in frustration, trying to keep his thrower on you while also bending to swipe for your leg, and you scramble backwards in the soil. Your boots slide on the damp earth, your gloved fingers digging into the ground for purchase and there is a sharp crack in the air as Ezra aims his pistol at the man and misses. You flinch, crawling backwards to get out of the man’s reach, and panic cuts through you when you hear the stomp of boots coming down the ramp.

“What the hell –”

Those are the only words the man gets out before you hear more cracking shots, and then he’s falling backwards, dead, onto the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” The man who had you pinned lunges for Ezra, his thrower tossed to the side, a knife in his hand instead.

Ezra abandons his own weapon, throwing himself at the stranger. You watch helplessly as two of them hit the ground, fighting for control of the knife. Crawling towards Ezra’s gun, you stretch your hand towards the weapon when you hear it.

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –”

A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time.

“Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.”

Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief.

He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

—

The walk back to the pod is as quick as it can be, with Ezra’s weight leaning heavily on your side. All traces of joy and victory have long vanished, and the two of you say nothing to each other as you trudge along the hidden path.

His expression as he killed that man plays on repeat in your mind the whole way, along with his words.

“She’s mine.”

Though he’s trying to mask his pain, his grip on your hip tells you the truth, as does his labored breathing. You didn’t see it happen, but the man must have hit his mark at least once, judging from a telltale stain of dark red smeared across the front of Ezra’s suit. It seems to take forever to get back, and with every step, his wound gets worse and worse in your mind.

Finally back inside your pod, you strip and toss everything carelessly onto the ground.

“I need the med kit,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. His movements are jerky as he rips his helmet off, and then his gloves, using his teeth. “Fuck,” he sighs, his eyes pinched closed.

He’s pale, his sweat matted hair stuck to his forehead and you kneel in front of him with the kit, rifling through the contents.

“What do you need?”

His hand splays protectively over his lower stomach. “He got me through my suit, just here.” He shifts, a loud groan breaking free when he peels down the top of his suit. He rolls it to the waist, and gingerly pushing the fabric down, you see his thermals underneath, stained dark and saturated with blood.

He lifts it, and you wince.

“Looks worse than it is,” he breathes heavily, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“It looks pretty bad, Ez. Really bad.”

His stomach is matted and smeared with blood, and at the center of it all, a gash.

He holds his hand out for gauze, dabbing at the wound with a hiss. “See?” His stomach flinches, and he wipes it again before looking at you. “A stitch or two should do it.”

“You sure?” you ask, and he nods, letting his head fall to the side as he looks away.

“In you? Always.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you flick open the med kit, and then rote memory takes over. You’ve done this – your father used to stumble home all the time with various gashes. Bar fights, brawls in alley ways. Prospectors are a rough crowd, and you’d stitched him up more than once. This is just like that, only better because you don’t have someone yelling at you to do it faster – but also worse, because you care about this person more. The thought leaps into your mind, and knowing you don’t have time to dwell on it, you shove it away.

Ezra flinches at the touch of your hand against his bare stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingers.

You pause, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. Cold hands.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

“Keep going.”

You take your time disinfecting the wound, making sure all traces of dirt are gone. Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration. You want him to look at you: for reassurance, for acknowledgement of your hands on his skin – but he is resolute, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Setting your rag down, you pick up the stapler.

“You ready?”

He nods.

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist.

“Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

His breathing has turned into panting, his eyes clenched tight. You slide it along his skin an inch, and then punch another one.

The groan he lets out would be filthy, if not for the situation you’re in. It’s a strained, long thing — his head tipped back, veins highlighted along his neck and you toss the stapler to the side, pressing fresh gauze against the wound.

“All done. It’s done.”

He nods, a tired smile gracing his face. Leaning forward, he keeps one hand on his stomach and you watch nervously as he crawls onto his cot. He falls back onto his pillow, calmer now, but still pale.

“My thanks, Birdie.”

He slips into a stress-induced sleep, and you look at him for a moment before cleaning up.

At the sink, you notice his red hand print around your wrist. The blood had pooled between his fingers, the digits a slick slide over your small wrist and you brush your thumb over the marks he left behind. It looks violent, yet there is a part of you that likes it. Being branded with him, a part of him smeared into your skin.

You hesitate to wash it off.

—

He sleeps, and you keep watch.

You had worried for your father sometimes, but it was nothing like this. In the small amount of time that you’d come to know him, Ezra already meant more to you than your own father ever did.

In the dark, you finally let yourself dwell on the realization.

Your father had never truly been a father. He was more of a stranger, or a roommate at best. He dragged you down with him, keeping you close enough to use you when he needed. He was never invested in you, never cared what you thought or wanted. You never needed him for anything, but Ezra…Ezra you need. You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

The respect and courtesy he treats you with is something that surprised you, given the way you met. In a short while though, you’ve come to realize it’s exactly what’s been missing from your life this whole time. His curiosity and interest is genuine, and his care for you — especially after the events of today — is obvious.

She’s mine.

Did he say that because it’s true? Or because he needs everyone else to believe it’s true?

His lashes flutter, a dream seemingly racing through his slumber and you watch the movement of his eyes under his lids. His fingers flex, and without thinking, you place your hand on top of his.

He stills, and so do you.

The minutes and hours slip by, the moon slowly making its way from one pod window to another and you keep your vigil all the while. He murmurs in his sleep, and you cradle the curve of his jaw. Even after he stops, you keep your hand in place.

Your thumb traces the line of the scar on his cheek - a hooked thing, violent. He never told you how he got it, and you long for him to wake up and regale you with the story. He’d make a meal out of it, you know he would.

When he doesn’t stir, you continue your exploration.

Delicate touches: a swipe over his silken eyelid, a trace down the line of his nose. The bristle of his moustache tickles the pad of your thumb, a direct contrast against the smooth patch of skin on his jawline where there is no hair.

He’s a killer, and you wonder how many have gotten as close as this.

She’s mine.

He’s right — you are. In a short while you have become his. The juxtaposition of the man you saw today versus the man in front of you now is jarring, as if he couldn’t be the same man at all. And maybe he’s not, for anyone else. But for you, he is.

You get both, and while you should have been scared by the way he savagely killed today, you instead find yourself proud. You find yourself drawn to it, admiration and assurance and a sense of protection swirling around in your mind.

He did that for you, something no one has ever done.

Emboldened by this knowledge and drawn to his profile in the dark, you rest on his firm chest, and your fingers splay outwards over his heart.

Leaning down, you press your lips lightly against his.

–

He’s been awake for a while.

He has wished for you like this so many times. Just like this, only he never imagined himself like this. Just his luck that his wish comes true, but at a cost.

You’re so close, your face hovering just above his. He can smell the sweetness of your breath, of your skin. The way you’re looking at him has been one he’s only ever seen in his dreams, and though his body aches with a hidden want that threatens to consume, he stays perfectly still, not wanting it to end.

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head.

Your kiss is so soft — soft and delicate and vulnerable, just like you. Your mouth fits neatly against his own, and before he can truly savor it, it’s gone.

He opens his eyes and your shadowed form comes into focus, your proximity intoxicating. His dream come to life.

His hand slides down the back of your hair, settling on your neck. Holding you place, he can see the vulnerability that seeps out of your every pore, and he longs to soothe you. If he knew what he should soothe, he would.

He knows what he wants to soothe, but he waits.

“What are you doing, Birdie?” he whispers.

Your eyes flit between his, and you bite your lip, thinking. He watches as you war with yourself inside your head, and his touch drifts to cup your cheek. His thumb slides across the soft curve of it, and when his eyes dip to your mouth, he watches your expression change to something more assured.

Confident, resolute.

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her

chapter 6

Chapter 7

“Sevika, slow down!” you demand, your legs straining to keep up with her broad strides. She’s storming through the street towards the grocer, weaving through people and dragging you behind her.

She huffs, slowing her pace marginally, still practically stomping toward the grocer. You eye her with concern – she had been fine a moment ago when she found you, granted she had been grumpy then, too, but not this grumpy. If she notices the weird look you’re giving her, she doesn’t call you out – in fact, she doesn’t say anything at all. She just keeps on power-walking to the grocer, dragging you along behind her by a hand around your arm. If you were more fool-hearted, you would almost call her jealous. Not that you’d call her out on it; you’re fairly certain if you did, her anger would come to a head, and she’d tear a strip off you in public. Or make you sleep in the Last Drop.

You’re not quite sure which is worse.

There aren’t many people in the grocery store, which puts you at ease. The street is swarming with people, and the quiet relief of the store feels like an oasis in a desert. Taking your time, you pick out everything you can think of without Sevika’s help (the most input she gives is when you ask yes or no questions about her cooking implements). Various breakfast items, what you’ll need for dinners, and, of course, tonight’s dinner. You decided to cook with steak, baked potatoes, baked beans and roasted carrots. Much to your delight, the baked beans had been canned by a local resident! You were beginning to doubt if canned beans really lasted longer than nine years.

Sevika remains silent and stormy throughout the entire grocery trip. Even as you’re marvelling at various canned foods, jerky, farm-fresh raw meat and vegetables you thought you’d never see before. No matter how many potatoes you shove in her face, grinning from ear to ear, Sevika continues to grouch. At least she carries the shopping basket for you.

Then, you grab a jar of honey off the shelf… or at least try to. She snatches it out of your hand and places it back on the shelf.

“We have honey at home, darling,” she growls, glaring down at you.

“Oh, so she can speak!” you huff, not quite willing to cave and let her smooth the last twenty minutes over. She can’t just sulk in silence for as long as she wants and then tease you with the pet name Grayson used!  

“Don’t need to waste my money on my own honey,” Sevika mutters, pushing you forward by nudging your back with the edge of the shopping basket.

You huff out a sigh and keep walking, picking up a few more things as you head to the till. Mostly, some spices and garlic to add a little flavour to tonight’s dinner. The silent treatment takes two, and if she wants to be a grouch, you can match her level.

The young woman working the till isn’t sure what to make of the two of you. She tries a friendly greeting, but when neither of you gives her a response more than a head nod, she fumbles, trying to make light conversation while awkwardly checking you out. When neither of you responds, she clams up and avoids making eye contact. The groceries are bagged and purchased in silence – a silence that follows you home.

Sevika puts away various groceries as you swipe back the ones you need for dinner. Her eyes sparkle at the steaks as if she’d expected you to keep them for another day or something foolish. Yet, when you don’t comment on her reaction, she storms off with a glass of whiskey as if she’d been waiting for you to bridge the gap. You, of all people! You weren’t the one throwing a hangry hissy-fit over nothing!

You place a chair in the entryway to the kitchen. It’s not much of a deterrent, but it gets your point across.

Luckily, cooking requires love and concentration. The Sevika’s grumpy attitude melts away from you like the butter in the carrot’s dish. Popping the window open, you let the chirping of birds and someone playing the guitar in the distance filter into the house. It lightens your mood considerably, giving you something to listen to instead of the tense silence of the house. Still playing the silent game, you resist the urge to hum along as you dance about the kitchen, grabbing spices, pots, pans and cooking utensils. A very generous spoonful of honey is added to the carrots and the baked beans, as well as the steak pan. Periodically, you hear banging as Sevika storms around the house restlessly. You shrug it off – if she really wanted back in the kitchen, she can come apologize.

It isn’t until you’re adding the steak to the pan, letting it devour the bubbling butter, salt, rosemary, honey and garlic, that you hear a cough at the entryway to the kitchen. You tilt your head slightly to find Sevika standing just behind the chair. She’s clutching her barely touched glass of whiskey to her chest, shoulders shrunk forward, head bowed, and wearing clean clothes. A button-up plaid shirt with red and black stripes, a white tank top, a purple carabiner and a pair of blue jeans with more than a few holes in them. She’s definitely playing dirty – the unbuttoned plaid shirt draws your attention to her white tank top tucked into her pants. The same white tank top that does nothing to hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra underneath it, her nipples pressing indents into the fabric. If she hadn’t pissed you off so thoroughly, you might have jumped her bones then and there, potential rejection be damned.

“Can I… come in?” she mumbles, as if it isn’t her kitchen, in her house, and you’re not cooking with food she bought with her money.

“Why should I let you?” you bristle, your defensive attitude from earlier rearing its ugly head. You refuse to let her win – even going so far as to purposely fix your glare on her face and nothing else.

“Because… I’m sorry,” she spits like the words taste foul on her tongue.

“For?” you push, minding the steaks so you don’t overcook them.

She sighs heavily, staring down at her drink and swirling it in her glass. There’s a long, silent moment filled only with the hiss of the steaks before she looks up at you, eyes wet around the edges and her lips pursed into a mournful frown.

“For giving you the silent treatment. I shouldn’t have done that – I know how you are with crowds and people and all that. I know better than that,” Sevika whispers, barely audible over the steaks as you flip them over. Your heart aches at her words despite your brain screaming at you to be upset with her. She’s extending an olive branch, are you really petty enough to cling to anger after an apology…?

You scrutinize her for a moment longer than you should, letting her squirm under your gaze until she ducks her head again. It satisfies the prickly thing in your chest that is still upset at her. Finally, you relent and ask: “How do you like your steak cooked?” 

“Rare,” she grunts, moving the chair aside. When you make no move to stop her, she steps into the kitchen, sighing a little that she’d read between the lines correctly.

Her fingers cradle your hip as she looks over your shoulder, glass set off to the side. You can feel her press against your back, the lightest touch that consumes you like wildfire as she hums with approval.

“That looks perfect, sweetheart.”

“It better be, took me so long that it’s dark out now,” you say, nodding your head to the window where the stars are twinkling. “I’m sorry, Sev’, we might not be able to see your bees tonight.”

“Nah, I’ve got two headlamps, we’ll be alright. The bees won’t care much if we take a little peak at them when the sun’s not out… unless you’d prefer to wait until tomorrow? We could always go before my patrol – if you’re alright with getting up before my patrol, that is. It’s pretty early in the morning.”

“How about we smoke something tonight and see the bees tomorrow? I’ll have to get up with you anyway. Vander and Silco told me to partner up with you until my printing press is ready,” you inform her, plating the steaks. They don’t need that long, especially if Sevika wants hers rare.

You let the wording hang in the air, unintentional connotations lacing your poor choice of words.

“Printing press?” Sevika asks, skipping over the accidental bait entirely. You groan internally – she can press her boobs against the back of your neck, but she can’t take the hint that even your subconscious wants to eat her pussy?!

“I used to be an archivist before the apocalypse. I’m already trained in preserving old texts; it’s a fitting job to reprint old books and make new ones. Mostly survival guides and the like –“ you take the carrots out of the oven – “Grayson’s making me a printing press for free if I’ll reprint her romance novels.”

Sevika nearly chokes on the sip of the drink she had dared to take. “Yeah, uh, printing press is a good idea,” she chuckles awkwardly, face flushed red.

“I think so too – it will be nice to have something new to read! I miss books… though finding lesbian romance books was always way too difficult. The market was always oversaturated by straight romances, but finding a good lesbian one felt like a needle in a haystack,” you continue, plating the carrots, beans and baked potatoes.

“Right,” Sevika coughs, scratching the back of her neck. “Had better luck finding a book than a girlfriend, though. Lot of casual, not a lot of commitment back then.”

You nod your head in agreement as you pass her a plate. “Not like it’s much easier to find a girlfriend now,” you giggle, pilfering the silverware drawer for a spoon, fork and knife.

Sevika mumbles something too low to properly make out. You only catch ‘I’ and ‘change.’ The clatter of the silverware as she grabbed herself a set didn’t help either.

“What was that?” you ask innocently.

“Said we should eat outside, back porch’s got a table on it,” she says, face remaining impassive as she nods her head to the door.

“We’ve got to get you a dining table,” you sigh, shaking your head as you step outside.

“Didn’t need one before. Can’t cook,” Sevika grunts, following you outside.

You find an old table outside with a few chairs around it. They’re plastic lawn chairs – the kind that won’t break down for thousands of years. They look to have recently been hosed off, scrubbed down and “redecorated” with various spray-paint colours. You recognize Jinx’s handiwork from a mile away, giggling a little as you take a seat. At least the table is wooden, so it doesn’t buckle under your knife as you cut your steak. Far better than you would have fared trying to cut a steak on your lap in the living room.

Sevika sits down across from you, tucking into her steak. You don’t even notice you’re watching her with bated breath until she freezes, a spoonful of beans halfway to her mouth and furrows her brow at you.

“What? Something on my face?”

“Oh! Shit – sorry! It’s… been a while since I cooked for someone. I guess I wanted to make sure it didn’t taste like ass,” you confess, ducking your head a little to shove a carrot into your mouth. You have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan – your carrots really have been missing honey for the past few years.

Sevika is quiet for a moment, the only sound between the two of you is the clacking of silverware. You shove steak into your mouth to prevent yourself from devolving into a rambling mess of apologies pre-emptively in case she doesn’t like you’re cooking.

“Can you cook dinner every night?” Sevika practically moans, and you blink at her with wide eyes. “I, er, your cooking’s really good. Better than my shitty attempts. Way better. If you get your own place, I might just come over every night for dinner.”

“Well, Silco did say the printing shop will take priority over a house of my own… so I can cook dinner as long as you keep buying the groceries.”

“Careful making promises like that, or I might not let you leave,” Sevika jokes, chuckling to herself as she takes another bite of steak.

You try not to fixate on the fact she said, “if you get your own place,” or how she doesn’t even try to weasel her way out of sharing her house with you. You’re pretty sure if you do fixate on it, it will end with you stripping down to your birthday suit and crawling across the table… which would be super embarrassing and definitely get you kicked out of her house. In a desperate bid to distract your brain, you shove more steak and beans into your mouth, doing your damndest to focus on the taste of your delicious cooking and not the sight of Sevika’s nipples poking out from under her shirt.

Sevika does the dishes without even being asked. You try to help by drying them, but she shoes you away, instructing you to take a seat on the couch and relax. You find yourself fidgeting in your seat, wanting to do more. Dishes clatter in the sink as Sevika rinses them off, putting them away in their various homes. It comes to a head quickly – you bolt from your seat and dash upstairs. The least you can do is change out of your clothes into something more… comfortable (as a little payback for Sevika dressing down). You throw on a sundress that complements your skin and almost reaches your knees, paired with knee-high socks you usually wear under your long underwear in the colder months and a cute but nonchalant hairstyle that frames your face. Satisfied with your little ensemble, you head back downstairs and take a seat on the couch.

It's much easier to wait when you’re giddy with anticipation for when Sevika walks through the door rather than worrying if you should have insisted on helping. You fidget with the dress, adjusting it so that it rides up slightly on your thighs and that the sleeves hang off your shoulders. Maybe it’s a little much… maybe you’re still trying to get some payback after her silent treatment.

When Sevika finally does come to join you in the living room, she freezes in the doorway. For a long and tense moment, she doesn’t speak, and you’re worried you somehow crossed a line. Then her lips split in a smirk and she crosses over to behind the couch. The barest touch of her finger tilts your head back as she looms over you.

She opens her mouth to speak and then a nervous tremor passes through her. The smirk falters into a smile, and she asks: “Do you want to go out for a smoke? I’ve got some stronger stuff than you had last night.”

To say you’re disappointed would be an understatement. Yet, you try not to let her see it – the nervous tremor lingers in your mind, making your heart ache. If she feels more comfortable playing this game of cat and mouse, who are you to force her to move faster? Especially when the game is oh-so fun.

“Is that a promise? I haven’t been able to afford the stronger stuff in ages,” you giggle, resting your head against her inner arm as she continues to tilt your face back.

“’Course it is. Do you take me for a liar?” Sevika gruffs, and you giggle again, kissing her inner wrist gently before standing up. She swallows thickly, pulling her hand back to her side slowly.

“Well? What are you waiting for then?” you ask before flouncing your way to the back porch.

Sevika takes a minute before joining you, making you wait outside in the cool night air, watching the stars in civilization’s warm embrace. You get comfortable on the porch swing, letting it rock back and forth with a soft smile on your lips. The backdoor creeks open, and you barely lift your head as Sevika sits down next to you tentatively. Glancing to the side, you realize why; without thinking, you had only left enough space to your right, forcing her to sit with her most vulnerable side facing you. Her amputated arm doesn’t bother you at all. However, this is clearly bothering her. In an effort to reassure her, you squish closer, resting your head on her shoulder. She freezes for a moment, eyes flickering down to you with a pinched brow, dubbie held between her frozen fingers.

“You going to light that or what?” you grunt, hoping normalcy will smooth the tense moment over.

“Impatient, are we?” Sevika chuckles, placing the dubbie between her lips. The lighter flickers in the dark night, illuminating her face in a warm glow for the briefest moment.

She takes the first drag, blowing it out through her nose. You take it from her fingers as she passes it over to you, pulling a long drag that curls up into the sky upon your exhale. Sevika slowly starts to calm down, relaxing into the porch swing as you melt into her side. Eventually, her head slumps to the side and rests on top of yours as both your bodies become tingly and light. When the dubbie burns out, she squishes it into the ashtray and closes her eyes with a satisfied hum. You mimic her, swinging your legs over top of hers so you are partially sitting in her lap. She chuckles and rests her hand on your legs, thumb stroking your bare skin. Worming your arm along the back of the porch swing, you play with the hairs growing at the base of her skull, twisting them around your fingers.

The night chitters and stretches on, coyotes howling in the distance, horses braying in the stables, and crickets chirping. You sigh with relief, shutting your eyes and letting the safety of Zaun wrap around you. Sevika hums in agreement, kissing the top of your head absentmindedly. In your chest, your heart flutters at the gesture, wanting to push up and meld your lips against hers until your bodies become one. Instead, you remain cuddled up against her side, hand slowly snaking around her torso to hold her waist.

“Sevika,” you start, and she hums in acknowledgement. “I know this is a personal question – so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want. But… everyone keeps avoiding me about how you lost your arm –“ Sevika stiffens against you, her thumb ceasing – “You don’t owe me an explanation. Honestly, I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want me to. I’m here to listen if you do, though.”

“Jeez, you really know how to ruin a perfect high,” Sevika jokes, huffing out a forced chuckle.

“Sorry, you don’t –“

“Nah, it’s alright. Kinda one of those things I don’t like telling people, and I don’t like being asked, but you’re cute, so I’ll let you get away with it. So long as you promise not to tell Jinx.”

“Why?”

“Because she thinks I lost it in the explosion saving her and Vi’s asses, and that’s how she’s going to remember it until she’s old enough to not feel guilty about what actually happened. This is something her dads and Vi decided on – I’d tell the little shit if I didn’t think they were going to murder me for it,” Sevika explains soberly, squeezing your knee.

“I won’t tell her, I promise,” you murmur, continuing to play with the tiny strands of her hair.

“Good,” Sevika grunts, nodding her head. “I lost it back when the world went to shit. I was working at the bar when a few of the patrons turned into the gone. Back then, we didn’t know what an incubator or stumbler even was – people came in sick or ravenous all the time. They paid their tabs and tipped well, who were we to turn them away? But, then that ravenous hunger turned from any food to anything and all of a sudden, Silco was screaming because a patron just tried to eat his leg. Vander got his gun; I ran upstairs to get the kids. That message came through just moments after I’d gotten them from their beds. Powder saw it – er, Jinx used to go by Powder… it’s a long story – anyway, Powder saw the message and started freaking out. I was so focused on her breakdown that I didn’t notice Milo and Clagger were…” she trails of and reaches for another dubbie, her fingers shaking.

You help her light it, your heart aching in your chest. You hadn’t heard those names mentioned before. If this story is going where you think you aren’t sure, you want to know. The infection had two stages before it got bad: incubators and stumblers. Incubators are just sick – fighting off the infection but not yet succumbed. They can’t turn anyone. Stumblers are trapped in their own bodies, ravenous and eating anything (even garbage) with the exception of flesh. It wasn’t until they worsened into “the Gone” that they started eating flesh, with many widely speculating that the person they once were no longer existed.

After a beat, Sevika continues, passing you the dubbie: “Milo and Clagger had been sick for a while before then. We had thought they’d gotten better when their appetites returned. It wasn’t until… it wasn’t until I was up there, too distracted by comforting Powder, that one of them lunged at me, and I knew. Vi helped me fight them off, but I could see in her eyes that those were still her brothers – adopted be damned. We hadn’t even noticed that Powder had grabbed one of her experiments until she had lugged it at the ‘people’ attacking Vander downstairs. Then it all went to shit. I grabbed both of them, trying to shield them from the blast as the bar went up in flames. Vander and I barely got everyone out in a frenzy of adrenaline. Grayson showed up with a police van and shouted us to get in – we didn’t think twice; the bar was burning, and the world was ending. Thought it was a police evacuation at first, until she admitted she’d stolen the van to get people to safety when the police system crumbled. We drove all day and night to get out of that city, the car deathly silent until we were sure it was safe to breathe.”

Sevika’s voice starts to waver, and she breaks off, taking another heavy drag before continuing: “We stopped at an abandoned town for supplies. My arm was killing me, so I rolled up the sleeve and found a fucking bite mark sprouting purple veins. Silco caught me, and the two of us shared a horrified look – we used to watch old zombie movies together on the bar’s shitty little TV during slow days. He kept the kids distracted while Grayson and Vander cut my arm off. We didn’t want to worry them that I was going to turn and they were going to lose yet another family member. So, we told them my arm had been too damaged from the explosion to keep without putting me at risk. Over the years, Powder interpreted that as meaning she’d blown my arm off while saving everybody. We let her think that – it felt cruel to tell her that she’d gotten me infected. Especially when we caught it in time.”

“I’ve never heard of someone preventing infection through an amputation,” you mumble, unsure what to say to that. You know Sevika would not appreciate you saying, ‘I’m sorry that happened to you,’ but you didn’t want to seem like you were avoiding her story.

“Guess I’m just lucky,” Sevika shrugs, offering you the dubbie. You take it and inhale a small drag. “Thanks for listening, by the way. Not many people around I can tell that story to. Not many I want to tell. It feels good to tell someone who wasn’t there when it happened… I swear, sometimes Vander still looks at me as if I could have saved Milo and Clagger. It’s not as if I chose to leave them there! They were infected, and taking them with us would have meant endangering Jinx and Vi! It’s just…” she trails off with a frustrated sigh.

“You wish you could have done more for them? That you’d know before and helped them in some way?” you finish for her, passing her back the dubbie.

“Yeah. That.”

“I know how you feel… my parents were infected. They were – they would have had a better chance out here than me. Mom knew about plants, gardening and survival skills. Dad knew about building, camping and hunting. Some days, it feels like it should have been them instead of me. Some days, I wish I hadn’t circled back to their house and found them…”

Sevika squeezes your knee: “It isn’t either of our faults. Life just happens. Things go to shit and there’s not much we can do about it.”

“We can keep living, that’s a start,” you point out, resting your head on her shoulder again.

“Yeah… that’s all we can do,” Sevika murmurs, exhaling smoke. “You got enough ammunition for tomorrow’s patrol, or do we need to stop by the arms storage before heading out?”

You giggle at how she breaks the tension once more with a non sequitur. “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything I need for tomorrow. Thanks for checking.”

“Would be pretty fucked up if you got bit tomorrow after all that,” Sevika grunts with a light shrug.

[the-cauldron-witch]

Howdy T'Witch! It makes me so happy that you got your blog all up and designed! Those are big days and I’m happy that it looks so good! Hopefully you think so too!

I say that your writing requests were open and I’d love to pick your brain on some light angst if you’re up for it! No worries if you ain’t because hey understandable. The holidays be crazyyyyyy 🤪

But maybe to something to think about if you’re bored and whatever. But I wanted to ask on how do you think the Bayverse Boys would respond to you (y/n) getting amnesia and forgetting about them completely for whatever reason for how ever long? Do you think they’d try to rejog their memory or try to love them better with the chance of a fresh start? Or something else entirely. I am curious and I’d love to hear your thoughts if you’ve got the time and energy. Thanks for existing!

Hey Anon! (It’s weird to type this and have you not actually be an anon lmao)

I am very happy I finally have my blog up and running how I like, it finally feels like a little home to me. Thank you for noticing! 🫂🫂🫂

Thank you so much for sending an ask, I’m going to have fun with this one! I’m giving them a happy ending though, cause I can’t write angst and not give my boys a good ending. (Also completely unedited and not proof read lol)

Leonardo

The worry and anxiety he feels in the pit of his stomach like he swallowed a lead weight is one thing, but the chest-clenching heartbreak when you shriek at the sight of him and had no recollection of his existence is another.

He keeps a stoic face once you’ve calmed down and while explaining who he is to you, but really this poor guy is absolutely gutted. It takes so much of him to keep a straight face.

Still a bit of a helicopter, using any subtle opportunity to jog your memory of himself. He’ll make a cup of tea for you in the exact way he did on your first date, subtly comment on your outfit when he recognizes it’s something he bought you, anything he could think of to hopefully remind you.

This man does not sleep the entire time. You aren’t sleeping in his bed, how could he anyway? Once he is sure you are fully asleep, he comes to check on you. Listen to see if you talk in your sleep, mumbling about memories or just in case a nightmare decides to haunt you.

When he can’t check on you or do really anything else, he’s meditating in order to keep his emotions in line. He’s completely destroyed, so meditating for hours on end is the only way he can keep himself in check.

Although he’s snappy, irritable, and driving everyone but you away, what Leo really needs is one of his brothers to ignore the attitude and just stand there and let him get it out. By the time he’s done he’s already apologized a hundred times, he’s just lost and broken hearted.

Out of all his brothers, Raph is probably the one that cracks him and gets him to just spit it out. They all know what’s going on and how much Leo’s hurting from it all, but he still needs to let it out. Raph can handle the attitude with ease, brushing it aside and letting Leo get himself together

After what feels like an eternity, you gain your memory back at the most random of times while you happened to be watching him practice his kata. When you start babbling memories excitedly, he picks you up in a hug and cries into you.

It doesn’t matter if anyone’s watching, he’s crying and just so grateful that you remember who he is. Weeping tears of joy and the bottled anxiety finally burst as he holds you. Bear with this poor guy, it’s been a ride for both of you really.

Raphael

This poor guy is so surprised and in shock when you don’t remember him, he thinks you’re playing some sort of prank on him at first.

“Heh- babe, c’mon…don’t joke around like dat”

Once it hits him that this isn’t a prank or joke, you genuinely do not know who he is, Raph practically shuts down.

The love of his life doesn’t remember who he is, even looks at him like he’s the monster he felt he was before meeting you. It breaks his heart so much he locks himself away for a day or two, unfortunately leaving you more confused.

When you start wanting to be near him- no, needing to be near him, is when he starts coming around. He found you pacing back and forth in front of his bedroom door like a cat waiting to enter a closed off room one night.

You couldn’t explain it, but you have this invisible pull and primal need to be near him somehow. To be close, even touching him. Although you don’t remember why, you just know you need to,

Raph starts coming out of his room and trying to act normal, but when his brothers look him in the face an see how red and raw his eyes are, the dark circles, and the heartbreak in his eyes, they know it’s just an act but wisely choose not to comment.

He catches you staring at him while he’s working out, chuckling as you bashfully try to shy away. He doesn’t tease or joke though, instead encourages you to come watch

“I miss my favorite spotting partner,” Raph admits, hoping that will help jog your memory a little. It doesn’t outright, but you do find yourself already knowing how to spot him.

After a few days of you following Raph around like a lost puppy, your memory finally comes crashing back to you when Raph slipped the boxing gloves on you for practice.

Relief. So much relief it washes over Raph like a tidal wave that nearly knocks him off his feet. He holds you and kisses you, telling you repeatedly how grateful and happy he is you have your memory and you’re here. The tears will come at night while the two of you are in bed for the night, but he holds you and everything is okay.

Donatello

Initiate full on analytical mode. He is immediately going through a thousand different scenarios and cures in his head, he almost forgets that *you forgot* who he was all together, so his babbling did nothing to calm you down.

Even with all his knowledge and abilities, it still doesn’t negate the overwhelming emotions he feels when you don’t recognize him. It hurts, makes it hard for Donnie to even breathe, but he hides it behind his science and research.

Sitting in front of his computer for days on end in between checking up on your, it becomes almost like an obsession for Donnie to get your memory back. At the risk of his own health and wellbeing, he does not stop.

From using scents he knows you enjoy, like that cologne you bought for him as a gift or your favorite body wash, tasting your favorite coffee or the tiramisu Donnie bought for the two of you on a date once.

Let’s put on that movie we watched on that one Valentine’s weekend; you were obsessed with it for weeks!

Oh, what if Donnie took you to that rooftop the two of you saw a comet in the night sky once? It was absolutely beautiful, but wasn’t nearly as beautiful as you, he confided.

Countless hours of research keep Donnie from sleeping, honestly at one point contemplating how he could just straight main-line caffeine into his blood stream to stay awake.

Without warning one night, you come into his lab and demand he sleep. Not ask, not coax, you demand Donnie to get in bad with you and get some sleep. He questions if you’ve finally gotten your memory back, but sadly no. And he’s crushed. But you still demand he lay down in bed with you.

Crawling into bed with you with awkward limbs, Donnie is surprised that you lay down exactly as you always do with him. Even without memory, it was like your body still remembered how you fit together.

Quiet tears fall as Donnie holds onto you, sleep mercifully taking him into a deep slumber. Guilt crawled its way into your stomach while trying to sleep, wishing that your memory would just return so you could stop all of this.

Waking up in the morning, you blinked with shock as you look at Donnie- looked at him like you knew him again. And you did. You had woken up with your memory by some miracle.

Kissing and hugging you with love and relief, Donnie can’t keep his hands off of you or keep the tears from smudging his glasses. It was all so hard to believe while it was happening that now it was over, it felt like the end of a tornado.

The two of you decide to sleep in a little longer, only because Donnie could barely hold his eyes open. Frankly, sleep was probably what you needed too after all this.

Michelangelo

Confused. Downright, no jokes confused. How could you not remember him so suddenly? Time just doesn’t erase like that right?

Mikey asks Donnie a million and one questions, repeating or re-wording them or giving scenarios. It drives his brother mad, but he tries to be lenient because Donnie knows how terrified his younger brother is.

He caters to you in every way; offers to get you a drink, make you something to eat, get you a pillow, it becomes a little overwhelming, but you don’t know how to tell him to stop.

When Mikey tries to kiss you and pull away, it was like you could practically hear the way his heart shatters like glass. But he hides it with a smile and flirts, telling you he won you over once, he could do it again.

This is when he starts to flirt with you like he did before the two of you started dating, but with far more strategy and knowledge. Comments about how sweet you are while making your favorite chocolate pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream

Tells you how amazing you look in that shirt or those pants, mostly because he was the one to buy them.

He’ll give you your favorite kind of gifts; favorite flowers, candy, stuffed animals, anything he can think of giving you and jog your memory. Each time it doesn’t work, he’s crushed a little bit more, but he keeps trying.

Plays movies that you and Mikey watched together, shared music playlists the two of you built together over the period of your relationship, and whatever else he could possibly think of. But it still didn’t work.

When you aren’t anywhere near to see, Mikey with let himself cry for a moment out of frustration and sadness that you don’t remember him. It hurts, but by the time you are near he has a smile back on his face.

He thought you were sleeping one night when you found him crying down one of the sewer tunnels away from the lair. The sight broke your heart, which for some reason jogged your memory. Rushing to hug and kiss him, you damn near scared Mikey out of his shell.

“Angelcakes, you remember!?” Mikey shouts, picking you up and spinning you in a massive hug. Thank the pizza Gods, he had you back!

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[eiluned]

Coffee in Bed (Lucanis/Rook fic; explicit)

by eiluned

Read it on AO3

Info: Explicit, Lucanis/Rook, fluffy smut. No spoilers! Set post-game.

Summary: Lucanis is a busy man. Can Rook entice him back into bed?

Notes: Secret Santa fill for Firechocobro! I hope you enjoy!

There was nothing in the world more luxurious than waking up wrapped in soft sheets on a thick feather mattress.

Correction: there was something more luxurious, and that was waking up wrapped in soft sheets on a thick feather mattress with Lucanis wrapped around her.

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and looked around the still-dim bedroom, but she was alone.

“Hmph,” she grumbled and fell back onto the lofty pillows. “Where is he?”

As if she had summoned him with her complaint, the door opened and Lucanis appeared, two steaming mugs in hand, and the rich scent of coffee filled the air. “Good morning,” he said with a smile.

“Good morning,” she replied, stretching in just the right way to make the sheets slip down and expose her naked torso. “Mind telling me why you aren’t in this bed?”

He carefully put the coffee down on the bedside table, clearing his throat the way he did when he was trying to not be turned on by her. “It’s a busy morning,” he said, resting his hip on the edge of the mattress. “The First Talon doesn’t just get to sleep in whenever he wants.”

Rook propped herself up on the heap of pillows against the headboard, and watched as he fought an internal battle to not stare at her breasts. Smothering a laugh, she cocked her head at him. “But as the First Talon, don’t you get to make your own schedule?” she asked as innocently as she could. “The meetings can’t happen if you’re not there, you know.”

He laughed, sitting a little more solidly on the bed, his eyes drifting downward from her face before snapping back up to her eyes. Victory was almost in her grasp, she thought, and fought the urge to smirk.

“Yes, but if the other Talons all show up and I don’t?” he said, brushing at an imaginary speck of lint on his trousers. “I mean, there is only one of me and seven of them.”

“Teia would fight on your side,” she said with a grin. “Come back to bed with me.”

Lucanis pressed his lips together, clearly conflicted, and shook his head. “I have work to do, you know,” he said, trying to look stern.

And failing miserably.

He leaned a little closer to her, his hand planted on the mattress, his eyes roaming hungrily over her body.

“Is it time sensitive?” she asked, reaching over to trail her fingers across the back of his hand. “Couldn’t it wait a few hours?”

He stood abruptly, stalking across the room and out the door.

Rook blinked. Apparently victory was not in her grasp. “Right,” she said aloud in the empty room. “I guess it is time sensitive.”

With a sigh, she picked up her cup of coffee and sat against the headboard, taking a sip. He’d made it exactly how she liked, and she smiled into the mug. She knew she was being selfish, wanting him to stay with her when she knew he had so many responsibilities as First Talon. She just couldn’t help wanting him.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious scent, and was just about to take another sip when the bedroom door swung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Swiftly putting her coffee back on the table, Rook watched Lucanis kick the door shut before stalking across the room, already unbuttoning his shirt.

Victory, she thought with a little thrill of excitement.

“You are a menace,” he growled playfully.

Rook let out a little shriek of laughter when he whipped the covers back and grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her flat onto her back. “Ah, but you love that about me,” she said with a grin, watching as he stripped the shirt off of his arms and tossed it aside.

“I do,” he agreed, crawling onto the bed and settling between her legs.

She had another pithy comment ready to go, but he kissed her so thoroughly that it completely slipped her mind. Sinking her hands into his hair, she let him take her mouth, let him wrap his arms around her, let him press her down into the soft mattress.

Lucanis always kissed her like he was drowning and she was air. His kisses were heady and overwhelming, and always so, so good. She hummed her pleasure against his mouth, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“You,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he trailed kisses from her mouth across her jaw, “are such a distraction.”

He followed that with his tongue pressed against the pulse in her throat, and she arched up against his body. “I can’t get anything done,” he continued, gently setting his teeth into the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, “because I am always thinking about you.”

A breathless laugh escaped her, but it quickly turned into a moan when he slid down to take her nipple in his mouth. “Lucanis,” she whispered, sinking her hands into his hair.

With a smirk, he sucked at her until she was writhing and panting before pulling away. “I’m always thinking about kissing you,” he purred, licking at her other breast for a second before kissing his way down her stomach. “Touching you. Tasting you…”

Rook gasped when he pushed her thighs apart, settling on his stomach on the mattress. He looked up at her, silently asking for permission, and when she nodded, he eagerly pressed his open mouth between her legs.

Her breath caught in her throat, a choked moan wrenched from her, at the feel of his tongue against her clit. He was a master at reading her body and knowing exactly what to do to drive her mad as quickly as possible. And he was also a master at knowing exactly what to do to draw it out as long as possible, to torture her with pleasure. It was always a surprise, which way he would decide to go.

She sank her hands into his hair, tugging at it lightly, and he groaned against her, lapping at her entrance. He liked to watch her while he licked her cunt, his dark eyes cut upward underneath furrowed brows, and damned if that didn’t do it for her.

When he moved up to lick her clit, she nearly came off the bed. With a low laugh that vibrated straight through her, he closed his lips around the sensitive little bud and sucked gently for a second. She bucked up, but he caught her hips in his hands and pressed her down into the mattress, holding her still.

So it was going to be torture.

"Lucanis, please," she whined, and he chuckled again, holding her gaze as he licked a slow path up her cunt.

"Be patient, cariño," he replied with a wicked grin, nudging his nose against her clit. "You can't just demand that I put aside my responsibilities and then expect me to rush."

Pushing her legs up and apart, he swiped his tongue up her cunt again before delicately licking at her clit, soft flicks that wound her up tight but weren’t firm enough to actually push her over the edge. She shuddered, reaching up to fist her hands in the pillows, desperate to move bu pinned down by his hold on her thighs.

He waited until she was right at the edge, panting and begging, and then…

He stopped.

Rook wasn’t entirely sure what came out of her mouth when he lifted his head, but he laughed and squeezed her thighs. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say,” he teased, grinning at her while she glared daggers at him.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” she retorted, squealing when he put his tongue back to work.

Over and over he took her right up to the edge, always stopping just short, until she was a desperate, sobbing mess. “Please please, Lucanis,” she whimpered, her legs shaking in his grasp. “Please please please—”

“Mm, I suppose I should take pity on you,” he said with a smirk, dipping his head and sucking firmly on her clit.

The orgasm shot through her like lightning, so much stronger for how long he had teased her and kept her right on the edge. She bucked against his mouth, crying out his name, pushing against his hold on her legs. He was up on his knees before she had stopped shuddering, shoving his trousers down his thighs and kicking them off.

Taking her hands, he pulled her upright and flipped her over, settling her on her knees. “Hold on,” he said, his voice a rumble that she felt all the way down to her toes.

Still shaking, she braced herself on the headboard, clinging to the smooth wood. “Maker, you are so beautiful,” he breathed, pressing kisses up her spine. “I love to watch you come apart for me.”

Rook couldn’t speak; she just arched against him and sighed, turning her head to meet his mouth when he kissed his way across her shoulder. “Are you ready?” he whispered against her ear.

He waited for her to nod before fitting his cock against her opening and entering her slowly. The feel of him stretching her open wrenched a moan from her throat. It didn’t matter how many times they had made love; that first push always took her breath away.

Answering her moan with one of his own, he held her hips as he bottomed out inside of her. “So good,” he murmured, stroking a hand up her flank.

She arched again under his touch, pushing back against his hips, hiding a smile in the pillows when he groaned. He followed her lead, leaning forward to brace his hands on either side of hers on the headboard, and pressed his chest to her back as he began to move inside her.

It was good, so good, every time he took her. He fit against her perfectly, his body curving around hers, penning her in, but somehow she never felt trapped by it. She felt safe; she felt cherished; she felt loved.

“Lucanis,” she breathed, grasping his hands as he thrust slowly and steadily into her.

“Mi corazón,” he moaned softly, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot below her ear, lacing his fingers into hers. “You are so good, my love.”

Despite his languid pace, it wasn’t long before he was panting against her ear, his thrusts hitching in their rhythm. Rook turned her head to meet his lips, putting every bit of love she felt into her kiss. With a final thrust, he pushed deep and moaned against her mouth, his hips jerking as he spilled into her.

-

“Do you need to get up?” she asked a little while later, tucked against his side, stroking his chest idly.

He sighed in contentment, stroking her hair and pressing a kiss to her temple. “No, mi amor,” he replied, holding her a little closer. “Everything can wait. I just want to be with you.”

-

the next morning

Lucanis woke up slowly, a luxury he still hadn’t gotten used to. The bed was soft and warm, the sheets smelled like Rook’s perfume…

With a frown, he pushed himself up on an elbow and found the other side of the bed empty.

As if on cue, the door swung open. Rook stepped in, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, and she grinned at him as she closed the door with her hip. “Good morning,” she said, sauntering across the room.

Leaning back against the pillows, Lucanis ran a hand through his hair and watched her hips sway. “Come back to bed,” he replied, his voice still rough with sleep.

“Get back in bed with you?” she teased, setting the coffee on the bedside table. “Don’t you know I have important Crow business to attend to?”

Her cheeks flushed at the heated look he gave her. “Come here.”

Rook slid back into bed, back into his arms, and they wasted the whole morning together.

[darkfalcone]

Tara's Girl

pairing: amber freeman x reader; tara carpenter x reader

warnings: noncon, forced oral sex, finger sucking. Spit Kink

summary: amber makes her move, noticing that tara and you aren’t talking.

request: Hey! Can I request Amber x fem reader non con smut please

a/n: reposting here because i'm no longer writing dark fics on my main

You sat next to Wes, not bothering to watch whatever movie was on the TV. All you wanted to do was go home - Tara and you had a fight on the way to Wes’ place. Tara sat next to Amber, refusing to acknowledge you with her eyes glued to the screen.

You sighed, getting up out of your seat. You walked into the kitchen, needing some space from everyone. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe. The fight was over something fun and Tara had every right to be angry. You poured yourself some more Sprite, trying to take your mind off your girlfriend.

You jumped as you looked up to see Amber in the doorway. You pulled your phone out and began to scroll through Twitter. As soon as you did, Amber grabbed your phone from you.

“Everything okay, (Your Name)?” she asked, setting your phone on the counter.

You reached for it, but withdrew your hand when she smacked it. You glared at her, unsure as to why she did it.

“What the-“ you began.

“I asked you what was wrong.” Amber said sternly.

“Tara and I had a fight, okay?” you snapped, finishing your drink.

You walked past her, only to be stopped by her pulling you back by your shirt. You weren’t sure as to what exactly she wanted. Amber was a lot closer to Tara, so why was she interested in you all of a sudden?

“Let go of my shirt, Am.” You said, but Amber didn’t budge. Her grip got tighter as she pulled you in closer.

“Why are you in such a rush, (Your Name)? It’s not like you’re going back out there to cuddle up with Tara.” Amber smirked.

You glared at her, slapping her hand away to get her to let go of your shirt. You were angry now, unsure as to why Amber would say something like that towards you. Of course you couldn’t just go cuddle with Tara, but she didn’t need to say anything along those lines.

“You should dump her,” Amber stated. “I’ll be honest with you… I’ve always had a thing for you since you started dating Tara. But what really made me want you was on that camping trip last month. I was up late at night, and I could hear all the sounds you were making. How you were begging Tara to let you come and god… I knew then and there that I wanted you.”

Amber took a step forward, pushing you up against the counter. She leaned in, kissing you on the lips. It was rough and unpleasant, causing you to slap Amber across the face.

“What the actual fuck?!” You snapped.

Amber smile, grabbing you by the neck and squeezing roughly. “Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

”Fuck you,” you spat.

“Such a mouth, I’m going to have to teach you some manners,” she sighed, licking her lips. “I think you need to apologize to me now.”

“What? No, you kissed me.” you snapped. “I’m telling Tara what you did.”

Amber laughed at your threat. “Go ahead. She won’t believe you.”

“She would-“ you began, but Amber cut you off by pushing you down to your knees by your neck. She removed her hand - unbuckling her belt with both hands as she kept her eyes glued on you.

Amber looked up, jumping slightly as she noticed Wes walk past the kitchen. She unzipped her jeans, pulling them down hurriedly. Her underwear soon followed.

“You’re going to apologize for slapping me, (Your Name),” she said, grabbing you by your hair. Pulling you closer to her pussy. “Go on, kiss it.”

You shook your head, keeping your mouth shut tight. You weren’t going to do this - you loved Tara. Amber huffed, growing frustrated with your act of defiance. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, you choose.”

She gave you a few seconds to decide, but you still refused to. She sighed, “Very well then.”

Pushing your face into her pussy, you had no choice but to do what she wanted. Sliding your tongue into her right away, you silently hoped someone would come in and stop what she was forcing you to do. Amber fucked your tongue, holding your head in place as she did all the work. She wanted to be quick, not wanting anyone to walk in on the two of you.

She continued, fucking your face as she got closer to her orgasm. Amber pulled your face away from her pussy, allowing you sometime to breathe. After a minute, Amber pushed your face back into her pussy. “That’s it, good girl.” she praised, which caused you to feel sick to your stomach.

“I don’t think you’re Tara’s girl anymore, baby,” she teased, causing tears to well up in your eyes. “You’re mine, but don’t you worry… with a mouth like yours I’ll take real good care of you.”

You tried to pull away, but Amber kept you in place. “Don’t- fuck, don’t pull away. I’m close.” Amber moaned, fucking your face once more. She came with a grunt, pulling away from you once she was satisfied.

“Open your mouth,” she instructed, and you shook your head. Amber rolled her eyes, pinching your nose and holding it until you opened your mouth. Leaning down, Amber spat in your mouth. “Hold it. I want you to hold it until I say swallow. Understood?”

You nodded, patiently waiting for her to let you swallow. You felt sick to your stomach, wanting nothing more than for her to leave you alone. You wanted to make up with Tara and tell her what Amber had done to you.

“Good girl for waiting, you can swallow now.” she smiled. You did as you were told, hoping she was done with you now.

You jumped as she shoved three fingers into your mouth unexpectedly. “Hey Tara,” she said, smiling at your girlfriend. “Do you want something to drink?”

Your eyes widened, trying to pull Amber’s fingers out of your mouth. You knew you could make noise, but you knew Amber would make an excuse for it.

“Hey, and no. I’m actually looking for (Your Name), have you seen her?” Tara asked.

Amber shook her head, “I have not. Maybe she left?”

Tara sighed, “Let me know if you see her.”

Amber gave her a small smile, “Of course.”

As soon as Tara was out of sight, Amber pulled her fingers out of your mouth. She stayed quiet as she pulled her pants back up and you watched as she buckled her belt. You stayed on the ground, tears running down your face.

“If you tell Tara about this, I promise you that she won’t ever believe you,” she laughed. “I’m her best friend and I’ve known her for years.”

You stayed silent, biting your lip as hard as you could. The taste of Amber’s pussy still lingered, causing you to gag.

“I’d clean yourself up before you join us again, wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious.” Was all she said before making her way out of the kitchen. You hurried to the bathroom, making sure no one had seen you. Gasping, you turned on the water. Washing your face off to make yourself presentable, hoping Tara wanted to make up.

You were Tara’s girl after all.

[capquinn]

Curious on your take on what Quinn would do if one of the kids was born during the season? I know it’s their job but I felt so bad for Conor having to leave almost immediately after. Especially being captain that’s even bigger. But Quinn seems so family first that the thought of leaving his little one and his wife who can barely stand and get dressed without his help for almost everything is so heartbreaking for him.

Oh my god you're about to get me started, sweet nonny! Because whenever I write about dad!quinn my mind always wanders back to Conor and his wife when they had their baby boy. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for her to labour without him by her side because he had (he volunteered but still) to play a game and then for him to go on a 2 week roadie a couple of days after with a newborn baby back home would've been difficult for him to do.

I think Quinn would really struggle with the balance, especially in moments like those.

Funnily enough, Bug is actually born right at the very end of the regular season, which feels like a small stroke of luck in an otherwise hectic time. It’s still not ideal —he’s juggling the final push before playoffs with everything that comes with becoming a dad for the first time — but it’s miles better than if she’d arrived in the middle of the season or right at the start.

But if she had been... in a perfect world, where the team didn’t rely on him as much as they do, he’d get a few days — maybe even a week — just to be fully present, to focus entirely on the birth, on you, on Buggy. It's not perfect but at least this way, there’s a tiny bit of breathing room.

In a not so perfect world, he would’ve been absolutely torn because he’s so family orientated and deeply committed to his team, and he’d feel this immense pull in both directions, like no matter what he chooses, he’d feel like he's letting someone down. Even if you’d told him a hundred times over that you’re fine, that you understand the reality of his job, and that you’re surrounded by support — he’d still grapple with it. The mere thought of not being there for the moment his baby comes into the world, or even just leaving you to labour without him by your side, would weigh on him in a way he wouldn't be able to shake.

He’d never complain outright — Quinn isn’t ungrateful in the slightest. He knows exactly how fortunate he is to be living his dream, doing something he loves every single day. On ice or at home. To be a captain, to be a husband, to be a father — those aren’t just titles to him; they’re everything he’s ever wanted, the kind of responsibilities he’s dreamed about for as long as he can remember. But with the people closest to him, the ones who really know him, he’d let a little bit slip — just enough to vent when it feels like the pressure might crack him open. Because trying to be all of those things at once? It’s no small thing, and there’s no guidebook on how to juggle them all, especially when his job doesn’t come with the luxury of proper parental leave. There’s no real space carved out for new dads in his world, no way to hit pause on being captain so he can just be dad for a little while.

Even then, his venting would just be him quietly trying to work through his feelings because, yeah, he’d be frustrated — not with anyone in particular, but with the system, the situation, and the sacrifices it demands. It wouldn't be about wanting special treatment; it’s about the impossibility of trying to give everything to two worlds that don’t always align. And even in those quiet admissions, there’d be this unshakable understanding — he gets it. He really does. It’s just… hard.

I wrote a little something a while ago about how he'd balance being a first time dad and being captain here but focussed on the nice stuff if you'd like to read <3