#i was just looking at tips on my phone and the people look so plastic and off in the pictures and im like no way

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Through Your Eyes

Pairing: Sky x Reader

Warning(s): General weirdness and smut because LU makes me mentally unstable. This is crack so PLEASE don't flame me in the comments

Notes: This is definitely the weirdest thing I've written to date, other than the cow sans x reader fic from back in the day (should I link that account to here? Because when I tell you I was utterly rabid for that bag of bones), so enjoy my insanity! Inspired by the amazing @h4wari while also being half-dedicated to @sunflowersunnyl for their wonderfully wrinkled brain

Masterlist

You thought nothing of the Skyward Sword figurine on the shelf above your bed.

It was a decent size, situated in a canon-typical fighting pose that had become synonymous with both Link and Nintendo, and had the cutest rendition of the master sword you had seen in one plastic hand. You had bought it shortly after completing the game itself–a little memento to commemorate the blood-shot hours spent hunched over your controller like a madman–and on the shelf it had stayed. Watching. Waiting.

Until one fateful day.

"For the last time," you stressed, phone pressed so tightly to your ear that it nearly flattened it against your head. "I don't want to hear about my car's extended warranty!"

Then, without pausing to listen to whatever bullshit the telemarketer decided to roll with next, you hung up, slamming your phone down on the pillow beside your head and groaning to the sympathetic form of your roommate on the opposite edge of the bed: "Ugh, I think I get more calls about insurance than from my entire family."

Your roommate clicked their tongue sympathetically. The Skyward Sword figurine did not, but you weren't in the correct mental state to drool over a polyvinyl chloride rendition of what had to be the hottest man in modern media. Damn Nintendo for making a video game character so fuckable, because you'd clap those cheeks six ways from Sunday for free. "They're relentless, huh? I got one three days ago about my offshore bank account in Switzerland."

"Do you have an offshore rupee account in Switzerland?"

"Not yet."

"Based," you sighed, flopping down to rest against the headboard. Your roommate did the same, flopping horizontally against the end of your bed. Together, you stared at the ceiling, though your view was a bit obstructed by the pointed tip of the plastic Master Sword and– dear lord, why did it look like the figurine was watching you? "Hey, do you remember when we talked about whether stuffed animals are actually the physical and spiritual embodiments of dead people?"

Your roommate snorted. "I'm not high enough for this right now," then, after realizing just what you were staring at, amended with another, more judgy noise. "Oh no, he's got his bitchbreaker face on."

You barked a laugh. By god, they were right! "I think I'm being watched," you admitted, eyes raking over the molded dark-blonde hair and blue-bell-painted eyes. Fuck, those eyebrows, too. "Why's he angry?"

"Oh. Dude, we're too sober for this," said your roommate, throwing their hands up in mild, un-drugged exasperation. After a moment (and more than a few seconds of your puppy eyes), they huffed. "Probably because of that Ganon dude."

"No no no, it's Demise," you corrected, retrieving your phone to pull up a photo of said villain. You held the screen up.

A low whistle left your roommate. "Can I call him Daddy Demise or am I weird for that?"

"Not at all," you waved a hand in the Link figurine's direction, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. "What I wouldn't give for a ride on that Master Sword."

"Ew!" your roomate exclaimed despite being just as bad as you. A beat passed. "Dude, why do you have him like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that," they made a vague gesture to the placement of the figurine. "He's literally just watching you. You don't think that's weird?"

You... you hadn't considered that. Still, you shook your head. "No? All I do is sleep and... oh, god," you slapped a hand over your face and tried not to think of all the times you had masturbated with the figurine in the room. Was that weird? Were you supposed to turn it around like people did with family photos and stuffed animals?? "Why are you like this?"

"Someone's gotta be," your roommate shrugged, nonplussed. "Plus, you've had him for, what, two years? Man's seen some shit."

"Okay, nope, ew," you continued to cover your face and pretend that you weren't into the idea of your Skyward Sword Link figurine being secretly sentient. "We're never bringing this up. Ever."

"But–"

"I swear on that one cat meme we look at when we're drunk, I will pay someone to punch you," you warned jokingly, glancing at them through the cracks in your fingers. "In the face."

"Pussy," was their response.

You promptly threw your pillow at your roommate's face.

Link awoke to the sound of moaning, or, he rather thought he awoke, because there was nothing dreamlike about the eggshell-shadows of his room in the Academy, nor the uncomfortable tightness of his sleep trousers.

With a groan that rattled his chest, he threw an arm over his eyes, willing that, for once, fate would cease it's attempts to make his life as outlandish as possible.

Starting with the dreams. And the voices.

Now, let it never be said that he wasn't accustomed to the strange, but there was a large difference in being instructed by a strict, discombobulated voice on the inner workings of his role as a hero and the far more intimate tone of someone engaging in the pleasures of the flesh. Though, as mercy would have it, both options seemed to be enjoyed solely by him, but he digresses.

Another moan filtered through his consciousness. Link felt himself throb, already embarrassingly half-hard. The thought that he was slowly going mad had crossed his mind many a time since the voices–and, of course, accompanying dreams, though those were a bit of a newer occurrence–began years ago, but this was on a whole other level.

For one, the second voice wasn't new, or, the tone of it. He remembered hearing it many times during his adventure; whispered hints and loud whoops against the pointed shell of his ear were commonplace, and Link would be a liar to say he hadn't grown attached to the person on the other side of... whatever madness his life had descended into. A guide– nay, his guide, he liked to think of them. Of you.

A keening wail, filed with an undercurrent of need that had his abdomen absolutely burning, and he was torn back to the dream that had started it all. Link remembered it vividly: a bedroom, not his–unless Groose had seen fit to spontaneously paint and re-arrange his living quarters for the night in some elaborate bid to test the fraying edges of his mind–and the distinct, urgent feeling of being unable to move. Not restrained, but held in place. Frozen.

Oh, and the dizzying realization that he felt no larger than several inches, judging from the relative size of everything else in the room.

Link swallowed, beginning to pant as he gave in and pressed a palm over the aching bulge of his cock.

The door creaked open, and a strangely-clothed figure stepped into the room. They were calling to someone, laughing, and wasted no time in flopping on the richly-embroidered bedspread. In an instant, they were staring at him, still grinning, and a hand roaming down the curious set of... were those shorts(?) they wore.

"Hi, Link," was the first thing he registered through the haze. Since when had dreams been this vivid? "Miss me?"

"Yes," Link breathed as he recalled the first dream. The one that had started it all. He didn't even know who you were, or where you came from, but you were everything he wanted.

You reached up, the pad of your finger brushing his nose, and the size difference had never felt so profound. "I wish you were real," said the temptress–you–before him. Link didn't know who or where he was, but he would have fought Demise a thousand times over to discover it. Hair spread around your face like a halo, hand slipping into those paltry little underthings in a rhythm that had him hotter than the fires of Death Mountain.

From there, the dreams had only gotten more frequent. Sometimes, it would be you and your 'roommate' talking, and sometimes, it would be only you, doing some mundane task that he watched with attention no less rapt than when you would touch yourself. But oh, when you touched yourself, he knew, be it from the noises lingering in the back of his consciousness or the shockingly vivid dreams playing his mind almost nightly.

Link didn't realize he had taken himself in hand until he was coming, eyes squeezed shut and unoccupied fingers digging into the scratchy fabric of his sheets. Your name panted from his lips, rolling off his tongue like silk while his palm and stomach were splattered with wetness. He threw his head back against the pillow, then twisted it so the flat of his cheek was pressed against the soft item. He lay, writhing lightly, still painfully hard, wondering just what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Fuck," you said, spread out on your bed like an adult film creator, one hand between your bare legs while the other adjusted the thick headphones covering your ears. "I'm so weird for this."

There was no denying it: you were a freak, but a freak unbothered as you tapped your phone screen, waiting patiently for the video to load. Typically, you'd pull up a little something from a few unmentionable sites to help, but this time was different. So very different, you thought as sound began to flood the headphones.

Ha hu hi ha hyah!

There was no going back from this, you knew. No going back from the hidden shame of using a video game character's soundboard to get off while maintaining unbroken eye contact with a figurine of said character. Maybe you were bored, or weird, or perhaps this was who you had been all along? Either way, there was no hiding how good it felt when you moved your fingers downward, dipping into the silky wetness threatening to spill past your folds, thumb finding the soft nub of your clit.

You could see him–Link–in your mind's eye. Above you, pressed in the cradle of your thighs, with the prettiest blue eyes your brain could conjure, shrouded only slightly by shaggy blonde hair. Those lips, full and pouty, pursed, then parted to let panting breaths escape. Hylia, you'd take him in a heartbeat. You'd let him split you in half with that sword of his; no questions, no refunds. You would die like a fanfiction writer, without shame and very slightly mentally unstable.

"Fuck," you hissed, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. Sure, your roommate had just left, but you had already exposed them to enough insanity, so it was only fair to try and hold back the shamefulness that came with jacking off to a video game character.

The video played on, the sounds of clanging swords and orgasmic grunts–because, seriously, who decided that was a good idea?–blaring into your ears through the streamer-grade headset, and you were immensely glad they happened to be noise-cancelling, lest your roommate return early and discover your shame. Your hips rocked against your fingers as the cacophony rose in pitch, pulling a series of hitched, shaky breaths from your moist throat. Would he touch you like this? Or would he shove three fingers in your clenching hole just to hear you wail, uncaring of the noise such an action would create. Maybe he would go straight for the pussy like a wild animal or the equally-sexy Twilight Princess Link, or perhaps he would simply spear you on his holy blade and call it a diddly-darn-good day?

Whatever you thought he would do, it was lost in the frazzled mess of your brain when you came, all but screeching around the tightly-cupped palm of your hand. Your legs shook harshly--even kicking out, which elicited a half-noticed burst of pain--trembling with the onslaught of pleasure rushing through your system like a drug, coursing and pulsing in time to the frantic, staccato beat of your heart.

After a few glorious moments, you lay boneless on the mattress, chest heaving with the aftershocks of what had to be the best solo time you'd had in a while. The soundboard continued to blare, but you didn't dare silence it; you wanted to enjoy this, while the post-nut clarity still felt leagues away.

A sharp creak interrupted your reverie, and you hardly had any time to react before the shelf above you groaned, tipping just enough to send a very familiar figurine plummeting onto your stomach, drawing a startled gasp from your mouth when, instead of a dull ache and a hot flash of embarrassment over dislodging your shelf via very questionable methods, there was a blinding flash of light. You screeched, but it was drowned out by a weight pressing atop your stomach, and the impossible silhouette of a figure above you.

Terror shot through your being. The light cleared. You froze.

"...Link?!"

I have no excuse.

(An impromptu apology for utterly failing at the 2024 Christmas event LMAO)

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

@seahorses-of-gold here's part 2 tumblr won't post it all at once

21) youll smell different but the body odor really isnt that bad as long as you shower and wear deodorant. perfume or cologne if you want. the reason people say it's bad is because the average person going through male puberty is a cisgender teen boy and they are not known for exemplary hygiene practices 22) if you are a tense person and cannot relax your muscles then shots are probably not for you. i switched to gel around month 3 because i couldn't loosen my leg muscles up enough to make shots not painful 23) best way to get full dosage of gel is to administer it in the proper site, rub in lightly with a silicone spatula (use the ones made from 1 piece not the ones you can separate into 2 pieces), and then rub it in fully with your fingers. the amount that doesnt get on you is minimal 24) get a new silicone spatula specifically for this and wash with soap and water and dry before each use. they air dry fast btw 25) dont shower until 4-5 hours after applying 26) month 5 is about when puberty facial hair began. it will be there but it's gonna be like what a 15 year old boy is so it's up to you what to do with that 27) months 6-10 are when i got the most useful changes. around month 6 i began passing very, very regularly and by month 8 i passed perfectly as a cis guy. im not the most masculine guy in the universe so definitely a gay one but a male nonetheless 28) the men's bathroom isnt that bad as long as you pass decently well. just go in and get your shit done (literally if you have to) then wash your hands leave. men dont talk in the bathroom btw 29) most cis guys dont care if you never use the urinals. a lot of them dont anymore either it's more fun to slack off on your phone in a stall 30) there's a lot of strength increases during this time and they can be fun yet difficult to deal with because you dont know how to use your body yet. i kept grabbing things too hard for a few weeks, many drinks in plastic cups were spilled 31) if your goal is to pass (as was mine) you can absolutely try to make it happen faster however there's no way to know exactly when this will happen. my goal was for it to be within 1-2 years but it clearly was faster 32) if someone who passes fast pretends they're better than you or they did something "better than you" don't listen! they can give you advice yet you will never be the same person and that's ok. do things at your own pace and be patient 33) one piece of advice im very comfortable giving is that a deep voice goes a long way for passing. of course the low and slow dosage works wonders and another tip i have is to speak on the lowest register you can comfortably handle each morning. then speak regularly for the rest of the day 34) you cant make squeaky guinea pig noises anymore :( 35) you can be stealth if you want to there's no need to tell everyone everything. 36) months 8-12 felt like figuring myself out again. i was comfortable in my transition, looked and sounded like a cis guy, and ready to be weird again. this was absolutely the most fun time for me even if there werent huge changes in terms of transitioning 37) it took around month 12 for me to notice how well i actually pass. i did say that other people noticed around month 6ish yet it took me much, much longer. 38) i talk a lot about passing here because that was very important to me but if that isnt your goal it's ok!! your transition is individual to you. 39) dont let go of everything feminine that you've ever liked to force yourself to be more "manly" you'll just be sad and bored. unless you really wanna be a super macho man then go for it. i have pink highlights, i love jewelry, i love cooking, i love embroidery, i love glitter and fluffy animals. these things make life fun and id love them even if I were cis

would anyone appreciate a list of what i've learnt on my first year of T? there were so many unexpected things that no one told me about and I think it could help a few people!

[killyjae]

I miss the feeling of not worrying if anything corporate looks off because I suspect it's ai generated

[bucks-babe]

Plastic

Summary: Bucky using a fleshlight for the first time

Warnings: Smut, toys(fleshlight, vibrator), dirty talk, watching porn, overuse of the word fucking, anal?, cum eating, degradation, use of the word bitch, slut and whore, surprise guest at the end

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I wrote this in like an hour so be warned. I’m kind of in the same headspace I was in when I wrote Be Mean to Me so this is quite dirty and a little mean. Anyway, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Any and all mistakes are my own. Huge thanks to the amazing @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however any and all mistakes are again, my own. Bucky’s a loud, horny, little boy but he is so hot. THIS IS SOOOO HOT!🤭🤭

Bucky knows that he looks insane, standing by the door of his apartment with his ear pressed against it, listening for the footsteps of his delivery driver. He knows it’s coming soon, having his phone in his hand, obsessively checking the progress of his order. His cock, already hard and throbbing, twitches when he hears the elevator ding and he knows that it's his package. Bucky knows the sound of everyone’s steps on his floor.

As soon as the coast is clear, Bucky whips his door open and grabs his box, barely remembering to lock the door before sprinting up to his room, tearing the packaging open on the way. Flinging himself down on the bed, he moans at the sight of the fleshlight in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart, pussy’s so fucking pretty. Look at that pretty clit. Want me to rub it, huh? Make you cum around my cock?”

He tosses the toy to the side, quickly getting rid of all his clothes and grabbing the lube from his bedside stand along with the TV remote. Bucky silently thanks Sam for showing him how to use a smart TV. One of his favorite things about the 21st century had to be porn. He never had this type of porn back in his day. It would only be magazines of naked women, not that he was complaining, but watching people having sex was much hotter to him.

With the TV in his room and no one living with him, Bucky was able to watch porn in HD as loud as he wanted to, and fuck if he didn’t have the strongest orgasm of his life the first time. 

“That’s gonna be too bad, baby, because I’m fucking your ass today. Don’t give a shit if it hurts, you’re gonna take what I give you and let me fill that tight little hole up as much as I want.” He grabs the fleshlight again and pulls the silicon out, only to flip it to the other side where the fake asshole was before putting it back in its casing. 

Without thought he sticks his tongue in as far as he could, ignoring the plastic taste, and groaning at the tightness of it. “Fuck, you’re gonna choke my cock aren’t ya? Yeah, you are, bitch.” He grabs the remote and quickly gets to a porn website and logs in. “What should I watch, slut while I ruin your little ass?” He already knows exactly what video he was going to watch, there was no doubt about it. It’s the same video he’s been playing on repeat for weeks, never able to last the whole time.

The sight of the woman’s ass swallowing that huge cock sends him over the edge. Maybe it was because the man’s cock looked just like his, making it that much easier to imagine he was fucking her, making her hole gape. Her ass bouncing has him hypnotized, not able to comprehend how it was so perfect.

“Can’t wait to fuck that little hole. Leave you open and sore. Makes my dick so fucking hard.” Clicking the video and grabbing the lube, Bucky puts the tip of the bottle in the hole, squeezing until the slick was dripping out. He doesn’t wait for the intro to finish, quickly skipping past it and to his favorite part, moaning immediately when he clicks play and they’re fucking full force, both moaning, skin slapping, and ass jiggling. 

Bucky has to rewind the video to just before the man slides his cock in, wanting to imagine that he was the one fucking her. He spreads his legs out, feeling his sack hit the bed and another idea enters his brain. Rolling over he grabs the vibrator from the drawer before settling back into his spot, this time with the wand nestled under his balls. Turning it to high, Bucky grinds his sack down further, staring at the way they vibrate over the toy.

If he didn’t have as much control as he did, Bucky could have came just from that. He wants so bad to have her lay down on his bed while he straddles her face, smothering her with his sack, grinding and sliding his balls around face, listening to her choke on them, all while fucking into his toy, pounding, pouring load after load into it.

With that thought in his mind, Bucky lines the fake hole with his cock, the cold lube leaking onto his dick causes him to jerk, his tip grazing her hole. “Fuck, bitch, can’t even get the tip in. Don’t worry, I won’t stop. Don’t cry, you’ll get used to me fucking you whenever. Your little holes are gonna stretch and swallow my cock without problem eventually.”

He has to press to get his thick tip to pop it, and when it does Bucky loses his mind. “Ohhhh, fuccckkk. So fucking tight, shit, gonna make me nut already. So fucking wet, fucking made for me. Shitshitshit.” He has to use every bit of self control in his body to not shove the rest of his length inside, not wanting to blow just yet, not when he hasn’t even seen his girl swallow his dick in her ass while bouncing on his lap.

For just a moment, Bucky regrets placing the vibrator on his sack, but it feels too good to take off, now adding wiggles to his grind, moving the vibe all over his huge sack. “Ready for the rest of it, whore?  No? Well too fucking bad because I want it and I’ll fucking take it, bitch.” It takes him a minute to find the remote, pressing play and turning the volume up, fuck the neighbors. 

He groans in frustration when the people decide to take their good ol’ time getting to the fucking, but when he sees her squat over his lap Bucky feels his cock pulse in anticipation. Her perfect ass swallows his cock without hesitation, and Bucky follows. As soon as he gets past the tip, he slams the rest of his length in, frantically bucking his hips to meet the toy, head falling back and eyes shut.. The sound of his cries, the lube squelching and leaking down to his balls where they bounce between the base of the toy and the vibrator, all drown out the video playing.

“Ohfuckohfuck, so fucking good. Oh shit, ass so tight, cock fucking choking. Can’t. Shit, I, oh fuck.” Bucky’s mind becomes mush, only the carnal urge to fuck and fuck hard drive him. “Love this, love th, fuck! Bet it fucking hurts. Can’t do anything but get fucked. Does my big fat cock hurt? ‘S it tearing you open? Just meant to take this fat fucking dick. Don’t care, bitch. Don’t give a fuck that it hurts. Better get fucking used to it because I’m gonna keep you on my cock all the time.”

When he opens up his eyes, that’s when he truly starts to fuck. He’s almost positive that the bed is going to break any second, creaking and shaking with every thrust. He puts all of his strength into fucking up into the toy while both of his hands come down to help his brutal pounding. “Look at that fucking ass, oh my fuck. Take it, fucking take it. See, slut, told you. You fucking like that shit, fucking like being my cocksleave.”

His moans get higher in pitch, balls still slapping against the vibe with every thrust, practically being thrown around with the speed of his fucking. “‘M’gonna fucking nut. Gonna pour every fucking drop in you ass. Fuuuccckkk, wanna cum on it, watch it bounce while I keep fucking you. Gonna bust so fucking hard. When I’m fucking done you’re gonna be gaping so fucking much I’ll shove my sack inside. Uh, huh, you’ll fucking like that.”

He takes one hand off, searching for the remote that’s been bouncing all over the bed, and turns the volume up all the way, not able to hear over the cacophony of sound he was making. “Ohhhhh, shit, ready? Ready for this fucking nut? There’s so much fucking cum, oh fuck. So much, gonna blow. C’mon, keep bouncing that big ass on me. Don’t you fucking dare stop when I nut, you fucking hear me, bitch? You’re gonna milk every fucking drop from my sack. Gonna be more than one tonight. Have me so fucking horny.”

His thrusts become sloppy before he decides to just stop bucking and let his sack rest on the vibe and his hands take over the work. “Ohhhhh, fucking gonna blow, gonna nut. Ready, fucking ready? Bouncebouncebounce, just like that, just like that. FUCK, YES. GIVE ME IT. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING HOLE. TAKE THIS FUCKING NUT.”

The string of curses doesn’t slow down for minutes, his orgasm not abiding at all. “Fuck me! Leaking everywhere. All over the fucking bed. Cum’s filling you up so much can’t even handle it.” He keeps going until he’s almost too sensitive, pulling the fleshlight off wasting no time bringing it up to his mouth, swallowing mouthfulls of cum until it’s all gone. “So fucking good, but I’m not fucking done. Get over here, baby.”

Still laying on the bed, Bucky looks over to you, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m surprised you heard me over all that noise you were making.” Bucky just chuckles and lazily reaches an arm out for you, beckoning you over, which you happily do.

You take off all your clothes before joining him in bed, grabbing the fleshlight and licking the drops of cum he missed off, humming at the taste. “You know, you could have just called me over instead of watching our videos? I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get another noise complaint. The whole building probably heard you.”

Bucky rolls to his side. “Can’t help it, baby. You’re so fucking sexy and the way you take my cock. Can’t get off to anyone else, only my favorite pornstar.” He cuts himself off with a groan.

“I don’t know if it counts as being a pornstar if we only have sex with each other, Buck.”

“Of course it counts. Last time I checked, thousands of people come to watch us fuck each other dumb. Speaking of, we haven’t made a video in a while and I bet they would love to see you squirt on my dick, don’t you think?”

At your giggle, Bucky goes and sets the camera up, making sure not to show anything in the room that would give away who you both are, knowing that you would blur your faces when you go to edit. As much as he loved to hear how crazy men and women go over the two of you, Bucky didn’t want them to know your identities. 

“Sweetheart, you are so fucking beautiful, can’t even put it into words.”

“Don’t have to, show me, big guy because I’m dripping and I need a big cock to fill me up and my boyfriend's right here.” And Bucky’s going to do just that.

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Dave York x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Dave's one last contract to tie up before the holidays proves to be more difficult than he expected.

author's note | my adventures in trying to write pwp have failed me again. i made this gifset and here we are. so you get whatever this crazy is. thank you to my womb sister @chaotic-mystery for beta'ing.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, divorced!dave, suburban murder daddy but make it festive, is this a holiday fic?, uhh..there's some bodily fluid usage in here for purposes, knife kink if ya squint, choking, restraints, blood tw, rough unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m &f receiving), one (1) pussy slap, pain kink off the charts, manipulation is the best form of flattery, omitting some tags for spoilers.

word count — 5.4k

Coffee and a chocolate croissant was not how he started a contract.

It was a strict five-step order. Observe, plan, attack, dispose, collect.

Never more, never less. He got in and dirtied his hands, washed away the evidence, and sent the proof to his employer, an unsteady but well-paying job. He was killing people after all.

High profile clients, exes, criminals, he stopped separating them after a while.

But goddammit, you’d charmed him. 

Bewitched him. Body and soul.

Well, that and you caught him at a bad time.

The original plan was to grab his morning coffee and follow your path to work, find an opportunity and take care of business, leave. However, he’s thrown off when you’re already in line at the shop he picks, one out of the million lining the city streets.

It was you and him, a silent standoff amongst the low jingle of christmas music.

The cheery chorus of the Jingle Bell Rock drowning out his thoughts as he lines up behind you, hearing your coffee and breakfast order before the following words slip out, his ears perking:

“This is for mine—and his,” You nod blindly over your shoulder, “and pocket the rest as a tip.”

It was a fifty, his brow furrowing at the action as he begins to speak but is quickly interrupted by your name being called as your coffee was slid over the counter and you flee toward the cup, leaving he and the cashier in silence, who seemed more than delighted at the idea of extra money for the holidays.

He orders quietly, his voice subdued as he insists on paying for his own food, ignorant to your side gaze as you roll your eyes in annoyance and wait as he approaches with more silence, slipping his coffee into a cardboard sleeve as you grab for plastic silverware. 

“Well, happy holidays to you,” You remark with a snide tone, laced and tied in a bow of kindness, “you’re a sweets guy?” Dave looks down at his croissant then, realizing they had handed him the wrong pastry, cursing under his breath.

He seemed frazzled, disrupted, but was masking it with annoyance and frustration.

“Fifty is a little generous, don’t you think?”

“It was a kind gesture,” You continue, “—Christmas around the corner and all.”

Dave sips gingerly at the coffee to taste, praying that it was the one thing they did get right, staring down at the chocolate croissant with disdain, but hunger on the rise.

He’s expecting you to leave already, having a rough idea of your schedule as you would normally head to work within the next—Dave glances at his watch casually—half hour, but instead, you sit.

Fuck—he casually busies himself as he pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolling mindlessly as the coffee shop fills and empties, eventually admitting something similar to defeat as he heads toward the door.

A man of constant routine and you’ve gone and fucked up his day, sitting casually as you picked at your own pastry, giving him a full once over, head to toe, as he heads toward the door—a suit that told a thousand words, and a man with nowhere to go, watching him carefully in the corner as he flitted through this phone.

Either he was being a creep or he was just shy.

And, for your sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Sit with me,” You insist, his mouth opening immediately in rejection, but you smile and tilt your head to the side, pushing the opposite seat out with your heeled shoe, “hey—don’t act like you have anywhere to go, I just watched you stare at your phone for fifteen minutes.”

Your eyes land expectantly on the seat as Dave deliberates, eventually relenting as he sits. You were his task for the day, he didn’t have anywhere to go where you weren’t.

He doesn’t like this, he doesn’t like this feeling. 

Things had derailed, but somehow, this seemed like it could help him, in the end.

You start with your name, introducing yourself. He offers the same, just a first name. Not a last. In your mind, you shrug. You could work with a first name.

“Well, Dave—are you going to eat that chocolate croissant?” You ask, watching the untouched pastry sit unwanted on the table, “Because if not, I will gladly—”

He pushes it aside, leaning back in his chair as he looks out the window, watching the troves of people pass on their way to work, kids running alongside their parents as they walk to school—a brief glimpse of what could still be, had Carol not been so greedy in the divorce.

He got the girls on weekends, every other week. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all he had. If he wanted to count, he had five more days until he saw their faces again. Often, it was the only thing holding him together. That, and routine.

Your voice disrupts his thoughts again, his eyes ripping up to your smiling face as you pull at the croissant and take a bite, “Holiday’s are fickle, aren’t they?”

Dave raises his brow in question. The fuck does that mean?

“Fickle—you know—”

“I know what that word means,” Dave interrupts, “What are you trying to say?”

Always on edge, this guy. You laugh softly, rubbing your tongue along your bottom lip.

“Some years it feels festive—like real Christmas, you know?” It was redundant, your finger circling the lid of your cup, “Other times it feels like something most people can’t wait to get it over with—like they’d rather be dead than celebrating.”

“That’s dark,” Dave remarks, “considering you were just attempting to spread some holiday cheer by paying for my breakfast–”

“Which you refused, scrooge,” Your eyebrow cocks in challenge, “Where do you work?”

Invasive? Definitely. But, with the suit—it seemed like a plausible question.

Dave lies through his teeth, despite his freeland work as a contract killer.

His job consisted of a name on a piece of paper and a promised dollar amount in his bank account after—no good or bad, it didn’t matter. 

People were unlucky and unfortunate, he chose not to be.

If he was going to do the killing, he was damn well going to be compensated for it. 

He didn’t know who wanted you dead, or why—but you’re grating, unjarring approachableness was throwing a wrench in his plans. If he wasn’t so careful he’d slide the knife through your throat here at the table, just to end this conversation.

You nod your head at his excuse for work, moving beyond a topic he clearly didn’t want to talk about, “Go on, your turn—or have you already read me like a book?”

Fine, he’ll bite. Though, he already knows what you’re going to say. He returns the question about work, mouthing the response in his head like a speech.

“I’m a librarian, a little further in the city, but I like the coffee here.”

The last part was a lie—you frequented one place nearly every day, why you decided to switch up today was unbeknownst to Dave, hence why he was sitting here engaging in such a grating, unproductive conversation. 

You know you’re keeping him, he does too. 

It slowly turns into a stare down, eating away at the croissant he’d passed over, waiting for him to admit defeat and run off, eventually, he does.

“As riveting as this conversation was,” Dave comments, “I’ve got work—it was nice…talking to you.”

The hesitance makes you smirk, subdued behind another kind smile as he leaves, watching his cautious walk back to his car, only a measured amount of time before he would see you again.

–

It has never taken this long. A week, maybe two. But, even that was pushing it. 

His employer had contacted him twice for updates, more on edge as time passed and he can’t seem to avoid you, even as he tracks you from a distance, unaware of his looming presence, you seem to find him in the unlikeliest of places.

Next, it was a gas station—you don’t approach him there, but you offer that same kind smile.

Then, the grocery store, conversing with him over fruits like he was an old friend and Dave is only unsettled by the conversation after you leave, not realizing how easily you had vexed him until he’s got a handful of fruit in his cart alongside his weekly groceries. 

It happens again. And once more. He liked difficult meals—intricate ingredients that were far beyond your skill level. The conversation was always a careful dance of politeness, but Dave softened with every conversation, as much as he could, at least.

You could spot a jaded man from miles away.

He doesn't understand why he can’t just kill you outright—easily detach from the situation and move on, but there was something to you that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost alluring, and it made him wonder. It made him curious.

Dave was never curious—he wasn’t paid to be.

He’s resigned to following through that Friday, though. The weekend before Christmas.

Fortunately, you seem to have the same late night craving for takeout—a quaint Chinese takeout place down the block from your apartment. 

It had to be a coincidence, right? 

“I swear,” You jest through a laugh as you stuff your hands into pockets of your puffer coat, “it feels like you’re stalking me.”

“Could say the same,” Dave retorts, a toothpick tucked between his teeth as he waits for his food.

You both wait quietly, exchanging the occasional glance before the tension snaps, curiosity getting the better of you and your enjoyment of making Dave squirm.

“Do you live far?” A careful, precise question. Dave answers it vaguely.

“A ways,” He says nonchalantly, “why?”

“Are you busy tonight?” Other than his obvious task of ordering dinner that he was undoubtedly going to eat in his car as he staked out your apartment, finding the willpower to finish the job.

“A little,” Always so concise, you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

“Come have dinner at my place,” You tell him, an open-invitation, an opportunity served up perfectly, eyeing the incoming weather outside with a high chance of a white Christmas, “—wait out the storm a bit?”

You weren’t pushing. It only took a little coaxing.

“Come on,” You tease, “are you scared of me?”

It’s a striking dichotomy he thinks, knowing he murders for a living.

There’s a ding at the front register as the owner slides over two bags of food tucked away in plastic and styrofoam, calling out the order numbers simultaneously as you both reach for them.

“I don’t bite,” You shrug, “—not really.” 

You flash a triumphant smile as Dave admits defeat.

–

He said he’d meet you there.

You half-expected him to ditch you, but now he was sitting adjacent to you on the couch, chewing methodically at a piece of broccoli alongside the slow murmur of the television, under your curious gaze.

It’s ridiculous, a job that should have taken him a week—a few days, even—had prolonged itself to a month. The constant and vivid imaginative ways he would kill you plague him even now, wondering if strangling you against the couch would be enough to suffice. 

No, that felt too personal.

He’d come back, he’d wait. He would do it while you were sleeping. Quiet, quick.

You strip off a layer of clothing as the heat from your apartment creeped up your neck, a generous amount of skin on display as you slung your sweater over the back of the couch, breasts pressing together as you place your takeout on the cushion separating you and Dave.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” You ask around a bite, stabbing your fork into your food.

Dave couldn’t make sense of your siren-like qualities, the intensity in your eyes with every glance his way, the ease at which you can seduce him into conversation. You were youthful, full of life, and for once in his career he’s found himself hesitating. Asking questions. 

Why you?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Dave notes, a softer tone to his voice, almost as if he was finally warming up to you. There was a constant air of skepticism around you, rightfully so, but he seems to have let it slip, a misjudgment, “don’t you?”

You giggle softly at your impending question, “Are you a whiskey guy? You seem like a whiskey guy.” You’re off the couch quickly, heading toward your open kitchen to fetch an unopened bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, grabbing two glasses on the way back.

“I’ll be honest,” You start lightly, a melodic tone to your voice as you place the glasses on the table and pour a generous amount into both—normally Dave would excuse the offer, but with the bottle sealed and no reason to think otherwise, he drinks, “you make me nervous.”

Dave offers a quiet chortle of disbelief, your vixen-esque qualities supplying the opposite effect.

“I mean, the coincidence of us meeting at the coffee shop,” You begin, “and, sure, I did think that it was strange how often we’ve run into each other, but it almost feels like—”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate,” Dave interjects, sipping at the rim of the glass.

“Well, how else do you explain that?” You ask, tucking your feet underneath you as you mirror his actions, food set aside. Dave finds himself watching the way your jeans hug your thighs and sit snug against your curves, following the path up your chest and the low cut top that pressed them together, caught red-handed as his eyes draw to yours.

“Sorry,” He quickly excuses, brow furrowing as he turns away in subtle embarrassment, burying his face into the glass of whiskey, “I’m—fate isn’t real. It’s just a coincidence, probably.”

Probably. Surely.

There’s a soft glint of suspicion in your eye, slowly maneuvering forward as Dave’s fist clenches against his slacks—always in a ridiculous fucking suit that you were now determined to get him out of. You’d kill for it, actually. 

“Are you married?” You ask, resting your hand into your open palm as you prop it against the back of the couch, “That—that seems invasive…you don’t have to answer that. I just, if you are—she won’t be mad that you’re here, will she?”

Dave squints, not realizing he’s down the entire glass of whiskey until his next sip comes up empty. He sets the glass aside and answers truthfully, a breakthrough, you think.

“Divorced.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “such a tragedy.”

He wasn’t willing to dig into the details of his tumultuous relationship, regardless of how long it has been, nor was he oblivious to your actions, the finite movements that have pulled you closer and in turn, has centered his body toward you in a subconscious effort to make room.

He didn't often have female hits, but they weren’t non-existent. Dave was a man of constant self-control and restraint, aware of your growing proximity and the fact that his Smith and Wesson was tucked away carefully in the back of his coat, hidden from plain sight but all it would take is a touch—or the switchblade tucked away in his sock, easily concealable and unsuspecting.

He has two avenues—kill you now, deal with the mess. 

Or, he allows it. 

It—your obvious advancements, the slow but salacious blink of your eyes as his eyes drag toward your lips.

Your fingers wrap around the knot of his tie, pulling it gently, loosening it. His neck stretches to the side as your fingers claw up and around, dipping beyond his shirt collar in silence, despite the intense eye contact you held.

It was almost like you were challenging him. He feels it.

You get bold, rising on your knees as the other hand slips between the fabric of his coat and cream button-up and Dave counteracts the movement with a sudden adjustment, pulling the coat off smoothly and slipping it over the back of the couch as you climb into his lap, an evident smirk on your face as you press your ass against his thighs, your cunt pressed against the seam of his zipper and his cock, feeling the solid press of him there—men were all the same.

Dave’s body betrays him, his head tilting back as your fingers move through his hair and back down his freshly shaven face, pointer finger tracing the curve of his lips, a persistent and hardened expression on his face, void of emotion.

“If I asked you to fuck me, would you?” He feels the tug at his tie, your lips millimeters from his own as you stare down at him, “You like to fuck, don’t you?”

A hard distinction. Screw it, he thinks. Detachment, it was easier that way. 

Dave nods, under your spell and the faint courage of whiskey. 

–

He’s never allowed himself this deep into a job,

Undressing himself over you as you scramble naked onto the bed beneath him, ignoring how this wasn’t just a step, but a leap—a fucking mile over the boundaries he’s set within himself, but then you’re rising to lick up the underside of his cock where it glistened with precum, dripping down the side as it bops against your tongue, his hand wrapping into your hair as a warning. 

Your eyes flutter shot as you nod, under his full control as you allow him to fuck himself into your mouth, his knees buckling as he knelt on the bed. His other hand comes up to curve against your chin, cradling your head as he nudged himself against the back of your throat until you were sputtering, drool leaking from your mouth as he pulled away for a brief moment.

Hesitation, you see it.

“Stay with me,” You plead, the words slurred against the shaft of his cock as you wrap your hand around the rest of him that wouldn’t fit, “don’t—don’t think. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Meaningless, more so than he can even imagine. A means to an end.

You could go about this differently—you didn’t always jump toward sex. 

But, Dave was attractive. Unfairly attractive, strong features that left an impression on you and a flutter between your legs—he was hard to break down, but it wasn’t impossible.

Besides, you were breaking your own rules too. 

And you were sure he'd bruised your throat by now, eyes tearing up as he held you there, nose brushing against his groin as he watched you—a mix of astonishment and resentment, laughing airly as he yanks you away.

“It feels good,” You assure him with a teary-eyed smile, “doesn’t it?”

You kiss along his upper thighs, leaning down to mouth against his balls, rolling the tight skin against your tongue, greedy for more as your fingers claw up his thighs, chest, until they’re wrapping around his broad shoulders and pulling him down and over you, the wide expanse of his palms squeezing at your hips, soft skin melding underneath his fingertips.

He buries his face into your chest, licking at your skin to taste, a mix of salt and sweet and something so intoxicating that he finds himself following through with this.

“Turn around,” He demands, “get on your knees.”

You turn swiftly, his hands following the path of your spine as his hand curls around the back of your skull and presses you firmly into the mattress, twisting his fingers around your bicep and pulling your arms behind your back, crossing, reaching for his discarded tie at his feet.

You panic at the inclination of being immobilized, but his voice is unsettling soothing.

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Dave counters, “practically fucking begged for it.”

He huffs out a noise of displeasement, sliping the fabric around your wrist and tying it in place, hearing you snicker against the fabric as you peer up at him from your side glance.

“You can do better than that–,” You begin, but the tug is rough, gasping as it pulls your arms straight and tight against your back, “that’s—fuck—”

Your panic is quickly soothed by pleasure, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes it up, level with his mouth as he licks between your folds, admiring the slick that drips down the seam of your pussy, rubbing his thumb down to your clit as he circles it teasingly before pressing a finger inside of you, your gasp swallowed up by the sheets. 

“Barely fuckin’ know me and you’re begging for it like that?” Dave teases, “C’mon, sweetheart.”

Pulling his fingers back to admire the creamy white ribbon that connected your body to his, rubbing his slick covered fingers over your pussy once more with a deafening slap.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” Dave informs, “but I’m going to fuck you like you asked, alright?”

He didn’t have to be nice, or considerate, even. 

Besides, that pain swiftly drifted into gratification as he pushes the head of his cock between your folds before he’s pressing inside of you, a growl radiating from his chest as he sets a brutal pace, his thighs slapping against your skin loudly, fingers digging into your ass and destined to leave marks, cries of helpless delectation into your sheets.

And you could feel it, how badly he needed this too.

Eyes drifted close, the rhythmic pump of his hips, despite their intensity, is almost lulling. It never happened this way, a brief moment of disconnection as you allow your body to feel. It was never this good. Half-assed fucks from lackluster men who undoubtedly deserve what was coming for them—and it didn’t always happen like this, often it only took a sip of alcohol or an entrancing look their way, so easily entrapped in your web.

Dave, however, was a different beast entirely. 

His movements stop after a while, face contorted in a mix of staves of desire and curiousness, pinching up at the spot above his nose and between his brows.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” You tell him, subtly adjusting your shoulders against the discomfort, but he doesn’t move, still staring over your shoulder, “Are you fucking d—”

“Beg for it,” He interjects.

You snort out a soft laugh and shake your head, but then he’s swiftly pulling out and wrapping his hand around the knot at your wrist and pulling you upright, leaving you completely in his hold as your back falls against his chest, dangling over the edge of the bed as he stood behind you, his opposite hand wrapping around your throat and pushing up, tilting your head upright to look at him.

You see the brief moment of hesitation in his gaze, thinking he could wrap his hands around your throat and do away with you now, but his lips part and his thumb presses against the side of your jaw, pulling a gasp from your throat, “Beg,” He seethes.

Then the pressure comes, a gentle squeeze that forces air out of your throat, stuttering out a quiet, “P-Pl—please,” His hand shakes against the pressure as your eyes roll back, “fuck—fuck me, please.”

He fists his cock and slides back inside of you with one fluid movement, helpless to his grip as keeps teetering on the edge of consciousness, his breathing increasingly more distressed as his hips begin to stutter in rhythm behind you.

He was getting off on the idea of your life in his hands like this—Dave could do it like this, even you know that. A man who craved power, this was no different.

You moan weakly against the hand on your throat, face contorting in a petulant way that catches his gaze as your eyes peek open, bottom lip quivering as his grip on the tie at your wrist pulls, a spark of pain shooting up your spine.

“H—hurts,” You admit to him, though it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, he seemed to have a soft spot in that deranged brain of his, for you, “s’tight, hurts so bad.”

Dave breathes harshly through his nose, debating, examining the sincerity on your features for a while, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth opens in a faint cry, before he finally relents.

You fall forward at the release, arms stretching over your head as you fall, the ache in your shoulders dissipating at the relief as you roll onto your back, his face slack as he follows your movements, cock sitting proudly against his stomach as you reach for his hand, a delicate pull as he follows your guide, a sated smile on your face.

“Like this,” Your voice is soothing, dragging a hand down his chest until you can wrap your hand around his cock, wordlessly he spreads himself above you as you guide the head of his cock through your arousal before he’s inside of you again, entranced as you examine his features.

He fucks you with the same intensity, but this is more personal. Your hands curl around his where they’re pressed into the mattress, legs interlocked over his hips as you breath into his mouth, exchanging a cacophony of noises and meaningless expletives before he’s pulling out without warning, large palm pressed against your thigh to keep your legs spread as he fists his cock, wrapped tight as he came against you stomach in thick spurts, the warmth pooling against your skin as his lips parted in a newfound relaxation.

You drag your finger through the fluid, swirling it against your fingertip as he watches your movement with careful eyes, pressing your finger against his chest as you dot once, twice, a small arch to create the illusion of a smiling face before you’re crossing through it lazily.

“You forgot about me,” You pout, dragging our finger up to his chin as he tilts it upwards before you’re pinching it between your grip, “what about me?”

He hadn’t, but you weren’t allowing him the leeway to argue.

Dave willingly allows the force of your movements, slowly dragging up his face and into his hair as he buries his mouth against your cunt, his tongue swirling against your clit with a careful precious as he stares you down, countered by your own gaze, propping yourself off the bed on your palm.

He licks into you, tongue dipping inside your stretched hole tasting of something sweet and entirely you, mixed with himself, an intoxicating flavor as his hands wrap around your thighs, nose burying against your sensitive clit as he growls, a reverberation that has you shaking under his grip before he’s tilting his head up to suck at bundle of nerves, nearly arching off the bed at the sensation as your orgasm hits you all at once, rather than a rolling wave.

His gaze doesn’t falter once, even as you fall slack against the bed.

He should do it now—guard down, defenses non-existent, but then you’re pulling him up and against your chest, maneuvering in a delicate dance until he’s cuddling you from behind, without a word of acknowledgment.

Eventually your breathing settles, wordless and calm. And despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, he finds himself succumbing to exhaustion too. 

–

When he wakes, you’re still asleep. 

The sun had set, casting the room in a faded blue, the blanket of snow outside casting a faint glow—he still had time, finish the job while you were sleeping, admit his colossal fuck-up and move on. He moves slowly, careful as he leans off the edge of the bed to grab for his knife buried away in his shoe.

“Where the fuck is it?” He mumbles to himself, nearly scrambling off the bed as he considers going for his gun, but the knife pressed into his throat has him on high alert, turning as the blade slices into his neck—just a knick, but he counters the movement, attempting to pin you underneath him.

“You’re awake,” You announce with a grin, face contorting in frustration until you can fit the knife at his ribs, fighting his grip until he’s settled underneath you, arms pinned under your knees, “so—no contingency plan? That’s a rookie move, even for you.”

“Who gave you my name?” Dave, blunt as always—he cuts right through the bullshit.

You frown slightly, hoping he’d play along for a moment.

“C’mon, Dave,” You jest, his breath catching as you apply pressure to the junction where you held the knife, one sudden movement and it would pierce his lung, “who do you think?”

“Who?” He bites, realizing his helplessness in the situation.

“The same person who gave you mine,” You answer after a long pause, tapping your finger against the center of his chest, “but—listen, I don’t have to kill you. I don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart,” Dave informs, not lost on you.

You make a sound of discontent, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I have a proposition for you,” You chirp, “Well—more like an ultimatum. Because, if you don’t agree…I’ll just kill you right now, let you drown in your own blood as your lung collapses.”

Dave scowls, listening to you continue, “Can I trust you if I let you go?”

“No,” Dave answers quickly, whatever spell you’ve cast over him is now broken, the illusion gone, “Just do it, actually.”

It feels like a test—and you would, but you can’t.

He voices the same.

“You need me, don’t you?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Contingency plans, they were tricky.

“I hoped the sex would be enough to convince you.”

Dave smirks at that, surprisingly. 

“You could have killed me already, but you haven’t,” You remind him, “I gave you plenty of chances and you didn’t—why?”

“The timing wasn’t–”

“You’re lying,” He feels the sting of an open wound as you slice the tip of the knife over his skin like a papercut, “Be honest with me—please?”

There’s an unnatural twitch to your head as it tilts, “Please?”

“I don’t know,” Dave answers with a sigh, “Guess I didn’t see you as much of a threat, that I could take my time.”

You raise your eyebrows as you breathe out a laugh, “I’m going to let you up,” You inform him, but slide the knife to his neck, “—under one condition.”

“I could just—”

“I have your gun,” You admit, “Emptied it—and there’s nothing in this apartment you can harm me with. It’s not even mine. And you can try to take this from me, or even kill me with your bare hands, but I think you’ve gone a little rusty, in my opinion.”

Dave offers a look of confusion.

“I really do admire your work, you know. All of us, in the network. We’ve heard about you—no one..no one knows who you are but, I just…had a feeling. Your work is clean, precise. You’re methodical.”

“And you’re fucking crazy,” He retorts, twisting his wrist in discomfort as you clamber off of him, knife outheld as he rises with you, “this method’ll get you killed, if that’s your style.”

“M’not dead, yet,” You shrug, “Besides, I don’t make a habit of…that.”

The sex, he knows that’s what you mean. He can’t say he does either.

“Somebody wants both of us dead,” You remind him, “doesn’t that concern you?”

You turn the knife in your grip and offer it to him, handle first. 

“You’re a better tracker than me, I need that. And I’m a terrible fucking shot.”

Dave grins slightly at the compliment as he reaches for underwear, feeling unnaturally vulnerable as you stood toe to toe with him, rising up with a newfound curiosity. 

“Open your mouth,” He directs, a glint of intrigue in his eyes, “stick your tongue out.”

Without a thought, you do. He grabs your chin, squeezing your jaw until your lips parted and your tongue slipped out, dragging the blade along the center of your tongue and leaving the thick, crimson liquid to bubble to the surface as he dragged it along the surface. You giggled softly to yourself as you lunge forward, teasing him with a lick that barely graces the surface of his lips.

He grips your neck, squeezing tightly.

“Obedience,” He warns, “If you want me to help you, I need it.”

You relent, swallowing against his grip as you nod.

“Let me hear it,” He grits through his teeth.

“Ye—yes,” You oblige, full-certainty, “Obedience, got it.”

He has a terrible feeling about it, but in an eerily comforting way, he trusted you.

[thetrashqueeeen]

the hunger games is having a resurgence and i’m back on my bullshit so i thought i would post what i always imagined the rest of effie’s life looked like

she stays in the capitol to begin with. katniss was shocked when she saw them kiss, but was hastily shut up by haymitch when she teased him and they never really spoke about effie much after that. effie called haymitch once a week, filling him in on the rebuilding efforts, her rapidly blooming social life, new fashion trends, inter-district moving and the latest in geese rearing tips(i’m a goose apologist here he keeps geese ok). he can tell something is off but he doesn’t realise how much of it is outright lies

effie wakes in the mornings screaming, the pain of whatever torture she was reliving rapidly dissolving as her bedroom sharpened into focus. She rarely leaves her apartment. she watches them rebuild from her window, her heart racing when unexpected bangs and crashes come from construction sites. she gets up later and later each day, sometimes not bothering to get out of bed at all. when she can’t face the nightmares, she goes to the roof of her building and screams off the edge until her voice is hoarse. she tells haymitch that she’s been out partying when she calls. her neighbourhood gets a reputation for being haunted, people say you can still hear the rebels screaming at night. her old friends are mostly dead and the ones that aren’t can’t face the memory of her as much as she can’t face the memory of them. they do try for a while, pretending that everything is fine for as long as they can ignore the frenzied fear right under the surface. the cocoon her life has become feels suffocating but ultimately comforting. she tells herself she’s fine, that this is fine. she doesn’t know why she lies to him when she calls.

she lasts a year. one afternoon, she’s on the phone with haymitch and he’s telling her about katniss and peeta. they’ve just gotten engaged for real and he’s chattering on about them in the way he does when he lets his guard down. his voice is so comforting and so nice and so homely that her heart clenches and her hand grips the phone so tightly the plastic nearly buckles in her grip. she closes her eyes so the only thing entering her brain is his voice. when they get off the phone she throws her favourite things into a suitcase, showers and gets dressed in actual clothes for the first time all week and walks to the train station before she can think about it too hard. the days she spends on the train pass quickly and she steps onto the platform at 12 in the middle of a deluge. she trudges over to victors village, her suitcase clattering over muddy paving stones. she steps into the square of victors village in the pouring rain, looking sullen, tired and thinner than when anyone last saw her. she’s filled with sudden unease, and stands still, not sure she has the nerve to go and bash on his door. she feels much too old for this, much to old to run away from her life without telling anyone, for a man who didn’t even invite her. she’s freezing. peeta notices her and goes to invite her in, but katniss stops him, seeing haymitch has set out to meet her in the square. as he gets closer he notices she looks like shit. she’s not dressed for the rain and her clothes cling to her depressingly, her hair is plastered to her face and she looks about as tired as he feels. she’s stood with her arms crossed tightly, looking like she might cry. he wraps his arms around her cold, sodden frame and it takes her a second, but she wriggles her arms out from between them and wraps her arms around his neck, stepping closer. they might be too old for this, but she can’t deny this is better than whatever she was doing before. he doesn’t kiss her there; it still feels too alien to not hide.

the next morning, effie pulls one of haymitch’s porch chairs to the edge of the veranda and basks in the rising sun, allowing it to warm her all the way through. he comes out with coffee an hour or so later, remembering she missed it in 13. peeta comes over to say hello and effie finally feels her heart slow down.

she gets used to the rhythms of 12. she did worry that too much time had passed for them, but they fall back together as they’re meant to. they bicker and debate through barely suppressed smiles and finally offer the overt support the other has always needed. when haymitch gets up to feed the geese at first light, he leaves her in bed alone and she rolls into the warm spot he leaves. he makes her coffee when he’s done and says it’s because he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t. in reality he just can’t imagine not getting to see her lift her bleary head off the pillow, her blonde hair mused and her eyes flickering open. her hair is one of the things he loves the most. he teases her about her ‘lotions and potions’ but he spends hours running his hands through her hay-coloured waves. she lets it grow down to her shoulders for the first time since her baby hair was chopped off for wigs. she starts growing produce in the back garden. the first time katniss sees her, hair tied back with a patterned scarf, wearing dungarees and chunky boots, she laughs out loud so hard that effie’s in a huff with her for a whole week. she offers an apology only because her wedding simply will not happen without effie planning it.

one day, she gets up as soon as she hears haymitch go out the back door in the morning. she dresses in a baggy t-shirt and bright dungarees (she tries her best not to link the bright dungarees that being her so much joy to grey jumpsuits) and makes coffee for them both. he startles when he finds her at the kitchen table, but she just asks him if he knew she had a degree from capitol university. he didn’t. she tells him she wants to teach children in the school house and expects him to laugh. he does a little bit, but then tells he she’ll be fantastic and admired her as she marched out the door to go and talk to the head teacher. they start her out easy, but the children adore her funny accent, soft hair and bright clothes. she adores them all right back. effie has a gaggle of small children running around her for all of the wedding and katniss looks over her the entire day, smiling at her and haymitch playing with them all. peeta had been slowly beginning to raise the idea of a family, but katniss had been shutting it down forcibly every time. she walks over to peeta at the reception and draws his attention to the large game of tag effie was participating in. as haymitch starts hefting kids over his shoulder shouting ‘the monster’s coming’ katniss tells him she wants their first daughter to be called primrose, not prim- never prim, but primrose. they’ll be great surrogate grandparents, she tells him.

effie adores little Finnick from the moment he’s born. haymitch also adores the baby, but is much less willing to show it. katniss pretends to not notice he still shakes sometimes and he pretends he doesn’t only hold him when he’s sat down. a few years later, finnick is joined by primrose who is just as beautiful as her namesake. as soon as finnick is old enough to go to school, effie insists on teaching his class every year. once primrose is old enough she trades off each year, trying (and failing) to pretend they’re not her favourite. finnick trains as a carpenter and every time effie so much as mentions something that needs fixing in the house finnick is there with a toolbox and his father’s smile. primrose grows up in awe of her big brother, the boy who calls her pipsqueak, shared every glass of orange juice he’s ever drunk with her and copies her maths homework every days she can remember. when he starts his own business, she starts to keep his accounts. it’s the summer she turns 15. she carries on absorbing knowledge like a sponge, retaining every fact, theorem and topic effie gifts her with. effie is the first person she tells when she applies for a scholarship at capitol university. her mother is the first person she tells when she gets it. katniss cries soft, bittersweet tears when primrose tells her she’s going to study medicine at the big university in the capitol. effie hugs her so hard on the platform as she gets the train that she thinks she might snap. katniss is so happy that her children are no longer the children of the last victors. they are the carpenter and the doctor. they have never once chopped their dreams off at the knees just in case they get reaped. katniss and peeta cry at her loss, sure she will only return to visit. finnick and effie do not cry, they know she’s coming back. she comes back with a woman in tow, but she comes back none the less. effie plans her marriage to the woman they come to know as Evie. finnick gets married just a year after they do, and he and his wife have so many children, haymitch jokes they should start a football team.

effie and haymitch don’t get anywhere near as long as they deserve, but they do get 25 good years. haymitch is older than she is, and his body has been through a lot. when she pleads with him to go to the capitol for treatment, he begs her to understand why he can never go back there, and she finds she does. he passes in his own bed, with his wife laying next to him, stroking his hair with quiet reverence. the last thing he hears is her whispering quietly that she loves him more than anything. that she would go through all of it again for just one more day.

when haymitch is gone, effie retires from the school house and spends as much time as she can with katniss, peeta, finnick, primrose and their various broods. she fully expects to die of a broken heart, she considers it only right. she thinks often of the tired, scared woman who stood in the rain waiting for him. she does not die of a broken heart, much to her annoyance. she doesn’t even grow much weaker with age. she keeps the geese until the last one dies and never stops growing food in her garden. one hot day in summer, the whole family go down to the meadow to bask in the heat and watch the children play. ‘this is the life a victor deserves’ she tells katniss as they watch finnick and primrose play with the children. she lays down in the sun to have a nap, resting her head on katniss’s lap. she hears the children screech with laughter, she feels the warm sun on her skin and she passes quickly, her last breathe quiet and unnoticed. haymitch is waiting for her when she gets there.

[schoenpepper]

Just like the last anon I kinda do think that your writing and story for Ruggie SMAU was the one I liked the most. Do you think you can turn this into a fanfic? Like a continuation of what's happening in Ruggie's life after the death of his lover if you don't mind? 👀

When the Time After You Comes

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, angst, major character death (you)

A/N: PSA I opened up a kofi haha it's on my bio. You don't need to tip, but if you like my work and have a dollar or two to spare, I do need to fix my phone :D Not opening comms tho just req if you want me to write anything kkk

Masterlist

Sunlight peeks through cottony white clouds and bathes Ruggie in all its too-bright glory. It’s nauseating, almost. The birds are chirping too loud and every face he encounters in a crowd looks to be smiling. It could be the truth. It could be his tired brain playing tricks on him—one can’t assume that a sleep deprived hyena hybrid would be very alert or active when the bags under his eyes are almost big enough to carry the takeout in his hands and his steps stagger to the point that the single red rose almost tethers over the plastic holding it in place. He’s not a pretty sight.

Oh, but you always are.

He’d asked his grandmother to take the time out of every Sunday to help clean your resting place, so even now—when it’s the first time he’s visited you in over a month—your headstone shines pristine as the day it was mounted. There are wilting flowers that he has to clear away, likely from your old friends in NRC, but he takes a seat on the grass beside you.

He can still see your smile.

“Sorry, I’ve been away forever, I know,” he places the rose atop the headstone, “I just…”

Ruggie sighs.

He ruffles a hand through his hair, fluffing up the brown and blond mess so that the locks stick up with his twitching ears. His tail taps rhythmically against the engraving of your name, as if the fur was gently caressing each and every letter. “I took up another job,” he moves to open the takeout box, “I need to pay off that loan. I know Leona’s not going to ask me ‘bout it anytime soon, and it’s a damn good deal that he’s not even taking any interest, but I can’t just sit by knowing even at your final moments I was still leeching off someone else.” Maybe it was a sick, twisted sort of possessiveness. He chose your coffin and the plot of land, and the flowers and the people at the funeral. Yet he couldn’t bring out a single dime because you would have despised that.

“I’d be dead and gone, but you would still need to live.”

You understood him. You knew he was just about ready to ignore his own wellbeing for you, and you convinced him his money would be better off feeding his family.

He could never win against you.

Ruggie stabs the flimsy plastic fork through the sauteed beef, almost breaking off the tines. It’s too salty. Not nearly as good as when you used to go to that restaurant with him.

“Maybe they skimped on quality control.”

His words hold no merit when he has to wipe the tears running down his chin.

“It’s soupy…”

After visiting, he needs to get to his part time job. Leona pays well, but Ruggie has so many things stacking against him that the world might as well be atop that list. He needs to pay for the money that the lion beastman had shelved out for your funeral. He needs to pay his own bills. He needs to pay to send the smarter kids to school. He needs to pay to keep his grandma on maintenance. In life and in death, the bills are haunting him.

Even the roses he gives every time he visits are expensive.

Red roses.

Not white lilies or whatever flowers the shops outside the cemetery are selling. He has such a different message to convey; he misses you, but most of all, he wants to express that the love he feels for you has not dimmed since the day you left. It still burns with a raging, passionate fire that allows him to keep going, keep moving, keep living and not just slump down in the back of some alley and wait to join you on the other side.

He cleans up the boxes and plastic cutlery.

He stands up, pats the dust off his pants, and looks at your name again.

It’s already carved into his soul.

“Please don’t be mad if I don’t come for another month,” he sighs, “you know I think about you every day. Just, when the finances get a bit better, alright? I’ll buy you a dozen roses in the fancy bouquets.”

For now, he’ll just have to leave you again.

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[jrob64]

Slipping Into Your Heart

A Captain Swan New Year's Story

Happy New Year, everyone! This one-shot was written as part of the Captain Swan Winter Bingo event and checks off the box 'slipping on the ice' on my card.

@kmomof4 pointed out that my last posted story Drummer Boys, Reindeer and Romance actually checked off TWO boxes - reindeer and cuddling by the fire. I'll take it!

Special thanks to @hookedmom for her beta work all year.

Story Summary: After three terrible New Year's Eve dates in a row, Emma Swan decides to spend this one at home by herself. But when the handsome, blue-eyed Grubhub driver who delivers her dinner slips and falls on her icy sidewalk, she feels compelled to take care of him.

Rating: T

Words (Ch. 1/1): 6065

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

*********

“Don’t worry about me, Mary Margaret,” Emma Swan said into the phone, as she entered her bedroom to grab her purse. “I just ordered Grubhub. It should be here any minute.”

“I wish you had come over to eat with us tonight,” her friend responded a bit forlornly.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m looking forward to an evening all to myself,” Emma said. She was a little surprised to realize she was being completely honest. “I’m already in my comfy clothes and I plan on watching the new season of The Great British Baking Show with some hot cocoa and popcorn, later.”

“I hate to think of you being alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather be alone than with any of the guys I had as dates for the last three New Year’s Eves. Those dates were unmitigated disasters, as you well know.”

“Jefferson wasn’t so bad,” Mary Margaret commented.

“Are you kidding? He was crazy as a loon! He showed up wearing a top hat, for crying out loud.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Well, don’t give up on dating, Emma. One of these days, the right guy will come along.”

“That’s what you keep saying. At least one of us has hope.” Just then, the doorbell rang. “I have to go; my food is here. I hope you and David have a great time tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Enjoy your evening, Emma. Happy New Year!”

After ending the call, Emma hurried out to the living room and opened the front door. Standing on her porch was the Grubhub delivery man.

Emma had food delivered on a semi-regular basis and met many delivery people, but most she didn’t really remember after she closed the door. However, this particular delivery person she had never seen before, because if she had, she was quite certain she would have remembered him.

The man standing in front of her was attractively dressed in dark jeans, a button down shirt and black leather jacket. He was about six feet tall and obviously in very good shape. After taking all of this in, her eyes moved to his face. That’s when her breath caught in her throat, because he was, quite literally, breathtaking.

The bluest eyes she had ever seen sparkled beneath long lashes and expressive brows. Attractive sideburns faded into neatly-trimmed scruff on his strong jawline and chin, and his dark hair curled around his adorable, slightly pointed ears. His other perfectly proportioned facial features completed his handsome face.

Emma realized he was smirking and wondered how long she had been staring at him. Giving herself a mental shake, she cleared her throat. “Uh, hi, I, um…I guess you have some food for me?”

“Aye, lass. I have your order right here,” he said, holding up a large plastic bag.

An accent. He had a fucking British accent.

Once again, she had to remind herself to speak. “Thank you. I, uh…oh, hang on a second. Let me get you a tip.”

She took the bag from him and set it on the floor beside her. Digging inside her purse, she pulled out her wallet. “I should give you extra for coming out on New Year’s Eve.”

“That’s not necessary, madam.”

Riffling through her wallet, she pulled out a five dollar bill and two singles. “Then I’ll pay you extra to never call me that name again.”

He laughed as he took the offered bills. “Thanks very much. I hope you have a lovely evening, E.S.,” he said, referring to her initials from the order information.

“You, too,” she answered, picking up the food.

He gave her a grin, then turned and went down the porch steps. Instead of closing the door right away, she watched him walking down the sidewalk to his car. Just as she began to swing the door shut, she heard him let out a yelp and looked out to see his feet fly out from under him. His arms flailed as he attempted to keep his balance, but it didn’t help. He fell hard on his back, his head thankfully missing the concrete and landing in her snow-covered yard.

“Oh my gosh!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the bag of food, flying out the door, and rushing quickly but carefully to where he lay moaning. “Are you alright?”

He sat up slowly, brushing the snow out of his hair with one hand, while the other rubbed the small of his back. “I think so?” he answered unconvincingly.

“I’m so sorry! I shoveled the snow so the sidewalk would be clear for you, but didn’t notice the ice underneath.”

“It’s okay, lass,” he said, though the grimace on his face told a different story.

“Here, let me help you up.” She offered him her hand and began tugging. He had just gotten his feet under him, when she slipped and fell on top of him.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned.

“I am very, very sorry,” Emma apologized, then dropped her head to his sternum and burst into laughter. She was relieved to hear his answering chuckle.

When she got herself under control, she managed to get to her feet and looked down at him. He lay there smiling up at her. “I better give you a bigger tip to help cover your medical bills,” she quipped.

He rolled over and got to his knees, then cautiously pushed himself to his feet. Standing in the snow beside the slick sidewalk, he tilted his head from side to side, both hands on his back. “That won’t be necessary, Love. I appear to be in one piece.”

“At least let me get you an ice pack to put on your back while you drive to your next delivery.”

“You don’t need to go to that trouble, either. You are my last stop of the night.”

“I hope you’re not too sore for your New Year’s plans tonight .”

He scratched behind his ear. “That’s not a problem. I don’t have any.”

“You’re kidding!” Emma blurted out before thinking.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I just…you…honestly, you don’t look like someone who would have trouble finding a date.”

“Neither do you, lass.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing a coat. “Look, I feel really bad for causing you to fall. Won’t you please come in so I can get you an ice pack and ibuprofen?”

He hesitated, his hands moving to his lower back again. “Perhaps that would be a good idea, if you truly don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t make the offer if I did. Come on in.” She turned and led the way through the snow to her house, picking up the bag of food once she was inside the door.

The delivery man entered behind her, closed the door, stomped his boots off on the mat, and stood there a bit awkwardly.

Emma set the bag on the coffee table and turned to look at him. “I haven’t even told you my name yet. I’m Emma Swan.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I’ll be right back,” Emma said. She went into the kitchen, took an ice pack out of the freezer, and wrapped it in a tea towel. Then she got a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabbed the ibuprofen off of the counter. That’s when she had second thoughts about her decision to ask him in. Sure, he was incredibly handsome and seemed very nice, but criminals could be handsome and deceptively nice, too.

Peeking around the corner of the door frame, she saw that he was still standing on the small rug in the entryway, shifting from foot to foot. Surely, if he were inclined to commit some sort of crime, he would have taken advantage of her being out of sight.

She walked back into the living room. “You can take off your coat and sit down, if you like.”

“I don’t want to drip water across your floor.”

Emma pointed to the shoes on her feet. “If I didn’t worry about it, you shouldn’t either. But if it makes you feel better, you can take off your boots and leave them on the rug.”

He toed them off, then unzipped his coat and removed it.

She set the water bottle and ibuprofen on the table beside the sack of food and sat down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit on the other end. Once he did, he shook out a couple of pills from the bottle and took a swig of water. Then she handed him the ice, which he placed on his lower back.

After sitting in silence for several moments, she leaned forward and pulled the food towards herself. “I ordered enough food for several people because I was feeling self-indulgent. Are you hungry?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to…”

“You didn’t ask me, I offered. I’ll go get a couple of plates.”

As they ate, they made small talk about mundane subjects.

“Is the ice helping your back?” she asked.

“Aye, a bit. I think I just twisted it when I fell.”

“I’m very glad you didn’t hit your head on the concrete.”

“Me, too.”

“If the ice pack isn’t cold anymore, I’ll get you another one. I have plenty. I have to keep a lot on hand because of my job.”

“Are you a professional kickboxer or something?”

She laughed. “No, but close. I’m a bail bondsperson who doubles as a bounty hunter, when necessary.”

He whistled lowly. “You must be a tough lass. How did you get into that particular profession?”

“It’s a long story.”

“My schedule is pretty clear, but if you aren’t comfortable talking about it with a total stranger…”

“You stopped being a total stranger when you told me your name,” she pointed out.

He grinned and she felt her insides melting at how it made his already handsome face even more gorgeous.

“I’ll tell you on one condition - that you promise not to pity me.”

“Ah, so it’s a story of tragedy.”

She shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“In that case, I promise not to pity you. However, if you want, I can reciprocate by sharing my own tragic story.”

“What better way to spend New Year’s Eve than depressing the person we just met?”

“Indeed,” he said, grinning again.

Emma took a deep breath and began telling her story. “I grew up without a family. I don’t know why my parents gave me up at birth, but they did. I was placed in foster care as an infant and stayed with one family for three years. Just as they were initiating adoption proceedings, they found out they were having a baby of ‘their own’.” She framed the last two words with air quotes. “So they decided they didn’t need to adopt me. I was put back into the system and by the time I was seven, I was labeled emotionally troubled.”

“It’s no wonder, after being taken from the only home you ever knew,” Killian commented.

“I know, right? Anyway, I was moved to different foster homes pretty frequently and was never considered for adoption again. I ran away from my last placement when I was sixteen and got caught shoplifting a couple of months later. They sent me to a juvenile detention center that specialized in vocational training. When I took one of those assessments that’s supposed to match your interests to a career, it said I was most suited for a job in law enforcement, which I thought was absolutely ridiculous.”

She paused to take a drink of her soda. “Then this really tough counselor named Cleo took an interest in me and told me I was wasting my potential by being angry at the world. She trained me to be a bail bondsperson and bounty hunter because I flat out refused to go to the police academy.”

“Do you like the job?” he asked.

“It pays the bills. Most of the time, it’s pretty boring, but once in a while I have to do a stakeout or set a honey trap.”

“Honey trap?”

“Set up a fake date with a skip and dress sexy. Once I gain their trust, or their lust, I cuff them and take them in.”

“Ah, I see.”

She dug her fork into the container of pork lo mein and put it in her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she continued. “Sometimes I wish I went to the academy, instead of being so damn stubborn.”

“It’s not too late,” Killian observed. “Perhaps you could look into it.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ve been thinking about it more often lately.” After taking another swig of pop, she asked, “So what’s your tragic backstory?”

“I moved to America with my mother and brother nine years ago, when I was seventeen. Mum was battling cancer and we found a treatment center that seemed more promising than any place in England.”

“Did the treatment work?”

“In a manner of speaking. It gave us more time with her than we would have had, if we hadn’t moved. Her prognosis was less than two years in England. She outlived that by nearly seven years. We had to be sponsored by her cousin in New Hampshire, since her medical visa expired.”

“Did she pass away recently?”

“Aye. Five months ago.”

Emma reached over to place her hand on top of his. “I’m sorry, Killian.”

He sighed, then tried to force a smile onto his face. “Thank you. My brother, Liam, stayed here for a couple of months after her passing, but then he moved back to England. I remained behind because there are still some things I need to do to settle Mum’s affairs.”

“Will you go back home after you do that?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m not sure I think of England as home anymore. Liam is there, but he has a girlfriend, Elsa, whom he met online three years ago. They’ve visited back and forth with each other several times. They’re very serious and are discussing moving in together, so even if I move back, I’ll have to find a flat and a job. I already have a place to live here. We’ve been renting a house in the suburbs since we came over. The landlord is a very kind man who is like family now.”

“Do you have a job? Besides driving for Grubhub, I mean?”

“I work down at the docks, helping to maintain the piers.”

“Do you like it?”

“Aye. I’ve always loved being around the water.”

They both continued eating, before Emma asked another question. “You, um…you didn’t mention a father.”

“He’s not worth mentioning. I was six when he left, so I don’t remember much about him or what happened. Liam was ten and he is pretty sure Da left Mum for someone else. He never sent us any money or attempted to see us.”

“Oh, wow. So your mom had to raise you by herself?”

“Aye, she did, but she never complained or spoke even one harsh word against our father. She said she couldn’t be angry or bitter toward him because he gave her the two greatest treasures of her life.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person.”

“That she was. She deserved so much better.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, thinking about everything they just shared with each other as they finished eating.

Finally, Killian broke the silence. “So tell me, lass. How does it happen that you are home by yourself on New Year’s Eve?”

“I’ve had horrible dates the last three years and I didn’t want to increase the streak to four.”

“Do you mind me asking what made them so horrible?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Three years ago, I was with a guy I had been dating for several months. I thought things were going well all that time. Just before midnight, he proceeded to break up with me, saying he wasn’t happy and felt trapped in our relationship. So while everyone was kissing once the new year arrived, I was by myself, crying in a corner of the room.”

“What a complete arse,” Killian commented, an angry edge to his voice.

“Yeah, he really was. I didn’t date again for nearly a year, until my friend Mary Margaret set me up with the owner of a furniture store where she bought a bedroom set. New Year’s Eve was our third date. He was polite, easy to talk to, and wasn’t aggressive. He never even tried to hold my hand or give me a kiss on our dates.”

“Sounds like a perfect gentleman who was letting you set the pace.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

“What happened?”

“About halfway through the night, he disappeared. We were all at our friend Regina’s house, and when I started asking people if they had seen him, everyone said they hadn’t. It was a pretty big party with close to forty people, so it took me a while to finally realize he wasn’t anywhere to be found downstairs. That’s when I decided to check the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you found him with another woman.”

“Well, I did find him…but not with another woman.”

“Who was he…” Killian began, then realization set in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. That explained why he wasn’t in any hurry to show me any kind of affection.”

“Wow,” he commented simply. “I wonder why he agreed to go out with a woman in the first place, if that was his inclination.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out. I still haven’t let Mary Margaret hear the end of it, and if she even hints that she wants to set me up with someone…”

“I’m sure you shut that down very quickly.”

“Yep. Which brings us to last year.”

“I can’t imagine it being much worse than the previous two.”

“It wasn’t, but it was still bad. This time, my friend Ruby set me up with a guy she knew. I should have known better, because Ruby is a bit off-the-wall. I mean, I love her, but she is very quirky. Anyway, this guy shows up wearing an orange top hat.”

Killian started laughing. “Did he have the matching tuxedo? Perhaps he was a big fan of Dumb and Dumber.”

Emma joined in the laughter. “No orange tux, but he definitely would have fit right into that movie. We were at Regina’s again and he found out she had a sewing machine and a basket full of material. He spent a couple of hours sewing the scraps together to make this sort of shawl thing. Then he brought it out to the party and performed some sort of dance with it, waving it around like he was a bullfighter. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I take it you won’t let Ruby try to set you up, either?”

“You got that right.”

“I can certainly understand your reluctance to have another New Year’s date.”

“Which is why I’m home by myself, indulging in copious amounts of Chinese food and binge watching The Great British Baking Show.”

“Is the new season out?” he asked with a note of excitement.

“Yeah, it’s been out for a couple of months but I don’t like to watch it one episode at a time. I hate having to wait a whole week.”

“I can understand that.”

“You like that show, too, I take it?”

“Aye. It was one of Mum’s favorites and we always watched it together. I won’t get to see it this year, though. I’ve been canceling some subscriptions, and Netflix was one of them.”

Emma opened her mouth to tell him he could stay and watch it with her, but before the words came out, she had second thoughts. She didn’t want to give him the idea that she was coming on to him.

As she watched him putting another spoonful of fried rice on his plate, she began debating with herself. The poor guy hurt his back because of her negligence, but he didn’t have any hard feelings. Having him for company was better than spending the entire evening alone, and she was truly enjoying their conversation. Plus, she told him she would be watching one of his favorite shows, so not inviting him to stay and watch it with her would be rude. Wouldn’t it?

“Swan?” His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, uh…I was thinking that you could, um…that is, if you want to, you could watch the show with me.”

“I wasn’t fishing for an invitation…”

“I know, and please don’t feel pressured to accept. I just wanted you to know that you’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you, Emma, but I don’t want to infringe on your evening.”

“I was looking forward to having a relaxing evening at home instead of dressing up and going out, but I’m okay with you being here. As long as you don’t mind seeing me in my oldest, comfiest sweats.”

“You still look quite fetching,” he grinned. “In all honesty, I was dreading spending the evening by myself, especially since it’s my first New Year’s Eve without Mum. Perhaps slipping on the ice was a fortunate turn of events.”

“Your back may not agree,” she quipped. Plucking the remote from the coffee table, she powered on the television and brought up Netflix. “Make yourself comfortable. My plan was to watch the first three episodes, then make popcorn and hot chocolate. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, following her lead and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Oh, wait. Before we start, I’ll get you a fresh ice pack,” she said, hopping up and holding out her hand for the melted one.

When she came back, he took the new one from her, commenting, “You’re a very good caregiver, Swan.”

“Thanks, Jones,” she replied with a smirk.

“Apologies. I’m used to referring to my coworkers by their last names.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I have no issue with being called by my last name.”

“It fits you.”

“Thanks. I picked it myself.”

He scrutinized her with a raised brow. “Truly?”

“Yeah. After I ran away, I didn’t want to be tracked down by my last name, so I started calling myself Emma Swan. I had it changed officially once I was older and had enough money to pay for it.”

“How did you come up with Swan?”

“From the Ugly Duckling. I always liked that story and could relate to that poor little duck nobody wanted.”

 “But it transforms into a lovely swan, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy I didn’t have to keep the name CPS came up with for me. It never felt right to me.” While she was talking, she was flipping through the options on Netflix to find The Great British Baking Show. Clicking on it, she said, “I haven’t missed a single season of this show. The contestants always astound me with the stuff they bake.”

“Aye, me as well. Are you a baker yourself, Swan?”

“Pfft, far from it. I tried to make a cake once and failed miserably. And it was from a box! Apparently it’s important to read the directions. Who knew?”

Killian laughed. “Perhaps you’ll try again someday.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to watch twelve people do amazing things and then get kicked off one by one because what they spent hours baking wasn’t perfect.”

“Do you ever choose a favorite contestant?”

“Every time.”

“Is it ever the eventual champion?”

“Never.”

He laughed again. “Same with me. Mum, on the other hand, had a knack for selecting the person who either won it or at least got into the top three.”

“She must have known a lot about baking.”

“Not really. I think she was just lucky.”

Emma clicked on the episode and they settled in to watch, laughing at the co-hosts and making bets on who would be Star Baker and who would be the first to leave the tent. When Killian was right on both counts, he thrust his arms up in the air, exclaiming, “Yes!”

“You must have inherited your mother’s knack,” Emma observed.

“Perhaps she was whispering in my ear,” he said, a slightly sad smile on his face.

She reached over to pat him on the knee. “She probably was.”

Before they started the next episode, Killian asked, “Would you please direct me to your bathroom?”

“Sure.” She turned in her seat and pointed behind them. “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing and stretching.

As he twisted at the waist, Emma asked, “How does your back feel?”

“Not bad. I think the ice packs and ibuprofen helped.”

“Good.”

She watched him leave the room, then took the ice pack to return it to the freezer. After that, she cleared off the coffee table, putting the leftover food in the refrigerator and the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

When she returned, Killian was once again sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone. He didn’t seem to notice that she re-entered the room, so she took a few moments to study him. Now that she had a chance to get to know him a little, she found him even more attractive, because she now knew there was more to him than just a pretty face.

Finally resuming her seat, she picked up the remote again. “Ready for the next episode?”

“Uh, give me a second. I just got a message from Liam. It’s already past midnight there and he’s wishing me a Happy New Year.”

“You can call him if you like. I don’t mind waiting.”

He turned his startling blue eyes on her. “Thanks, I think I will.”

Standing from the couch, she said, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I don’t mind if you overhear our conversation. Actually, I think I’ll Facetime him instead. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen his ugly mug.”

She giggled. “Spoken like a true brother.”

Grinning, he put the call through. While he was greeting his brother, Emma busied herself with checking her own phone, responding to messages from Mary Margaret and Ruby, received while she was watching the show.

“Say hi to my brother, Swan.”

Glancing up, she was surprised to see him holding his phone up to her. A man with similar facial features as Killian, but with lighter, curly hair was on the screen, smiling at her. “Hello, lass.”

“Oh, uh…hi. Happy New Year,” she responded.

“The same to you. I’m sorry you have to spend it with my git of a brother.”

“Hey!” Killian protested.

Emma laughed. “Inviting him to watch The Great British Baking Show with me was the least I could do after he fell on the ice on my sidewalk. He was delivering my dinner.”

“He said he fell and you took pity on him. I figured it was because of his own clumsiness.”

A female voice came through the phone. “Liam, stop teasing Killian. He was sweet enough to call and you’re being mean.”

The face of the woman speaking came into view on the screen. Emma saw she was beautiful, with almost white-blonde hair and large, expressive eyes. “Hello. You must be Elsa.”

“Yes, that’s me. Forgive me, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Emma Swan. It’s very nice meeting you, and you too, Liam.”

“The pleasure is ours, lass,” Liam said. “All kidding aside, we’re very happy Killian isn’t alone this evening. I was afraid he was sitting around the house moping.”

“He’s been very good company,” she assured him.

Killian scooted closer to her so they could both be on the screen. “We should let you get back to your party,” he said.

“Yes, I’m sure Anna will come looking for us soon,” Elsa said.

“Thank you for calling, little brother,” Liam added. “We miss you.”

“I miss you, too, but I do not miss being called little brother. I’m younger.”

“And two inches shorter, so technically you’re little, also.”

Before Killian could reply, Elsa cut in, “That’s enough, boys. Emma will think all the two of you ever do is argue.”

Emma laughed as Killian said, “Happy New Year, you two. I’ll talk to you again soon. Love you.”

“We love you, too. I hope this new year will be a better one for both of us,” Liam responded.

Killian glanced at Emma. “I think it’s getting off to a pretty good start.”

She listened to them finish their goodbyes, a little surprised that his statement didn’t make her uncomfortable. In fact, she felt the exact same way.

*********

They were halfway through the sixth episode when Killian checked the time on his phone. “It’s eleven fifty seven,” he announced.

“Oh!” Emma said, pushing her empty mug and popcorn bowl out of the way to find the remote. “Would you like to watch the ball drop?”

“Sure.”

She quickly exited Netflix and searched for a channel covering the party in Times Square. As they watched the raucous scene, she commented, “I would hate to be in that crowd.”

“Aye, me too. I much prefer being in a quiet place.”

The ball began to drop. When it reached ten seconds to go, the two of them counted along with the mob of people on screen. It hit zero, lighting up the year ‘2024’, then it switched to another camera showing people in the crowd sharing kisses.

Emma glanced at Killian out of the corner of her eye. At the same time, he took his eyes off the television and looked at her. “Happy New Year, Emma,” he said quietly.

“Happy New Year, Killian.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips, lingering for a second before traveling back up again. Then, without conscious thought, she leaned toward him.

The touch of his lips against hers sent a shiver of delight through her. The kiss was brief and left her wanting more, but she pulled back before she could act on that impulse.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, Killian broke the silence. “Um…perhaps we should finish the episode, then I need to be going.”

“Oh, right,” she said, bringing Netflix back up. They watched the remainder of the show without talking, both preoccupied with thoughts of the kiss they just shared.

As soon as the episode ended, Killian stood up. Emma flicked off the television and stood, too, shifting back and forth on her stockinged feet.

He cleared his throat, scratching behind his ear. “I, um…I thoroughly enjoyed this evening - except for falling on my arse, that is.”

She chuckled. “I apologize again, but I have to say I’m not sorry it led to you keeping me company tonight. It was nice having someone to watch the show with and discuss it.”

“Thank you for inviting me to join you. It brought back good memories of watching it with my mother. I needed that tonight.”

They stood looking at each other for several more moments, then he moved to put on his boots and coat. She walked to the door, ready to open it for him. “Be careful going home. There will probably be some people driving who shouldn’t be on the road.”

He zipped his coat and tugged a blue knit cap out of the pocket, pulling it on over his dark hair. Emma found the addition utterly adorable.

“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way,” he said, stepping toward the door.

“Killian…” she began, then paused. He looked at her expectantly. “I, um, I hate to think that you won’t get to see the rest of the new season. Would you like to come over sometime to watch the rest of the episodes?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “I would like that very much.”

*********

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out with Mary Margaret and David this evening, Love?” Killian called from the living room.

“I’m sure,” Emma said, coming through the doorway dressed in her oldest sweats, the same ones she wore exactly one year ago. Sitting down beside him on the sofa, she added, “I’m content staying home, doing the same thing I did last year.”

“You mean practically maiming the Grubhub delivery man on your icy sidewalk?”

“Why not? It worked out pretty well for me last year,” she teased, snuggling into his side.

“It’s unfortunate for you I salted the sidewalk, then,” he responded.

“That’s okay. One former delivery driver is more than enough for me.”

“More than enough, huh?” he smirked. “Are you saying I give you more than you can handle, Swan?”

Elbowing him lightly in the side, she said, “Keep it up and when your big brother calls, I’m going to tell him you’re being insufferable.”

“Older brother,” he automatically corrected. “And don’t you dare. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Then behave,” she said, reaching for her phone on the coffee table. “I’m gonna put in our order. Same as last year?

“Works for me, but this time, I call dibs on the pork lo mein.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Nobody messes with my pork lo mein and lives to tell about it.”

“Have they been teaching you intimidation techniques at the police academy?” he asked, trying to contain his mirth.

She glared at him a few seconds longer, then turned her attention back to her phone, saying, “I’ll put in a double order for it.”

“Grand idea, Love. I’m going to change into my own comfy clothes.”

She watched him leave the room, headed toward their bedroom, then finished placing their food order. While she was waiting for him to come back, she reflected on the past year. It was, by far, the best year of her life. She met Killian, fell in love and eventually asked him to move in with her. For their eight month anniversary, he took her on a trip to England to meet his brother and future sister-in-law. He also encouraged her to pursue her dream of enrolling in the police academy, where she was set to graduate in a little over a month.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Emma blinked and looked up at her love, amazed as always that he was hers.

Grabbing his hand in both of hers, she pulled him down beside her and climbed into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I was just thinking about everything that happened since last New Year’s Eve.”

He tightened his grip on her, running his nose along the slope of her throat. “A lot has happened, all of it good,” he murmured.

“Well, most of it. There was the day I got a flat tire and the time you came down with the flu.”

His low chuckle sounded in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “I was able to show you how to change the tire, and you nursed me back to health, so it all turned out good in the end.”

Placing her hands on both sides of his face, she put enough distance between them to be able to look into his brilliant blue eyes. “You made it the best year ever. I love you, Killian.”

“I believe we made it the best year ever, Sweetheart,” he corrected. “I love you, Emma.”

They shared a long, languid kiss that turned into many more, until they were interrupted by the food delivery. As they ate, they began watching the brand new season of The Great British Baking Show, pausing it to call Elsa and Liam at seven o’clock, which was midnight in the UK. Five hours later, they paused it again to ring in the New Year themselves. This time, their kiss wasn’t tentative like the year before, and they continued the celebration in their bedroom.

As they lay together, sated and blissfully happy, Emma whispered, “I wonder what 2025 has in store for us? It surely can’t be better than 2024.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Killian answered, thinking about the contents of a small, black velvet box, hidden in a pair of seldom worn boots, tucked away in the back corner of the closet.

*********

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[clawsdevour]

you still do?

wc: 1.1k content warning: reader x konoha akinori, implied crush, reader is drunk, time-skip, fluff, not proofread

note: written for that one request!!!

ʚ˚𓂃˖

Fuck.. it’s been only two days since I seen him and the team at reunion, but why is Konoha the only one running around my mind?

Pondering to yourself in frustration, your eyebrows are furrowed together trying to clear your mind. You’re laying in your sheets late at night, head filled with thoughts of his new look at the little reunion. He’s so much taller than before, with a more rich and thoughtful personality. Not to mention more attractive now than in highschool.

Back when you managed Fukurodani’s boys volleyball team, it was somewhat obvious that you had a small, or perhaps obvious crush, on their team’s wing spiker. You missed his short dirty blonde hair and narrow eyes whenever they peered back into yours. Something about him drew him to you.

Back at school, you couldn’t tell if you were a bit delusional, or if he genuinely had this liking to you. He’s more sweet and considerate towards you than the other manager, but that could be because he’s known her longer than you. His eyes would often soften when you see him staring at you while your heart flutters from behind the scenes. 

Biting your lip, you know you’re still not over him. Seeing him even for a little bit drove your mind crazy. I need to get out. Making this last minute decision as you fling your shirt off to put on a bra. Sliding down your pj pants as you head over to your closet.

You were gonna go clubbing. It’s one of the greatest places to get your intoxicated thoughts out by just dancing it off to some great music. Especially for meeting new people.

Throwing on a random cute dress you found off of a hanger in your closet, quickly you sat down at your petite vanity to apply some simple makeup to go along with your look. A spritz of perfume wafted through the air as you spun around in a small circle to collect the particles before you snatched your purse and keys to head out.

The lively music’s pulsating the whole building the moment you enter. It’s dark but lit up by colorful lasers, the dj set and people’s phone screens. To your surprise you saw a few familiar faces partying that night. Bokuto, Fukurodani’s captain, on the dance floor.. And Kuroo, his friend that graduated from Nekoma, hyping him up. 

You giggled behind a slight smile from the scene as you headed towards the counter for a few drinks before joining the crowd. Sitting down, the cold plastic seat sends you small tingles of shock as you adjust to the seat’s grooves. Mind still in the gutter, you tell the bartender to make you the strongest drink they have for you to sip on, if you even were in the mood to just sit and sip.

As the bartender’s doing all the cool tips and tricks concocting your drink. Measuring out the contents of alcohol with the silver double sided jigger to pour into the cocktail shaker. Swishing your head back, your eyes linger on the crowd trying to see if you’re able to spot out another familiar face. No one you knew appeared in your field of vision.

Until you saw in the back of the dimly lit corner.

It was that dirty blond with narrow eyes from Fukurodani. Konoha. What is he doing here? I’m at the only place I’m able to shake him out of my mind and he’s here! Cocking your head back towards your masterpiece of a drink, thanking the waiter before snatching it off the counter. 

You chugged it down. Your barely visible adam's apple moving up and down as you threw back all of the liquid that felt as if it was burning your nose. Placing the glass back down after hitting the chilled ice cubes against your front teeth before taking one deep breath in and out to sigh one last time before you hopped off the stool.

Your heels clicked and clacked with every step you took downwards. Your head started to fog up due to the strong liquor. The music starting to turn one with the atmosphere while your footsteps echoed in the back. You didn’t know where your body was taking you to but you had to keep up with the flow, leading you down to the dingy dark corner.

Before you got there, a girl beat you to him. She was conscious and her body language yearned to have him in her grasp. The closer you got, the more furious you grew, the anger fueling up in flames. You could tell that Konoha’s not having a fun time. He’s shaking his head in a timid way trying to brush her hand off of him while taking a few steps back.

“Konoha!!” you aggressively shouted, drawing attention to yourself. Your face is warming up to the liquor, feeling your body get all cozy as you vibed with the air in the atmosphere. The girl’s eyebrows gather in disgust as she looked you up and down. Konoha’s just relieved to see someone he knew, slightly surprised to see that you’d be the one he sees first.

“H-Hey babe!” Konoha’s rushing to your side, distancing himself from the woman. His hand is scratching the back of his neck in disguised fear, the other around on the side of your waist to draw you in closer. 

“Who are you and why are you talking to Konoha?” Konoha’s glancing at your face. He noticed how slurred your speech was while your face flushed a bright red hue under the colored lights. You’re staggering, pointing a finger at her while his big hand kept you stable.

“Don’t, wait… don’t talk to my Konoha!” shouting at her in fury. Konoha’s eyes lit up when he heard you call him yours. Mouth slightly parted to say something when you stumbled down.

Pulling you away from the girl while she stormed off in anger, he’s walking you to the nearest available table. Your head is throbbing and you can’t help but feel unstable and absolutely drunk. Foggy eyes started to focus when you tilted your head in his direction after sitting you down. 

Konoha’s worry beady eyes trace marks into your skin while your half lidded eyes groggily stare back. He’s shifting in worry seeing how drunk you’ve became, cursing under his breath before taking one deep breath to calm himself down.

His lips part once more, you can see him mouthing out words amongst the inaudible noise. You see that he’s saying words you had to squint out.

“I think I still like you.”

masterlist here

[cookie-crumblr]

F!Reader x Therapist Yan OC Sheila~

Tigers in the Garden🐅✨

Her Info: 📋❤️‍🔥

Was a Drabble i swear… Part 1~

Next Part—>

!MINORS DNI!

CW: F!Reader, Reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, use of strap on reader, fxf, strap in readers v, reader SH(Before it starts, not described, just mentioned and implied in convo), sub and slightly bratty reader, reader is a stoner, reader wears makeup, imbalanced power, DUB-CON(coercion and blackmail), reader has hair(not described), nipple play(a little), choking, not proofread, rough sex, rough with reader in general, spanking, lemme no if i missed any! :3 names for reader(brat, slut, whore),smut with barely any plot in this part, power imbalance

“Okay,” You shrug. “Whatever, i guess” The ‘good’ people in white coats guide you down a sea-green, sterile-smelling corridor.

Youre finally being let out of your mandatory three day stay at a mental health facility(more like prison). They’re letting you out on the condition you see the therapist they’ve set you up with.

Sheila Reichsgraf.

You’ve got nothing but the clothes you came in with in a plastic baggie with your phone, wallet, and keys. They gave you clothes that don’t quite fit or look good on you, and a piece of paper saying where you are to go tomorrow. For tonight? some well earned weed and munchies to go with. Maybe some masturbating too, you’ll see where the night takes you.

Now sitting in front of this woman(more like tigress), you slouch down into your seat. Her gaze is unreadable but scrutinizing.

“I’ve, of course, been informed of your admittance to Fir’s Rest. Would you like to talk about it?” She asks, while typing on her computer.

“Nope.” You sag further into the black velvet chaise lounge.

“I’d like you to talk about it.” She slides her keyboard out of her way, and folds her hands in front of herself.

“I’d like you to kindly shut it about that actually.” You snap.

“Take off your clothes.” Her voice is stern, but no louder than before.

“Ex-fucking-Scuse you!?” you exclaim, what the fuck is she on!? like sure you think she’s way too hot for this plane of existence but like ???

“Take off your clothes.” she interrupts your thoughts, repeating the same thing over again in the same tone. “Unless…” She continues before you can pipe back, “You’d rather go back to the facility.” she takes something out of a black leather padfolio before closing it, and sighing heavily.

You roll your eyes. “What, so you’re like, coercing me now? what’s next ?? threaten to tell my mother?” that would be terrible cause after all you’ve been through for that woman you at the very least want your share of the inheritance.

“Exactly that, darling~” As she walks toward you, you watch her in shock, or disbelief. She extends perfectly manicured, dark skin hands toward you, with a fan of polaroid photos of you in a mental hospital, butt hanging out of your polka dot gown, grippy socks and a trailing IV and all.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re sick! You’re a lunatic! If you even think that i’ll—” your voice is completely halted when she roughly grabs you by the cheeks and squeezes your lips into a fish mouth. You scowl up at her deeply. You think about spitting on her, but think better of it. thankfully.

“Listen to you, a brat like you needs to be put in her place.” A smile spreads across her cheeks, dimples pop out near the angled tips of it going into her cheeks.

She really is hot.

You swallow.

She roughly lets go of your face as you pull away. your hair muses and gets in your eyes but you don’t blink and lose eye contact for a second.

Sheila grips your arms to pull you up out of your chair, and throws you hands first into her desk.

Stunned by how fast this all happened, you remain there long enough for her to wrap herself around you.

You let out a cute little whimper as she pinches your nipple through the fabric. You weren’t expecting it, and the shock that got sent directly to your clit.

“Such a good whore under there, already whimpering for me~?” You hear the smile in her voice, as her head buries into the crook of your neck. It tickles and you jump, your ass slamming back into her body. she clings onto you tighter, to hold you still. Somehow you feel like she completely envelops you.

Your core is already hot as she quickly and roughly removes your clothes, feeling up your skin and grabbing everywhere she can as soon as it’s bare. From your hips, to your belly, down and even back up to your ribs, down your arms. Everywhere on you that enters the light, she roams. Her mouth isn’t far behind, kissing and biting you, devouring you fully.

Sheila spreads your legs, one at a time, and puts your hands back on her desk so that your leaning forward. You’re too out of breath and dumb right now to even think of moving. Your back is arched and your ass wiggles slightly on its own, beckoning her and her throbbing clit. She’s equally out of breath, dripping just like you are, her heels click on the wood as she removes her clothes, staring at your swaying backside all the while.

“You’re going to take all of this, aren’t you slut?” Her big beautiful strap on flings out to attention. Your head falls to one shoulder so that you can glimpse it… You swallow harder than before, your brows peaking as you start to imagine the stretch around that thing. You nod.

You don’t have to imagine for long before she’s grabbing your neck to pull your body up against hers. Hard nipples poke your back and you shiver. Delicious, you want those in your mouth, don’t you? “I won’t go easy.” She coos menacingly, and squeezes your throat gently until you see stars.

She rubs her cock against your entrance, prodding, and poking, slowly diving into your needy, wet hole. You’re already stretching around just her head and feeling so good at the same time, whining and whimpering until, she plunges it inside you. All at once and you bite your lip, unable to breathe anymore.

“FUCK!” You puff out the last of your air with one word.

“Soon you’ll be screaming Doctor…” She whispers into your ear before pulling away as far back as her arm will allow, so that she has a better vantage point. Watching your ass as she pulls her strap out, that looks like it’s as far in as your tail bone or further, her clit sends ripples of pleasure throughout her body.

She licks her lips and slams into you this time. She’ll have to savor watching it slowly get swallowed up by your tight pussy later. This time she pulls out faster and pushes back in just as fast. She sets a pace that’s both brutal and blissful to you, as the pain lessens the pleasure grows, and it grows exponentially.

Her nails dig into your throat and her other comes around to tweak your clit, it makes you start to shake and twitch, your arms wobble trying to keep you upright.. Her own orgasm building as the strap rubs her back with every thrust, she moans behind you, you tighten around her, and open yourself up more to take her better.

“D-Doctor!” You practically beg, not knowing what for; more, less, faster, slower! But she was right, and you yell, “Doctor!!” again. She gets faster and faster, your butt is hot from the force of her slamming into you. the slapping of skin against wet skin, combined with stuffed groans and more hoarse “Doctor”’s fill the office.

Blackened tears streak down your face as you cum around her cock you shake and convulse barley able to hold yourself up against the low desk, even with the help of her hand still wrapped around your throat. She keeps pounding you. Ruthlessly. Through your orgasm and straight into your crashing next two. “Who would have thought you’d be such a good girl under that attitude.”

Suddenly she pushes in deeper than ever before, stealing even more air from the depths of your soul. You swear you can feel her hitting there too. “Take all of me,” her hand runs down your hair and back. Then she slowly pulls out, letting you really feel the thick vein that twists around her length. You shudder around her, and whimpers keep falling freely from your open, puffy lips, you’re spent.

She plays with your hair gently, before spanking your already warm ass. You jump, “Wha-!” Your too dumb to even form one little word. Her hand rounds where she just slapped and you think she’ll slap you in the same spot when she pulls away, you brace for impact. You yelp! when she slaps your raw pussy instead.

The phone rings…

You don’t see her look at the caller ID, but you hear her sigh.

“This session is over. Come back next week.” She completely pulls away leaving you cold on the outside but still burning for her on the inside.

“What about—?” You start, before she interrupts.

“Session’s over.” she says while buttoning her shirt, then pats down her skirt, before turning back to you, and winks, “Like I said, come back next week” Your heart pounds. Can you even wait a week?

What are you even thinking right now!?

…

You glance back at her. She licks her lips.

She’s on the edge of her desk and watching you get dressed, you walk out the door with a slight limp and her eyes, practically ticklish on your back.

You have to catch your breath outside the thick wood doors.

Sheila groans before picking up the receiver.

“Hello, mommy dearest…” She makes her voice higher pitched and ready to please.

[hannahssimblr]

The marquee holds extraordinary heat. It reminds me of the family holiday I took with Maureen and her kids to Florida, that phenomenal, stupefying heat, and the air like soup. I felt too tired to do anything but swim around in the resort pool for those two weeks, but that was the whole point. We went to laze about. I bobbed on a big yellow pool floater while the others slept on the deck chairs until the sun dipped over Daytona Beach and it was bearable enough to move again. 

Here, light permeates through polyester walls, diffusing a blue hue, and the air is constrictive like a panic attack. It smells too, of hot plastic and grass, and all the people who didn’t queue for the showers this morning. 

“It’s gross in here,” I comment, bellowing already because every voice in the whole marquee bounces off the walls and raises the volume to incomparable levels. 

Joe laughs and makes fun of my accent for Kasper’s benefit. “Gross, man, totally freakin’ gross, my dude.”

“Do you want to stay or go?”

“It’s Crystal Castles!”

“Okay, so, stay?”

“Yeah, duh.” With a hand on my back, Joe propels me into the crowd, where we push through, closer and closer to the front. The atmosphere is so unpleasant, so hot, so stuffy, and even though I’ve been drinking all afternoon, my head still twists with unwanted thoughts. I feel my phone vibrate. 

It’s Jen, as expected. 

Where are you? We’re going to see Slash now. Also, Evie has asked where you are a few times. 

I shove it back into my shorts pocket, and something crinkles against my hand.

Ah. I had forgotten about this.

I subtly pull out the baggie from yesterday, the one from Weed Alison, and turn it over in my hand. I know I shouldn’t, that I tell everyone who asks me that don’t do any of this anymore, but these little pink pills lure me in like a siren. They hold promises of escapism, if only just for an hour.

And then, what didn’t even seem like an option yesterday seems almost sensible today.

“Hey, do you want one?” I ask Joe, “you and Kasper. I’ve three.”

He cranes his neck. “What’s that?” 

“Ket.”

“Oh, I’ve never done that.”

“You want to try it?”

He looks to Kasper for reassurance, and his friend shrugs noncommittally. “Well, what’s it like?”

“Pretty strange.”

“Okay,” he says. I tip two tablets into his palm and one, the last, into my mouth.

He winces as we dry-swallow. “Ugh, it’s disgusting.” 

I suppress a cough. “Did you expect gourmet?”

“I didn’t expect pure shite.”

“Well, it’s probably worth it.”

“Probably?”

As I watch the stage, I eagerly anticipate the moment my soul separates from my body while the roadies prepare. Once the gig starts, the ground begins to sway like a fairground ride. It’s the same thrill too, the same loss of control as when you’re floating through the air, when the floor gives way beneath your feet and you’re weightless, like something caught on the wind. 

“Woah.” Joe cries at one point, and I am viewing both him and Kasper through a fisheye lens. I just laugh, because everything is silly, and nothing matters the way it did this morning. Thoughts derail like train carriages tipped off the line, and my brain emerges from a pool of cool water, washed clean of every thought that has ever held significance in my whole life. 

I was sceptical of Ketamine once, back before I understood it, and clung tightly to the edgy, but familiar high I got from cocaine. It was Alison who gave me some at a house party last summer, my first bump, and with plasticine limbs we danced in the kitchen to someone’s dad’s CD collection, with a sense that we could do whatever we liked, and it wouldn’t be weird. I hadn’t felt that way since I was nine. 

Kaleidoscopic lights mesmerise me in the marquee. The music is strange, but perhaps it is supposed to be. All music is strange, if you think about it. Who decides which beats and melodies sound good, anyway? How do we know that? The singer decides to crowd surf and comes close enough for me to touch her boot. It would be funny if I took it off. This is a fact. I lank at the laces while Kasper laughs, this maniacal, unselfconscious laugh, and I join in. I don’t know what I’ll do with the boot once it’s off, but it’s the funniest possible thing to do. Maybe I’ll display it in my college apartment one day, say it belonged to Alice Glass, and have to argue with everyone that doesn’t believe me. 

“I feel weird.” Joe says. 

“That’s good.” 

“No, I think- I feel wrong.”

“It’s not wrong. Don’t make it wrong.”

“I feel wrong,” and I look at him, with his pitch black eyes panicked, and then he heaves.

And he bolts out of the crowd.

“Oh.” I look at Kasper, and him at me, and realise my teeth are sweating. “Do you think it’s bad ket?”

“I don’t know.” He says, and I'm suddenly aware that if I attempt any more words, I will throw them up. 

Throwing up in a crowd is not the ideal place to do it, I know this, but it is difficult to escape with legs that feel lead-weighted, when the earth is tilted so dramatically that I am scaling it. 

“I’m going to vom.” I announce, and a path clears so quickly that it feels biblical. 

I hit the back of the tent, and it goes everywhere. Everywhere. It splashes on my shoes and up the walls, and Joe is there too, my partner in crime, vomiting just as violently as I am. I wonder if I should pat him on the back, or give him a high five, or something.

By the time Kasper falls in line and completes our trio, security is already on us, and all that seemed so easy and funny before now fills me with unspeakable dread.

“Outside,” one barks, grabbing fistfuls of my t-shirt and hauling me toward the door. “You’re pissed.”

“No,” I protest hoarsely, “We’re fine.”

Kasper retches again, inspiring another wave of nausea within me.

“Fuck sake!” the bouncer cries as I get sick on his trousers. “Youse are a disgrace. Get out.”

And we find ourselves the grass, lying face up as the clouds drift by, and the world is still tilting, like it wants to slide us right off the face of it.

“Should we do something?” Joe manages. 

“Like what?”

“Get a doctor?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, before I roll over to the side and throw up in the soil. 

Neil, the volunteer nurse, is very kind and patient with me for the time I spend in his company. 

“I imagine it’s all out of your system now.” He tells me. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling I spent the last hour getting to know. I haven’t been sick since I got here, it seems I yacked it all out on the field, but I have been so thoroughly prodded and poked that I’ve become irritable, bored, even, as time ticks on and the festival rages on outside the flimsy doors of the medical tent. I turn my head to him, in his blue scrubs and the stethoscope he used on me slung around his neck, and the fear of his judgement arrives. It’s how I know the ket is gone. “That’s never happened to me before, by the way. That reaction was a new thing.”

“You said you’ve taken ketamine before?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at festivals like this, you just don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s everywhere, but it’s so hard to know what exactly you’re getting. Those pills could have been cut with anything.”

I smile weakly. “Are you telling me off?”

“Not really. I’m just letting you know.”

“Cut with what, exactly?”

“Anything.” He reiterates. “I’m talking talcum powder to heroin and everything in between.”

“Ouch.”

He folds his arms and leans against a table. “Do you want to get in touch with a parent or guardian?”

“Is that mandatory?”

“It’s not, but you might find the best thing for you to do now is to get home and rest. You might like to let a parent know what’s happened today.”

I laugh, the kind of hollow, death-rattle of a laugh that could have come from a sick, elderly man. “Tempting, but no thanks. I think I’ll stay.”

Neil’s mouth flattens into a line, and he gives me a nod. “Well, I’ll just advise you to take it easy, right? And if you feel off at any point, please come straight back here. We’re open all night.”

“But in your medical opinion, I’m fine, right?”

“Yes, I think you’re fine.”

“Oh, good.” I sit up in the trolley and plant shaky, stockinged feet on the floor. “Because there are a few more bands I really wanted to see.”

“I understand.” He says, though he looks as though he doesn’t. “But listen.”

I look up. 

“Be wise, Jude.”

I laugh and lace up my vomit-splattered shoes. “Neil, I’m always wise.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[zerobasekazuha]

Pizza delivery person Venture x reader (Amab venture x GN reader)

This is more of a modern AU

For Sloane working at a pizza place was one of the easiest side jobs they’ve had yet. Besides working on archeology whenever they could, during the week they spent a majority of their time working at a pizza place. Granted it got the bills paid but it wasn’t as exciting as digging and finding rocks.

They worked specifically in pizza delivery. It wasn’t what they applied for, but it paid more than the kitchen staff and they received tips on top of the regular pay. One particular Tuesday it the temperature was quite high for this time of year. They sat inside the restaurant fanning themself with one of the plastic menus they kept inside. They hoped to have gotten a chance to deliver an order so they can sit in their car with AC and relax.

Eventually they received their first order on their shift. It was two large pizza’s, two sodas some breadsticks and the stores cookie dough. They waited around communicating with their coworkers as per usual when it came to orders they had to deliver. They didn’t want to receive the heat of the blame if something were to have been messed up. There have been very hard shifts for them. After the staff finished the food, Sloane packed everything up into the bright red pizza bag to keep everything warm and up to temperature. And they were out the door.

It was beautiful outside, the sky was a bright blue and the clouds almost looked dreamlike in the sky. They opened their car door sitting inside and turning on the AC almost immediately. They then began to drive to the address on the GPS. The trip wasn’t far, only around 10 minutes away from the restaurant. They knocked on the door and tried to present themselves as nice as possible.

Sloane had messy brown hair and this bright red cap that sat on top of it. The uniform they wore was a red button up with the logo on the left pocket. They were required to either wear black or khaki pants. They chose the khaki. They also wore a nonbinary pin on the hat just to remind people what they went by without them having to say it.

The order didn’t take long and they received a $20 tip. Making their way back to their car they received a call from the kitchen staff that they have another order. They picked it up and it was pretty simple. A personal pan pizza, a sprite and some breadsticks. They followed the GPS and ended up at an apartment complex.

Once they got there and knocked on the door they looked at the person who came. They were attractive beyond means. They began to blush and stammer over their words. “I uh, I have a pizza for you!” How embarrassing.

“Thank you, how much do I owe?” Y/n asked as they grabbed their wallet. Sloane grabbed their phone to look at the price. It was only $20. “20 dollars.” They said trying to avoid looking at the person inside the home too intently.

“Oh shoot I don’t think I can pay..” Y/n said looking down at the ground before at them. They gave a smirk before an idea formed in their mind. “How else could I pay you pizza delivery person?” Y/n asked coming a little closer to them. Sloane didn’t think this was real. Their mind short circuited and they had the bright idea to use their tips to pay for it.

“Nah don’t worry about it I can use my tips, I mean pause not like that, unless-“ Sloane had to stop themselves. But it seemed to have amused Y/n. Hearing them laugh sparked something within them. They wanted to be the one to make them laugh all the time. “That’s sweet of you.” Y/n would peck their cheek making their cheeks as red as a crayola marker.

On the way back to the pizza place Sloane didn’t care that they had to use their tips to pay for the pizza, they had a newfound obsession in which they hoped they would see Y/n again as a more dominant pizza delivery person.

(Sorry if this isn’t the greatest, I seen a post on Twitter about pizza delivery Venture and had to write something about it. I considered making it smut however I’m not sure if I should. Maybe I could make a part 2 that is.)

[chronicallycouchbound]

do you have any tips for being unhoused like survival tips or even just stuff that makes life easier

Absolutely!

Before I give my advice I want to start with my most important piece of advice first: I have lots of personal experience with a few different aspects of being unhoused, I have been unhoused in frigid climates, in warmer climates, for many years, with some warning and also very suddenly, as a child with parents, as a child without parents, as an adult, couch surfing, sleeping outside, sleeping in cars, sleeping in bandos, living in a homeless shelter, living in transitional living programs, and then all of those things intersect with my various other marginalized experiences. I say all this because I want to also say that while I have extensive experiences, I don't know everything, and might miss things, or give advice that might not work in your case. So take everything with a grain of salt, including from me, for your own safety. You know your situation best, so do whatever you need to in order to survive.

Some general tips:

Aways bring extra clothes wherever you go: especially socks and underwear, they are small and light and life-savers, and homelessness often puts you in situations where you can suddenly lose everything, especially if something is left somewhere

Public libraries, churches, fast food stores and cafes are great to hang out in when it’s cold out. Unitarian Universalist Churches are (almost always) LGBTQ+ safe and affirming as well.

Shower as often as possible, the YMCA usually has cheap day passes and it’s a place to stay all day.

If you can’t shower: find a public restroom and use the sink to do a "bird bath": rinse/wash your hair, grab some paper towels or use the hand dryer to dry your hair, and use toilet paper or paper towels to rinse and dry your underarms and genitalia areas, especially when it’s hot or you’ve been sweating. Make sure you can dry off, wetness in cold is quickly life threatening, and wetness and heat breeds bacteria (which makes you stinky at best, but can also lead to skin issues)

Take extra plastic utensils, get salt/pepper packets, sauce packets, etc. as often as you can, ONLY if you have someplace to keep them (like a tent/car), small things like that can really make a difference when you're eating ramen over a fire every day, and helped keep me slightly closer to sane.

Only carry with you what you absolutely need, and always carry with you what you absolutely need.

Make friends everywhere you go, but be cautious and careful. You want to be amicable, not naive. You don't have to be trusting to be friendly.

Be friendly and overly kind to people working, they could help you later on. I have had my ass saved by so many random employees. Even if you're having a bad day, they're the people you should be kindest to. (Also be kind to service workers when not homeless, ofc)

Collect change on the streets or panhandle if it is safe and legal for you to. You can also collect bottles/cans to return, or recycle aluminum.

Look up free campsites, pantries and shelters for your area. Shelter App - Homeless Resources is a free app and website that is still kind of new, but I've seen more and more resources being added to them. Most states have a generalized hotline that's usually like a "411" or "211" or similar type phone line.

Try to always have an active phone with service, or at least a charged phone you can call emergency services on in case you need to.

Try to avoid getting into crime, drugs, alcohol/cigarettes, etc. It’s all expensive, gets you in trouble and does you no good.

However, if you are an active user: look up local needle exchanges, suboxone clinics, free narcan/naloxone, PREP and PEP (HIV prevention meds), emergency rooms, and practice harm reduction as much as possible. Try to never use alone, if using in a bathroom, keep the door unlocked. In my experience, even if you're sober or in recovery, harm reduction organizations are often amazing resources to connect you to other resources

Items I didn't realize were so life saving for me until later: blanket scarves, wool socks (natural fiber is the only thing that stays warm even when wet), baby wipes (washing body, tp replacement, etc), hand warmers, clothes that look more bougie like wearing a pea coat (stopped less by cops), carbineer clips, earbuds (for sanity), and my most prized possession to this day; my solar powered/hand crank/rechargable combination flash light, usb charger radio. Any item you need that is made for sports/hiking/etc. is often better, and any items that are multipurpose are wonderful.

And since we're headed into the colder months, here’s my advice for if you don’t have adequate heating, homeless or not:

Make soups or even just keep a pot of water boiling, and bake things if you can. I like to make teas in the morning for this purpose. Eating enough food (if you can) helps dramatically increase your core body temp.

Take a shower BEFORE the coldest parts of the day, or skip the shower til it’s warm enough to. If you absolutely need to, use warm wet washcloth and work in sections of your body so you don’t have to be fully naked and wet all at once. If you can’t be in a warm enough location afterwards— avoid getting your hair wet at all costs especially if you have thick hair. If you’re at higher risk of cold related illnesses like hypothermia and frostbite, such as disabled and chronically ill folks, I would highly recommend avoiding anything that causes you to get wet if you can’t get warm afterwards.

Make a blanket fort or use a tent indoors to spend your time in and sleep in

Drink tea/cocoa/hot beverages, avoid ice or cold drinks. Avoid alcohol specifically if you can because it lowers your body temp while making you feel warm, which can be dangerous.

Cuddle with your pets (even pets that don’t normally cuddle often are cuddly during cold spells as a survival response)

Wear thermals and layers if youre up and moving, but make sure to pre-warm any clothes you change into by tucking them into the blankets with you for a while.

If you have someone to cuddle with as close as possible, do it, also wear less clothes, thinner clothes or shorts when under blankets and cuddling, you share way more body heat that way, whereas thermals and layers will only keep your heat to yourself

If you have cold feet: take off your socks under blankets (and keep socks under blankets before putting back on) and keep a hot pad under blankets near your feet. Thick socks are great for insulation— but if your feet are cold, insulation means it’ll keep that cold in and keep the heat out. You have to add your own heat, and once they’re warm, you can put the socks back on.

Tin foil, trash bags, and blankets on windows if you don’t have plastic.

Keep doors closed and use rolled blankets or towels to stop drafts. Try to stay in one room if your whole home is cold, smaller spaces are easier to keep warm. Keep doors closed. Keep window shades closed (if you have south-facing windows, you can open t hem during the day and close them at night)

If you don’t have a mummy sleeping bag, a hoodie with the strings pulled comfortably tight can be a good substitute especially if paired with another sleeping bag.

Layer blankets for insulation. Closest to your body, have hot pads and heated blankets, then a reflective blanket to direct heat back towards you, use fluffy blankets and comforters next for insulation, and on top, have something heavy to help seal the heat in and push that heat towards you.

Blanket layers: first, heated blanket/hot pad/hot water bottle/etc, then reflective blankets/emergency blankets (there are reusable ones!)/sleeping bag, then fluffy blankets, then your heaviest/thickest blanket on top (quilt, weighted blanket, tarp, etc). If you don’t have one/multiple of these, just layer what you have following this guide as much as possible.

I like to have at least one fluffy blanket wrapped near my head/neck to keep as much warm air in the blankets as possible when I move my arms. Snuggies and blanket scarves work great for this.

If you’re on a thin bed, an air mattress, or don’t have a bed, put something below you for insulation from the cold ground. Any high quality sleeping bags temperature recommendation is always based on having good insulation below you. Cardboard, yoga mats, foam, blankets, coats, etc. all work.

Be vigilant for signs of frostbite and hypothermia, especially in children, disabled, elderly and pregnant folks. Remember to follow frostbite and hypothermia guidelines for re-warming and get medical attention for these whenever possible.

Have an emergency go-bag ready with your medications, chargers, clothes and other essentials in case you need to leave your residence.

Be sure to not accidentally give yourself CO2 poisoning or cause fires or explosions with whatever heating method you use. Anything with gasoline, propane or other fuel sources are generally not safe for indoor/closed space usage.

Don’t let yourself get so warm you sweat, you can lose a lot of heat that way and the wetness will make you cold which is hard to recover from.

When you get out of bed or from blankets, fold the blankets back over where you just laid to retain the heat for when you climb back in. Even if you have to be gone an extended period of time, this keeps the cold out. You can also preheat heated blankets for when you get back into bed (like turning on the heated blanket before you go shower)

Lights have a lot of ambient heat, as do appliances, especially larger appliances. Even having your laptop on your lap and using it can help you warm up.

If you’re able to be up and moving or do light exercise while you have to be out of blankets, thats the best time to do it. Again, be mindful of sweating.

If you’re homeless and unsheltered and don’t have a camp, sleep in the daytime in the warmest parts of the day, and walk around at night to avoid freezing to death. Savor a hot tea or hot coffee at fast food places if you can afford it.

Single use hand warmers can be saved if they still have heat by putting them in an airtight ziplock bag. When you want to use them again, you just open the bag to expose them to air. If you can and have a way to use them, invest in reusable ones (there’s electric ones and also ones you can boil to reset). Hot water bottles are another good option but often come with a higher risk of being burned.

Also, if you have any more specific situations you'd like advice for, I'd be happy to make posts for those as well, it's hard to add/think of everything that helps every situation, and a lot of my advice would change if you stay in a shelter, for example. I really hope this helps, and I hope you find safe, stable, and reliable housing soon.

[queerprayers]

any tips/advice for someone who is not catholic who wants to participate in lent? like how to choose what to give up etc?

Cheers to not letting Catholics have a monopoly on Lent, beloved! Last year I answered a similar ask that might be helpful. Here are the thoughts I have right now!

[CW: discussion of eating/fasting in italics] My most important note/disclaimer: Fasting is not for everyone. It is a beautiful tradition (for Catholics and non-Catholics) that can change people's lives, but if it's going to be a part of your practice, do it on purpose, knowing yourself. It inherently changes your relationship with food--and for people who have always had enough to eat, who have never struggled with disordered eating, who have never been seriously ill, there can be a solidarity and new perspective in fasting, in realizing how sensory experiences and comfort and mortality go together, how privileged you are to have the choice to go hungry. But for those who have struggled with food insecurity, or have lived through/live with eating disorders/disability/illness, or any other experience/relationship with food/the body that changes your perspective, fasting will often be a re-traumatizing or triggering practice that doesn't change your perspective so much as reinforce unhealthy ones. Something I think about: why fast if you cannot feast? Lenten fasting brings us to Easter feasting--if that's not accessible to you, if that wouldn't be joyful or affordable or healthy, fasting probably isn't either. Okay, all that said:

There is so much diversity in what a Lenten practice can look like, and I can't tell you what will be most meaningful for you, but I'll give you some ideas and some questions that have been helpful for me to ask myself! Lent existed way before the Catholic/Protestant divide, and exists among so many diverse communities, and there is a path here for you if you want one.

"Giving up something" is the most common language used for Lent--fasting technically refers to anything abstained from--and generally that's really useful! Jesus's forty days in the wilderness was time that he had nothing but God, and during Lent we can get closer to that experience. I give things up not as punishment or a test of self-control (those ideas trigger unhealthy behavior patterns for me), but as a letting go of something that is in my life but doesn't need to be, and may deserve reconsidering. Sometimes it's a bad habit, but sometimes it's just a conscious allowing of my life to grow simultaneously smaller and bigger. There is space for grief during Lent, but we're not just making ourselves feel bad--I've never found forced emotions to be spiritually helpful. Emotions come and go--we're doing this on purpose, and whatever we feel about it, we make space for that.

Ideas of things to give up:

eating out/getting coffee/buying drinks/little treats

impulse buying/nonessentials (you could pick a category, like clothes, or go all out)

alcohol/drugs/smoking (if this would be starting a recovery journey, I am not the person to ask for advice on that but please do seek help)

social media (you could choose one app to give up, or set time limits--it doesn't have to be all or nothing)

scrolling-on-your-phone time before bed/another time when you get sucked in

another form of casual entertainment (like TV/video games--again, you can limit this rather than cutting it out)

sexual activity (I talked about this here)

makeup/other appearance-related thing (I must confess I have considered doing this and always chickened out. I know that's because it would force me to rethink too many things, which is a probably a sign I should do it one of these years.)

a social habit, like gossiping or getting into arguments online

overscheduling/not having rest days (this is often unavoidable, but rest is necessary and holy, and perhaps this is the season for sacrifice in honor of rest)

single-use plastics/another environmental choice

Note: I don't think any of these things are inherently bad things. This is a list of things we can change/investigate our relationship with or have a season without them as a distraction, not things I think we shouldn't be doing or we should feel bad about.

One of the most important things I've realized is that so often I have given something up and not done anything about it. Like I didn't watch TV for forty days and was mad about it and then Lent was over and I watched TV again. Perhaps this strengthened my self-discipline, or made my life better in a way known only to God, but ultimately nothing happened. I didn't consciously do anything else, I didn't learn anything.

Now, when I give up something, I purposely do something with whatever space it leaves. If I'm not watching TV, what am I going to do when I would usually watch TV? Am I gonna pray? go to bed earlier? call my grandmother? Am I gonna cancel my Netflix subscription for a couple months and donate that saved money? Or maybe I'm gonna give up watching mindless TV, and find stories that resonate and make me think. Don't give things up to check a box, but to reexamine your relationship with them, make everyday things sacred, fill the space/time/money/energy you now have with God, and ultimately to set this time apart.

The other way of looking at Lent practices is things you can add. Often, as I mentioned, they go together--you can pair up something you're no longer buying with somewhere to donate to, or give up an activity and replace it with a new one. I always caution against Lent-as-self-improvement--obviously I can support improving our habits, but I've seen too many people use Lent to restart their new year's workout plans, and while exercise can be a way to care for ourselves, if new year's and Lent are treated the exact same way, what's different about this season? What makes this Lent?

One of the questions I've been asking myself recently is: What are you gonna do about it? When I'm investigating a belief, or learning something new, or reframing an old thought process, I ask myself: What am I gonna do about it? Lent is a path to Holy Week--something I and many others commemorate as the week when God was put on trial and literally killed. I genuinely believe God died and was resurrected--how does this affect my life? Believing something like that and not letting it change you is, to me, inauthentic. When I'm considering a belief, I think, if this were true, how would it change me? Would it lead me to Love? Lent (and Christianity itself) over and over asks us to do something about what we say we believe. Faith without works is dead--and faith is a work, something I do.

It's almost Lent, which is preparation for the Resurrection, which fundamentally changes our understanding of what it means to be alive--so what are you gonna do about it? Not because doing something will make God love you more or make you a "better person," or even because you'll succeed or change your life, but because how can we not? We are of course welcome at Easter having done nothing, but I can't imagine knowing what's coming and not letting it change me.

Ideas of things to add to our lives:

start a prayer/Bible routine--I can now wholeheartedly recommend (as a Protestant who connects with ancient traditions but not always Catholicism) Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours books! For Bible study, I like The Bible Project's videos.

read a book--it can be anything that connects you with God! (I had a lovely experience with Lenten Lord of the Rings last year, and this year I'm properly going through the Quran)

pick a subject to research (theological or anything else)

start to attend worship services or commit to attending more--this could include going to several different places if you don't currently belong to a church

research places to volunteer for or donate to

do something politically active, like calling your representatives, researching the next local election, or attending a protest

donate to the next [insert number here] posts you see online requesting mutual aid

start a physical practice like taking a walk or stretching

write a letter or call someone regularly, especially with people you've been wanting to connect with more or have unresolved conflict with

start/commit to more regular therapy/other health treatment

ask for help--maybe you're the one who needs mutual aid, or reaching out to, or support cleaning your house or with your kids. there is no shame in this.

These are all obviously things we can be doing year round, and certainly we can use Lent as a season to start something we want to keep with us! I'd also encourage us to have something that's only present during Lent, or something that we do more or in a different way.

You asked how to choose, and I don't have a one sentence answer to that (...obviously), but perhaps in these days before Lent you can look at your routine/habits, the places where God is present, the things you do to distract yourself from life (not a crime--just something to be mindful of), and you can see where Lent might be able to come in and change you. The thing that's nagging at you that you know might be helpful, the thing you're not in control of and just do, the time you take up or the money you spend that might not be bad but also doesn't lead you anywhere. We can't expect every aspect of our lives to be purposeful and present, or to be continuously improving ourselves (in fact, that sounds terribly stressful and unsustainable)--but we can look around us. We can have a season that looks different because everyone I've ever known has a brain that craves ritual in some way--and either we do it on purpose, or we fall into it. Do something (or don't do something) a little more on purpose this season.

Another think to think about is what Sundays will look like for you--the "forty days" don't count them. There's no fasting on Sundays--my mom says every Sunday is a little Easter. "Sundays in Lent" is such an interesting concept because it's very much Lent, but the rhythm of our weeks breaks through. When I give up soda, I'll have one as a celebration on Sundays, but a prayer/reading practice I'll continue through. It's up to you and depends on what your rhythm/habits ask of you.

Ultimately, let God interrupt you. Let Them seep in the cracks of everything you do and let go of. To be loved is to be changed. Even the smallest thing--like wearing a cross necklace every day--can cause our lives to be filled with noticing God's presence. I keep saying to do this on purpose, but know that I find Them much more often by accident.

And an obligatory note: starting Lent late, stopping your practice halfway through, not meeting a goal, whatever comes up--Easter still comes for you. Lent is for paying attention, for making space, not for perfection.

I also want to add that while a lot of Lenten practices (including most I've mentioned here) tend to be personal, ultimately what is asked of us is interpersonal. We make space in our life and be more present in the name of Love--which we cannot do alone. If a practice is not specifically about other people (like volunteering/donating), ask yourself how it will serve the ways you love others? This isn't a trick question, just something to think about. Personally, my study of the Quran this season will connect me with my Muslim siblings through time and enable me to more fully love the Muslims around me, and my rhythm of the divine hours will connect me with the wider Christian community and center me as I go about my day, allowing me to be more present in my relationships.

Easter comes whether we're ready or not--and I don't think we can be ready. But we can look at the small parts of ourselves, set this time apart, see what we can change our relationship with, and perhaps when Easter comes, we will every year have come that much closer to understanding what it means to live out the resurrection by honoring the death that came first.

Wishing you a blessed almost-Lent, and praying for you and your practice (as well as all those reading this)!

<3 Johanna

[southernbluebellereader]

Coffee shop AU? Nah, gas station AU.

Reader who works the night shift and Ghost who comes in at unholy hours to buy a specific brand of snacks only found there.

This is a request but only if you feel like it!

Emergency Snack Run

A/N: GIRL. I love this. We love us some night owls up here. I think gas station is better lol this took a little longer than expected because life and I had like 50 different ways of how I wanted to end this but I'm happy where it went.

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! Gas Station Clerk Reader

Warnings: bothersome customer/attack; unwanted attention

Master List (Tag List at the bottom)

Honestly, you liked working the night shift. It was quiet. And despite what most people think, most of the weird people come during the day. But occasionally someone would come in during your shift that creeped you out enough to keep one hand on the emergency call button and the other on the metal bat that was kept under the cash register.

Anyways. You usually worked the night shifts during the week. Almost no one came in, and you could stock up the shelves or read your magazines in peace. You're technically not supposed to sleep on the job, but if you positioned yourself correctly while sitting behind the cash register, you could hide your face from the camera and from the window well enough so that no one could see that you were sleeping. And the door would hit a bell every time it opened and closed, waking you up from a solid fifteen minute nap.

You liked Wednesdays. Usually it was the quietest, but it also tended to be the most boring. The only reason you liked it was because-

Ding.

Ding.

You didn't even have to look up from your magazine to see who it was, but you did anyways. You looked at the time, then smiled up at the darkly clad man. 3:04 AM.

It was almost like clockwork, every Wednesday at around three in the morning. You expected it. Even when he was gone for weeks, sometimes months. And he was finally back.

"Simon! You're back."

You chuckled at his grunt and brief eye contact as he walked through the chip aisle.

"What happened to my crisps?"

Every time he came, you'd put his favorite crips in the same spot and make sure they were well-stocked. You always kept a few bags on the side just in case the shelves were empty.

"You're out." The large man was suddenly by your counter, placing a few drinks on your counter. The corner of his mouth was slightly curved. Only God knows when you'd ever see his full smile.

"Who says I'm out?" You smile and pull out three bags of his favorite crisps from under the cash register and placed them on the counter, beginning to ring him up. "You know the truck comes in on Thursdays, Simon."

"Yeah yeah, thank you, Y/N." Simon chuckled and paid for his snacks.

"Just Y/N? Geezer comes every day at six in the morning always trying to serenade me."

Simon took his change from you and placed it in the empty jar next to the register. You weren't supposed to keep a tip jar, Simon just hated keeping change. So you just kept it there. You smiled at him as you put his food in a plastic bag. He couldn't help but sigh and smile, "You're God-sent, Y/N. That better?"

"Much better. Good seeing you Simon."

"Yeah yeah, see you next week. Call me when that Geezer comes in here, that metal bat isn't going to do anything."

"Yeah yeah, see you next week, Simon." You shooed him away and he gave you a wink as he left the store.

---

"Geezer, I'm calling Simon!"

Geezer was the crazy person who would come in almost every morning at six in the morning, half-crazy, half-harassing everyone both in and out of the gas station.

"OooOOooH who's Simon? That your boyfriend? I thought I was your boyfriend, Miss Y/N!" Geezer leaned over the counter, getting closer to you. You were the only one working until at least seven in the morning.

It was Monday, you knew it was out of the ordinary for Simon to come to the gas station. He'd given you his phone number months ago on the back of his receipt under a note reading:

When you finish your magazine

/Simon

You hadn't called him - nothing ever happened that you couldn't handle, and every time Geezer came, someone else would be in the store to help you.

You cursed under your breath and quickly dialed his number, before you could put your phone up to your ear, Geezer was nearly on the counter, nearly cornering you. You didn't get a chance to grab the bat.

You couldn't even comprehend what the crazed man was saying, but thanking whoever was in Heaven when you barely heard Simon's voice on the phone.

"Y/N? You alright?"

"S-Simon! Can you-

"Simon? Is that Simon?"

Simon's heart began to race, he couldn't tell if it was racing in his throat, his ears, or in the bottom of his stomach. "Y/N, keep the phone on. I'm almost there."

He was due to deal with rookie training but he'd rather have Price chew him out. The gas station was only a few minutes away from the base. Simon made it there in less than that.

You didn't even see or hear Simon come in. Geezer had you trapped in the corner by the cigarettes. He saw your phone and threw it to the side. You didn't even process how much the man smelled or how dirty he was, you just wanted him off of you. You could barely keep him off of you and he was practically on top of you.

Your cool and sassy persona had been stripped, you felt helpless - you were helpless. You begged the old man to get off of you.

"Please let me go! Please, the register is open!"

"You think I want money, pretty girl? Why do you think I come here every morning?"

Before you could move a muscle. Geezer was yanked away from you by a large hand. You yelped in fear and covered your face. Simon ran behind the counter and had pulled the old man off of you, not saying a word. Geezer did all the yelling as he was being dragged to the back of the store, loud grunts and moans of pain and pleads for mercy could be heard in between punches.

You stayed on the floor, sobbing under your hands, scared to move a muscle, scared to move your hands away from your face.

"Y/N?"

The voice was a little rough around the edges, yet soft and gentle. But you were still afraid to look. Simon crouched in front of you, giving you a moment to realize that it was safe. He felt guilty. He never understood why you chose to work night shifts, despite his protests that it was unsafe, and your reassurances that it was ok.

He liked seeing you every Wednesday at three in the morning. You were a constant in his life. A reassurance that something - or someone - would always be there. He should have done something sooner, but he'd let his guard down with you - he'd let it down too much and if you hadn't called him, who knows what would've happened.

After a moment, unsure of what to do, he reluctantly leaned forwards and gently placed his hands on your back against your shoulder blades, speaking out loud every action he did so that nothing would come as a surprise.

"Y/N. Everything is ok now. I'm going to put my hands on your back and move you out of here."

His voice was even softer now. You'd stopped crying and sniffled, rubbing your face as you nodded, allowing him to put his large hands on your back and move you towards him. Simon placed you between his legs, your body and head resting on his body as he held you close, and whispered, "I got you," over and over again.

Your body was still trembling, but it soon subsided the longer you were in in embrace. People started coming in the store but were shooed away by Simon's glares until a police officer eventually arrived to process the scene.

Simon kept you in his arms, remaining on the floor for as long as possible until the officers needed to take your statement and the EMTs needed to give you a look over.

Even then, he didn't leave your side. He didn't want to. He never wanted you to be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98 @gabriellathegreat @kult6 @loadedberetta @sarahs-secrets2

[ellieluvr420]

We meet again, darling pt.10 (detective Abby Anderson x criminal reader)

Synopsis: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

Abby woke up alone again Monday morning, she immediately jumped out of bed panicked until she walked into the kitchen to find you standing at her coffee pot.

"Oh you're awake! Figured you'd need some of this before work." Abby breathes a sigh of relief as she takes the mug you're handing to her, she takes a sip without thinking and notices its exactly how she likes it.

"You're really fucking creepy."

"What?" You scoff.

"How do you know how I like my coffee?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

"Okay... I'm going to get ready. Thanks for the coffee." She pulls you into a hug by your waist and kisses the top of your head. As she's walking away you call her name and she turns back to you.

"I want you to start mission take over today, only the first package but it's time to start, look through it before you go to work and be as subtle as you can okay?" She nods and smiles at you. "Oh and can you keep an eye on Williams please? I listened to her phone back whoever she called and she did a good job taking back what she said about you but we still need to air on the side of caution."

"Got it."

"Okay, thank you. I need to go. Places to be, people to see. Call me on this when you're home. My numbers already in it." You place a burner phone down on the counter next to you and begin gathering your things at the door. "See you soon Abby."

"Yeah, see you soon." With that you were out of the door and she walked in her room to rip the parcel open. She put some gloves on just to be safe and opened the first package. There was a picture of a man moving drugs and weapons as well as pictures of him doing deals. There was a picture of his passport as well as pictures of him at his address with the address written on the back. There was an anonymous tip she assumed you had written with an envelope that had her precincts P.O box's address written on as well as 'Please hand this to a detective, help me'. When she read the tip she was impressed by your story. You had written as if you were a prostitute he had used and abused one too many times, you wrote that you were turning this in because he had threatened your life and you were terrified. "God you're good." She muttered to herself as she put everything in the envelope and ripped the piece of plastic off the sticky part of the envelope, noting that you didn't use a lick to seal envelope, and closed it.

Abby looked at the time and realised she needed to get a move on so she jumped in the shower only to jump back out again because the water was so hot she felt like her skin was going to melt off. She looked at the temperature dial and assumed you had showered before she woke up. "Of course you need your showers to burn your skin." She turns the shower down so the water is lukewarm and gets in for the second time. Abby had never liked hot showers, they always made her feel her sick. As she's throwing on her clothes and pulling her hair back into a ponytail she notices the small bruises over her neck accompanied by a faint bite mark. "For fuck's sake." She buttons her shirt up to the top and breathes a sigh of relief that they're all covered, she puts on a tie so the shirt doesn't look strange buttoned to the top and cringes at herself in the mirror. She's always dressed smart for work but she never wears a tie. She grabs everything she needs including the handcuffs she had used on your last night while giggling at the memory and goes to the coffee pot to fill her thermos. She tucks it into her bag and grabs her breakfast that she had meal prepped earlier in the week from the fridge and rushes out of the door.

Everything is going to plan until the elevator opens at her floor to get in and she's greeted by the elderly woman that lives above her flat. She huffs and walks in and tries to avoid any interaction with the bitter woman. The woman had never liked her since she moved in, she's old fashioned and assumed Abby was a lesbian from the way she looked. She was right but the assumption still pissed Abby off.

"You know if you're going to be engaging in sexual activities late at night, you could at least do your neighbours a favour and keep it down." Abby choked as she's caught completely off guard. She laughs and sees the woman scowl at her. "I don't know what you're laughing at, I should not be forced to listen to you and your sinning." Abby's face dropped at that comment.

"It was no later than 8pm... when we started, and do you think I enjoy hearing your awful game shows and soaps playing at full volume constantly throughout the day. Or the constant thumping of your walking stick that I swear you just use to annoy me because I've seen you walk fine." She turns and bends down to be eye level with the woman and smirks as the woman steps back. "I'm sorry that you feel like who I sleep with is a sin, but if you mention it to me again, you will see where you think I'm going all for yourself. I'll send you there and then I'll find you there too." She gives the woman a menacing smile and as she's walking out in front of the woman she laughs and says over her shoulder. "I'll tell her to be 10 times louder next time."

As she walks to work smiling about the look on her elderly neighbours face she realises you've rubbed off on her. She threatened to kill her and didn't bat an eye at it. Her stomach churns but she reassures herself that the woman deserved it for her hateful comments and pushes it to the back of her mind and besides she'd never actually do it.

Abby walks into work, trying to ignore the way her palms are sweating. She walks straight past Ellie but doesn't miss the dirty looks being thrown her way. If looks could kill she'd be a dead woman. She sits at her desk and pulls out the envelope, she focuses on being as convincing as possible as she reads the tip and flips through the pictures. She glances up at Ellie once to find she's already staring back at her and gets up to knock on her captain's office door.

"Come in."

"Morning sir, I thought you'd want to see this." She hands the envelope and its contents to him and he starts reading the note before flicking through the pictures. "I checked the P.O box on the way in, always do." That wasn't a lie she had always checked it every morning on her way to her desk. "This was in there."

"Hm, we should check this out immediately. Whoever wrote this thinks they don't have long before he finds them so let's not waste any time. Leave it with me, I'll let you know when it's time to head out."

"I'm coming?"

"Yes. Don't make me regret that."

"No sir, I won't. I promise."

"Good, I'll walk you out I need to go arrange a raid."

Abby walks out of the Captains office and he follows behind her. As she sits at her desk he nods at her and walks off with an urgency in his step. She goes back to the paperwork she didn't finish on Friday until she notices Ellie standing at her desk, scowling down at her.

"Everything okay Williams?"

Ellie bends down and lowers her voice to a whisper, a hiss really. "Don't give me that shit. Your little girlfriend paid me a visit."

"No idea what you mean." Ellie slams her hand down on the desk and Abby looks up at her face for the first time. "Don't be stupid, Ellie. You wanna go talk somewhere private? Fine. But you need to back the fuck off and stop drawing attention to us both."

"Meet me in the toilet in 2 minutes." She storms off and Abby goes back to her paperwork. She tries to be as unsuspicious as possible as she walks to the toilet 2 minutes later to find Ellie pacing. "I should report you, I should get you thrown in jail."

"Yeah you do that and then she kills everyone you love" Abby has no hint of emotion in her face, she's completely monotone.

"Do you even hear yourself? That's who you want to go into business with. I don't even think I actually believe she would do that. You have to be some next level fucked up for shit like that."

"Trust me when I say she would. Don't be an idiot, do what she says and no one gets hurt and you end up richer for it. Its a win win."

"Oh my god, you're as bad as her. You don't even care that's she a cold-blooded killer. I bet she killed Luke, right? That's why he's disappeared." Abby shrugs and Ellie grabs her stomach like she's trying not to be sick. "What the fuck has she got you doing for her?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned with. I'm done talking about this Ellie." She backs Ellie up against the wall and grabs her by the shoulder as hard as she can. "Don't fuck things up for us and you'll be fine and so will everyone you love. She keeps her word, make good on your end of the deal and she'll make good on hers." Abby practically growled the words out and then stood back and smiled at Ellie as she patted the shoulder she had squeezed and walked out without another word.

Over the next few weeks, you would tell Abby when to feed the parcels to the investigation and the Metorinni was collapsing, fast. You were right when you said they would all turn on each other so between your evidence and their confessions, the gang was dwindling. Ellie's vicious demeanour towards Abby had only worsened and Abby had only felt better and better. Her captain was commending her for her work any chance he could and that respect she had harboured from her peers was back in full force. She had seen you a lot throughout the weeks and you had shown your gratitude to her for what she was doing time and time again. She had never felt this sort of power but now she had she vowed that she would never go back.

You're sitting in Richter's living room drinking with him, celebrating the downfall of the Metorinni when Richter gets a very serious look on his face.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" You nod with a small puzzled expression on your face. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" He tilts his head at your obvious feigned ignorance.

"How did you get the cops to take them down?"

"Have you ever considered they did it all on their own?"

"Don't be like that. We don't keep secrets and I know you're keeping a big one from me right now. Whatever you've done its working but I need to know."

"Fine. I have a cop on our side. She's been feeding all of my information on them to her team, so that we can put them down and take what's theirs without too much fuss."

"How did you get a cop on our side? Blackmail or money?"

"Bit of both, kind of neither. Remember that party we had here and that woman that crashed it with a gun to my head."

"She was a cop?" You nod and sip your drink. "And she's working for us now?" And another nod. "Damn, you never cease to amaze me."

"Don't be too proud yet." His face drops. "Don't panic, its dealt with but I'm telling you so its on your radar. Another cop, woman called Ellie Williams, caught on to Abby. She's cunning, I actually think she could be a good asset. I did what I do best and made sure she stays quiet but I'm telling you in case we have to go a different way to deal with her if she gets stupid."

"Okay, so you've got two cops on our payroll now."

"I guess you could say that yeah."

"You are unbelievable." He laughs and then goes quiet. "Do you trust her? The one from the party."

"Yes. I do, she's different Johnny. She's one of us, I'm just making her realise it." You grin as you drink the last of what's in your glass and he chuckles too. "I might make her do the next kill, just to really seal the deal."

"You're evil."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before."

psa: I am SO excited to write the next two chapters. I really hope anyone who has read this far is enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. For the people that are interacting with the posts, thank you so much you guys are too cute!