#and i Did Not Need To Be. they're perfect.

[gingersnapwolves]

coming back to this post to address some questions I've gotten on it!

The above: if you qualify for Medicare, just get regular Medicare. If anyone asks if you'd like a Medicare advantage or Medicare replacement plan, the answer is no. If you don't qualify for Medicare, this post isn't really for you, but you can shop for healthcare through the Affordable Care Act (for now) and there are navigators who can help you pick a plan.

Second: what about Medicare supplement plans? In general, these are good and helpful, but be aware that they ONLY cover what Medicare covers. They're good for paying your deductible and coinsurance, but they don't pick up the tab for non-Medicare-covered services. And they can find excuses not to, just like any commercial plan (but overall I find them better about it than Medicare advantage plans).

Third: oh no, I have an advantage plan/managed care plan for Medicaid and they didn't give me a choice! Yeah, unfortunately, Medicaid and Medicare are very different animals. Medicare is a federal program, whereas Medicaid is run at the state level. Many states have "managed care plans" to provide Medicaid that function the same way (that is, Medicaid gives them a certain amount of money and says use this to take care of the patient) but unlike Medicare, you often don't have a choice as to whether or not you'll get one. The state can require it (the state I currently do billing in does).

Fourth: what do I do if I have one? Unfortunately, it's a lot harder to get off a Medicare Advantage plan than to get on one. I believe you can switch during open enrollment, or if you have a "qualifying life event" but I don't actually know a lot about that.

Fifth: sometimes Medicare Advantage will cover things that Medicare won't, like dental/hearing/vision. This is true. As above, Medicare is not perfect. So if you have a lot of needs in those areas, it may be worth looking into a Medicare Advantage plan, but that's pretty much the only circumstance I would say that.

Last: what are your qualifications to give such advice? I've worked many years in medical billing, including years at a company that did billing for multiple physicians/practices/facilities all over the country, so I'm passingly familiar with many disciplines AND many states in the USA. That being said, I encourage you to do research and explore your options and don't take the word of one post on tumblr.

Happy to answer any other questions!

You know what since I’ve got a ton of new followers because my post on puberty blockers took off and people apparently want to see me rant, I’m gonna get up on my soapbox for a PSA for tumblr’s aging userbase.

Do not! Get! A Medicare Advantage plan!

Tell your parents not to get one. Tell your aunts and uncles not to get one. Tell your friends not to get one.

Why is that, you might say? Kouri, what is a Medicare Advantage plan, you might say?

tl;dr Medicare is the government healthcare plan for Americans of a certain age or with certain disabilities. It is owned, administered, and operated by the government. You are entitled, if you wish, to outsource your Medicare and have your policy run by a commercial group, such as United HealthCare, Cigna, Aetna, et cetera.

Here’s how it works: For everyone who signs up for, say, a plan that rhymes with Figna Medicare Advantage, Medicare gives Figna a certain amount of money and says ‘use this to take care of this patient’.

You can see where this is going, right? Figna says ‘sure boss! *wink nudge*’ and then shoves as much of that money into their own pockets as possible, and they do that by finding excuses to NOT pay for your medical care.

Medicare Advantage plans are pushed and marketed heavily. They’ll call you. They’ll set up stands in your PCP office to try to encourage you to buy in. They will say things like ‘with Medicare, you have to pay a 20% coinsurance, but with us you only have a 10% coinsurance’ and completely neglect to tell you that having a smaller coinsurance only matters if they approve the fucking care that you need, which often they won’t (while Medicare would have) and if your doctors are willing to accept it, which often they don’t (while they do accept Medicare).

Is Medicare perfect? Absolutely not! I've got my share of bones to pick with them. But simply put:

Medicare is government administered. It is a service. It costs the government money, which is why the GOP is always trying to cut funding to it. Medicare Advantage is corporately administered. It is supposed to make money. Which gives them incentives to deny your care and fuck you over that Medicare simply does not have.

Do not. Get. A Medicare Advantage Plan.

[whambambatfam]

Webs of a Wing

Chapter 1

I am not well versed in DC knowledge. I've read a bunch of the older comics but, honestly, these timelines are too confusing to say I have a firm grasp on what the fuck is happening at any given point.

Anyways, this is my story, I made a tumbler for it. I'll definitely upload again..

When the fly on the wall starts to spin webs of their own, can the bats catch on? Or will they be left to dangle in the web they've tangled?

───── ⋆⋅ 🕸 ⋅⋆ ─────

You're hardly school aged when you wake in a strange place, vague memories of someone patting your head as you fall asleep. Then it was all blurry and you went from cold hard ground, suddenly, to a warm bed worth more than you've ever seen.

Laying still, staring up at the ceiling, you lay dazed until you hear the door starting to creak open. Quickly shutting your eyes you wait for the suspect to peak inside.

When his voice sounds, back on the other side of the door, you perk up, "Who's this? They're kinda cute." A boy, most likely a few years older than you.

When that deep, fear inducing voice reaches for you, you jump out of bed after it. "Apparently, my child." He couldn't possibly be talking about you, right?

You make your way silently to the creaked door. Peeping through to watch them. "Huh? What?? Like seriously???" Hands resting on his hips, a boy of black hair and lean physique gapes.

A tall man with a build as intimidating as his voice, "Yes, I've run a DNA test and everything." His large arms cross over his broad chest.

Mirroring the older man's stance, the boy questions, "So, who's the mom?"

"I'm still working on that.."

"Have you.. asked them?"

There's a heaviness lingering in the hall around them. "We don't know if they'll talk yet, not till they wake up." He doesn't like not having answers, clearly.

"Can they?"

Swinging the door open, you bark out at your own defense, "I knew how'd to talk!"

His shoulder shot up, face blossoming in embarrassment, "Oh, sorry." Sighing, he tries to appear nonchalant. "Well, heyyy.. kid.. My name's Dick.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he smiles, “Guess I'll be like, your, uh, big brother?"

Eyes widening, you step away from his grasp. Being in a strange place with strange people claiming to be your family was concerning. Even in your young mind, alarm bells rang loud and clear.

Like a light shining through your darkest times, his voice cut through the tension. “This may be all too much for,” A man, much older than either, rests his hand on your back, “the newly young master Wayne.” He ushers you gently back into the room. All gentle pats and kind smiles as he insists on you resting.

You never spoke about who or where you came from. It hurts to try, to think of the cold, the dark, the pain, the fear. Push out all the bad. Make it just go away. You just wanted it to go away. Wanted to take every memory of before and lock it up, never to be found. So, that's what you did, burying every painful memory. After some time, your young mind turned repression into suppression. Now, left with only bits and pieces, you couldn't remember even if you wanted to.

So, you’ll need to fill in the emptiness with this fresh start.

Life in the Wayne house started off joyfully. You found serenity in the solitude of the manor, disconnected from the rest of Gotham. When Alfred wasn't pushing tedious homeschooling work, you explored the massive house you'd be calling home. The quietude of empty ballrooms, winding halls and stodgy gardens was your respite. While it wasn't a place made for children, you felt at peace for the first time. The perfect home for a ghost with plenty of walls for flies and flowers alike.

Coming from unknown origins with no paperwork to speak of left you in a peculiar predicament. As a child was low grasp on the passage of time, you couldn't exactly say how old you were. Let alone when your birth date was. No one has ever bothered to tell you and if they have you certainly weren't going to remember. Infact, at Alfreds insists on a celebration, he comes to find you've never truly experienced a birthday of any kind. He had to correct this at once, give you a proper one with cake, singing and presents. It makes him wonder what sort of childhood you've been plucked from.

“Well, young master.” Alfred takes your hands as you climb the step stool next to him, “It's been a year now since you've joined us at the manor.”

Your hands slap onto the counter when you finally reach it. “Yeah, I like it.” Smiling wide up at the old butler, you babble on, “everything is so big and warm and it smells nice and I like when you cook and I wanna cook too and-” Alfred hushes your ramblings with a hand on your head.

“Yes, that's lovely, my child.” The other hand opens a draw nearby. “And that's what we'll be doing today.”

You tilt your head as the hand on it brushes over it and falls away, “Cooking?” Craning your neck, you try to peek at the cards he flips through.

“Well, baking, but yes.” He confirms, offering you a smile that's warm and sweet like his cookies, “Today was the day you joined the family, it's as good a day as any for a party.”

Your eyes light up, “A party for what?”

“Your birthday, my dear.” He chuckles softly at your look of awe,“Today will be your birthday, and every year I shall make you a cake.”

“Woah, every year?” You gasp as he hafs you the small stack of cards, each a handwritten cake recipe. While you can't read them yet, there are pictures of each cake pasted alongside the words. “That's a lot of cakes.. Can I help?”

“Whichever you like most we'll bake.” You're quick to pick one, waving the card around frantically, “I would be honored to have your help as well, young master.”

Alfred got to work with measurements, letting you pour everything into the bowls. He shows you how to mix, guiding you hand over hand when you struggle. You can't help spilling half of you what you're given, covering the counters. Sliding the pan batter into the oven, Alfred has you assist by wiping away your mess.

As he begins readying ingredients for frosting you ask, “Are those guys gonna join us?”

You're too busy scrubbing batter from your stool to see the way he deflates. “Unfortunately, your father and brother are tied up in something.” He sighs, taking the rag and finishing your job. With a sullen smile he hands you a measuring cup of sugar, “Perhaps next year.”

The night is spent merrily celebrating. When it cools Alfred frosts and decorates your cake. He places a number of candles, It's the first of many birthdays spent with just you and Alfred.

The next years were your first time in true schooling, a prestigious boarding school to boot. You couldn't remember seeing so many other children before. The eyes you received from strangers when given your new last name made your skin crawl. Deciding to forgo it in most encounters. Yet, for some reason to a great number of your fellow classmates, that fact seemed to matter greatly. If you met someone who insisted or withheld their friendship without, then you'd simply roll your eyes, never speaking to them.

You decided friends weren't important, instead making it your goal to not just succeed but to exceed. If this was your shot of a real family, you wanted to show them you were something capable. Worthy. You were hopeful, determined in getting close.

Only to be pushed aside at every opportunity.

“I got’ perfect score!” The words burst from you with such excitement you're bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Bruce doesn't even bother to look at the paper you're frantically waving at him. Simply mumbling as he places his mug in the sink, “Very nice.” Before turning to Dick, “Come on, son. It's time to go.” You thought maybe this was how a father was supposed to be. Cold, distant and hardly ever around for someone so small.

Alfred steps up from behind your slumped form. Plucking the paper from your dejected gaze. He hums softly before you hear a rap on the fridge beside you. “Wonderful job young master.” You smile for him as he pats your head. Happy to have at least someone’s acknowledgement.

From what your classmates say, a big brother will either pick on you or support you. Soon you came to find that living with Dick Grayson didn't guarantee you any of his time. Good or bad.

So, despite the terror that being center stage fills you with, you entered your school's spelling bee. The thought that maybe you could possibly impress them gave you just enough nerve.

“Hey, um, Dickie...” When you catch his sleeve, your teeth skin into your cheeks. He peeks over his shoulder at you, “Here, it's a competition.”

His nose wrinkles slightly before he smiles. “Spelling bee?” Not a real smile, you don't get those. It's a empty, meaningless thing that hardly lifts his lips.

“If you're not busy.” You clasp your fingers together, steeling your nerves.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” It’s thinly masked disgust if anything.

Time came to discuss bringing you into the public eye, an official declaration of your relationship with the Wayne's. Just the thought of it was unsettling, like placing a target on your back. The last place you want to be is the spot light.

“I don't wanna go. I won't go.” It was then in that moment, when the words left your lips, you could see it in his eyes.

A wave of relief Dick couldn't quite stifle, lip touching at the corner before turning to Bruce, “Maybe they're just scared of all those new people. With everyone looking at them, seeing them as your..” That uptick in his features falters slightly, “first child, technically.” Back then, you thought he cared. That this was actually for your protection. “It's a lot of pressure, maybe it would be better. For them, to stay safe.”

Bruce crosses his arms, examining his older child before looking back to the younger. “You have a point there, Dick.” You've twisted your fingers into Alfreds pant leg, half hidden behind him. “Fine. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. It might even be for the better.” Neither of them wanted you there, thinly veiled behind words of care, never quit saying it.

Not once then did you realize. There was nothing you could do, nothing you could say, nothing you could show for. Nothing to make them see you, the real you. You couldn't provide them with anything, that made you useless.

“Very well, Master Bruce.” With a sigh, Alfred guides you away as the two leave. He was always the one in your corner. Before you even know this life would be a battle.

This give on the topic began your gradual slope into obscurity. In the hectic years of adolescence, you'd come to the conclusion that private schools are for snobs. You manage to convince the old butler, with baked goods, to allow a change of schools. Not wanting to slow your studies yet overwhelmed by your known family reputation. Public school seemed viable, no one had to know who you really were. There seemed to be no object, or real acknowledgment of this decision.

You used to believe, despite how they act, this was it, this would be your family and you could be happy. Surely, you thought, it's because you're new to them. It must be hard to connect, you found it quite difficult yourself.

So, you decided, you'll just need to put in more effort. Show them that there is something that you and they can do together. You took up everything you Alfred offered to teach you when he was around. You learned to cook, sew and clean the whole manor faster than the master butler himself.

Of course, he had other priorities, not just as your caretaker. Try as he might to keep you at the top of that list, he still has duties to attend. So, you would take your days, even weeks, alone with stride. A good time to build your skills on your own, finding new ways to utilize them. Hoping for something, anything, to bridge the gap with your new family.

“I'll be home late today, Al.” While you had gotten away from uptight private schooling, Alfred still set into a well funded school.

He gives a light chuckle of disbelief over the phone, “You have plans, young master?” Pinching the device between your shoulder and ear, you fumble through your first ever locker.

“It's just a club, I'll still need you to pick me up after.” With all your free time, you thought you'd use more of your growing skills.

“At your service my dear.”

You took time to catch on, years of peeling away from the background. Picking and pulling apart from the inside out, finding something that could peak their interest. Hoping to think twice, even once to turn their heads back to the lone manner.

That's how you found them, their secrets; and the life that pulled them as taunt in one direction as the other did. Digging for a way that you could connect from beyond the twice eye catching lives they live day and night. You were piled with reasoning when you found that special place in the library they all seemed to love. The idea of passing the security felt out of reach at the time.

Walking along the dark water line, looking out to the misty sky. You don't wish for misfortune, but you wait. When that light flickers on and that familiar symbol reflects on the dark Gotham clouds, your breath catches. Ducking alonge the rocky cliff wall by the large alcove, you listen to the rumble. You brace yourself as something in the shallow cave opens, the rumble growing.

Then you have your answer. The Batmobile comes billowing out of the cave, in its wake you hide. Long after its departure from the property, you emerge from your hiding spot. Slipping through the closing doors and wandering down into the bat cave.

Despite how they see through you most times, you're sure Alfred knows when you sneak in. So, appreciating this to be Alfred throwing his hand up and hiding his eyes for your sake.

It's awe inspiring to say the least, especially knowing you live above it every day. It felt like peeking through the lives of strangers and you couldn't look away. You don't know why he kept it from you but you didn't want to be shut out for knowing. Yet, you couldn't satiate your curiosity with just this visit.

You had told Alfred you had a meeting after a club and that you would be home late. For some strange reason he promised Dick would pick you up.

Water splashes up from a speeding tire as you walk along the misty Gotham streets, “Aw man, come on!” Of course Dick didn't show! Why would he? When has he ever?

Now, in this situation, Alfred would wish for you to call him for assistance.

“Over there! Look, look!” Across the intersection a pair gasps and squeals, fingers pointed up at the Boy Wonder. The last thing on his mind as he leapt through the night sky, was an unwanted sister.

If only Alfead could get everything he's ever wished for, but you're not a fairy.

Following gunshot and bangs you skirt around chaos, nearly avoiding an obvious outbreak of costumed thugs. You watch in ired fascination as they beat down each threat thoroughly. As the moon starts to sit lower again and the bad guys are carted away, you realize how long you've been gone.

You arrive at the gates in tune to be blown past by the Batmobile. Inside, Alfred gives you a look as if he knows every secret you've even kept. Thankfully he doesn't say a word, You're out of your damp clothes by the time the dynamic duo ascend to the manor.

For people of the shadows, they never could seem to see you creeping through them.

It's through this that you managed to learn about Barbra Gordon. The commissioner's daughter was someone you could only catch glimpses of from time to time. It was rare for you to catch her attention. Much too preoccupied with her work for the Bat, your father.

The batgirl's skill inspired your own delve into tech. Hacking, coding and even trying your hand at tinkering with new devices. Creations that you've jerry-rigged and hoped against hope that she would even glance at.

She's coming over today, you overheard dick say so. You've poked your head over the banister as you wait to spot the red head. Yet, once she's there, you freeze. Dick and Barbara push through the front doors together. Light rain chasing them inside from the sturing storm. Their foot falls followed by light laughter and easy chitchat. If only it was so easy for you.

You watch as your brother scurries off, promising to grab a towel. This is your shot. “Oh, um!” Words are coming from you before you even know what to say. Stumbling over yourself, you bumble over, haltung in front of her. “B-Barbra?”

“Huh, who?” At the ruckus you've made, she whips around. Head on a swivel 'till green eyes locking on you. “Oh! It's you.. uh..” looking you up and down she stumbles as well.

You have to give her your name, again.

“Right, right. Sorry.” Barbra looks off sheepishly, carting a hand through her hair. Hand flicking droplets from the ginger ringlets.

“It's okay..” that's alright, that's normal Even. You don't see each other all that often.. even though you remembered her name just fine. “I just want to ask you about some-” Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, she cuts you off before you can pull out what you want to share with her.

“I've actually got to-” Her mouth snaps shut before she thinks better of words, “Well, um, talk with Bruce.” She finishes with an awkward chuckle and mumbled “Y'know how it is. Always something with the Wayne's.”

No, “Yeah..” You didn't know.

You've never shared more than a last name with the Wayne's.

Patting your head she smiles, “Sorry again, hun. Maybe later?” turning away down the hall Dick had disappeared to. Even to the all seeing eye you were nothing but a mere fly on the wall.

Gothams streets were dark, dangerous, and the only place you could see them for more than a minute. You loved nights like this, when you could slip from the manor. Undetected by the inattentive gazes that should have kept a preteen like you home.

With this habit of bird watching, you found yourself looking more into your subpar self defense. Living in Gotham has given you a natural caution but all too often you've wound up in tight situations. All because you couldn't keep your eyes off them. Maybe if you show them you could do that, fight back, they might see you.

You put yourself out there over and over, “Uh, d-dad?” Alfred insisted you call him that, but it never felt right, “I've been doing, um, I have this..” taking a breath you force it out, “It's martial arts, could you come see me?”

Another paper half glance at before the typical, “I'll see what I can do.”

Apparently, there are some things even Batman can't do.

“H-hey.. I, uh, am doing..” You pull out the flier for your competition. inspecting it over before looking to see him. Half-heartedly glancing up from his comic, Dick gives you a once over before continuing to read, “Gymnastics.”

Finally his eyes hold yours when the word shoots from your mouth. For a second you think this is it. This is when you’ll finally have his attention. Finally make that long awaited connection with your big brother. “I'll see, why don't you ask Bruce?” Dick lays the paper on the living room table in front of him.

“I did... he said the same thing.”

The paper is still there when you come back later.

[your-hockey-mom]

Christmas with Quinny?

"Hey! No peeking!"

"I...wasn't!" Quinn smirked, putting his hands behind his back after getting caught looking into the gift bags sitting on the coffee table. He had been getting antsy about opening gifts with you since he had gotten up. Sometimes he could be a big kid and during the holidays it was so much worse. Good thing he was cute, you always teased.

"You were, too!" You laughed, approaching him, two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in your hands. "Go ahead and open it, if you want! I'm ready."

Quinn would let you take a seat beside him before handing you a small box he had hidden beneath a blanket next to him. As soon as you saw the colour of the box you knew where it had come from. That trademark blue could only mean one thing: Tiffany's!

"Quinn, you didn't!" You didn't know what else to say!

"I may have. I hope it's okay."

Taking the box, you give Quinn a kiss as thanks before seeing just what was inside. "I'm sure you really outdid yourself! I didn't need anything like this!"

"Sure you did," he replied, taking a careful sip of the hot chocolate.

Inside, was a gold ring in a cursive script that read "love". It was dainty, classic, and so very touching. When had he had the time to get you such a gift, you had no idea but words could not express how much it meant to you.

"I love this so much!" You choked out, putting it on your middle finger. "Quinny, thank you so much!"

"You're welcome. I just wanted to get you something you could enjoy everyday." He was smiling like a kid whose mother had put his best artwork on the fridge. Things like jewelry wasn't his forte in buying, and he couldn't lie: he had help from the girls at Tiffany's in picking it out. His mom had actually suggested the famous jeweler when Quinn had confessed he didn't know what to get you. He had picked out some little things like a book or two, but in terms of the big, memorable, post-on-Instagram sort of gift, that's where he had struggled.

"Oh, I'll absolutely wear this everyday! I've never gotten anything from Tiffany's before!"

"Well, I'm glad I was able to get you something new." Quinn scooted closer, pulling your face to his. "Maybe I'll make a tradition of it?"

The kiss was long and passionate. Such a romantic Quinn had turned out to be and you loved being the center of his ever affection. His hands held you tightly, not letting you leave his side until he was for certain that he had expressed just how much he loved you. The ring truly had meaning.

"I have something for you, but not as nice as this, lemme go get it!"

Quinn slowly withdrew his hands, his fingertips trailing against your body as you got up. "If you have you."

"There's no need to pout! I'll be right back!" You headed to the hall closet where way in the back were two wrapped hockey sticks hidden as far back as you could get them. The had been a custom order to the specs of his on-ice sticks, but these had the Canucks colorway elements and a little message engraved where normally his name would go. You didn't care if he used them even once, but what hockey player couldn't use more sticks?

"How did you wrap those?" Quinn asked, arms outstretched to take them from you. "That's impressive!"

"Well, I think I used a whole roll of paper because it was not going well!"

Carefully, Quinn unwrapped the dual-packaged gift and smiled. It was like he had ordered them himself. Now, you had had some help; making a couple phone calls to teammates to snap a picture of his stick specs so you could get them just right. They had to be perfect!

"'Nobody puts my baby in the box!' You're too cute! Thanks, sweetheart." You had thought a long time about what you wanted to have put on the stick shaft. What better than what you always yelled when Quinn was sent to the "pretty boy box" as you affectionately called the penalty box.

"I thought it was pretty fitting," you giggled, excited that he hadn't found the message too cringe.

"They're perfect! Thanks, babe." His smile was so sweet, and his eyes sparkled within the twinkling of the Christmas tree. "I love you."

"I love you, too!" You pulled yourself into his lap. "Should we open the other stuff?"

"Later, right now I just want to enjoy you." Quinn buried his face in your neck as you laughed against the feeling of his facial hair against your skin. An hour would pass before you left the sofa, or maybe it was two... 

[starboye]

starring: carmy berzatto x male reader

request: Could I request the bear Dom top Daddy Carmy and Sub bottom femboy 18 year old male reader who started working at the restaurant and always wears sexy slutty little outfits so one night when they're alone carmy can't control himself the scraps are either by the hair starts kissing him turns reader around hikes up his skirt eats the reader out and it forces him to his knees and Carmy just starts face fucking telling Male reader be Daddy's good little slut armies then comes in the Reader's mouth forcing him to swallow it all picks the Reader up turns him around and then grabs him by the throat just starts f****** him reader screaming yes daddy so Carmy says I'm going to get you pregnant and fills them with so much cum that it's leaking out then he asked the needed to be his boyfriend/baby boy maybe as a bonus the next morning while they're working car meets at the counter cutting up food talking to customers and male reader's underneath the station sucking Carmy's cock and forces his whole cock and holds the reader head as he starts coming down his throat with cum kink Daddy kink semi-public sex rough sex and hair pulling kink

warnings: smut, femboy!reader, cursing, daddy kink, ass slapping, rough sex, deppthroat, face fucking, cum eating, ass eating

you were everything carmy wanted and more, your body made him absolutely feral, all he wanted to do was grope at you and feel your body, fuck you just always had to dress slutty when you came to work huh? he felt like you knew what you did to him but just acted dumb.

and although you were the new employee he took a much bigger interest in you rather than his other employees, the way you wore the shortest skirts that left nothing to imagination and no matter how many times richie tried to tell carmy to tell you to wear something more appropriate but he just waved him away and kept taking sneaky looks at yours ass.

but on one lucky night you and carmy were the only ones left in the restaurant after everyone called it a night, you in the back cleaning up the stations while carmy was in the front sweeping up all the trash that people somehow left, leaning back to peek into the kitchen and seeing you bent over picking up a dropped hand towel.

sneaking up behind you and spooking you a bit "oh fuck you scared me carmen" you say coming down from your shock, carmy who couldn't hold himself together for another second just pulls you into a kiss, his tongue roaming around in your mouth as his hands find their way to your ass "you're so damn hot" he huffs lifting your skirt and flicking your skimpy underwear onto your hole.

"can i fuck you" he asks finally pulling from your lips and all you could give was a lazy yes but that's all carmy needs before he's pushing you down on your knees and unzipping his pants to pull down his underwear and whip out his aching dick ans shoving your mouth on it, working your head back and forth on his length to lube it up some more to fuck you.

"yeah just like that fuckkk" he huffs satisfied by your surprising mouth skills, taking him all the way to the shaft with his balls repeatedly slapping your chin while you gag out moans "good boy you love being daddy's good little slut" he says giving one more big thrust and shooting his cum in your mouth, pushing your head to make sure you take every drop before lifting you up back on your feet.

turning you around and putting your hands on the counter and sliding his way into your hole, your moans filling the empty kitchen quickly, he tightly grabs your throat and tilts your head up to look at him, your back arched in the most perfect way for him to get as deep as possible.

"you like this dick huh baby" he smirks "yes daddy i love it so fucking much" you whine mixed with some struggled grunts as he slams back into you again and again "im gonna fill you up and get you all big and pregnant, you want that" carmy asks while his thrusts become more erratic "mhm breed me full of your cum carmy" you yell and carmy obliges, spilling his load into your hole until it was spilling out slightly.

you both sit therefor a couple minutes catching your breath before carmy drops to his knees and spreads your cheeks open and starts eating you out, feeding off his delicious cum that he just gave you "i thought you wanted me to get pregnant" you ask smiling "i can give you another load later tonight" he smacks your ass and gets back on his feet but not with out a little souvenir aka your underwear.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[zepskies]

Yeessss we love a refill. 😂

(LOLL girl no worries. You strike me as a fun drunk. Plus, the other night I had one strong glass of wine and that somehow did me in for the night. I guess that's what I get for trying a "Super Tuscan" red. 😂😂)

Aww you're amazing. Thank you so much, my friend!! 🥹 And best believe, I saw you released two parts of a new Russell story and they're already bookmarked in my TBR. 💖💖

Now, on to the rest of your lovely comments on the ESC finale!

Loved that little moment of jealousy there. How do you like tasting your own medicine, Russ? 😂

Right?! Lmao all that Reenie teasing coming to bite him in the ass.

I absolutely loved their pizza and movie date at home. And they already shared so much with each other 🥹 The fact he felt secure enough to open up to her after this short amount of time says a lot, considering Dory hasn't even told her the story yet. I love them 😭🤍

Aw I'm so glad you loved it! I felt like they needed something low-key that allowed them to reconnect and be there for each other after all the chaos. I debated if having Russ open up like this was too soon, but since she was so honest with him about her past trauma, I thought he would feel that kindred spirit connection, enough to be honest himself.

I haven't forgotten about the "oh, my brother thought I killed our dad" part of the story though. 😂😂 When I eventually write another story for this series, I want to incorporate that reveal somehow when we finally dive into Ashton Shaw in the show. (Maybe I'll read ahead in the books. 👀)

Honestly, in this day and age, it's always best to wait for renewed consent (even though I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have minded in the least lol). Loved that he recognized that and hesitated!

Right? 🙃 Exactly what I was thinking in having him hesitate, even though you're right, she would NOT have minded. 😂 I still thought that little moment of her pulling him down to join her was needed. 💜

Poor girl 😂💕 The morning after is always a tad awkward – especially if everything is still in the balance of will they/won't they and nothing *sexual* has happened yet 😅

LOL exactly. It's a bit of an odd situation all around, even though they've already shared some romantic moments. 😅💜

Absolutely adored this exchange! ❤️ Oooof, and that smut may have been my undoing for tonight! Holy hell!!! 😮‍💨🔥🌶️

Ahaha I had to research bullet sizes and everything. 😏❤️‍🔥

Honestly I'm really flattered you enjoyed the steamy parts, because I feel like smut writing is my weakest link, though I do my best. 😅😂 You write it so well, so that's an extra special compliment coming from you!

Again, she's so cute 😆🤍 I do hope they work something out. I don't think Russell would've necessarily taken the "big" step, knowing her feelings on this, if he hadn't planned to try and make it work somehow ❤️

Lolll she's trying her best to be slick! 😂 Yeah, I think Russell already knew his connection with her was different, and worth pursuing, he just wasn't sure about the reality of how it was going to work until this moment. 💜

Perfect ending, friend 🥹💚 (You know I love a bit of drama and angst in an ending lol) I loved this series so goddamn much! It fit so well with every character and gave so much that the show didn't (like that awesome family reunion of the three Shaws). Can't wait to get into the one-shots over the holidays 😍

Aww thank you! I wanted to be realistic with his lifestyle potentially posing a problem, but at the same time, both of them being willing to figure it out and try to make this work. 💕

I so appreciate you for saying that ESC felt authentic within the Tracker world, because that's something I always try to do, but it was challenging with this new show/world and how much we still don't know about the Shaw family. (But I HAD to include that reunion. 🥹)

I so hope you enjoy the little bonus one-shots whenever you get to them!!

Merry Christmas, my friend!!! I hope you and your family are having so much fun. ❤️❤️

Every Second Counts - Part 5

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I thought about breaking up this chapter into two parts, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. I hope you enjoy the finale! I think this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, ‘90s movie reference, mutual pining and tension, and a strong dose of smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 5: “Damn Worth It”

You borrowed Russell’s cell to call Dory from the hospital. You let her know that Charlie was stable and resting, and that Russell was bringing you home.

You should’ve known that when you two got there, you wouldn’t have the kind of privacy you craved. Colter and Dory were waiting in his car, parked in your driveway. They met you in front of your house, where Dory pulled you into a big, swaying hug. She cried, you cried, and her brothers hung back to watch the warm scene.

Dory pulled back to get a better look at you. She hesitated to touch the bandage above your brow.

“God. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you sniffed, wiping at your face. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Dory actually had your keys. After she handed them to you, you took in a steadying breath, and you unlocked your front door without incident this time. You invited everyone in.

Even though you told her not to, Dory began straightening up a bit for you. She had Russell take out the trash while she washed the dishes.

Meanwhile, you pulled Colter aside in the living room. You led him to sit with you on the couch.

“Can I at least give you $1,000?” you asked. It was all you had left in your savings, but the man had literally saved your brother's life, and yours as well. “I know it’s not much, compared to what your jobs usually get you—”

“Please,” Colter said. He touched your arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you and Charlie are safe.”

You teared up all over again, but you gave him a smile and held his hand with both of yours.

“Thank you,” you said.

Russell happened to spot the cozy little scene from the doorway. He couldn’t help staring, and trying not to frown.

When Colter caught sight of his brother loitering (and that look on his face), Colter tried to hide most of his smile. He let go of your hand, patted your shoulder and stood. You followed him to the kitchen, where he went to check on Dory. Russell filtered in behind you both.

“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?” Colter asked his sister.

She gave him a raised brow. “Wow, my brother actually wants to hang out with me instead of rushing off to the next job?”

He gave her an amused look. “I’ve got some time.”

Dory was happy to hear that, but her expression dimmed when she turned to you.

“Would you want to go? Or do you need to rest?” she asked.

“Oh, I need to get cleaned up, and then sleep for about ten years,” you said. “But you go, D. Have fun.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Well, she won’t be,” Russell chimed in. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, clean up and take little power nap myself.”

At that, Dory slowly smiled, both amused and suspicious. Her gaze slid back to you.

“Are you sure?” she asked. You read the double meaning laced in her tone.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said with a smile, and the beginnings of a warm blush. “You guys go ahead.”

There was a knowing gleam to her own smile, but Dory shrugged and gave you one last hug. She and Colter said their goodbyes to their older brother before they headed out. It left you alone in the house with Russell for the first time since this all began.

“Um, you can use the guest bathroom if you want to shower,” you told him. “Towels are under the sink, and feel free to borrow any of Charlie’s clothes if you need.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got a bag in the car with some stuff,” Russell said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I take one wherever I go.”

“Smart,” you nodded. “Very prepared.”

A strange silence stretched between you two, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just…gonna go clean up,” you said. “We can order some food after?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. He was amused as he watched you scurry off, after giving him another smile over your shoulder.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small trill of nerves himself. It brought him a little bounce in his step as he headed out to his car to grab his stuff.

By the time you were done showering and drying your hair, Russell had ordered a pizza (and a side of fries). You padded out into the living room in an old college shirt and pajama shorts. He tried not to linger his gaze on your smooth, bare legs. 

“Sorry, forgot to ask if you’d want something else to eat,” he said. 

“Pizza is perfect,” you said. At this point, after almost a full day without food, you’d eat sliced bread out of the bag. You gave him a teasing look. “I’d ask you if you wanted a beer, but I’m afraid it’s not up to your standard.”

“Well, that’s okay. I happen to have brought a sample for you, just like I promised,” he said, with that grin of his you’d come to expect.

He retrieved a case of homebrew from his car, but you had to add some ice cubes into a tall glass before you joined him back on the couch. You poured the contents of a bottle into the glass.

“Sorry, I know this is sacrilege, but I can’t drink warm beer,” you said.

“I can’t fault you, though I didn’t really peg you for a pizza and beer kind of girl,” he said. He tipped a swig of beer into his mouth, right from a lukewarm bottle. He was a purist.

You quirked a brow at him and took another bite of your pizza slice. 

“Why not?” you asked, after swallowing a mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom.

Russell shrugged. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no. I want to hear this,” you said. “What, because I teach college students?”

Russell looked over at you and leaned on his elbow, resting above his knee. 

“You’re a college professor with a handful of degrees,” he said. “I’ve got a GED and a give ‘em hell outlook on life.”

You shook your head at that. 

“We’re different. That’s not a bad thing,” you said. “And like my brother, you’ve fought for this country. You’ve saved lives, including mine. I’d say that’s pretty damn special.”

His head tilted at that. He didn’t want to remind you that, just like you saw today, he’d taken lives too. Perhaps just as many as he’d saved. You could debate the quality of those lives, but in the grand scheme of things, he knew what he was. A trained killer.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling a familiar weight.

You didn’t like the pensive look on his face, so you aimed to distract him.

“Want to watch a movie?” you suggested.

Russell inclined his head. “Sure. What you got?”

That was how the two of you ended up finishing the box of pizza and a case of beer while laughing at Tommy Boy, of all things—one of the best '90s buddy road trip comedies of all time. Apparently Russell had never seen it before, but you enjoyed watching him experience it for the first time. He had a deep, infectious laugh that made you laugh just by proximity. 

Later in the movie, the reluctant, unlikely duo of Tommy and Richard hit a deer, and tried to transport it in the car. Russell both laughed and cringed when the animal woke up and thoroughly wrecked the car from the inside. You noticed his reaction and nudged him in the arm. 

Russell held in a grunt of pain when you unintentionally hit his injured shoulder, bandaged underneath his gray henley. 

“What if that was the Chevelle,” you teased. 

He cast you a playfully chiding look. “Woman, don’t even joke.”

You laughed and squeezed his forearm in a friendly gesture. But he thought there was more than just friendliness when you shot him that little smile. He decided to take a chance. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said. He slid a hand around your waist and guided you closer until you came to lay against his side. You allowed yourself to rest against him, splaying your hand flat against the firm wall of his chest. Your heart tripped up faster, but you also relaxed more fully for the first time since you got home. You let out a long breath, and you used the remote to lower the volume on the movie a little.

“Do you think Charlie will be able to get past this?” you asked quietly. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Russell hummed as he thought back to his conversation with your brother in the hospital. Charlie was still young, but he seemed to realize what he’d done, and what he needed to change. He wouldn’t have volunteered himself for rehab if he hadn’t.

Russell brushed your arm with his thumb. “Well, I think he knows what he needs to do. If he’s anything like you, then he’ll be all right.”

Your mouth tugged upward, though you considered his words with a sigh.

“He hasn’t had it easy,” you said. “He was barely eighteen when our parents died. Suddenly he had to be an adult. In fact, he almost didn’t finish high school. Had to take care of the funeral, had to get a job, had to take care of me…and I didn’t always make it easy on him.”

Russell’s lips curved in light of your faint smile. Then, your expression dimmed.

“He pulled me out of the car,” you admitted. Russell looked down at you.

“You all were there?” he asked. 

“My dad was driving. We’d just gone out to dinner as a family,” you said.

You hesitated as the scenes once again filtered through your mind. Some things were hazy. Others, you could see with perfect clarity. You remembered how your parents argued about the best way to get home while the pouring rain beat down overhead, half-drowning out their voices.

You remembered what the flash of a red stoplight looked like through the car window, with streams of water coming down, and a dead leaf stuck to the glass.

You remembered the sound of horns blaring in your ears, the crunch of metal on metal. Your mother’s scream. The feeling of being suspended, and then ricocheted painfully through time and space.

Then the smell of exhaust, and the metallic tang of blood.

“We were heading through a terrible storm,” you said, after letting out a long breath through your nose. “By the end of the night, it was just me and Charlie in the hospital.”

He’d broken his arm, but thanks to him, the only thing you really walked away with were a few cuts and bruises, and the memories of that day. They were like old scars, painful and tender at the touch.

Russell shook his head, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “And I’m sorry too. I know you understand what it’s like to lose a parent.”

The movie played on as that new weight settled between you. Russell fell into his own thoughts as he continued to rub your arm in comfort. His own past wasn’t like yours, but he did understand some of your pain.

“How much did Dory tell you about how we grew up?” he asked.

You shifted a bit, so you could see his face too.

“I know your dad took you all to a cabin in some sort of compound in the woods, when you all were still pretty young.”

“He taught us to live off the land. Drilled us, really,” Russell explained, noting your raised brows. “Yeah, he was…well, a paranoid bastard, to be frank. We still don’t know all of why, and what drove him to move us out there.”

“Dory said he was…eccentric,” you said. Russell snorted.

“He was a piece of fucking work,” he said. “Half the time I hated him, if I’m honest.”

That part was hard to admit, even if it was true. Your hand soothed across his chest, more comforting as you listened. Russell’s lips quirked. He liked that about you, that you were willing to listen without judging him, or his family. Maybe that was another reason Dory seemed to love you so much.

“But one night, it was like he snapped,” he said.

For a moment, he was lost in the memory. His father’s anger, and the damn crazy look in his eyes. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly.

Russell glanced at you again. “I don’t think you wanna hear this right now.”

You shook your head. “No, I do.”

He hesitated, but that earnest look in your eyes got him. Still, he surprised himself when he actually told you. He explained it the best he could, the way he saw it in his mind’s eye.

Their mom had been missing, hadn’t come home yet. Then his dad had torn around the house like a man possessed, until he told them it was time to leave for their own safety. Dory had been scared, especially when he grabbed her, yelled at her.

That was the one thing Russell couldn’t tolerate. So he snapped, yanking the older man back and shoving him away. It was one of the first times Russell had ever defied his father.

Ashton Shaw left them then, heading out into the night and the rain. Maybe he’d realized what he was doing to his own kids, his own family.

Colter wanted to follow after him, but Russell stopped him. Being the eldest, he took on the responsibility, even if he’d been reluctant. We’re better off without him…

He was barely sixteen at the time, but Russell knew he’d seen his father arguing with someone—a man he’d seen before, talking with his mother. And then…

“I watched him die that night,” Russell said.

Your hand clenched in his shirt, reminding him that you were still in his arms, still listening. He remembered that scene, looking over the cliff to find his father’s broken body down below. 

“He fell, and I couldn’t stop it,” he said. “And to this day, I still don’t know what all that was about.”

He’d been reluctant to tell even Colter that it still haunted him sometimes; that night, and the not knowing.

You pulled yourself up further so you could meet Russell’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

The movie had long faded into the background, but at least it gave some white noise for the next heavy beat that passed between you two. His eyes eventually fell away from yours.

“It’s old history,” Russell said at last.

“It’s not just history,” you denied softly. “It’s your life.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just hummed in agreement. He encouraged you to relax against him again, with a warm hand on your back. You settled and released another contented sigh. Even though Russell’s story weighed on your heart, you did feel closer to him. It made you feel like you understood Dory better too, and even Colter.

Russell rubbed your arm. “You doin’ okay? You’ve had a long day.”

“Day and night,” you agreed. Your eyes closed against your will. “But, yeah…I think I’m okay now.”

At that, he smiled. He laid a kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said.

A few minutes later, Russell heard your soft, deeper breaths in sleep. He chanced grabbing a throw blanket laid over the back of the couch. He managed to toss it over your body, but he made sure it covered you. You shifted in your sleep and curled up more comfortably against him. 

Russell smiled down on you fondly. He’d learned a hell of a lot more about you in just the past couple of days, but ever since he met you, he’d been picking up on the important things. The things that made you the woman you were.

And he wanted more, he realized. He wanted more time with you.

That turned out to be the last real thought he had before his eyes closed on him too. 

Russell didn’t wake again until the credits on the movie were rolling near the end. You were still knocked out. So he carried you, blanket and all, over to your bedroom.

He smelled the remnants of your floral shampoo and body wash in the air, likely coming from the bathroom. It was an intoxicating mix, one that had infiltrated his nose ever since you came out of the shower today. 

It was only 6:00 p.m., but it might as well have been midnight. He laid you down toward the middle of the bed. There was still space on the other side. Very tempting.

She did offer, he thought, remembering what you’d said at the hospital. And yet, he hesitated.

Before he could make a decision, you made it for him. Your hand reached out to hook in his shirt. 

Russell looked down at your sleepy smile. 

“Get over here,” you said, tugging him downward. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around yours. He allowed you to guide him over, and he somehow managed to roll onto the other side of the bed without crushing you. 

“Reflexes like a cat, I tell ya,” he quipped.

You giggled softly. He took off his first layer of defense (his pants), leaving him in his henley and boxer briefs. He settled into bed behind you and slipped an arm around your waist. He fit in snug against your back.

“Mmm,” he sighed. His lips pressed behind your ear, smiling there. “Feels nice.” 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

He couldn’t see your smile, but you held his arm in place. For the first time in a while, you weren’t alone.

In the early morning, you woke up to warmth and closeness. The man in your bed snored lightly, mouth parted in sleep while he faced you. You smiled.

How could a man who felt dangerous, in more ways than one, also make you feel safe? It was a wonder. Though when an idea hit you, you carefully slid out of bed.

Russell eventually roused in his own time. He blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched out his limbs in your very comfortable bed. This sure beat rusty motel springs.

He realized that he was alone in the room, but he heard you puttering around the house. He allowed himself to doze some more.

A few minutes later, you returned to greet him with a couple of mugs, drawing him back into the waking world with the rich smell of coffee.

“Aww yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said. He groaned as he slowly sat up.

You laughed and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said. His voice was deeper and rougher with sleep, washing down your spine pleasantly.

He accepted the mug you offered him. He took a sip and hummed in pleasure at its bold flavor. It wasn’t as sweet as he usually liked it, but it was exactly what he needed right now.

“I just did a little sugar and creamer. That okay?” you asked. 

“It’s good,” he nodded. And you looked good, he noticed, with your bed-tousled hair and an open robe over your tank top and little shorts.  

“Do you want to meet Dory and Colter for breakfast?” you asked. “Dory texted me this morning.”

Russell’s brows shot up. 

“Colt stuck around?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dory asked him to stay at her place last night,” you said. Russell hummed in response. 

A bit of an awkward lull fell between you. You’d felt bolder yesterday in the hospital, but now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were doing with a man who just slept somewhat-but-not-altogether platonically in your bed.

“Um, I’ll just…get ready then,” you said, pointing to the bathroom. “You…take your time.”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

He peeled back the covers and climbed out of your bed, away from the sheets that smelled like you. 

You watched him go when he headed across the hall back to Charlie’s room. You sighed and beat your hand against your own forehead in frustration. What the hell am I doing?

You’d literally invited him into your bed last night, but he hadn’t done anything more than hold you while you slept. It was incredibly kind, and it said a lot about him, despite his rough-around-the-edges exterior. You were just a little disappointed that he’d been a perfect gentleman about it all. 

You rolled your eyes at yourself. What did that say about you?

You shook your head and resolved to freshen up. There was still a cut that the ER nurse covered with a butterfly bandage above your brow. You cleaned it up and applied a new bandage. Then you put on some makeup to cover the ugly bruise on your cheek and the dark circles that lingered under your eyes.

God, look at me. You actually wouldn’t blame Russell for not being into you enough to make a move. 

A bit disheartened, you changed out of your pajamas to slip on a nice, but comfortable dress over your bra and underwear. Afterward, you paused to stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. What exactly do you want here?

“Hey, uh—” Russell’s voice startled you, making you flinch. Maybe you were still jumpy.

He raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry. Just thought I’d ask if you want some toast or something. I don’t think my stomach can wait ‘til we meet up with Dory.”

You smiled faintly. “Sure, go ahead. Whatever’s there, you’re welcome to.”

Russell paused, tilting his head. There was something off with you. He saw it, and felt it. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away. 

Russell’s spidey senses began to tingle. He approached you and laid a hand on the counter, inches from yours. 

“You sure?” he said. He took in your hesitant face, then the pretty dress you had on. The color matched your eyes. Soulful eyes.

He smiled when you let him see them again.

“Can you see the bruises? I think I covered them up well enough,” you said. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, touching your jaw carefully. 

Russell’s hand raised to find your cheek, earning your attention with wider eyes. His thumb swept across your skin as you started to blush.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Your face warmed further, despite your smile. 

“Yeah, the makeup helps,” you quipped. 

“I didn’t say anything about makeup,” he replied. Though he grinned and made a show of looking closer at your face. “Although, have your lashes always been that damn long?”

You laughed, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, his hand drifted down to your neck, cradling your jaw. His thumb brushed over your lower lip this time, smudging your lipstick a little. Your eyes met his, but they’d already lowered, to the path of his hand. You were tempted to nip at his thumb, or better yet, suck it into your mouth.

Perhaps he read the thought crossing your face. Because when those darkened eyes flicked up to yours, he finally bowed his head to kiss you.

You took in a deep breath, and you melted into his mouth with a moan of wanting. A craving from the depths of your heart, finally being fulfilled.

You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you let him in. You met his every kiss with the same fervor, claiming him right back, demanding just as much.

Your hands slid up his chest and helped him shrug off the green jacket first, then his shirt (Led Zeppelin this time). He hooked an arm around your waist and brought you flush against him, so he could turn you around and walk you back to the bed. 

You clung to his bare shoulders and savored the feeling of his warm, calloused hands burning up your thighs and ass, bunching the skirt of your dress. You helped him get it over your head and toss it onto the floor along with his clothes. 

As he held you by the waist, his gaze dipped for a moment to take you in, from bare thighs and hips and lacy panties, all the way up to your breasts cupped in your bra. Through panting breaths, you smiled and blushed at the heated depths of his green eyes. You felt like your heart was beating in and out of rhythm.  

But you managed to get a hold of your nerves long enough to drag your hands down his chest, down to his belt. You unclipped it for him and took your time in sliding the entire belt out of its loops. Then you let the brown leather fall to the floor. 

Russell raised a brow at you, smiling. Taking your challenge for what it was, he unbuttoned his jeans himself and aimed to step out of them, but he had some trouble when one of the pant legs got caught around his ankle and sock-covered foot.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled a little. “Hold on.”

Unable to help a small giggle, you grabbed his left arm to help steady him. He hissed in pain, but he cleared his throat to cover it. You gasped as you realized what you’d done. You noticed then that he had a bandage tightly wrapped above his elbow, right below one of his tattoos.

“What’s this?” you asked in concern. You held his arm with both hands. “Did you get shot? Did you get this looked at when we were at the hospital?”

Russell staved off your questions with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. This is old, just still healing up,” he said. 

You frowned up at him. “You got stabbed, shot, what? When did this happen? I thought you worked in private security.”

“A couple months ago. I got, uh, grazed. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sometimes the job gets a bit dicey.”

He could tell though, that you weren’t going to let it go easily. 

“Let me see,” you said, trying to peek under the bandage. Russell laughed and gathered you into his arms to stop your attempts. Your concern warmed him, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise. Can we focus on the fun part, here?” he said.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but Russell saw the testiness in your eyes. He dipped down to kiss you, swallowing whatever snippy remark you were about to make.

You weren’t the only one giving into a craving here. Russell’s was bone-deep, molten in his blood, and getting to see you, to feel your soft body under his hands was already so much better than he’d imagined. His hold tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin.

A shudder ran up your spine at his touch. You circled your arms around his neck and let him continue ravishing you, then laying you down onto the bed. 

While you were careful about avoiding the bandage, your hand did drift down his arm, and further still, to palm at the straining bulge pressing against you. And Jesus Christ, did it feel generous. He grunted at your touch and paused with his lips against your jaw. 

“Well hey there, cowboy,” you said, adopting a more sensuous tone. “I had a feeling you’d be packing. What’s that, a .45, or a 38 Special?”

Russell’s eyes blinked wide. Then he erupted with deep laughter that made his shoulders shake. Aside from throwing a punch, your brother must’ve taught you something about guns too. 

“Well thank you, kindly,” Russell said, putting on a bit of a southern drawl, just to tease you. “But you’re about to find out, naughty girl.”

You giggled as he began to kiss your neck, languid and sloppy. He blazed a wet trail down the column of your throat and between your breasts. His beard rasping against your skin made you shudder a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you quite liked that a lot.

He slipped a hand underneath you to unclip the black lace. You arched into him so he had easier access. 

He slid the bra from your body and tossed it somewhere behind him. Just as he’d imagined, you had beautiful tits. His lips explored each of them in turn, squeezing supple flesh and rolling your sensitive, hardened nipples with his tongue and fingers. 

It was a prequel, you thought, for what talents that mouth might have further down. You had to moan just at the idea, your fingers clenching in his hair, but also at the sensations he was drawing from your body wherever he touched. The man clearly knew what he was doing.

He traveled lower still and laid slow, occasionally nipping kisses across your stomach, hips and thighs. His fingers hooked around your panties and lowered them down your legs. You felt his warm breath panting against your thigh. You glanced down at him and tensed in anticipation. 

“Still good?” he checked, squeezing your hip. You smiled and reached for his hand. Russell gave it to you, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in affection. 

“I think I’m about to be,” you said cheekily.

He smirked. His other hand smoothed up the inside of your thigh and slipped past your folds, finding wetness that already coated his digits.

“Goddamn. You’re soaked,” he said, just a hint teasing. “Bet if I put my mouth on you, you’d fuckin’ drown me.”

Again, he stopped whatever smart quip you were about to levy at him next when his fingers found your clit. You let out a gasping moan instead.

He decided that he already loved that sound. He endeavored to pull it from you, again and again when he began working you open with his fingers and pumping them inside you. He enjoyed seeing you writhe and arch against his hand. Your hands squeezed his arms, his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.  

His thumb circled and strummed your clit in a rhythm only he could hear in his head, until you couldn’t help biting your nails into his shoulders when you came. You shuddered your release as your core throbbed with warmth and slick around his fingers. 

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he said. His voice rasped deep with arousal. “Wouldn’t even mind if you did drown me.” 

You huffed in response, unable to form speech just now.

Next time, Russell thought. He slipped his fingers out of you and licked them clean, making your eyes widen. He smirked and stroked your thigh as you came down, a shuddering mess.

After taking a second to regain your breath, you pulled him down for a kiss, both grateful and fueled by a passion you couldn’t put into words. What you felt for this man was instinctual, from the moment you saw him. And yet, it was also so much more. It was raw, and real, and maybe even beautiful.

The thought spurred you on as your hands moved with purpose down his body. Your nails caught at the waistband of his boxer briefs as you tried to roll them down. You got it halfway down his thighs, enough to let his hardened length spring free. You bit your lip at the mere sight of him. Goddamn.

Your hand slid around his cock, near its weeping head. You used the beads of wetness there to work your way smoothly down to its base. Russell’s body tensed above you, just before he groaned low in pleasure.    

You pushed at his chest to have him let you up. 

“Your turn, baby,” you said. It would be one hell of a challenge to get your mouth down that beautiful 44 Magnum, but you were more than willing to try.

To your surprise, Russell shook his head and guided you back down.

“Let’s pin that one for next time too. Wanna be inside you already,” he said.

You blinked, but then you nodded in breathless agreement. He kissed you deeply, devouring you with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. His tongue soon slipped out to soothe it.   

“Condom?” he panted, between kisses. 

“Oh, yeah. Um…bathroom, bottom drawer,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why you were whispering. 

“Okay, two seconds,” he said.

He left you in the bed, quite literally hot and bothered, and very naked. You crossed your arms over your breasts on reflex while you tried to recover. Your core was still tingling, and your heart was beating fast, though you couldn’t stamp out the smile forming on your face. 

You heard the sound of foil unwrapping and clothed rustling. When he came back to the bedroom, you finally got a full picture of what you were in for. You unconsciously licked your lips as your gaze dipped down his body, and the indeed impressive package at full mast, and full display. 

A grin curved his lips when he caught you staring. He climbed back onto the bed with just a bit of struggle with all the blankets coiled about. He pushed a heavy blanket out of his way, accidentally shoving it to the floor.

“Back to business,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed, and you welcomed him back, sliding your hands up his arms and shoulders. You hooked your thigh around his hip as he found his way back between your legs. Holding his bearded face in your hands, you pulled him in for another kiss that reignited you both. 

He sunk his hand into your hair and treated you to another slow, deep kiss. Until your thigh tightening around his hip urged him to satisfy what you both had been wanting and waiting for.

He grabbed your thighs and angled you higher. Then he lined himself up at your entrance. Looking into your eyes, your breaths mingling together, he sheathed himself a little at a time. A keening moan fell from your lips.

He started with shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust. But that in itself was a torturous tease. It made the coil in your lower belly start to tighten again. Pleasure began to thrum inside you, ever slowly. Your head tipped back into the pillows with a gasp.  

“God, Russell, please,” you uttered. You squeezed his arms on reflex, your heels digging into his ass. 

“I know, baby. Gonna fucking wreck you, I promise,” he said with a grin. 

You huffed in amusement. That was a hefty promise.

Though a moan tore from your throat when he finally bottomed out, stretching your inner walls. He groaned along with you. His lips fastened to your neck as he gave you deeper thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you said raggedly in his ear, raking your fingers through his hair. You felt every damn inch of him.

“You too, baby. So damn good,” he gritted out. “Tell me what you want.”

He raised your thigh a bit higher, his fingers pressing into flesh.

“Ugh, fuck,” you gasped, as he hit a particularly delicious angle. “Whatever you want to give me.”

“You sure about that?” Russell asked, panting against your neck. Your nails dragged down his back between the muscles in his shoulders, hard enough to earn a halting groan from him.

You nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

His lips hinted at a smile. “Okay, hold on."

Before you could even respond, he pulled out of you all the way, just so he could guide you over onto your stomach. He pulled you up onto your hands and knees. As he ran a hand down the gentle slope of your back and around the curve of your ass, you breathed harder in anticipation.

“So damn beautiful,” he muttered.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You unconsciously bit your lip as your heart couldn’t help but swell at his words. Russell met you with a look that betrayed his desire, making your lower belly tremble as well.

He parted your cheeks and slotted himself between your thighs from behind. You once again felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and then pushing back in with one deep plunge. Both of you let out moans of relief at the feeling.  

Pretty soon, he was pounding into you deeper and faster than before. Oh, fuck yes…

You clawed at the headboard, trying to find something to keep you stable. Russell’s arm slid around you for a solid support. You held onto him right back with one hand while he continued to drive into you, earning each and every sound coming out of your mouth. He’d finally angled you just right, so he could hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. Your pussy clenched on him in response, making him grunt in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you’re close. I can fuckin’ feel it,” he said, panting. He laid a biting kiss where your neck met your shoulder. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, your inner walls once again squeezing on him. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathless. “This time, you’re gonna come with me.”

You reached back and tangled your fingers into his hair. He held you to his chest and squeezed your breast a bit roughly. You uttered a wanton sound. You dragged his hand down your body to part your folds. You used his fingers to press against your clit. 

He picked up your hint, and then took control, massaging you with his fingers. There you began to tremble from the inside out. Warmth emanated from your core and spread outward, down to your toes as you came even harder on his cock. 

Russell wasn’t far behind. His voice joined yours as his body locked up, and he spilled hot into the condom. You almost wished he’d come freely inside you, so you could really feel him. Regardless, your body was boneless when he lowered you down onto the bed afterward.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, before he fully pulled out. Panting for breath though you both were, you managed to twist onto your side and reach a hand for his cheek. Your fingers slipped higher from there, cupping the back of his neck. Your thumb swept tenderly across his cheek, and you guided him down for a proper kiss.

Russell obliged you, his lips meeting yours plush and wet. He brushed strands of your sweaty hair away from your forehead with affection.

Somehow, that last kiss was softer than all the rest.

One thing was for sure though. There was no way you two were making it to breakfast. 

“I kind of feel bad now,” you later confessed. 

You and Russell were taking a few minutes just to recover under the messy sheets. He held you while sitting up against your headboard. He almost craved a smoke. You’d given him a damn workout. 

He smirked at the thought. Admittedly, his mind was more on focused on the scenes replaying in his head than on what you were saying. 

“Dory doesn’t get to see you guys that often,” you continued, “and who knows how long Colter will seriously wait for us to get out of bed.”

Russell’s attention drifted back to you at that.

“Come on, it’s not like they know why we’re running late,” he said. You gave him a knowing look. 

“Are you kidding? They were already suspicious when you brought me home yesterday,” you replied with a laugh. 

Russell grinned and rubbed your arm. He knew you were probably right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Yeah, well. That was damn worth it,” he said.

You smiled. You rolled your head over on his shoulder, so you could see his face, but you became contemplative as uncertainty crept in. You let in a breath to gather your courage, and you decided to take a chance. 

“You know, drug dealers aside, Laramie isn’t such a bad place to live,” you pointed out. “We’ve got a movie theater, a couple good outlet malls, a new Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened down the street. I’m gonna have to find a new bar though.”

Russell smiled at you. He knew what you were suggesting.

He sighed as his amusement faded. 

“Look, even if I stay…” he hesitated.

He looked into your eyes and saw the vulnerability there. You were being honest with him, putting your heart into his hands. The least he could do was be honest. He covered your hand where it rested on his chest.

“If I’m on a job, I could be gone weeks at a time. I won’t be able to tell you where I am or what I’m doing. That’s gonna be hard on you,” he said. 

He knew his friend Doug made it work with his wife, but their relationship wasn’t without friction because of the job he and Russell shared.

“I can handle it,” you said firmly. 

“You just had a little freak out over a scratch earlier,” Russell pointed out, with a gesturing hand at his bandaged arm. 

“Okay, that’s different,” you said.

You wouldn’t say it now, but there were things that still concerned you about his job. You had a strong feeling that "private security" wasn’t all it entailed. However, after what he’d done for you, after what he’d done for Charlie, you knew that Russell Shaw was a good man.

There was something good here, and you didn’t want to lose it this time. You shifted in his arms, so you could face him.

“Look, we can sit down and figure all that out,” you said. “But do you want to at least try? Or…am I reading this wrong?”

Russell stared back at you ruefully. He raised a hand to touch your cheek, grazing your soft skin with his fingers. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. 

In fact, what he felt already ran deeper with you than he’d like to admit. He let out a long breath through his nose. 

“Okay,” he said at last. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right, I guess. I’ll book a motel here in town for now. If things go well, I can…I don’t know, find an apartment.”

Your answering smile broke him down further, even as it warmed him inside. You turned over to circle your arms around his neck, and as an added bonus, pressing your bare breasts against his chest. You kissed his cheek with a happy hum. He laughed at your enthusiasm. He also accepted your sweet path of kisses that led to his lips. 

He groaned when it became not so sweet, with your tongue slipping hotly against his. His hold on your hips tightened.

“Uh oh. Baby, we can’t do this now,” he chuckled, even though your hand was already wandering down his body and under the sheets. You both were supposed to be getting ready to meet his brother and sister for lunch. 

“Five minutes,” you said against his lips. All the while, you were pushing him back onto the bed. You began to kiss down his chest, and lower still.   

Russell snorted. Right. 

But he wasn’t about to argue with you. He had a gut feeling…one that made him almost certain.

He’d found where he wanted to be. 

AN: Well, then! I hope you enjoyed the "happy ending." 😘 I always get a bit sad at the end of a series, but thank you to everyone who's followed the ride on Every Second Counts. Let me know what you thought of how it all shook out here at the end between her and Russell! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Want more ESC? Read the next one-shot, Lost Time (18+):

Summary: When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

▶️ Keep Reading: Lost Time

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[mcytanti]

manehare analysis i looooove this freakish duo.

on the surface this team seems very sudden and doesn't make sense i mean they were enemies for such a long time, however, i think they make Perfect Sense Actually.

manehare makes sense because both of them gives what the other wants while acknowledging the place they are coming from. they have a distrust now but i think if they play it right they can have something that lasts across seasons.

we got confirmation today manepear really just loves his little chunguses. (his comment about being a mama bear really stands out to me it was awesome). we saw it earlier in the server with zam, then later with wemmbu and bacon. but all 3 of them didnt satisfy mane in the way he wanted. zam was friendly with the brothers but he was for the most part self sufficient, mane let wemmbu into the bandits thinking he would have to be taken care of but it turns out wemmbu was secretly good at pvp and while he lazy could take care if himself in a fight. bacon never wanted to play ball with mane and refused his advances.

however kab is perfeeeect for mane, she needs his help and his protection but she isnt lazy like wemmbu was. she's intelligent, cunning, and willing to learn so he gets all if the ego boosting of taking care of someone who wants his help but none of the annoyance of a resource drainer (sorry wemmbu but its true 😭).

mane is also perfect for kab, he's filling the void clown has left.

since the start of the season kab has wanted a powerful ally who can stand beside her when she wants them to, someone who can guide her, but someone who is also willing to crush her enemies when asked. she thought clown would be that but when given the opportunity he's been lack luster in the role. she then turned to zam as a guide and a teammate, but he didn't want to be her guiding light and thought it was far too sudden to team plus he was unwilling to do her dirty work so kazam fell apart.

mane, however, has a deep blood lust (wanting to death ban all the revived people is the most notable example of this) so he's perfectly fine with carrying out kab's plans as long as it means they agree on killing. he's also willing to train kab without her having to prove herself like she has to with clown (its in my personal opinion kab would have never proven herself to clown. not because she isn't good but because clown simply isnt interested in her development but thats another matter).

in my opinion the 14 killings is actually really good for this team! it means that kab cannot idolize mane the same way she did clown or zam because she knows that no matter what, mane is dangerous, he's able to kill her and is more than willing to kill her. and for mane despite the 14 killings kab still being willing to work with him must give him a crazy amount of validation because it proves that no matter what happened before kab needs him now

i think as long as the focus on their shared goal they can build a real trust with each other. not like a "i trust you not to kill me" trust but a trust the older lifesteal pairs have, that "i know how you think i know you inside and out and no matter what happens we will comeback together" trust.

however they still have all the potential in the world to fall apart in a pretty spectacular way. like if one of them gets too paranoid and betrays the other, or if they're influenced to betray by people outside the dynamic, or maybe kab's planning to betray from the start and we're all fools for thinking manehare could ever work, or simply losing sight of their shared goal and becoming enemies again. all those things could still happen!

no matter what i just love manehare as a duo. they indulge each other's deepest desires but they have so much potential to fuck it all up it a horrible terrible way. its such a careful balance with them im so excited to see where they go from here

[aplaceforhumancorpses]

🍵༘PANCAKES🥯⊹ ࣪ ˖

„⤵ MILD ANGST and fluff! „⤵ 2 / (?) PARTS „⤵ JASON TODD X READER Jason is getting settled in his new home, after showing up at your door last night. Jason is a dead man walking, but he still needs you. Read PT 1 here! AFFECTION ROTS Reblogs much appreciated

The two of you eventually found the couch. You sat next to him, putting a throw pillow's distance between the two of you. Much to his disappointment. Jason was more clingy then he had ever been before. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. A few hours passed. You had both fallen asleep sometime after midnight. That morning he explained everything as best as he could to you, his death at the hands of the joker, the crowbar, the ressurection. Despite the granted confusion you followed as best you could. He told you everything. Everything that happened from the moment he died. He really missed you, despite the two of you being dumb in love teeangers. He still saw a future with you, and you were wary to admit you weren't sure you saw the same. He was diffrerent. Bigger, taller, stronger. And somehow more alive, than anything before. “I'm sorry." You managed to say. You felt like such a coward. You couldn't handle touching him, or holding his hand.

“I can't blame you. It'll take some time." He said sadly. You could see in his eyes that he was blaming himself. "You're doing great… I really am proud of you. Just wish we could've done all this… together, y'know?" he said the last part quietly, almost a whisper. You looked down, unable to hold eye contact.

"Things are a little bit different now. You know that right? I can't change my past. Even though I'd like to." You spoke slowly. "You know, it's gonna take some time. I don't regret our relationship. Never have."

”You're serious, huh?" he raised an eyebrow. It was nearly commical. You were devestating him with every word you spoke. "I wanted us to do this forever, you know? Like… forever. You've always been on my mind.. guess I should've known things weren't gonna stay the same. You're not fifteen anymore.." he mumbled.

He had a faraway look in his eye. You wondered how much of this story he had clearly made up inside his mind depended on you reciprocating his tender feelings. But you knew this was his way of trying to comfort you, despite his broken soul. He would give you time… "Do you remember our first date?" He suddenly asked. He smiled shyly, looking down at his lap. The image came unbidden to your mind, vivid and perfect. You remembered how much effort he put into planning. He was more thorough then any man. He was attentive, and a good listener. So why were you hesitant..? Maybe it was his dependency. “Um. Yes I remember- Um.. do you want breakfast?.." You said weakly, standing up and turning towards the kitchen, leaving him to his own thoughts. "I can make us something quick…" You heard him sigh in disappointment. When you finally turned around again, his elbows were on his knees. He was curled into himself. You knew he was trying to be strong. But it was hard to admire his strengths when he looked so pitiful.. It broke your heart. "I'm making pancakes.. Do you want some? They're grainy but- edible." You offered hesitantly.

“Yeah.. sounds good.” His voice cracked. He didn’t have a good relationship with food. After the truama of his death and even before that with the joker, he hadn’t been hungry at all. He never wanted food.. and when he did it threw it up promptly. Food always felt unsafe to him. And that included food cooked by you.. which seemed ironic, because he would have worshipped the ground beneath you if you asked him to.

He wondered if he watched the whole process of cooking from start to finish if he would feel better about it. He could trick his brain into understanding he was safe.

“God you’re so gorgeous..” He sighed. “I’m tired of falling for you all over again… s’not fair. Why can’t I have you?” You paused, setting the pan on the stove as it heated up. Melting the butter into a bubbly golden liquid. There was no denying he had changed a lot. He went from 4”6 to an even 6 foot. You could see the stretch marks that painted his hips whenever he lifted his arms up. Despite your ‘disinterest’ in him romantically, you would still take small peeks and glances whenever his shirt rode up, revealing some of the new muscle he had gained.

His sudden growth wasn’t unwelcome, it was just shocking that he had grown that much within the span of a few years. Especially considering he had always been smaller than you.

But you had accepted his advances with only halfhearted interest. Even if he was a handsome behemoth of a man today. But it was hard to deny the fact that when he looked at you like he did now, you felt a lingering warmth.

He hadn’t lost his charm. He still knew how to make you blush and smile. But maybe you were too afraid of losing what you shared with him.. again..

As you began making the pancake mix he kept his gaze trained on you and the food. He was obviously enthralled with it.. “I like strawberries.” He smiled softly, watching you work through the recipe. He’d always loved watching you cook. It reminded him of home.. it was vaguely reminiscent of Alfred. Even if he hated the Waynes he still missed having a family. “They remind me of you.” He continued. “Those soft, shiny pinkish red ones…” You nodded along to his words. He was always so sentimental.. “They smell like spring.” He added, smiling slightly. You felt yourself relax at his words. He could be sweet sometimes, despite the fact he was now, 10x his size, strength, and power. He was probably better at a lot of things now, you didn’t want to know what he would do to any of the failed relationships you had in your contacts still... But it was clear he still had that innocent side that you once loved. Jason was like weathered plastic in the garden, his old self was fading, but the spots where the sunlight hadn’t burned away the old Jason todd were still as vibrant and tender as ever. He seemed happier than usual too. His cheeks had begun to lighten up again, his skin seemed to glow from just having seen you again.

The food was ready, and you brought him over to the table. “I’m not an amazing cook, but I hope it’s okay….” You handed him the fork. He was silent for a while, staring at the plate in front of him.

“I uh.. I’m usually not so good with food but this does look really good I promise. It feels like I constantly have the flu. My mind is all fucking broken.."

"You deserve a break." You said, sitting opposite of him across the table. Your fingers intertwined tightly with your own beneath the table, under the table. You tried to suppress your nerves. He needed comfort and support now, you couldn't give him more. "You're here.. With me.. That's something." You said, trying to encourage him.

“I still want you. So bad..” He mumbled. His fork clinked against his plate as he set it down gently. You took a deep breath. You didn’t know what to say. You weren’t ready to talk about your problem with the matter of your relationship. You just wanted him to eat, and try to get better..

“Jason-“ You warned.

“Do you still love me?” He interrupted. He was trying to sound calm, but he was clearly agitated. The question threw you off guard. He looked at you with wide, desperate eyes. “Answer honestly. I need to know.” You hesitated.

“Yes.” You answered truthfully, not able to hide the hurt on your face.

“You don’t even want to touch me…” he muttered dejectedly.

“You died- I was at your funeral.. I don’t understand how your here right now..” you said firmly. “I’m just… confused, ok? I thought I understood everything..” You were trembling. You knew he saw, he understood. You didn’t know how to deal with the guilt gnawing at your stomach.. You hated seeing him this upset. “I miss you..” he whispered, staring at you with pleading eyes.

You lowered your gaze and shook your head. “I’m sorry- you.. Do you have a place to stay?..”

“Are you kicking me out?..”

“Well no- but I feel bad for making you sleep on the couch.” You explained. “You’ve done nothing wrong.. I’m sorry… do you want to stay?”

He remained silent and slowly ate the food placed in front of him. His lips forming into a thin line. He looked exhausted. But he was eating the meal you had made, albeit reluctantly and very slowly. It took him about 20 minutes, as he finished every bite without looking up or saying a word.

“Yeah. I want to stay here for a bit.” He replied after he finished chewing. You nodded, relieved. He pushed back the chair and stood up. He looked exhausted.

“I’ll get you some blankets.” You said quietly, walking back to your room to bring some out to him. While searching your closet, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Your body froze for a split second. Just Jason.. Just Jason…. Then you relaxed. You pulled out two fluffy blankets. You walked back towards him, throwing them over his shoulders. He let out a content sigh at the warmth. “It smells like you…” he mused. He looked so at peace. Like you had injected life into him for the first time since he got here.

He grabbed one pillow from your bed and squeezed it. He closed his eyes, feeling the soft material against his skin. You couldn’t help but smile softly. He looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky. A sense of wonder and relief washing over his features. He turned to the doorway, making his way to the living room.

The television flickered dimly on your TV stand. Your DVD’s stacked high, mostly disney and other classics. “I love you so much..” he murmured, looking around your home.

“I…” You paused. “Know.. you do..” you trailed off, not knowing how else to respond. It felt weird hearing those words come from him. You spent nights hoping to hear those exact words just.. one more time. Hearing them now..

“Where were you?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming guilt weighing down your chest.

“Oh y’know…” He shrugged. “Just…” he laughed awkwardly before sitting down on the couch. “Just running around doing shit. Nothing serious.” He admitted. “But I was able to find you eventually. I actually used to sit in the parking lot and stare at your apartment door, waiting for you to open it..” he looked embarrassed to admit that, scratching the side of his jaw. You chuckled lightly at that image. “You should have seen it, though! I sat there until my legs went numb and then I finally decided to walk away because I felt kinda creepy sitting there watching like that..” He grinned, remembering how pathetic and childish it sounded. “But, I had to see you last night. I had to talk to you... See how you were...” He said, sadly. “God…I’m really messed up.” He sighed, dropping his gaze onto the floor. You frowned as you noticed his mood swing.

“I missed you too-… I’m glad you’re back, and I’m sorry I’m being so cold.” You apologised.

He gave you an understanding glance, “you can be pretty difficult to read these days.. I just.. I hope you can understand my intentions. I still want you.”

“Night Jay.” You stood up, attempting to run away from the topic. “I have class in the morning. I gotta get some sleep. I have a presentation coming up.” You walked towards the bedroom, but stopped. You didn’t want to leave him alone yet. What happened wasn’t fair. “I’ll be back around 12 or so.. tomorrow.”

“Goodnight baby.” He sighed, laying down on the couch. You smiled at his nickname.

He stayed sleeping in his makeshift bed the whole evening, until 4 am or so when he slipped out from the blankets and into your room. He was just getting up to check on you, but eventually it became him… getting a closer look.. getting in bed. and passing out next to you. These blankets were big enough to cover him completely, no cold feet. There was barely any distance between you.

“Night..” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. He laid down facing away from you, but in his mind he was holding you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you. ...

[inazuman]

love, pancakes & robots

sae x reader fluff (suggestive) for @pixelcafe-network 's challenge friday!

“What are you doing?”

Looking for you the moment he's up is rare for Sae. It's the weekend, you love to sleep in, and he's usually heavy enough to keep you tucked into him even if you rise first.

“I was trying to make pancakes." There's a set of ingredients to your left, a plate of half-baked and burnt ones to your right…

"Doesn't look like it's working."

He says the comment off-handedly, but you catch that almost-grin of his before he manages to turn away and you shove him, your hand meeting the hard muscle of his chest. He barely budges, but he presses a hand to himself like you knocked the wind out of him, eyes wide with faux-pain that finally has you out of your pancake-making stoop and laughing.

"It's a fancy pancake maker! The one we got gifted, remember? They're meant to pop out perfectly every time."

"Y'know, there's nothing wrong with making them the old fashioned way." He grabs the box to the side, casually flipping it in his hands.

"This is new tech, Sae! New tech! It's supposed to just spit a pancake out at you like a robot!"

"Like that dumpling maker that doesn't actually roll a dumpling together no matter how you put it in?"

You wave your hand. "That's just proof that dumplings need to be folded with hands and made with love."

"Hmm," Sae puts the box down, pours the pancake mix in along with some chocolate chips.

It pops out perfectly.

"You," you stab him in the chest with a finger. "Are a robot whisperer."

"I read the instructions on the box like a normal person."

"I did too!"

"Oh really? You can read? That's surprising." He grips your wrist before you can smack him again, eyeing you playfully like he's just daring you to try, pulling you in until his arms are wrapped around you.

He dips his head to speak softly in your ear. "Maybe the robot just likes me better."

You pull away from him, tapping your hands on his cheeks. "Then the robot is misogynistic."

"A robot with skewed moral values? Governments might start using it for politics."

He spins you around in his arms so you're both facing the pancake maker, where he pours it in again and watches as it chucks out yet another perfect piece. The pure shock on your face has him chuckling into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"It's alright. I love you enough for both me and the robot."

He squeezes your waist, and you miss his warmth immediately as he moves towards the doorway.

"Hey! Come back here and do the rest, magic robot man!"

"Mm," he makes an act of considering it, tilting his head. "What do I get in return?"

"Outside of chocolate pancakes?"

"You know I don't care about pancakes." He swoops towards you fast and lifts you up by your thighs, placing you on the countertop, hands on either side of you as he leans in. "So?"

"Well," you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him in even closer, "what do you want?"

He grips the back of your calves, tipping you until you're lying flat on the counter, looming above you.

"I think it's clear," he tells you in a low tone, "what I want."

"Sae," Heat rushes through you, hyperaware of everything -- how warm his hands are, the cool countertop underneath you, the way his stature is the only thing that makes a position like this even possible.

"Pancakes first, you try to tell him, your heart beating fast in your chest, "or we'll never eat today."

"You sure?" He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then one higher up, and it has you gripping at his hand.

"We eat at this table."

"Who says that's not what I'm about to do?"

"You're cruel."

this is my first time doing a challenge!! the prompt i was given was: “What are you doing?” “I was trying to make pancakes but it didn’t exactly work” i hope i've done it justice!!

[mamawasatesttube]

Janet lives au my beloved, I love the difference in the Janet lives vs the Jack lives au :)

Happy holidays! :D

thanks, happy holidays to you too!!!

also aughgh right??? there is so much to ponder wrt janet our collective beloved janet... i think often about this. like. his issues with jack would both shrink and grow because on the one hand jack is no longer actively around to do shit to feed into tim's many complexes. on the other hand, he now has jack up on the Perfect Dad pedestal in his mind because he's dead. can't criticize your dead dad that's fucked up and horrible. right?

and on the other hand. man. so lets posit he has a better relationship with janet than he would with jack (because janet is a better parent than jack, and let's be real, that isn't really a high bar. but given jack's... everything, i just kinda really get the vibe that he left most of the actual parenting to janet). now at first you'd think this is solely a good thing! ...but can you imagine how much more agonized tim is about having to lie to his beloved mommy???? all the time??? he's even more torn between The Mission and his filial piety this time around!!! augh!!!

like all those times jack didnt notice tim hiding bruises with makeup ? if janet's around it is sooo possible that tim steals HER makeup for this specifically at least once and She. Notices. deeply possible that she puts together "tim showing up with mysterious injuries he keeps trying to hide and also lying to me about it" with "tim getting closer with dick grayson and bruce wayne while i was away" and deduces that she doesn't know WHAT they've gotten her little baby boy into, but she IS going to kill those guys. tim keeps insisting that they're very nice to him but that really isn't helping anything. but just the entire concept of janet actually paying attention to tim's injuries - noticing if he steals her makeup!!! - or paying attention to things like. *checks notes* one of his classmates being SHOT DEAD at their SCHOOL ???? hey jack how did you not even check on him once after this. whats wrong with you. i just wanna talk jack

so i think she'd find out tim's robin way faster than jack. he probably would agonize about wanting her to know but The Mission and the need for secrecy, etc. but notably, when she finds out, i don't think she'd force him to quit - she'd really really want him to, because this is so dangerous and he's her baby and she doesn't want him to get hurt!!! but if he pushed back and tried to explain his side of it, she'd actually be willing to at least hear him out (unlike jack).

but also. not to be predictable but. i think it would be really funny if at some point during this drama kon-el shows up on the front doorstep looking for robin, and eavesdrops just enough to understand that janet knows now. because. hear me out. this is how we once again arrive at tim walking into his own house and home and just balking because kon is at the kitchen table hanging out with his mother. mom why the heck are you giving superboy my oreos!!!!

(also, calling back a little to the concept of baby kon somehow befriending janet, but. very specific vision in my mind of "janet lives past identity crisis too au" where at some point baby kon mentions to tim in her earshot that hes never had a mom and wonders whats it like?? and she doesnt say anything but this strikes her to the heart. several years down the line when timkon are established at some point she's like conner sweetie i know a long time back you said you don't have a mother, and i understand that completely and don't mean to try and take any place in your life you don't want me in, but if you ever would like to have a mother-in-law… and tim is just like. MOM. ARE YOU TRYING TO PROPOSE TO KON FOR ME??? THIS IS SO CRINGE. UGH MOM STOP)

[violenteconomics]

for cater diamond, it starts like this:

cater diamond is made up of lies.

his hair and outfit are designed to give off an air of carefreeness, even when his heart is tearing his chest into ribbons, perfectly planned down to the tiniest wrinkle. he runs all of his words through his head over and over before he says them, navigating every interaction like he's trying to get the perfect run in a video game (and idia would probably appreciate that metaphor if he heard it, maybe cater should bring it up to him, see how it makes him tick—). even his smile has been meticulously manufactured, every little twitch and idiosyncrasy based on the influencers he sees on magicam.

not that anybody really knows about any of this, of course. he's a professional, after all.

all of that to say that cater is a good liar. a great one, even.

one day, ace walks into the kitchen with serious bed-head, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

cater is leaning against the kitchen counter (looking just ruffled enough to appear as if he's just woken up, but still put-together enough to keep up the chill senior persona he's spent the better part of two years cultivating — a look he's mastered after watching the first ten seconds of neige's "morning routine!" video on loop) when he sees the red-head shambling in.

he smirks (corner of his lips tilted 42 degrees up, eyebrows slanted approximately 12 degrees down) and leans his head against his hand. "what's up, sleeping beauty?"

"good mornin', senior," ace grumbles, sounding way too pissed off to actually mean it.

that's what cater likes the most about ace and deuce. they don't feel the need to mask as much as everybody else does in this school. if they have feelings, they'll let you know it almost immediately — ruthlessly in acey's case, and involuntarily in deucey's case. either way, it's kind of cute.

and refreshing. even cater, social butterfly extraordinare, gets tired of analyzing every little bit of somebody's mood and personality and conversational style, in attempt to weaponize them as he tries to achieve the perfect outcome everytime he talks to someone. after two whole years of trying not to trip over any of riddle's landmines (which were actually just his hundreds upon hundreds of trauma responses, as it turns out), cater would've sworn off talking to anybody for the rest of ever if he weren't more of an expert at deceit than that.

it's easy to talk to ace and deuce, comparatively. if they have an opinion, they make it known, even if it's not night raven college-approved. they don't care about what anybody else thinks. for someone who cares about what everyone thinks at all times with no limits on when, where, or who, it's certainly a novelty.

they're different — but cater likes that. they're emotional. they're understanding. they're great underclassmen, even if they don't realize that (and probably never will, because cater's definitely not gonna say anything about it).

cater scrolls through the "#diybreakfast" tag on magicam to hunt for a cute breakfast place he could snap pics of for some more views. "so how'd'ya sleep? deuce didn't try to wrap you up in his 24/7 study sesh, did he?"

ace puts a hand on the back of his neck and groans. "i slept fine. kept waking up because of deuce's loud-ass chewing, though. seriously, who is that noisy when they're eating blueberries?"

cater laughs and pretends the conversation is over.

pretends he didn't notice the way ace hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering cater's simple question.

pretends he didn't notice the way ace rubbed his neck a little too hard to be casual, as if cater didn't use to have that exact same habit whenever riddle took his collar off of him.

pretends he didn't notice the tiny stutter in ace's "i slept fine".

(pretends he didn't say the exact same words, practically verbatim, every time trey asked him if he slept well during their second year at night raven college.)

(because he's supposed to be the unbothered one. he might actually crumble into a pile of misery if he has to let go of that idea.)

(maybe it's the same for ace, too.)

(it might be fake strength, but it's something to hold onto, nevertheless.)

because nobody else would've noticed that. nobody else craves validation so much to even bother. so if he's pretending to be cool and self-assured and confident and everything else that he's not, why would cater?

"damn it, we're out of cereal." ace groans, slamming the pantry door shut with a bit too much force.

the worst thing about being a great liar?

it's incredibly sobering when you meet someone who is almost as good as you.

I am in dire need of more of that AU that The First years get The upperclassmen toxic traits,i realy want more of It,like;

A way to include octavinelle and scarabia,maybe like,3 First years(Ace,deuce,Jack) get some of azul's toxic traits,other Three(epel,ortho and sebek) get Jamil toxic traits and yuu get both

Second thing

More reactings please,i NEED The staff,ALL The dorms and even the relatives seeing The First years developing those toxic traits,the overblots+Trey and cater for deuce getting their toxic traits right back at their face i beg you🙏🙏

anything 4 u, baby.

(but for real, though, this is an AMAZING idea, love you so much for tilling the ground for my brainwormies, mwah mwah 😘)

(also, this might get REALLY long, so hang tight!)

it was just a seed at first — a tiny idea that stuck around despite the first-years not even realizing it was there. but as the poison from their actual housewardens starts to develop into something truly deadly, so does that seed. it shows up later... but it makes itself known nevertheless.

ace, deuce, and jack have all worked for azul at the mostro lounge at one point, and though it was a very brief moment in time, it was just long enough to worm its way into their heads.

it starts with ace trappola, who's already pretty slippery with his words. but working at the mostro lounge, taking subconscious note of all the underhanded deals azul is making, he starts to pick up new... skills, let's say.

it starts small, with ace starting to give out certain favors to his fellow freshmen to earn some money. if you give him ten thaumarks, he'll do one of your everyday chores for you — dusting your room, cleaning your bathroom, making dinner, what have you. if you give him fifteen thaumarks, he'll do your homework if you don't feel like doing it, or take class notes for you if you don't feel like showing up. if you give him forty, he'll help you with something less-than-moral and definitely against the rules (he did it once back at the atlantica memorial museum — he can do it again).

there's an obvious power imbalance in all of these scenarios, but ace effortlessly words in a way that makes it seem like it's a win-win situation, when in reality, it's more like a zero-sum game.

it gets to the point where ace builds a black-market sort of reputation, and all of the freshmen know that if you need something done, ace is the person to go to.

...but then, something shifts.

at some point, ace starts a black-mailing campaign for the people who paid for the forty-thaumark favor. if you don't want your secret — one that might get you expelled, suspended, or worse — getting out, then you can pay for ace's silence with a favor or more money.

the worst part is: there's no way out. if you try attacking ace, it'll seem like you assaulted him for no reason, since if you try to explain he was blackmailing you, you'll have to tell them what he was blackmailing you with, which you obviously can't do — or else what was even the point? the same rule applies if you try tattling on him to one of the teachers or the housewardens or anybody else. and ace is a better liar than most people will ever be in their lifetime, so it's a losing battle even if you do manage to get someone to take your side.

so if you want to cross the bridge, my sweet, you've got to pay the toll.

(it's not even about the money anymore, really. riddle's thirst for control and azul's desire for recognition have clashed inside of ace in the most violent way, and now, it's all about the power it gives him over other people. and after how powerless he's felt this entire school year, being thrown left and right by overblot after overblot with no say at all, this is a power trip he never wants to come back down from.)

but ace realizes he's making quite a few enemies with his little money-making strategy, and he needs someone to help him just in case someone does come up with a plan to wipe him out. i mean, just look at azul — even with all of the loopholes and leverages in the world, even he was taken down eventually without outside help. if he wants this to last as long as possible, he needs... incentive for people to listen to him.

his own jade and floyd.

his own red-and-black collar.

using his riddle rosehearts-born dominance, and taking advantage of deuce's trey-and-cater-born passiveness, ace convinces deuce spade — one of the strongest people he knows — to help him in his economic ventures.

and deuce, seeing this as a way for ace to vent some frustration and unwilling to be on the other end of ace's ire, hesitantly agrees.

he doesn't piece together that ace is acting suspiciously like azul, but he still recognizes his own role in this whole scheme. ace is running a business, right? and deuce has only ever worked in one business before. he remembers what jade and floyd were like back when he worked under them, and so he uses that experience to inform his new position.

deuce becomes known as ace's right-hand man. he'll hunt you down if you don't pay, and he's not afraid to use force to "compel" you to. there have been stories about cat beastmen getting thrown up into trees and being left there for hours. about students getting forks "accidentally" thrown at them in the cafeteria with such precision, it doesn't really feel like an accident. about a student with a spade on his face who can throw back any attack sent his way with just as much force.

and there's nothing you can do about it, because he's in service to someone who has made himself pretty powerful. ace's silver-tongue gets deuce out of any and all trouble he inevitably finds himself in — and is ace is so brutally honest, why wouldn't people believe him? so even if you try to do something to deuce, ace has his back no matter what — and he'll win almost every time.

you mess with deuce, you mess with ace, which is already bad enough. but if you fuck around with ace, you better be prepared to find out with deuce.

they're a pair — that's always been true. but never before has that fact been so threatening.

jack howl comes next. we all know how much jack despises octavinelle's business model. but, begrudgingly, he will admit there are a lot of things he can learn from octavinelle. and more knowledge is never bad. as long as he doesn't actually use it, it should be fine.

(jack is more dangerous than ace and deuce, in a way — his toxicity is insidious in a way it just couldn't ever be with them.)

with excellent hearing, eyesight, and memory, he silently keeps note of every bribe he hears being taken. every lie he knows is being told. every mistake that gets swept under the rug. it's not long before he starts actively looking for it. it's not long before jack's uncovered dirt on almost every freshmen in school. it reminds him a bit of his time working at the mostro lounge. but instead of memorizing orders from customers, he's memorizing all their dirty secrets.

it's to protect himself, jack reasons. after all, it was only his input that put a stop to leona and ruggie's plans back during the spelldrive exhibition. he's just... preparing for another disastrous event, that's all. it's just precaution. insurance.

if it's not, then he'll have to accept that leona's overblot bothered him more than he thought. that he was weak enough to let it.

(and jack can't face that yet.)

and if, once in a while, ace comes to him looking for a little bit of information, then well, that's just lending a friend some advice. nothing wrong with that.

epel, ortho, and sebek don't have any direct ties to jamil, but they are certainly... impressionable, aren't they?

sebek zigvolt is a bit dense, certainly, but even he can see how well jamil takes care of his master. and with a master that's as ditzy and forgetful and all-over-the-place as kalim, that can't be easy. even if they are merely humans, and their experiences can't even begin to compare when it comes to serving a fae prince, sebek reckons that he can learn a thing or two by observing them. so that's exactly what he does.

one day, when kalim spills food on the floor in a hilariously ridiculous move, sebek notices something few others ever would. jamil gives the tiniest twitch of annoyance — the same way silver, in all his stoicism, often does when sebek gets too loud — but then he's back to being perfectly dutiful and polite and says "i'll go get a napkin."

it's... admirable, honestly. sebek doesn't put it into practice right away, but it stays in his mind long after he first sees it.

and then, after malleus's overblot, sebek's emotions feel like they're on fire. after being stuck in a world where it took just the tiniest crack to shatter a perfect illusion, he's wary of nearly everything that disrupts his day. now every single slight against him, no matter how unintentional it may be, feels like a personal attack on his very life. but sebek can't show these ugly emotions so outwardly — that would be dishonorable behavior that could damage malleus's reputation. instead, he resorts to subtle methods that can't be easily traced back to him like putting in frogs in schoolbags and setting brooms on fire or replacing shampoo bottles with tar.

but his repressed feelings of anger start to build to the point where he's now feeling unprecedented resentment towards... well, almost everybody.

when sebek has very first negative thought about malleus in history class — "reckless bastard" — he instantly hates himself for it and throws up then and there because how dare he.

he tries to shut them out, but the more he does, the more these intrusive thoughts start to bombard him with their uncharacteristic cynicism.

he looks at lilia from across the breakfast table, and his first thought is: heartless liar.

he spots leona lying in the botanical garden and he thinks: brainless cretin.

he even sees jamil, walking through the halls, and his mind screams: manipulative bitch.

but sebek shoves it all down because he's in no position to say that. it gets to the point where he's walking around as a silent, unfeeling husk, because to be anything else would be like inviting his inner demons to visit him on the outside. he pushes his emotions down as far as they'll go, and that's just going to have to be enough to get him through the day.

ortho shroud begins to follow a similar principle. his idia-inspired pessimism has led ortho to see others as less like people and more like characters. it's easier to think of every school day as a dungeon in an rpg. it's easier to convince himself that the other students are taunting him because they're programmed to be that way than face the reality that they just don't like him.

but the problem with seeing life as a video game is that you start seeing others as just ways to complete your objectives. like npcs or maps.

and when it comes to using people, jamil viper is king. or, for ortho's purposes, the ultimate survival guide.

ortho shapes himself into a model night raven college student — kind, charming, and sweet for the teachers, but just mischievous and rude enough to still fit in with the students.

he goes to housewarden meetings with idia to "gain leadership experience", taking notes and hearing out of every single little idea he can get his hands on (these are the people who have not just survived, but thrived. they must be doing something right). one time, riddle even pats his head and praises him for his proactiveness.

his classmates adore him for always been willing to help and being so calm about even the worst outcomes.

ortho makes himself as available as possible to the rest of ignihyde, brushing off homework or studying to help them with whatever they need — fixing game consoles, wiring in controllers, checking the internet connection, et cetera.

eventually, everyone believes in him almost as fiercely as scarabia believed in jamil, once upon a time.

ortho doesn't like telling all of these lies, but it's necessary to protect himself. it's like grinding to earn coins until you have enough money to buy that special armor in the shopkeeper's store.

...or maybe it's more like those cheesy dress-up flash games ortho used to play all the time — fleshing out the perfect outfit and hairstyle and makeup that'll earn you the most points.

if people feel like they need him, he'll be able to breeze through school without any more problems. he's put the whole system on easy mode! it feels a bit like cheating, almost.

it is like a game, isn't it? it's fun.

(at some point, ortho forgets how to stop.)

as for epel... well, he knows that his sudden snappish behavior towards the other pomefiore students won't go unnoticed for too long. but this is one of his only ways of venting, so he needs it to go under the radar long enough for him to... to squeeze out all of this sudden venom that's built up in him.

epel's not oblivious. he knows how sebek and ortho have changed over the weeks, and he knows why. but epel can't pull off "repressed" like sebek, and neither can he suddenly turn into the best person ever like ortho. but they do have the right idea about taking inspiration from jamil, so epel can fall back on what there is left: gaslighting.

every time kalim blacked out, jamil blamed it on him being sick. every time someone thought kalim was being awfully uncharacteristic, jamil called it a "mood swing". every time someone asked jamil about why kalim was acting so weird, jamil claimed ignorance.

at least, that's what yuu tells epel.

and it's perfect.

so now, every time someone confronts epel about his overly critical behavior, he lies and says he's doing it for their own good. you need pressure to make a diamond, after all. and besides — vil won't settle for anything less than absolutely perfect.

("i'm just trying to catch your mistakes before he does. and i think you and i can both agree that i'm a lot nicer than he is about it.")

every time vil confronts epel about all of the complaints he's been hearing from the other students about how epel's been tearing down their ideas for outfits and hairstyles with no mercy, and disregarding all of their achievements as "not good enough" to be proud over, epel dons a confused face.

("vil, between studying for tests and the crazy physical regiment you have me do, i barely have time for myself. you honestly think i have the energy to criticize other people?")

epel even starts turning people against each other so they won't focus on him. epel subtly threatens to take away the upperclassmen's position in the hierarchy, which sets up the other underclassmen as a threat, and epel grouses to the underclassmen that the upperclassmen look down on them for not living up to pomefiore standards, under the guise of regular teenage bitching.

but all of this, combined with their self-entitlement, leads to a mini-war in pomefiore. but since this is, well, pomefiore, where being perfect and poised is the standard, the others make sure never make it obvious in front of vil or rook.

epel plays everybody like a fiddle, and ensures that none of it can be traced back to him. it's a good way to get out his frustration. and hey — it seems like everybody's upped their game along the way. vil seems pretty happy that everybody's improving in their efforts so greatly, practically overnight!

epel wakes up with a feeling of accomplishment everyday. for once, it seems he did something right.

now if only rook could stop looking so somber...

then we come to yuu, whose inner darkness has been left to fester all year. if people think they can treat them like a ragdoll, it's only fair they do the same.

there's a lot yuu doesn't have, but one thing they're really lacking is a bit of respect. that's what it means to be magicless in an arcane academy. you're at the bottom of the food chain.

and look at what a bit of self-interest can do for you! yuu studies in the library until late into the night, burning the metaphorical candle at both ends, learning everything they can about magic until they're more well-versed in it than most students in the school. yuu starts making potions that aren't nearly as good as azul's, but they're cheap and work well enough. they start making study guides for others with their new-found knowledge, even if they do bristle with the fact that a damned study guide is what caught them in azul's tentacles in the first place. they start learning anything and everything, clinging to whatever scraps of knowledge they can write down.

with this, they successfully make their case for why they should join ace and deuce's business. eventually, they're just as feared as they are among the other first-years.

but that's not enough for yuu. the power of fear is nice, but the power of controlling other people would be much more cathartic.

so that's what they do. while ace is more focused on monetary gain, yuu uses their mountains of blackmail to convince others to do whatever they want.

if crowley throws another ridiculous task at them, yuu simply hoists it off to somebody else to do. if ramshackle dorm needs a few repairs, it's only a matter of contacting a few people before a whole construction crew paid off by somebody else comes knocking at their door. and they'll do it, if they don't want to get kicked out of the school or have their reputation ruined.

but somehow, even with all of this, yuu sets themself up as the nicest out of their little trio. they're willing to let payments slide from time to time. they listen to their clients' problems. they take constructive criticism and always seem to improve in their potions and study guides based on feedback. and if you do do yuu a favor, they'll give you certain favors right back.

so even when yuu is a covetous, greedy, all-consuming shark, the students still think they're so very, very nice. because compared to ace and deuce, what else is there to think?

but this can only go on for so long. and yuu knows that.

one day, they get called to the headmage's office. yuu is already going through their contact list — a list that's quadrupled ever since they joined forces with ace and deuce — to see who'd be willing to do them a teensy little favor for them, but when they step through the door, they pause.

inside the office are all the housewardens, their vices, the teachers, and everybody else yuu has grown to know over the past year.

yuu narrows their eyes as riddle steps forward.

"yuu," riddle starts sternly, "from one housewarden to another, i believe we need to talk."

^

(i will address everyone's reactions in a reblog, because this is honestly getting really, really long, lol. but don't worry, the reactions are coming! 🥺)

(but i should mention that there is already a good reblog of the original post by @thenumberhuntress which addresses the upperclassmen's reactions that you can find here. go read it. it's peak.)

(once again, thank you for the great ask! this was fun to make!)

[deathlygristly]

For some reason I decided to read a Reddit thread on When The Phone Rings. Yes, I know, that's on me. But I've seen the sentiment on here too.

I guess it's what the kids call "antis"? Like this is a fictional show, none of it is real, and I seriously doubt any of the people watching will ever get switched for their older step-sister in an arranged marriage to the presidential spokesperson, who is the son of another chaebol family that's into politics. But then it turns out that the original son of the political family was a serial killer and the grandfather tried to drown him when he was a kid and then replaced him with the orphan who grew up to be the spokesperson. But the serial killer son survived the drowning attempt, and now the grown up serial killer son and also possibly the twin of one of the serial killer's victims is coming after the adopted son.

Like y'all are not going to be in this situation IRL, okay? You are not going to be in an arranged marriage with a man who is severely traumatized by seeing the drowning attempt, being taken from the man who had taken him in and raised him, and forced to live with people who did not like him and who controlled and abused him and who only wanted to use him to appear "normal" and "likable" so they could win elections and get political power.

And if you ever are in that situation for some reason, it's extremely unlikely that after three years of not communicating at all and pretty much being strangers you'll be targeted by a kidnapper, steal the kidnapper's phone, use the phone to finally communicate a bit, and end up with your husband revealing that he's obsessively loved you all along.

This is fiction. Maybe the female lead falling down a cliff and being fine and the male lead being in two explosions and being fine would clue you in on that? I don't know. Like someone said in the thread, these people must be why dramas all have a disclaimer now at the beginning saying that the drama is fiction and the events aren't real or based on anything real. Not that it helps.

It's just....it's weird and kind of conservative Christian culty how they're all "oh noes but young girls will think that it's okay if their husband doesn't talk to them for three years and is a bit mean!" If you're really worried about that then maybe you should be teaching your daughters or younger sisters or young female friends or students or whatever about boundaries and abuse and emotional awareness instead of not communicating with them at all, like how you say it's so bad that the characters are doing in the beginning of the show?

Also, okay, I've been married for 22 years and we started dating 25 years ago. I can assure you that the spousal person is awesome and our relationship is fine and healthy and the people at our favorite restaurant exclaim over us every time we come in and when I was in the hospital after gallbladder surgery the doctors called us "lovebirds." It's very easy to separate reality from fiction and to enjoy watching characters and stories that aren't your personal perfect ideal template of whatever and still have a healthy and enjoyable life.

If it's not easy for you, I think that's more a personal matter that you need to investigate and work on in your own life instead of judging and hating strangers online about it? Maybe you could look into resources for recovery from high control groups?

[mareastrorum]

As a known villain-enthusiast, I figured I’d write up how I assess them as storytelling devices. Like, whether they’re enjoyable characters is up to taste, but whether they’re good writing requires critical assessment. This is a rather long post, so here is a summary:

Learning how to critique villains is a great way to identify skilled and passionate storytellers. They embody the ideas and decisions that the writer feels are incorrect. While some narrative devices are more subtle (local politics unfolding in the background, color or song cues, scene settings, etc.), villains are dramatic. That is a person designed to be wrong! They intentionally draw the audience’s focus for important steps of the story. When a writer stumbles on that, it reflects poorly on the entire work precisely because of that focus.

This post is going to get into the following key components of an effective villain:

They highlight the wrong conclusion about a key issue in the story.

They should be a symptom of either a larger issue in the narrative or the one they fixate on.

They don't need to be evil, and, in many cases, that label is a hindrance.

As the average age of the target audience and/or the length of the story increases, villains should be more frequently correct in their beliefs and choices.

They evoke strong emotion appropriate to the genre.

They don’t need to be antagonists, and antagonists don’t need to be villains.

They raise the stakes: the world will become worse if they are left unchecked.

Their strengths and weaknesses should be directly tied either to the central theme of the story or their opponent's character arc.

Their ending is consistent with the theme of the story.

If included, a villain redemption arc must have 4 components: (1) an external stimulus causing (2) a choice to deviate from their plan and (3) a corresponding shift in their worldview, and those result in (4) action that matches the strength of their new conviction.

They should not be included in a story if any of the above causes distraction or discordance with the main plot line.

Of course, there’s spoilers to follow, so reader beware.

First, some definitions. These are definitely not perfect, but they're how I keep these narrative issues separated in my own head.

A villain is someone whose wrong actions/beliefs are relevant to the plot/themes. An antagonist is someone who acts in direct conflict with the protagonist. The protagonist is the character that the audience follows in a story. Sometimes villains are protagonists, sometimes they're antagonists, and sometimes they're neither. This post addresses villains regardless of their other roles in a story.

I am intentionally using a vague word like “wrong” in that definition because villains are versatile tools. What is the core message or theme of this story? What is the wrong conclusion? What did the villain get right before they fucked up? At what point did this take a downturn? Can this be fixed before it’s too late? How can it be fixed? A well-designed villain can be used to answer most, if not all, of those questions without any reference to another character. When a villain is included in the story, each of the topics below is a point where the writer should be using that character to bolster the narrative.

Villains highlight the wrong conclusion about a key issue in the story.

The point of a villain is to be a bad example. A job well done requires the author to have a thorough, intimate understanding of the themes, plot, and other characters, and then showcase each of them through that villain.

In other words, the villain cannot be conceived before the protagonist's arc is decided. The author needs to have a plan for the protagonist's character arc and plot because that is going to be the audience's focus for the entire story, and the villain is meant to emphasize a key problem for that character. Even when the villain is the protagonist, their purpose as the protagonist must be determined first before any villainous aspects should be addressed.

That said, villains should be minimized or omitted for any issue that doesn't culminate in a climax. Villains are dramatic: once outed as a villain, the audience will watch everything they do. That level of focus is difficult to match with other narrative devices, so the optimal use is to direct it at key issues. For other topics, antagonists are a better fit (discussed further below). If the writer does not intend to address some core aspect of the story or worldbuilding, then it shouldn't significantly involve the villain.

A poorly done villain often reveals how the author failed to grasp something, either as a concept or in execution. Again, by definition, a villain is someone the author disagrees with. People are usually much better at making themselves and their own opinions look good than they are at portraying people with opposing viewpoints. A skilled storyteller commits to giving villains a good faith dissection rather than merely attacking a strawman.

Of course, more complex stories may warrant the use of minor villains, an ensemble, or a Big Bad Evil Guy standing above the rest. The depth and time spent on each villain should match their overall importance to the main storyline. Perhaps a lesser villain will feature in a particular episode/chapter addressing their connected theme, but they shouldn’t be emphasized by the writer outside of that relevance.

Villains should be a symptom of either a larger issue in the narrative or the one they fixate on.

This is one of the more common flaws that I've encountered. Most villains believe they are solving a problem. A lot of stories fall short of answering, "what is a better conclusion?"

Caveat: this isn’t necessary for all genres. Genres that rely on gaps in understanding don’t need to supply answers. Comedy, horror, short fiction, and any other story focusing entirely on a plot about “stuff went wrong” don’t necessarily benefit from telling the audience what the problem is. Eldritch horror stories, for example, are specifically about encounters that the characters and audience do not understand, but they may still feature villains.

This facet is more noticeable in stories about problems that affect large populations. Whether it's a social heirarchy, a government structure, a natural disaster, resource shortages, etc., it's something that requires more than removing villains from seats of power or ending a plan. The nature of the solution will vary widely, especially across genres, but the writer should be concerned with the exact thing the villain had been.

As an example, in a lot of contemporary stories involving revolutions by lower classes against an oppressive upper class, the key conflict of the story is that the revolutionaries have resorted to an unconscionable option for the sake of success. Whether it's genocide, biological warfare, nuclear escalation, etc., the climax is about stopping a villain from successfully employing that option. However, a solid number of those stories end with the status quo or with minor concessions by the upper class. Each of those is a problem. If they stuck with the status quo, the story is that the oppressed should accept their station, even without hope or promise of improvement. If there were minor concessions, then the message is that drastic threats of violence are necessary for even the smallest concessions. Neither of those is a very satisfying story, and in most cases, neither were the writer's intended takeaway. Unfortunately, that sort of message often gets baked in because the unspoken implication of “don’t resort to these tactics” is “accept your place”—unless an alternative is presented within the story.

Of course, the challenge for these sorts of stories is how to convey a better option without getting on a soapbox in the narration. Villains are an efficient option to challenge the protagonists (or their opponents if they're protagonists) on these issues. “If you're so determined to stop me, then what are you going to do about [XYZ]?” It's a great way to weave in the author's intended message through some exposition or by seeding internal conflict for the protagonist to grapple with after the two separate again. This can even be brought up by other characters in discussions about the villain, without requiring a direct confrontation. Whether the opposition achieves that goal isn’t necessary either; it’s enough to introduce it and start the path toward it, letting the implication become “that’s not happening yet because that would be the next story.”

While stories don’t need to answer every question, ignoring the villain’s concern conveys that the writer doesn’t care about that issue. In that case, why include it as the villain’s motivation? What benefit did that complication bring to the story? Useless or unintended elements should be cut from a story to avoid muddling the themes, and failure to do that with a villain demonstrates subpar storytelling.

Villains don't need to be evil, and, in many cases, that label is a hindrance.

Evil is a moral label. Some stories aren’t concerned with addressing how to be a good person, what should happen to bad people, etc. That is certainly a most common framing for a villain in Western media, but it’s not the only one. Stories don't need to convey a moral to be great.

Sometimes the villain cares deeply for others, is motivated by saving people and doing good, and checks all the boxes for a hero, but the means they resort to are absolutely fucked up. Their arc often involves realizing a terrible act is “necessary” to achieve their desired result, and because they believe that result is worth the travesties, they commit. The audience can debate whether that means the villain is good or evil, but that is beside the point; the problem is that they’re doing something they shouldn’t, regardless of the moral label attached to it. Stories like this often include a message that there aren’t good/bad people, only good/bad acts, which also means that people cannot attain a moral label, and therefore the villain cannot be evil. (The Dune novels are a fantastic example of this.)

Sometimes the villain is someone dedicated to a cause that has long since careened into villainy. Their personal morality doesn’t match with what they do because duty or honor requires them to act this way, and to forsake that obligation is also failure. No matter what they choose, they will be trampling their moral ideals. Pretty much any story about well-meaning military, police, government, or other duty-bound characters following a chain of command after the bad guy takes control is an example of this. Some stories focus on the interpersonal conflict arising out of that, and others stories might focus on the internal cognitive dissonance and psychological fallout of such circumstances. These stories often posit that there is no such thing as pure good, and since everyone must commit evil on some level in the course of pursuing a moral standard, we cannot assess anyone (including the villain) on morality alone. These also tend to be stories that include a redemption arc (discussed below), though they very frequently involve some sort of dramatic sacrifice in the process.

Other stories ignore morality entirely because it just isn’t the point. These villains tend to be more subtle because their presence isn’t as offensive to the audience. Bureaucrats ruthlessly enforcing the rules in spite of unique circumstances, then getting overruled by a superior after a big display by the protagonist, are a fairly common villain trope in media aimed at children and young adults. It does happen in media for adults as well, though most often in comedies (My Cousin Vinny, Ghostbusters) or legal/political/professional dramas. These stories usually criticize overzealous commitment to systems, not because the systems or villains are inherently evil, but because excessive enforcement can unhelpfully inhibit good, health, fun, freedom, etc.

Villains can absolutely be moral/good/neutral people in the author’s perspective, framed as such in a story, and still be the bad guys.

As the average age of the target audience and/or the length of the story increases, villains should be more frequently correct in their beliefs and choices.

This is such a frustrating thing when writers muck it up. As stated, villainy highlights a wrong conclusion. Do you know what would ruin that effect? If they’re wrong about everything.

The thing about highlighting is that it’s only useful when done sparingly or with clear methods of differentiation. Highlighting a single line with one color or multiple lines with different colors can each be effective methods of focusing attention, but highlighting an entire page is a waste of effort. The audience doesn’t know what to look at anymore. The purpose is lost when it's overdone.

So too with a villain. A well-constructed villain needs to get some things right. That is a signal that those aren't the parts the audience should be concerned with. That works both for focusing on themes (if indeed that side issue isn’t important) or as obfuscation for a reveal later on (related to plot, motive, identity, etc.). This wealthy villain pays his taxes without complaint, donates to charity, and tips generously, so the story message isn’t about whether businessmen pay their fair share to government, give back to the people generally, or pays people for their labor. Instead, when the businessman turns out to be a financier of a warlord plotting a coup, we can ignore the question, “should the wealthy use money to help people?” and instead focus on “the harm of using wealth to enable oppression far outweighs any generosity that coincides with it.”

In most media, I prefer main villains to be correct on so many things that, at some point in the story, they would have been capable of swaying me to their position if not for a key theme. That is the gold standard because it points the audience right at the villain’s narrative purpose and explains why no one has managed to stop the villain before this plot line. After all, if a person is tolerable, useful, or personable except for this one thing, then they are likely to have many allies and defenses to prevent anyone from stopping their plans. While not every villain needs that level of honing, it is vital that the villain associated closely to the main theme is the one with the most clarity.

When a villain is wrong about most things, that clarity is lost. That extremism is only expected in children’s fiction, comedy, and short form fiction because those genres usually don’t explore any other facets of the villain anyway—the audience rarely gets a comprehensive look at that character. A villain is a portrayal of a person, and people are complex. Any longer forms of media require more time spent with the villain, and a two-dimensional character doesn't hold up well in those circumstances. When an author decides to structure a villain who is incorrect at every step of a story, there is meaning there: this villain is intended as an extreme example of everything the author dislikes. This story is intended to be propaganda.

Propaganda invites heavier criticism: What ethnicity did the author choose for this representation of someone getting everything wrong? What gender? What sexuality? What nationality? Social or economic class? Level of education? How does that compare to their opposition? If there’s someone who does everything right, what differences are there between that one and the villain? Those choices are just as intentional as the decision to frame the villain as so egregiously wrong about everything. Writers don’t get to pretend such decisions are meaningless. More often than not, when this happens, the writer's bigoted views are put on display. The villain absolutely did its job, so it's not an ineffective villain: it told me what the writer disapproves of and that the theme of the story is that type of person is inferior. It just turns out that now I have an entirely separate reason to dislike this writer and their works.

Villains evoke strong emotion appropriate to the genre.

I expect that most discussions about villains will include something about making that character entertaining or fun, but that isn’t quite the right mark. A proper villain is evocative in a way that matches the genre. There’s a lot of flexibility in this, so entertainment value is a safe bet. Some stories need a villain that raises tension in every scene, and others just need a laid back asshole to quip at the hero and be an obstacle. That said, sometimes a villain would be better if they aren’t fun.

For example, in Pan’s Labyrinth, Captain Vidal (played by a well known Spanish comedian who had never previously ventured outside of comedy) in fascist Spain confronts a potential spy who claims that he was hunting rabbits with his son. Indeed, the man was carrying a weapon and a bag of supplies, and he has a younger man with him. Until that point, the Captain had been presented as extremely strict and hierarchical in every facet of his life, even with his new wife, but not necessarily bad. In full view of the man’s son, the Captain personally kills the hunter, declares him to be a traitor to Spain, then discovers the dead rabbits in the pack and ignores that he may have been wrong. The son is taken away without apology or aid—not even the food and supplies they had been carrying. Any audience expectation of mercy is shunted out the window because fascism involves seeing common people as either resources or threats, and nothing else. It’s a brutal, terrifying way to establish Captain Vidal’s role, that this character will not be fun or comedic, and what type of story the film will entail. We know without a shadow of doubt that if Captain Vidal discovers what the child protagonist has been up to, he will kill her. He would kill that little girl without remorse for the slightest infraction against his control. An unavoidable dread surrounds Captain Vidal’s presence through every subsequent scene, even when he isn’t shown on screen. That brought the terror of fascism to a personal level in a horrifically efficient manner. Excellent use of a villain.

Because the core purpose of a villain is to highlight aspects of a story, stoking the audience’s emotion is a surefire way to guarantee everyone is paying attention. The most commonly used options are anger (unjust acts), disgust (socially unacceptable traits), and fear (unflinching violence). Regardless of which emotion it is, it should be something either unexpected or more extreme than encountered otherwise. These cues should be in contrast to the emotions evoked by positive developments. If the rest of the mood of the story is somber, inappropriate lightheartedness is an excellent contrast. If the rest of the story is tense action, an eerie calm is incredibly upsetting. There are many options for creating a discordant tone, and doing so not only emphasizes that this villain is wrong somehow, but also ensures that any dialogue or narration in that scene carries that same sense of wrongness.

Obviously, some stories involve villain reveals, so those high-intensity scenes shouldn’t occur until the right moment. In those instances, the method and circumstances of the reveal are a great vehicle to emphasize the villain’s narrative purpose, especially when done close to or during the story’s climax. That said, a shocked audience may have difficulty parsing complicated dialogue; sticking to a simple, overarching topic is a much better option for those particular circumstances. That’s why a villain monologue is such a common trope: it works.

When this sort of emotional turmoil is absent, I get the sense that the writer doesn’t know how to structure a scene to reinforce themes. This sort of narrative device isn’t necessary for every villain scene, but if only one scene in an entire story were to stoke the audience’s feelings, it should be the scene where the villain’s conclusion is front and center. Denouements and moments of triumph also obviously warrant strong emotional responses, but I prioritize the villain for a simple reason: why would anyone add a villain to a story if they weren’t going to demand the audience’s attention? If that type of scene takes away from the story’s purpose, then the villain does too, and they should be removed.

Villains don't need to be antagonists, and antagonists don’t need to be villains.

This might seem contradictory to the preceding points, but the fact is that protagonists cannot be expected to fix every problem they encounter.

Villains are supposed to reach the wrong conclusion about something core to the theme or plot. Antagonists are just people who work against the protagonist. For a lawyerly analogue, my opposing counsel is the antagonist (working against me, a plaintiff litigator) and their client is the villain (that fucker did Wrong, even if they never interact with me and haven’t done anything since). The lawyer isn’t wrong for simply being on that side; they’re doing their job, and their job is to be in my way. I’m not right for simply being on my side; I’m just the one telling the story. When assessing a villain and protagonist, we look at both characters in those conflicts. In comparison, an any conflict with a non-villain antagonist is entirely focused on the protagonist; the antagonist’s values, beliefs, etc. don’t really matter.

All that said, villains are usually antagonists. It’s a very efficient way to structure a story, so it is a preferred option for shorter or simpler narratives. That isn't a flaw. It's a completely valid way to handle these roles. Whether the villain should or shouldn't be an antagonist depends on the themes. Is a person versus person conflict necessary to resolve the problem that the villain is highlighting?

For example, if the key theme is about the catastrophic damage caused by climate change, a direct conflict with the villain could distract from that. Many disaster movies focusing on climate change feature villains that ignore or exploit it, and rather than meet their end through conflict with the protagonists, they usually end up ruining themselves. That makes sense given that climate change is a phenomenon that cannot be stopped by an individual and that it doesn't discriminate as to who is affected. There's plenty of other themes where similar story structures are more effective than the protagonist causing the villain's downfall. Those stories don't benefit from direct conflicts with the villain, but that character added to the narrative regardless.

Sometimes a character is necessary for the protagonists to have a concrete victory at a certain point in the story, but there’s no thematic conclusion yet. Villains would distract from that, but antagonists wouldn’t. For example, a middle point in the story has the culmination of a coming of age arc for a main character, but the final conflict is still on the horizon: a sports competitor has to end their growth arc by winning at regionals before shifting to the main rising action involved in going to nationals. Introducing a local rival with no significant bad qualities would allow the audience to focus on the protagonist’s growth, and the villain in the later arc doesn’t lose any presence or effect by having a predecessor.

All that said, some characters shift over time, especially in serial media. An antagonist of the week in a superhero comic might be the dastardly Big Bad villain in a special release and then back to a background problem in the next. Villains should only be used to extent that they will help the audience understand the full scope of the themes. Regardless of genre (except maybe satire/parody), the villain shouldn’t be causing problems “on screen” beyond the scope of their purpose, so unless the dramatic brawl between villain and hero adds something other than cool visuals, antagonism is just wasted time.

Villains raise the stakes: the world will be worse if they are left unchecked.

Any villain that fails to raise the stakes is an example of poor writing. Why should the audience care about a villain if there is nothing to lose should they succeed? It is a complete failure to use such a dramatic narrative device to highlight a non-problem. Even if a villain is not an antagonist, they need to be a threat.

In order to achieve that, the villain needs to have strengths necessary to achieve their goal. When villains don't have a skill or a resources necessary for their plan, there should be a relatively straightforward method for them to fill that gap. For example, a warmongering monarch might lack the manpower from her own lands to continue conquering neighbors, so she has her army conscript soldiers from annexed territories to put on the front lines. Of course, these power gaps are also excellent points for conflict with the opposition, and that can be worked into the plot. By shaping the villain into a formidable power in the world, the protagonist (or their faction, allies, etc.) has to step up and find a solution to the plot problem before the villain ruins everything. It adds time pressure to the protagonist’s goals and allows for logical opportunities to foil the villain’s plans.

When the villain is incompetent, that tension is lost. Within the story itself, of all the possible characters in this made up world, this was the one the writer focused on. Why hasn’t someone already stopped them, and why should the audience care what they’re up to? Why is the writer wasting the protagonist’s time on this character? That reflects poorly on the story because that conveys that there’s not a real a risk of failure or a bad ending; if there was, the writer should have focused on that instead! So, why include the villain at all?

Unless the story is parody, nothing is as disappointing as a story where a villain succeeds or fails because of something stupid. It can be funny, it can be an oversight or mistake or gap in knowledge, but it should never be because of stupidity. That tells me that the writer couldn’t up with something clever because they’re stupid—they used a complex narrative device without thinking it through—and they expect me (a member of the audience) to applaud. Absolutely not.

Villains' strengths and weaknesses should be directly tied either to the central theme of the story or their opponent's character arc.

Building off the last point, a villain should be competent in a narratively convenient way and have convenient weaknesses. In many story structures, a villain antagonist is a wonderfully efficient option for the protagonist hero to grapple with a key character development or plot climax. The best villains are those whose weaknesses are ones that the protagonist is capable of exploiting; it helps establish the protagonist as an appropriate perspective for this story. However, that logic needs to work both in the direction in which it was planned, and backwards from the opposite view.

First, the writer needs to choose a villain that suits the protagonist and the plot. I’ve lined out plenty of reasons for that above, but in short, the villain should be actively engaging in behavior or building to a turning point that will impact the ending that the protagonist desires. It doesn’t need to impact the protagonist directly, but there must be a clear motivation to interfere with the villain’s plan. Thus, the villain’s strengths should be relevant to the theme or opponent’s arc—it’d be a waste of opportunity otherwise.

Once the protagonist’s needs are established, the writer needs to change perspective: the villain needs to make sense within the narrative whether the protagonist does anything or not. Generally speaking, any person would prefer a plan with requirements they would not struggle to complete. People like to do things they’re good at. A mad scientist is going to prefer mad science over politics. A corrupt politician is going to prefer bribery over a ray gun. If the plot demands a particular course of action, the villain should be designed to be someone who prefers that method and is damn good at it. Even in situations where a villain is forced to resort to something they don’t excel in, there should be a logical explanation for how this arrangement came about. Failure to achieve this breaks immersion.

The difficult part of discussing this facet is that it is the most versatile aspect of villain characterization, so there aren’t any rigid requirements. I wouldn’t even go so far as to say that a villain should be a foil because that limits them to mirroring a specific character. They don’t need to be foils! Sometimes, a villain should be bigger than that: Sauron in The Lord of the Rings trilogy could be compared to numerous protagonists, but he is not a direct foil of one, while lesser villains (Denethor, Steward of Gondor) in the books are.

For a vague example, let's say I want to write a story about a slave who is leading a revolution. The obvious themes would be the necessity of violence to wrest freedom from oppressors, that legal systems are always biased in favor of those already in power, that most people will accept oppression of others for the sake of economic benefit, and so on. There are many potential villains, but the best ones would be the owner, the lawman (chief of police, sheriff, judge, etc.), and/or the head of government (mayor, governor, etc.). Regardless of which one I choose, their respective strengths (color of law, weaponry, support of the ruling class) will require the protagonist to address his own weaknesses (lack of legal authority, resources, and social capital), which gives the plot shape. Those are the parts that will be addressed in the rising action of the story. In addition, the villain's weaknesses (over-reliance on demoralized slaves, personal immorality, bigotry, cruelty, apathy, etc.) each give options for what strengths to give the protagonist. Perhaps the protagonist's unfailing courage and camaraderie stokes the other slaves' will to resist and fight back, and it becomes a story about greater numbers overcoming the villain's strengths. Another option is that the protagonist stoops just as low and has no moral or social high ground, and the point of the story is that freedom should be achieved by any means necessary by anyone willing to fight for it. Yet another option is that the protagonist makes contact with a third-party, and they cooperate to overthrow the villains, because the villains' institution of slavery could not be tolerated by anyone with an unbiased view (outsiders with no stake in it). Whichever possibility is chosen, the strengths/weaknesses of the villains put a tint on the overall message: the owner would focus the story on individuals and allow for more intimate exchanges between characters, the lawman would be more of a philosophical story with impersonal distance, and the head of government would focus on social values and how to change the will of other people. I need to choose the villain that allows me to explore my preferred protagonist arc, and I need to choose the plot line that matches well with that conflict.

But that’s a bit cerebral. A simpler example: Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. He’s sexist, only wants Belle because she’s the prettiest girl in the village, and his ego demands the best of everything. There’s literally nothing else he finds attractive about her. He’s charismatic and appeals to the toxic masculinity culture of the town. He does not value intelligence or kindness, so many potential options for getting what he wants are closed to him. In the climactic conflict, Gaston whips the town into a mob by using his charisma to deceive them, has Belle and her father imprisoned in their own home, and goes to kill the Beast so that he can claim the mantle of hero and Belle for himself. Belle uses her intelligence to improvise an escape, and her kindness spurs the Beast out of inaction after it was established that nothing else had ever swayed his heart. While there may be other things to criticize in this story, Gaston is an excellent example of making strengths and weaknesses relevant to plot, themes, and other characters. Everything he did was as bad as, if not worse than, the Beast, his conflict with Belle allowed her agency and traits to shine, and his devotion to violence and ego caused his own death rather than Belle resorting to his methods.

When that doesn't happen, it feels like a plot hole. Why hype up a villain to excel at worming his way into powerful social circles and then he never attempts to manipulate anyone in any scenes? Why make a villain so egotistical as to ignore security flaws in a key scene and then never have anyone take advantage? I’m not talking about trope subversion; I mean when a strength/weakness is added and then ignored. It's such an intrinsic part of the process for constructing a villain that failing to flesh it out demonstrates poor writing skills.

The villain’s ending is consistent with the theme of the story.

I truly do not care if villains get “what they deserve” in a story. Can it be satisfying to see villains contribute to their own failure? Yes, but they don’t deserve anything. They’re not real. Even if they were, people don’t deserve anything. You can’t earn an ending. The world doesn’t work that way, stories don’t work that way, and that line of thinking isn’t interesting. Catharsis is not about a character getting what the audience thinks they should, it’s about evoking emotional satisfaction, and limiting that assessment to whether characters get what they “deserve” is narrow-minded.

Because stories are not real, everything is on the table. The writer can do whatever they want to every single character. The most important issue is whether the outcome makes sense for what issue the villain was highlighting.

For example, if the villain is meant to be a focal point of corruption in a government structure, and the highlighted problem is that this person was tolerated by others because of the benefits they provided, deposing only that villain doesn't really fix anything. The people that let this happen are still there, and they'll find another person to do it the same way. Instead, a better resolution would be to turn that villain against their enablers, whether by threat or force or agreement. Maybe the villain is willing to testify against co-conspirators in exchange for a lenient sentence in a court of law. By definition, leniency means that the villain does not receive a fair punishment, but the problem is resolved and won't happen again. That demonstrates that the writer actually understands the issue they chose to address and that they're telling a story about a solution to a problem rather than fulfilling a base desire for punishment.

Of course, sometimes a key point of the story is wish fulfillment for punishment. The Count of Monte Cristo is probably the best revenge story ever written, with every single villain getting their comeuppance due the machinations of the wronged protagonist after returning from imprisonment and exile. Even better, the protagonist orchestrated the events so that each villain ultimately causes their own end through willful greed, ego, and cruelty. However, the key question is whether or not the protagonist is a villain too: at what point will he stop? When is it no longer justice? What about innocent bystanders? When faced with the decision whether to legally kill the only son of both his hated enemy and his former lover, Edmond Dantes finally decides to stop. This differentiates him from the villains, and the story allows the audience to determine whether to attribute it to morality, love, duty, etc. The story includes wish fulfillment because the ongoing audience consideration is “How many more times are you going to wish for this?” It felt good, it felt just, they “deserved” it, the world was better for it, but the point was that Dantes had other needs that he was ignoring by focusing solely on revenge. A core theme was that a desire for revenge is not inherently wrong—it springs from injustice and a desire for equitable results—but it isn’t the right answer to every problem. The villains’ ends fit in perfectly for the characters individually, the themes of the story, and the cultural backdrop of France before, during, and after the tumult of the Napoleonic wars.

Further, sometimes the “end” is just a pause. Many serials need the villain to remain a threat for future use, so that thread is left unresolved. This isn’t necessarily poor writing. However, those villains shouldn’t be intricately tied to a theme that requires a definitive resolution by the end of that phase. This type of arrangement requires extra planning because bringing back the villain will evoke those old themes, so either reviving the question or tying it into a new one is vital to a good story.

If included, a villain redemption arc must have 4 components: (1) an external stimulus causing (2) a choice to deviate from their plan and (3) a corresponding shift in their worldview, and those result in (4) action that matches the strength of their new conviction.

A proper villain redemption arc always has the same core message: people can change. It has absolutely nothing to do with earning anything because change comes from within; as soon as external approval comes into play, it’s no longer about change, it’s about relationships. The quality of a redemption arc has nothing to do with anyone other than the person being redeemed. If this type of arc doesn’t suit the story, it should not be included.

The four points listed above are necessary because they tie the villain’s arc to the plot. Why is the villain changing during this story? What does the writer believe is needed to correct course? Does the writer actually believe that people can change?

The external stimulus is necessary because of the above point that the villain should make things worse if left unchecked. That check doesn’t necessarily need to be the protagonist, an opponent, or even a character; it could be a sudden change in circumstances, like war breaking out or a new faction coming into play. Maybe the villain achieves their goal and something goes horribly wrong. Regardless of the specifics, the cause should something other than internal rumination. A villain coming to a sudden epiphany in a moment of daydreaming is too convenient, to the point that it lacks any dramatic effect. That tells me the writer doesn’t actually understand why the villain would choose this course of action in the first place. Demonstrating what would shake them out of it is not easy, but it is vital to a proper redemption arc. Something new needs to break the villain’s intentions apart.

The next two parts can happen in any order: shifting perspective first and then a choice, or choice first while ideas solidify, or both at the same time. Maybe there’s multiple steps along the way for each. Any of those can be believable.

The shift in perspective means that the villain understands that they had made the wrong choice. Whatever the new problem is, they couldn’t stop it, can’t fix it, or need something they had discarded, and the reason for that deficiency is their current course of action. The new development is undeniable proof that they were going to fail or already had failed. They don’t need to accept this psychological change immediately—the timing and fallout should match the genre—but it should happen in response to that external stimulus. In addition, even if they grapple with it as the story progresses, the villain should not fall back into old ways over minor problems. They can ruminate or even obsess over inconsequential issues, but actions should be taken only for something significant.

Once the dramatic revelation has occurred, the villain needs to have agency for how to deal with this dilemma. Maybe the story even involves the villain fighting for that agency before they exercise it, and that may happen in tandem with coming to terms with their shattered perspective. There should be at least one moment (perhaps several) where the villain has the opportunity to revert to their original plan or take a new path. That said, making such a choice under threat of death or harm isn’t very effective. Choice also requires more than one option, so I don’t find “you’re going to die anyway” circumstances to be powerful redemption arcs. They can be suitable for tragedies, but they carry the implication that villains have to face death before they will change, which is not going to mesh well with many themes absent some other redemption arcs in the same story to compare it to.

Finally, there needs to be action that matches both the villain’s new beliefs and the theme of the story, and the scale needs to be appropriately comparable to the villain’s prior intentions. Maybe the villain drains hoarded resources to support the protagonist’s gambit, emphasizing the need to collaborate with and trust in others. Maybe the villain becomes a double-agent and sabotages the corrupt empire from within, demonstrating that good is not served by people refusing to engage with an ongoing problem. Maybe the villain redesigns their ray gun to kill cancer cells, so the message is that technology is only as harmful as the people using it. Whatever they do, the villain’s redemption arc will be just as important to the audience as the protagonist’s arc. They need to make an impact worthy of that effect.

I’ll also note what I omit from this: emotion, forgiveness, and justice. Emotions are irrational, so I don’t buy into the idea that any character needs to experience a specific kind of emotion for a certain kind of arc or story to be high quality. Choices do not require emotional congruence. As for forgiveness and justice, redemption comes from within, and these two facets require input from other characters or social groups. Redemption does not need someone else’s permission or validation. While these three things can certainly add to a redemption arc—and I’m sure people have preferences—they are not necessary aspects. It is entirely possible to construct a quality redemption story without them.

Schindler’s List is essentially a villain redemption story: Oskar Schindler (the protagonist) was a businessman who joined and benefited from the rise of the Nazi Party. He held fascist leaning ideals (people as resources, efficiency and profit over all else, etc.) and bribed officials to get his way, but he wasn’t overtly cruel. His experiences with the Jews forced to work for him gradually changed his perspective, and he took small steps to make their lives easier or safer—against the wishes of the Nazi government. Eventually, he reached the point that he decided to engage in treason to try to save as many as he could, not only spending his ill-gotten fortune on selfless bribes, but also risking his own life, freedom, and station. There are several scenes that emphasize what would be done to him if his plots were discovered. Schindler ultimately saves hundreds of Jews and is not destroyed for it. Those he saved even work to protect him from the consequences of his past deeds. But his final scene shows that Schindler is crushed by his own conscience and laments that he could have done more. He was introduced as an apathetic, greedy villain, and his gradual change to a man genuinely heartbroken by the genocide and remorseful for his participation was well-paced and cathartic. In particular, his role as a villain (a “bystander” profiting from genocide) contrasted well with his later choices (sacrificing his fortune to save those he exploited).

In addition, the villain switching sides does not mean that it’s intended as a redemption arc. Hans Landa in Inglorious Basterds absolutely betrayed the Nazis, but he did it to save his own hide and talked his way into a rather comfortable retirement over it. There was no internal crisis, no new belief system. Landa simply realized that he had a better chance at a preferred future, so he remorselessly served up people to be killed, just like in the opening scene. Nothing had changed. That worked wonderfully in a film about stopping violence with violence and the emotional dissatisfaction of letting vile people live after they had terrorized and slaughtered innocent people. So the protagonists carved a swastika into Landa’s forehead as a warning of who he was. Is any of that good? That isn’t even the right question for a Tarantino film, but again, it was not intended as a redemption arc; it was very clearly intended to mean that some people don’t change and we may have to let them live anyway.

Redemption arcs don’t suit every story or villain. They take a lot of narrative focus to pull off well, and many of the thematic implications can be handled in a protagonist’s arc anyway. A lot of writers tend to fuck up by making the protagonist’s forgiveness or approval a necessary part of the story, ignoring that they’ve then added a message that change is only legitimate when recognized by others. (Note: Schindler’s List dodges this because Schindler denies himself the catharsis of forgiveness.) That said, many audiences like that message. They like the idea that their permission is needed for a bad person to change. I have a strong aversion to that mentality, especially when it conflicts with other themes in the story.

Is the writer telling a story about redemption, or is it about a religious concept of sin and atonement? Forgiveness and acceptance? Is this really about change, or is it about punishing people who hurt your favorites? Change is something we do, and there is value in that even when there is no atonement, forgiveness, or punishment waiting at the end.

Villains should not be included in a story if any of the above causes distraction or discordance with the main plot line.

Villains aren’t necessary for every story. If you want to go with conflict structures, a person vs. world or person vs. self story doesn’t need a villain. Villains can be added to those stories, but they need to represent something about the world/self for that to make sense. They are too dramatic and time-consuming to toss in as an afterthought. If there is nothing else you take from this post, take this: if a villain doesn’t add substance to your story, don’t include one.

I can tell when the writer is just checking boxes. None of these things can be done well without a certain level of affection for both the art of storytelling and the story being told. It’s not even difficult; it just takes effort. There’s an incredible amount of stories out there to engage with, and I’m never going be pleased to put up with a writer’s checklist villain.

Write what you want, and if you don’t want to include a narrative device that requires effort, then don’t.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Let's Be Jolly

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, drinking, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You are on the hunt for the perfect present but the price is steeper than you expect.

Character: Sam Wilson

Day Twenty-Seven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - who invited them to the holiday party?

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The cushion beside you jostles as something, rather someone, hits your elbow with theirs. You glance over at Sam as he stares across the room, a drink in both hands. He narrows his eyes as he continues to stare, you’d even say glare, at someone? 

“Who invited her?” He mutters. 

“Who?” You ask. 

“Did I say that out loud?” He winces and looks at you, offering a glass of the ‘festive punch’, “you’re right, it’s cranberry.” 

“Raspberry didn’t seem very festive,” you kid. 

“Well, maybe a bucket of merlot would be fitting.” 

“And just as strong,” you pull the glass away from your mouth, “wow.” 

“Zesty?” He asks and you nod emphatically. 

“So,” you swallow completely, “who was invited to your chagrin?” 

“My chagrin? Oh, uh, doesn’t matter,” he shrugs, his shoulders even wider on the couch as he crowds you in your corner. 

“Seems like it does,” you say, “but you don’t have to tell me.” 

“Hm, yeah. I guess... it shouldn’t matter, you know? It was a while ago. A long time actually.” He pauses and tastes the punch. “I shouldn’t care... ooh, you’re right about the punch.” 

“Strong but delicious,” you say, “nice party, huh?” 

“Sure,” he agrees, his eyes once more fixated across the room. 

You follow them and see a group of women. They're all very beautiful. They were dresses in varying shades of red, blue, and even gold. Very festive. 

“My ex,” he huffs. “Yeah, you know, got a few of those and somehow they always seem to find me.” 

“Oh... Oh! That’s awkward,” you giggle nervously. “Wish I could help you there. I don’t really have that problem.” 

“Ha, of course. You’re too sweet for that—shit,” he grimaces and you nearly spill your drink as he nudges you with his elbow. You switch hands as he grabs your other. “Play along. Please.” 

You barely process what’s happening as he clings to your hand. You look up as one of the women approaches with a preening smirk. She’s gorgeous. Her midnight blue dress is speckled with gemstones. The kind you would love to have if you had any sense of style. And her hair, gorgeous spiraled curls that swallow up the light. 

“Destiny, hey,” he clears his throat. “What’s goin’ on? Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Despite his previous displeasure, he sounds casual. He's always so cool and calm. It’s what makes him such a good friend. 

“Sammy,” she grins. “Nice to see you too. You look... rested.” 

You think she means more than she says. You’re not the best at reading between the lines. Sometimes, for the worse, you assume the best. 

“You too, Dee,” he stays reclined, unbothered. “So, just you and the girls?” 

“Sure, Emma always puts on a great party, doesn’t she?” she shimmies just a little with her purr. You fidget and slurp louder than you mean to. “Oh, excuse me, I’m sorry, hon. I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m Destiny.” 

“Destiny,” you perk up, “uh, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sweetie,” she drawls, “have fun with Sammy. He’s always a good time.” 

She winks and spins, strutting back to her group. You gulp awkwardly, the burn of alcohol nestling deep in your gut. You need to slow down. 

“That wasn’t weird at all,” he says. “Sorry about that. She always has to be so extra. She’s the one who ghosted me, you know? But she acts like I'm the problem.” He scoffs and tuts, swigging from his own glass. “Don’t even let her get to you. She wishes she was as sweet as you. She’s the devil.” 

You nod and rest your glass against your leg. You wiggle your fingers between his, “uh, Sam, my hand’s falling asleep.” 

“Uh, oh, yeah,” he looks down before he lets you go. “Forgot... thanks, er, for just playing it cool. Can’t imagine if I was here alone. Wouldn’t have to worry if Buck wasn’t such a damn sour puss.” 

“He’s not coming?” You wonder. You don’t often find one without the other. 

“Just me, sorry to disappoint,” he stretches his fingers and sits forward, drinking again, this time with a hunch. 

“I didn’t mean that,” you insist as you lean forward too. “I just thought... I dunno. I’m usually the third wheel, aren’t I?” 

“Nah, that would be Bucky,” he snorts. “You really think that?” 

“I guess, but it’s not like, that deep,” you shrug. “You’ve known each other so long.” 

“Well, it’s not his fault he’s ancient and not mine I’ve been cursed with him,” he snickers. “Tell you what,” he looks at you with a smirk. “Tonight, I’ll show you that you aren’t no third wheel, alright? We’re going to have a blast. Just you and me. You’ll see exactly what you are.” 

“Oh,” you smile, “sounds like a plan, uh...” you look at your drink, feeling its warmth in your cheeks already. “It would be hard not to have any fun with this stuff.” 

“Yep,” he licks his lips and raises his glass, “strong but too good to stop.” 

🎄

You haven’t been this drunk in... well, ever. You’re not much of a drinker. On the odd occasion, you’ll have glass, but nothing excessive. Until tonight. 

The party buzzes around you; music, voices, lights. It all smears together as a dull pain sinks in behind the glaze in your vision. You need some water. Your stomach is too full of alcohol and salty finger foods. 

You look around. The bowl of punch is about empty and the cooler’s open as most of the contents have been picked clean. At least you aren’t the only one above their limit. You stagger around dizzily as you search for anything to dilute your haze. 

You clutch your drained glass down as you enter the kitchen. Where’s that girl Emma? She’s the host, right? You don’t want to just dig through her fridge without asking first. Ugh, but your stomach feels so...sloshy. 

You go to the tap and rinse out the used cup. You fill it with tap water. You take a small sip and slowly swallow. The tepidness doesn’t do much to sooth your insides. 

“Hey,” Sam’s voice startles you. You flinch so hard you splash your dress with the water. You put the glass down and face him, shaking off the droplets. “Sorry, did I do that?” 

“Hm, oh, I’m a bit... tipsy... I think,” you murmur groggily. “I shouldn’t have had so much.” 

“It’s alright, everyone’s lit,” he crosses the kitchen without even a sway. Well, he’s probably got a much higher tolerance. 

“Right, uh... I’m just not...” you clamp your lips shut before you can burp. You breathe it out your nose and gulp. “...used to it.” 

“That’s fine, baby, I’ll take care of you,” he closes in as you lean against the counter. “You wanna hold my arm? You can lean on me.” 

“I just need... a minute,” you wave him off. 

You close your eyes and frame your face with your hands. You try to sort through the fuzziness and the fire in your chest. Was it three or four drinks? More than that? You weren’t counting, Sam just kept bringing you more. 

“I think... I think I need to go home,” you exhale and force your eyes open. “Oh!” 

You flinch as you find Sam right in front of you, crowding you. You blink as his hand frightens you. He pets the side of your head as you gape at him in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” You rasp. 

“Shh, baby, I told you, I'll take care of you.” 

You lean your head into his hand without thinking. You grip the counter tight, your body heavy from alcohol and fatigue. You fight the droop in your eyelids and the yawn twitching in your cheeks. You just want to lay down. 

“You okay, baby?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb. 

Baby? Why does he keep calling you that? You giggle. It’s such a strange thing to say. 

“You’re drunk. So drunk,” he says. 

You hiccup and nod, “I am,” your voice bubbles in your throat. “So are you!” 

He grins and tilts his head, “not really.” 

“Sure, you must be... you had as much as me.” 

His eyes narrow, “did I?” 

Did he? 

You can’t remember. It doesn’t really matter now. You’re not doing to well. Your legs shake and threaten to collapse as you hold yourself up against the counter. Before you can give in to the weakness, he scoops you up and sits you on the granite. You let out a squeak of surprise. 

“Sam!” You squeal. 

“Baby,” he drags his hands away from your hips and down your thighs. You feel your dress rise above your knees as he nudges your legs apart. “You okay? Spinning?” 

Your head bobbles as lines squiggle in your vision, “a lil...” 

“Sure you are,” he growls. “Warm and soft...” 

He hooks his thumbs under the hem of your skirt and lifts it up your thighs. You squeak again and grab at the fabric. “Sam, what are you doing?” 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he tugs your skirt free of your resistance. “Just relax for me,” 

“I’m-- no—what?” You garble as you give a long blink. “Sam, my head.” 

“I know, baby, close your eyes,” he coos. 

“Mm, I’m too... tired,” you grumble as your lashes shut against your volition. “Sammmm...” the last consonant drags. 

“That’s it, baby, be good for me,” his warm hand cradles your skull as you tilt back. He lays you across the granite so your head hangs off the opposite edge. “I’m gonna show you... you’re not a third wheel, are you?” 

You drone mindlessly as even behind your eyelids, the world spins around you. You feel like you’re moving yet paralysed all at once. You spread your fingers wide and press your palms to the cold countertops.  

The cool air grazes your thighs and hot tickle crawls up the front of your panties. Your head lolls as you fight the dizziness. Stay awake. Awake! 

Your eyes snap open and you fight to lift your head. The warmth between your folds draws your eyes down to Sam as he reaches between your legs. His dark eyes are fixated on your pelvis, below your skirt where you can’t see. He rubs you firmly as the sensation creeps down your legs and up your spine. 

You slur but can’t speak. Your eyes roll back and your head drops down again. You tense against the granite as he continues to tease you. You waver on the edge of consciousness as his fingertips dance on your nerves. 

You’re swept up in the flurry of fire coiling around you. Your feet arch and you push your shoulders down. Your breath fills your ears as you puff and pant, your voice trickling out weakly. 

“Oh, baby, that’s it,” Sam purrs as you feel something dip into you. It isn’t until he’s wiggle two fingers deep inside you that you realise what’s happening. He groans and praises you, “you take me so good. So tight. That’s it, relax. Let Sam take care of you.” 

He rocks his hand, pressing against your clit as he does. The tension clusters there, roiling and speckling beneath your skin. You moan and mewl, writhing as your feet kick against the cupboards. 

“Fuck, baby, you got me hurting,” he pulls his fingers out slowly and wipes them down your thigh. He flutters along your skin and gives a pinch. “So fucking sexy, you know that?” 

He once more grips your hips and slides you down the counter. Your head comes flat over the surface and your lashes part, giving a glimpse of the kitchen lights as they ring in your drunken vision. He balances you on the edge and shifts between your legs. 

You force your eyes wide and turn your head. You stare at the door to the front room. In that moment, the glaze of alcohol breaks and you hear and see everything so clearly. The voices competing with the music, the clink of glasses and shuffle of footsteps. The trim of the doorway and the flawless white paint. 

The dull pain that splits you drowns your lungs with a shriek. Sam smothers it in his hand as he keeps going, pushing his tip past the seal of your resistance. He hushes you as he rocks gently, urging further and further into you. 

You shake as you fight to raise your head. You look at him as tears form on the brims of your eyes. He has a hand splayed over your pelvis as he invades you inch after inch. You warble into his palm as he bites his lip and ignore your pain. 

He sighs as he impales you to his limit and well past yours. You arch your back and curl your toes as you try to ease the pressure. You beg him with pitiful whimpers against his hand. 

He slides back, staring at his length as he does, then pushes back in. You clench and grasp his wrist, your guts tightening. His hand pushes up your skirt as it trails up to your stomach then along the front of your dress. 

He shoves your head down to suppress your rising voice. He keeps you trapped there as his hand blocks out your sobs. His other hand delves under the vee of your dress and he fondles your chest. You snivel and flick your eyes back to the vacant ceiling. You close them as you try to hide from this distorted reality. 

Sam pumps into you, groaning and grunting as his pace builds. Faster, harder, until your flesh claps loud enough to be heard against the drone from just the other side of the wall. You shudder as that fact feeds your futility. Here you are, just feet away from help, and you can do nothing. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it,” Sam moves his hand beneath your head, lifting you slightly off the counter, and his other curling under your ass as he buries himself deeper. “Be a good girl for me. Let everyone hear how much you want me? Huh? Let that bitch know she’s can’t compare to you, baby.” 

[dandydrunky]

The Winter Recital

A/n; this was so rushed, I am so sorry, I tried

Warnings; fluff?

"How do we plan three weeks in advance, and you're still unprepared?" Rafe grumbled, watching you toss through your closet. "In my defense," you didn't miss his teasing glare, daring you to justify it," a lot can change in three weeks."

You are headed up to St. George in Bermuda for the holidays, exquisite, isn't it?

Kildare had a history of celebrating Christmas, but their more glamorous festivities are usually around summer and spring.

Not that you minded, but this was you and Rafe's 2nd Christmas together. And it had to be nothing like the last one."I'll buy you something when we get there, if we can get there," Rafe offered, tugging you out of your closet.

It's just nerves. He was also escaping his family for the holidays.At least until New Years. Somehow, Rafe had managed to get you out the front door and out to the dock where your ride awaited. You skipped ahead, now your turn to urge your boyfriend along.

"Cool your jets," he was being weighed down by the luggage you wanted to bring. The only thing of his he carried was his wallet. Lord knows he would need it. Especially when you had wanted to double the 20% tip he was already leaving the driver. The cabin was quaint and festive, ribbons tied above the door and looped throughout the staircase in bright green and scarlet. It smelt of pine and cinnamon as you were led through the house, admiring the decor as you did.

It was so homey, and Rafe knew it was perfect when you disappeared up the stairs, leaving him to haul your luggage through the doorway. "I'm never going back home" was your official declaration. And that wasn't even the best part. Amist raiding the insanely sweet hygiene products, in the bedside the you found a holiday card for the guests of cabin 8, "Rafe," You called, hearing his hurried steps, you chuckled to yourself, flipping the card over. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, everything is perfect," you handed over the card, watching a defeated sigh leave his lips, but a look of curiousity flash as he skimmed over it's contents.

"Okay? It's just a welcome card." Just a welcome card? "It's scented," you snatched it back scratching at the back, your dull nails denting the card, rather then the patch.Rafe sighs, tossing you his keys which you fumbled but then caught.

"Why did you bring these?" "That's what you're worried about? They're my house keys, they were coming with me even if we went to the North Pole." There was his Christmas spirit.You shrugged at the point, racing the keys over the card, bringing it up to your nose, inhaling deeply. He simply watched, a slight scrunch in his nose, watching you cuddled paper.

"It can't be that good," he grumbled, stepping forward to be met with your shoulder as you turned away.

"It's better than your cologne," you teased, to which his smile sank into a pout, "you love my cologne," "Yeah, but..." You drew out, another long, excessive inhale, "This is my new favorite." The parchment was ripped from your face, folded half heartedly, "enough of that," he hummed, tucking the card into his pocket.

"Don't be sad," he wrapped his massive arms around you, rendering yours to your side, his heavy head falling against your squared shoulder.

You tried to shake him off, managing a slight twist before giving up. You were only getting out if he let you out.And strangely enough he did.Something replaced the warmth of the scented card, something stronger, muskier and thick. Rafe's cologne. "Now I smell like you," "and you love it," he argued.

The night went on like that, playful banter, and gentle affections, eventually you crashed in the living room by the the brick fireplace.Rafe wandered down the steps in a low hanging towel, another working at his wet hair, his attention landed on your curled up form on the couch. You're resting in front of your unopenned briefcases splayed out on the fur rug.

To his surprise you were in one of his flannel curled up against the velvet couch.

"You packed three suitcase just to wear my clothes?" he scoffed playfully, picking up a shirt of the floor. The next morning you two woke up snug on the couch, your head in Rafe's lap and his arm around your shoulders.

"Hey, hey," he gently whispered nudging your shoulder, "Merry Christmas," his lips ghosted over the she'll of your ear.

Your elbow jerked into his stomach instinctively, earning a groan into your ear. He leaned back scooting against the couch, resting his head against the pillows.

Don't worry, he's was gleefully dancing around the kitchen to some old vinyl you found, and making hot chocolate late into the day.

And it wasn't all bad, you took a walk around the town, visiting stations, and you spent time in the store spending Rafe's money.

At that point he had trade you his wallet so he could carry all of your bags.

You returned back to your cabin after all of that and crashed to watch some holiday movie waiting for nightfall.

When it did you asked Rafe to help you pick an outfit to which he kept responding "you look great in anything."

It was frustrating as it was flattering.

You ultimately ended up with fur coat, (Rafe's) and a sweater dress with wool leggings, just in case it gets cold. And it does, but it also snows, Rafe's hand holding yours as you walk side by side, your other hand smearing it from every availabe surface.

You go out, party, dance, but your favorite part of the night was the couple's cooking contest. To participate in your favorite tradition of the night, and to also be with the one you love unlike last year.

Now the cooking was slightly over cooked, but it looked pretty. You didn't win, but you had fun. You did however get voted for best chemistry, earning you a wreath around your neck, wrapped in ornaments, chesnuts and a classic mistletoe.

"You owe me a kiss," Rafe teased, to which you scoffed, nudging his shoulder.

"Under the mistletoe, remember?"

Rafe grumbled beneath his breath, his hand reaching for your arm, "What're you doing?" you asked, feeling him squeeze your elbow.

"Mistletoe, remember?" He carefully picked you up, you squealed your feet leaving the ground.

Still, you attempted to balance yourself against his shoulders, resting your arms, his hand wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, guiding your head down to his.

And you share a gentle kiss, his lips cool against yours, and your tension melts, allowing you to soften in his grasp. He smiles against your lips, letting out a breath of cold air, "ready to take this back to the cabin?" You nodded against him, leaning back in.

[lockes-woods]

7: A Reptile and Bird's Beloved

Day 7 of Locke's 10-day countdown to the new year!

Prompt: Crocodile x reader x Nico Robin

o Sir/mistress kink

o Found Family

Requested by: @nocturnalrorobin

Warning: Sir Kink, Mistress Kink, Oral, Creampie, Doggy Style, Large Cock, Size Difference

A/N: So this one kinda got away from me. I was too busy writing it to notice it's almost 3,000 words. Hopefully, they're not too OOC; it's my first time writing for Crocodile and only second for Robin. I gotta go to work so I'll do a more thorough edit later today. I hope you enjoy ^-^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn’t help but let a sigh escape you as you sat curled up in the plush chair in your reading nook in the early hours of Christmas morning. Your focus is locked on the freshly fallen snow. The turret you sat in gave the perfect view of the large park across the street. It was still pure and untouched by the neighborhood children. While this was your least favorite time of year even you could admire the beauty of the thick blanket of white covering everything in sight; well almost everything. Despite the hour all the walkways, driveways, and streets had already been plowed; at this point, you expected no less for the most expensive neighborhood in the city you called home. Despite being in a relationship with two of the most powerful people in the city for the better part of the last year you still felt an air of unease from the contrast of your new life and your humble beginnings.

What had started as a sugar baby-like relationship last February had transformed into an exclusive romantic relationship between Sir Crocodile, Nico Robin, and yourself. You met at a gala where you were working as entertainment for the city’s top 1% as a harpist. It was at the gala where the two business partners struck up a deal. After both showing interest in you, they met you with a calculated proposition to satisfy both of their needs. While they had contracted you together your time with them was almost only spent on one-on-one dates, dinners, and sex. While shared dinners and dates were less common, the least common interaction between the two was during sex; both were too dominant and possessive to share you in that setting. Despite it almost being a year into the relationship you felt like you had just begun to scratch the surface of the complicated depths of their partnership.

While you still maintained an allowance from both of your partners, the contractual part of your relationship had devolved over the summer. You were now in an exclusive romantic relationship. While the change may seem subtle you were given more freedom. You were able to make more requests and the ability to veto certain decisions; along with a prenup-like contractional agreement that entitled you to a hefty severance pay at your discretion of never sharing any of the two’s personal information. While you normally rarely used your veto, you had been using it generously since Thanksgiving.

The one positive of your complex relationship with them was that they had more important things to discuss outside of you, letting your behavior slip through the cracks. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to worry them, but on some level, you knew you were being self-destructive. You tried to rally, you really did, but it was no use. It felt like you were cursed to be plagued by the bad memories that possessed you every holiday season. You knew the feeling would be gone by the new year, you just had to rough it out for a few more days.

You snapped out of your train of thought as three hard knocks sounded from your closed bedroom door. Based on the power of the knock alone you knew it was Crocodile on the other side. Knowing he wasn’t fond of waiting you tossed your blanket aside and made the quick walk across the heated floors to your door. You paused before opening it, glancing down at your clothing. You were only clad in one of Crocodile’s undershirts and a pair of cheeky-cut panties. Robin preferred you in layered clothing, not only for the time of year but also so they could tease you by undressing you at an agonizingly slow pace. Though he’d never admit it you knew Crocodile liked to know you were comfortable. Sure, the businessman loved to bathe you in expensive clothing and jewelry in public, but in private he was most concerned with your comfort. You had easily picked up on this when, the morning after wearing lingerie for him you were gifted with an anonymously delivered package of comfy loungewear back before you moved in. You considered throwing some real clothing on before another harsh knock rang out.

You swallowed nervously as you opened the door, eyes widening at the sight of both of your partners waiting for you.

“Hey?” you said, more as a question rather than a greeting.

“Hello love,” Robin greeted, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead, before walking into your room. You quickly stepped aside, allowing Crocodile the room needed to enter your bedroom. He gave you a neutral look as he ducked under the doorway and shut the door behind him. You could feel your heart palpitate at the lack of a cigar sandwich between his lips. He was rarely without one while home. The only times you’ve seen him without one was during sex and even then, he’s smoked contently while you’re going down on him. Robin leaned against one of the posts of your bed, while Crocodile sat on the foot of your obscenely large bed; the only thing he required for your room. You brace yourself against your desk, you could feel your nerves rising in your stomach as you were met with their unwavering gazes. Crocodile crossed his arms across his chest, before addressing you.

“Do you know why we’re here, Darling?” he asked.

“No?” you responded, as you wracked your brain for possible reasons that would concern both of them. Sure, you missed a couple of outings, but nothing that would concern both of them to the extent of coming to your room in the middle of the night.

“We were chatting at the office holiday party, and we both came to the realization that neither of us has been able to take you out on a date since November,” Robin stated, filling you in. You furrowed your brow in confusion; not because you didn’t understand her statement, but rather because you’d never pictured them talking about you in their free time.

 “You’ve rejected all of our plans. No ice staking, skiing, or Christmas markets,” Crocodile started,

“You’ve only had sex with us a handful of times,” Robin added,

“And neither of us have heard you play your harp.” Crocodile stated, “To make a long story short we were wondering if there was someone else taking your precious time away from us.”

“What? No!,” you answered quickly, eyes darting from one to the other.

“Then what is it? Robin asked, in a neutral tone, “You’ve been withdrawn and on edge the whole month; do you want to end our arrangement?”

“No,” you answered quickly, “I-It’s just this time of year is really hard on me,”

Her gaze softened at your omission, while Crocodile’s stayed neutral you could tell he was listening by the slight tilt of his head.

“It just this time of year brings up a lot of old emotions. I went no contact with my mom 10 years ago; when I did have contact with her Christmas was always about her and the sacrifice she made so that I could have a ‘good’ Christmas. On top of that within my immediate family, I always felt like an ‘other’ like I’d never fit in. It was always very isolating for me.”  

“So, you isolate out of habit?” Robin asked softly, walking over to you to hold your hand supportively.

“I guess?” you answered, battling your emotions to stay at bay, at least until they leave. Despite your best efforts a few stray tears did manage to fall. Before you could wipe them away, Robin gently cupped your face and brushed away your tears as they fell. Once you reached equilibrium again your hand came to cup the outside of hers.

“Not to speak for both of us, but I for one would be honored to make new happy memories with you,” Robin said, gazing down at you softly. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your libs.

“Would you like that darling?” Crocodile’s smooth deep voice rang out throughout your bedroom. The bed groaned as he stood up to his over 8-foot hulking stature, “We could vacation anywhere you want until the new year,”

“Perhaps somewhere tropical, to get you out of the cold,” Robin suggested.

“You’re only suggesting that to show our girl off in a bikini,” Crocodile accused, in a light tone, well as light as his tone can go.

“I don’t see why both can’t be true,” Robin replied, a quirk forming on her lips, “I also never said we wouldn’t be going to a nude beach, they’re quite popular abroad.” She finished, winking at you. Crocodile grunted in response, giving Robin a stern look.

“I’m just joking Crocodile,” Robin reassured, looking up at him, “I know how possessive you are of our girl.”

“If we did go to a nude beach there would be no tan lines,” You added, looking up at Sir Crocodile, through your eyelashes. You had learned in the past year that despite his imposing form, he was never able to resist your puppy dog eyes. The businessman grunted once again, looking away with a slight tinge of red coloring his cheekbones.

“I suppose that would be okay if done at a private residence.” He conceded. You and Robin shared a grin. Your spirit felt lighter than it had been all month.

“I’ll have my assistant send over some options for you to pick from,” he added.

“Now that that has been settled, how would you like to spend Christmas morning?” Robin asked, gazing down at you lovingly. “There are plenty of presents under the tree for you, love.”

“Could we stay here?”, you asked hesitantly.

“Of course, love, what were you thinking of doing? Or rather who were you thinking of doing?” She asked in a teasing tone and a knowing look. You could feel your face begin to warm under her gaze.

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly, “I know you both hate sharing, but I don’t want to leave either of you out.”

Your partners had a silent conversation over your head, both of them easily towering over you.

“I suppose we could make an exception this one time,” Crocodile conceded, from behind you.

“How would you like us love?” Robin asked, gazing down at you fondly.

“I-”, you started hesitantly, both of your partner’s attentions drawn solely on you. You cleared your throat before trying again, “Can I eat you out, while Sir fucks me?”

“Are you sure baby? Today’s about you,” Robin asked.

“Please”, you asked looking up at her, trying to not seem as desperate as you felt.

“Oh? Is my little flower feeling needy?” she asked teasing, only making your face warm more, “You like making your Mistress feel good?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly. Too on edge to pretend to be coy. She smirked down at you before pulling you in for a loving kiss. A whine escaped you at the feeling of crocodile’s right arm wrapping around your middle as he braced you against him. Before you could process what was going on, a gasp escaped you as his cold metal hook sliced down the middle of your, well his, shirt. Leaving you in the bare outside of your panties. Robin took advantage of your open mouth to dominate the kiss. Crocodile then pulled whine from deep in your throat as his right hand skirted down your front finding its way into your panties. You moaned as he went from gently stroking your seam to prodding at your entrance with one of his massive fingers.

A needy whine left you as Robin pulled back, before turning her attention onto marking your neck. She listened patiently to any noises you’d release. She immediately zeroed in after you let out a gasp, before sucking on your sensitive skin. She let out a satisfied hum at the hickey now blooming on your neck before moving down to your chest. All you could do was enjoy the sensation your partners were pulling from you as you stood prone between them. You shamelessly moaned as Crocodile worked in a third finger, grinding desperately against his palm. Simultaneously Robin sucked one of your nipples into her mouth while teasing the other one. You could feel yourself rapidly approaching your limit.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “Can I cum? Please Sir,” you begged, as he worked in a fourth finger. You were both physically and emotionally at your limit; the coil in your tightening to a severe extent.

“Go ahead love,” He encouraged, “Be a good girl and make a mess,”

Nothing could stop you as you writhed between your two lovers, moaning loud enough for the whole block to hear. Your release splashed between them as you squirted all over Crocodile’s hand. He kept you braced against him as you came down from your high.

“Good girl,” Robin purred in your ear as you fell slack against Croc.

“Can I taste you please?” You asked, Robin once you had fully come back into your body, whining at the sensation of Sir easing his fingers out of you.

“Of course, love.” She answered, taking a step back, Crocodile cradled you in his arms, carrying you over to the bed, before gently placing you down in the middle. A needy whine escaped you as he peeled off your soaked underwear, tucking them into his pocket before he began to undress. The slight groan of the bed alerted you to Robin’s presence above you. You flipped over, breath catching in your throat at the sight of her bare form. You would never get tired of the beauty that is your Mistress. You shared a brief kiss before you made your way down her body, making sure to give attention to her neck, nipples, and thighs as you kissed your way down to her core. You bit your lip to contain a groan at the sight of her bare cunt. You let out a gasp, momentarily pulled away from your fixation on your Mistress as Crocodile’s large hand pressed firmly down between your shoulder blades, encouraging you to arch your back. You shared a moan with your Sir as the head of his cock breached your entrance.

He held it there for a moment, before patiently thrusting in and out as you adjusted to his massive form. Too focused on your breathing you were suddenly jerked to attention by Robin’s fingers laced through your hair. She pulled you flush against her pussy, not needing any more prompting you dove straight in. You reveled in the small gasps and moans she produced. Neither of your lovers were particularly loud during sex, that was unless they were teasing you. Crocodile let out a quiet moan as he finally bottomed out, leading you to suck particularly hard on Robin’s clit; causing her to moan out.

You whined as Crocodile’s hand skited over your lower stomach before he put light pressure slightly above your pelvis.

“You can feel that can’t you darling? You can feel how well Sir fills you up. You’re so good at taking me but, even a needy little slut like you need time to adjust.”

Your breath came out as desperate pants as you pulled away from Robin’s clit. It felt like you could feel him in the back of your throat. While both your partners relied on well-timed moves, they never seemed to have any patience when it came to you. In an instant Robin had you positioned back over her cunt. While Crocodile’s hand gripped your hip in a bruising hold as he began to fuck you, quickly building his pace. Your mind began to get hazy, Crocodile quickly building your orgasm, one thrust at a time.

You doubled down on your efforts to make Robin cum, before Croc could completely fuck you stupid. Your lips once again sealed around her clit, your fingers keeping pace as they curled, stroking her inner wall. You flicked your tongue against her clit, savoring the feeling of wetness leaking onto your face. You could feel her legs begin to shake around your head; taking this as a good sign you thrusted into her faster and faster. Before you could register the death grip she had on your fingers, she was cumming hard and fast. Her plush thighs squeezing around your head; she was past the point of worrying about your ability to breathe.

Despite your best efforts you quickly came after, to overwhelmed by the taste of Robin’s release and Crocodile’s cock rearranging your guts. You fell limp on the bed as he continued to fuck you like his personal toy. Robin shifted after coming down from her high so that your head was resting on her lap. She gently petted your hair as you began to feel overstimulated by Croc’s ministration. Luckily it only took a moment before the tell-tale sign of him cumming. You felt his hips stuttering, seconds before you were overwhelmed by his cum filling you up. You both collapsed into a pile, he moaned as you whimpered at the sensation of him easing his cock out of you; a steam of cum following after his cock.

The next half hour was a blur as your partners took care of your spent form, bathing you before dressing you and tucking you into bed curled up in between. You fell asleep content. Robin’s arm curled around your middle, and your head tucked into the hallow of Crocodile's throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

Next up is a Dom!Robin x Sub!AMAB Reader, Then I'll go back to working on the list

[jetblack4realz]

the gun girl - kayce dutton

summary - kayce has a thing with guns, you work at a gun store, it's the perfect love story

word count - 1.8k

tw - guns

again, short but sweet, and i'm obsessed with kayce dutton

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"i'm looking for just a basic .22 remington," kayce said, leaning against the counter with his eyes on tate as he roamed the aisles of ammo. you stood from where you were organizing a few boxes of the stuff, smiling at you stood across from the stranger.

"right handed or left?" you asked, stepping back to glance at the stock behind you. he finally looked at you, staying silent for a few moments as he tried to remember what you'd asked - his eyes wide as he stared. he didn't remember bass pro having such attractive employees.

"right," he answered shortly, watching as you approached the .22 section.

"okay, well we've got a couple brownings in stock currently. they're a bit pricey, but if i'm being honest i prefer them to the rugers or weatherbys. what are you hunting?" you asked, fingers running over the butt of the guns on the wall as you looked to him again.

"elk," kayce said. "little man's coming with this time."

your eyes were drawn to the six year old that had come to his side, a small smile pulling at your lips as he grinned up at you. you leaned over the counter a bit to see him better.

"you excited, bud?" you asked. he nodded, leaning into his father's side more as he smiled at you.

"he said i should get a new gun to commemorate it," kayce said, earning a small laugh from you. you looked back up at him, raising your brows as a teasing smile settled on your lips.

"oh i'm sure he did," you said. "i'm sure he thinks the browning is the best pick for you too."

"well, i've got the weatherby and the ruger, so it's the last real option," he laughed. he ran a hand through the little boy's hair. "he doesn't like them either."

"i'll get it rang up for you two then," you told him, smiling still as you pulled the proper box from the wall. you moved to the till, scanning it in. "do you have a rewards number?"

"oh, uh, yeah," kayce said, giving it to you then.

"kayce dutton?" you asked, looking up with raised brows. he nodded and you returned to your typing. "i think we've met before. or at least, i've met your father. he was here when we opened the store."

"your family owns the store?" he asked.

"mhm," you hummed. "when i was fourteen. i've helped run it since."

"i haven't seen you here before," he said. you shrugged.

"how often are you buying new guns?" you asked, laughing lightly as you clicked the computer. "need any ammo or are you set?"

"i should be fine," he said with a nod.

"alright, just go ahead and swipe your card then," you told him, nodding at the pinpad. he did just that. "i'm y/n by the way. it's nice to meet you."

"kayce," he said, before realizing you already knew that with a furrow of his brow. he laughed awkwardly before gesturing down at his son. "this is tate."

"hi!" tate chirped with a wave. you laughed lightly, waving back at him.

"it's nice to meet you, tate," you told him. you passed kayce the box and ripped his receipt, handing that to tate. you smiled at the boy. "hide this from your mommy. i'm sure your daddy doesn't want her to know he bought another gun."

your tone was teasing and a flush rose to kayce's cheeks, but not because of it. he was quick to jut in. "oh, i'm not married or with anyone, so no worries there."

"oh," you said, sounding awfully surprised. somehow, this endeared you more to him - even though you already found him incredibly endearing. he was single - win! - but he was also a single dad who actually cared about his kid. your heart warmed as you smiled up at him. "well then, no one to worry about how much money you're spending on guns. sounds great."

"it has it's benefits," he agreed with a smile.

"well, i will see you two around the store, likely," you said, glancing between tate and his father as kayce stepped away. "good luck on your hunt."

"thanks, i'll let you know if we get anything," kayce said.

"looking forward to it," you replied with an easy smile. you waved at tate, your smile widening slightly. "bye tate."

"bye!"

kayce didn't look away from you until he had to turn around to head down the stairs to the main level of the store, and even then he glanced back as you returned your attention to the inventory behind you.

seriously, when did bass pro employees become so attractive?

it was only a week later that you ran into tate again, the little boy running up to you as you reorganized the men's huntingwear section.

"i know you!" he cheered as he approached, an older man following behind him as he eyed you curiously.

"oh, hi tate!" you laughed, bumping his knuckles with yours once he held his out. "how are you buddy? you guys get any elk last weekend?"

tate nodded eagerly. "a big one! dad got it from so far away!"

"600 yards," the older gentleman added, smiling down at his grandson. he looked back up at you. "you're y/n y/l/n, right? their oldest daughter?"

"yeah," you nodded, matching his smile. "it's nice to see you again, mr. dutton."

"last time i saw you, you were just a little girl," he hummed, a warm smile on his lips. "you're all grown now. you helping your dad?"

"every day," you affirmed. "he's getting older, so i've been helping him and my brothers get this place to a good state to pass along. devin's gonna take over here in the next few years."

"oh, is that right?" john asked gruffly, nodding slowly as he tried to recall your oldest brother.

"mhm," you nodded. you glanced down at tate again as he began messing with the beanies on the rack across from you. "i met your son last week, kayce."

"yeah, i heard," john nodded, his voice gruff as he looked to tate. "seemed to have caught the attention of both of those boys."

tate smiled up at you as he pulled a carharrt beanie over his head. you laughed, rubbing his head with a soft hand.

"may i ask what you mean by that, sir?" you wondered. he shrugged, looking around the store with an ill-disguised smile.

"nothing really," he said. he pulled the beanie off of tate's head as tate reached for it again, shaking his head. "you've already got three of these, buddy. let's put it back." he looked back up at you with a polite smile. "see you around, y/n."

you waved to tate as they walked off, returning to your work folding clothes with a small smile on your lips. you thought of kayce and wondered briefly what exactly his father had meant by what he said.

it was your final shift before the weekend and you were extremely bored. you were back at the gun desk, sitting on your little wooden stool as you scrolled your phone.

"you guys stock smith & wessons here?"

you looked up with wide eyes, standing quickly as you looked to whichever customer was asking about handguns on a random friday afternoon.

you let out a short laugh as your eyes landed on none other than kayce dutton, his hands on the glass case in front of you as a small smile pulled at his lips. you eyed his pretty cowboy outfit, his carharrt vest and wrangler jeans causing you to realize just how much your type he really was.

"i guess you do buy guns a lot," you hummed, leaning back against the counter behind you. "heard you got a nice buck last weekend."

"oh, you did now? from who?" he asked.

"your father," you answered. "he was here a few days ago with tate. said you caught it at 600 yards. that's pretty impressive."

he shifted his weight on his feet as he leaned against the gun case again, smiling. "yeah, i felt pretty good about it. you get anything yet this season?"

"i haven't gone out yet. got drawn for one over in section seven though," you said.

"that's over by my family's ranch," he told you. "i could show you a few good spots. i've gotten a fair few buck over there."

"i'd appreciate that. i ain't ever shot over there," you said, smiling softly at the man in front of you. a few moments of silence passed over the two of you before you glanced to the side at the racks of guns propped up. "so, you looking for a smith & wesson?"

"well," he said simply, shrugging as his smile grew a bit. "i actually came here for something else."

you raised a brow. "and what's that?"

"i was hoping a date," he said, an awkward yet hopeful smile on his smile as one corner of his lips raised. you eyed him, matching his smile slowly as you pushed off the counter, folding your arms over your chest.

"i think i can do that," you answered. he let out a breath of relief as his smile grew more full. "when are you thinking, cowboy?"

"tonight, at seven? the outlaw saloon? they've got some good food and 've got some music playing tonight," he answered.

"that sounds like fun," you said, stepping towards him as you stood across from the case. "i think i'm free tonight."

he grinned, leaning further towards you. "perfect. i'll pick you up."

"wouldn't expect anything different," you said with a soft smile. you pulled your phone from your pocket, holding it out to him. he took it, your fingers brushing as he did. "put your number in, text yourself, and i expect to see you at my door tonight."

he glanced up at you as he created a contact for himself and sent a text, his own phone buzzing in his pocket as he did so.

"i'll see you tonight," he said, tipping his hat as he stepped away after handing your phone back.

"see you tonight," you said, matching his smile before he finally turned and walked down the stairs, sparing a few glances your way as he walked through the doors and out to his truck.

you watched him all the way down, letting out a happy laugh before finally turning away, running a hand through your hair. you turned on your phone - three hours until you got off, five until kayce picked you up. you looked at the boxes of ammo and guns, deciding in that moment you needed to reorganize them.

"back to work," you hummed to yourself.