#in his own gruff little way 🥺🥺

[mountsmase]

a/n: hi 🫶🏻 this fic was inspired by this concept which was sent in by an anon a couple of weeks ago, for some reason this fic ended up being quite challenging for me to write and I ended up scraping one draft and starting again completely, but I’m so happy with how it’s turned out and it’s definitely a fic that I’m now proud of 🥺 I really hope you enjoy and feedback as always is appreciated 🩷

word count: 5k

genre: smut

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A Helping Hand - MM7

It’s the scratch of Masons beard against your skin that wakes you. His breath tickling over your skin as he scatters kisses along the expanse of your shoulder.

“Morning” he speaks once he notices you stirring, his gruff morning voice causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Your eyes flutter open, taking a few moments to adjust to the morning light and when they do, you find his already focussed on you.

There’s a lazy smile on his lips, his hair a little messy and you can’t help but reach up, brushing your fingers through the soft strands to push it back from where they’ve fallen onto his forehead.

“Good morning” your voice is sleepy as hold your arms open for him, seeking his warmth under the duvet and he doesn’t hesitate to snuggle up to you, his head finding it’s home in the crook of your neck whilst your arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Sleep well?” He murmurs, voice slightly muffled by your skin.

“Yeah, did you?”

He doesn’t respond but you can feel him nodding into your neck, a sigh slipping past his lips when your hand finds the back of his head, fingers scratching over his scalp the way he loves.

You know that you should get up and start your day, the sunlight that’s streaming through the gaps in the curtains an indicator that you’ve probably slept in a little longer than you wanted, but leaving the warmth of the bed is the last thing you want to be doing.

Plus, a little bit of alone time with Mason is exactly what you want right now.

His family are currently visiting from Portsmouth, and as much as you love hosting them, having so many people in the house can definitely get a little bit crazy. Since you moved up to Manchester, their visits have become less frequent, but longer, and they’ve already been staying with you for a couple of days now, planning to stay a few more nights before heading back home.

Family time is so important to you, and you know it is for Mason as well, but quality time is a huge love language of yours, and even though it’s only been a few days, you’ve missed these little moments where it’s just the two of you.

You let out a content sigh, relaxing under him when his hand finds its way under your PJ top, and he doesn’t miss the way you shiver when he presses his lips to your neck.

His fingertips dance over your waist whilst his lips pepper kisses to your skin and you tilt your head back to allow him better access.

The kisses start off as innocent, just presses of his lips to your skin whilst his fingertips trace random patterns over your hip. But they soon turn to more, his lips lingering longer and you hold back a moan when he suctions them over your most sensitive spot, his teeth grazing your skin before soothing the slight sting with his tongue.

Your hands tug on his hair, pulling his head out of your neck and guiding his lips to yours instead. He kisses you back instantly, keeping it soft to start as his lips work over yours, hand moving from your hip to cradle your jaw.

He coaxes your lips open, slipping his tongue inside and you moan into his mouth when it glides against your own, the kiss gradually becoming more heated as he moves further on top of you.

He presses one of his knees between your legs, and you slip them open for him without hesitation, bucking your hips when the new position has his thigh pressing against your clothed centre.

“Mase, we can’t” you whisper, unable to stop your hips from rolling into his and when you feel his hard length pressing into your thigh through his boxers, you want to forget you ever said anything and carry on.

You nearly give into him, sinking into the mattress when he brushes his fingertips along the waist band of your shorts, but the sound of little footsteps running past your bedroom door has you snapping back to reality.

Under other circumstances, you would jump at the opportunity to spend the morning in bed with him, but it’s the thought of getting caught that has you reluctantly rolling away.

You hear a muffled groan behind you when you move away from him and climb out of bed, slipping one of his hoodies on before turning to find him with his face buried in his pillow. You regret leaving him immediately, wanting nothing more than to climb back under those covers, but the rational part of your brain stops you.

“You know we can’t Mase” you huff, walking around to his side of the bed and sitting next to him on the edge of the mattress.

You trail your fingers over his bare shoulders, lightly scratching over his skin in an attempt to get him to look at you.

When he lifts his head from the pillow and gazes up at you with wide eyes and pouted lips, you can’t help but lean down and give him a brief kiss, your lips barely brushing over his before you’re pulling back, way too quick for his liking.

“Do you want any breakfast?” You ask him before standing back up, and he has to stop him self from making a comment about wanting you.

He lets you know that he’ll get something a bit later on, sitting himself up in bed to give you one last kiss before you leave the room. He watches as the door clicks closed behind you, tipping his head back in frustration now that he’s been left alone.

He understands why you don’t want to risk doing anything with other people in the house, because honestly, the thought of getting caught scares the shit out of him too. But, after almost a week of not being able to touch you or love on you how he pleases, he wants nothing more than to go after you and pull you back to bed with him.

His mind is flooded with thoughts as he lays in bed for a while longer, unable to get you out of his head when he climbs out from under the covers and disappears into the en-suite bathroom.

You’re welcomed by a series of ‘good morning’s as you enter the combined living/kitchen space, finding everyone already awake and ready for the day when you walk in wearing one of Mason’s hoodies and a pair of PJ bottoms.

“Morning” you greet them all with a smile, heading into the kitchen to make yourself a drink, and you’re just switching the kettle on when Lewis comes up beside you.

“We were thinking of heading out for a walk in a little bit, you and Mase are obviously welcome to join us if you want to” he tells you, and you lean back against the counter beside him to get a better look out of the window.

You ponder over his question for a moment, noticing that it’s an abnormally sunny day for the middle of winter, and as much as a walk would be nice, some alone time with Mason sounds way more appealing.

You politely decline his offer, letting him know that you’ll stay home before asking if anyone else wants a drink and busying yourself with making them.

Your mind begins swirling with thoughts of what you and Mason could get up to if they’re out for even just an hour, and you scold yourself for thinking those things in front of his family, but you can’t help growing impatient as you wait for them to leave.

You follow them to the door when they’re ready, waving them off before closing it and watching from the window, you make sure they’re past the end of the driveway before you’re heading back upstairs.

You enter your bedroom, expecting to find Mason still in bed where you left him not even ten minuets ago, but you soon notice the sound of running water coming from the en-suite.

Assuming he’s just having a quick shower, you make your way to the bed, quite happy just waiting for him to be finished, but a noise that sounds strangely like a moan catches your attention. You stop in your tracks, waiting for a moment to see if it’s followed by another.

There’s silence for a few seconds, and you’re convinced that you’re just hearing things until another, louder and more clear moan comes from the bathroom.

Its still muffled, barely audible over the sound of the water, but it has heat rushing straight towards your core, mind swirling with thoughts about what exactly he’s doing behind that door.

Your curiosity carries you across the room, hand reaching to push the en-suite door open slightly and you peak your head around the side to find him stood with his back to you in the shower.

Your view is a little obstructed with all of the steam covering the glass, but you can just make out that he has one hand steadying himself against the wall, the other in front of him with the stream of water hitting his chest.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out what he’s doing, his posture tense and the muscles in his arm flexing with every movement of his hand as he pleasures himself, completely unaware of your presence.

You feel yourself flush from head to toe, cheeks blazing as you move yourself further into the steamy bathroom, careful not to catch his attention as you click the door closed behind you.

You’re debating what to do, not knowing whether to leave him be or join him, but your mind is made up when he lets out a groan, followed by a moan of your name which has your tummy doing somersaults.

You rid yourself of your PJs, throwing them in the rough direction of the laundry basket before sliding the shower door open and stepping inside, Mason still unaware of your presence.

Now that you’re in the shower with him, his moans and little whimpers seem louder, clearer and echoing off the tiled walls and they have your legs feeling like jelly as you move towards him.

You approach him slowly, trying your best not to startle him but he still jumps at your touch, halting his movements when he realises he’s be caught.

He slowly starts to relax again when you step closer to him. You run your hands over his back and shoulders, lips following them and drawing a path between his freckles and moles, before landing on the tattoo that sits at the base of his neck.

“You okay?” You finally speak, voice muffled by his skin.

“I, yeah, fuck- I” He stumbles over his words and you watch as he drops his head forward, just about catching his flaming cheeks before he turns his face to hide them from you.

“I’ve got you” you murmur, sliding one of your hands down from his shoulder.

Your fingers brush over his skin, tracing the lines of his Champions League tattoo on their way to his front. You tease your touch over his tummy, smiling to your self when the muscles of his abs flutter under your fingers, before moving to where he needs you most.

His hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, unmoving since you joined him in the shower a few moments ago, and you gently pull at his wrist, moving his hand away and replacing it with your own.

He feels thick and heavy in your palm when you wrap your fingers around his base, the softest yet most sinful whimper slipping past his lips when you twist your hand over his length.

“Fuck,” he curses when you brush your thumb over his tip, spreading the pre cum that’s collected there.

“Feel good, bubba?” You hum against his skin, lips continuing to scatter kisses over the expanse of his back.

“So good, Angel, fuck”

You bring your free hand around to his front, a whimper leaving his lips when you lightly scratch your nails over his tummy.

Needing to hold onto you in some way, he brings his own hand up, lacing his fingers through yours and he squeezes gently.

You continue to work him with your hand, tightening your grip slightly whenever you get closer to his tip, and the whine he lets out when you tease your thumb over his slit has your knees turning weak.

“Please, baby” He whimpers, head tilting to try and catch a glimpse of you over his shoulder.

You nuzzle your nose into his back, hand continuing to torture him with slow strokes.

“What do you need, Mase?” You whisper against his skin, thumb brushing another teasing stroke over his tip and he can only groan in response, “Need you to tell me what you want or I can’t help you, bubs”

You halt your movements when he still doesn’t respond, his hips hips jerking forward in an attempt to get you to move your fist again, but a frustrated sigh slips past his lips when you make no effort to continue.

“You know what I want” His words come out as more of a mumble, but you could hear the attitude laced in them from a mile away and he whines when you squeeze your fist a little tighter around him.

“I need to hear you say it, Mase” you pry,

“Need you, your mouth - fuck - anything, please” He finally manages to get out, hips bucking into your hand when you give one last stroke over his length.

“Not in here”

You lean up, pressing a barely there kiss to his cheek and he whimpers when your touch leaves him, watching in confusion as you reach around his body to turn the shower off before stepping away from him and out of it completely.

Your words take a few moments to sink in, but he quickly follows when he sees you grabbing two towels from the rail, holding one out for him as you rush to dry yourself off.

“W-wait, what about -“

“They’ve gone out” you tell him briefly, cutting him off mid sentence.

There’s still a few droplets of water cascading down his chest when you grow impatient and take the towel from him, discarding it, along with yours, to the side before pulling him through to the bedroom.

“Sit,” you say, gently pushing on his shoulders and he falls onto edge of the mattress, legs spreading apart when you move to settle on the floor between them.

He sighs contentedly, eyes fluttering closed as you run your hands up the insides of his thighs, his muscles jumping under your touch.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me” you tut, and he sighs, eyes popping opening and locking onto yours.

“Good boy” you mumble, and the praise goes straight to his cock, length twitching when the words leave your lips.

Sliding your hands higher up his thighs, you shuffle forward a little, getting more comfortable between his them and he hisses when your hand wraps around the base of his cock.

“Ready?” You ask him, gazing up at him through your lashes and when he nods, you give him one last stroke before leaning towards him.

You run your tongue along the underside of his length before wrapping your lips around the head, and his deep brown eyes become fixated on yours, his lips parting when you flick your tongue over his tip. The taste of his pre cum coats your tastebuds and you hum around him, watching as he fights to keep his gaze on you.

You continue to tease him, revelling in the whimpers that pour from his lips every time you swipe your tongue over his slit before giving him what he wants.

Relaxing your jaw, you move your mouth further down his length, taking as much of him as you possibly can and he hisses at the sensation of his tip hitting the back if your throat.

“Oh my- fuck, Y/N” the moan of your name has butterflies erupting in your tummy, only spurring you on when you begin to bob your head, hand continuing to work what you can’t fit in your mouth.

“Feel good, Masey?” You coo, and he can only nod his head in response, unable to form a coherent sentence when you swirl your tongue around his tip.

The sinful sounds that leave his lips have you rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction when his hand finds the back of your head. His fingers tangle into your hair, massaging over your scalp and you let him guide you, hollowing your cheeks around him when he lowers your mouth down his length.

You let it slide when his head drops back, his eyes squeezing closed when you take him all the way again. The sight of you on your knees and the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock becoming too much for him as he quickly heads towards his release.

“Gonna make me come already, Angel, oh my god” he pants, and he knows he’s done for when your other hand slides up the inside of his thigh, finding his balls.

“Come for me, Mase. I’ve got you” you coo, and with one final flick of your tongue over his tip, he’s cuming into your mouth.

You swallow every last drop, working him through his high until his hips start bucking out of sensitivity. Leaving one last kiss to his tip, you pull away from him, sitting back on your feet and resting your head against his thigh, eyes fluttering closed as you both take a moment to catch your breaths.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the hand that’s still in your hair gently massages over your scalp and you flutter your eyes open, finding him looking down at you with a soft smile.

His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb swiping at an escaped drop of his cum before pressing it to your lips and you part them for him, cleaning the drop off his finger when he pushes it into your mouth.

“Come here” he whispers, motioning to his lap.

His hands finds your waist when you stand on wobbly legs, your knees aching from being knelt down for too long, but you can’t bring yourself to care as he helps you lower into his lap, knees either side of him as you straddle his thighs.

“You okay?” He asks, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear and your heart flutters at the simple question.

You nod, leaning into his touch when he cups his hand over your jaw, thumb brushing across the apple of your cheek.

“I’ve missed you” His words are soft, eyes locked on yours.

“I’ve been here the whole time” you whisper, nuzzling further into his touch.

“I know, but I’ve still missed you.” He leans closer towards you as he speaks, “Missed getting to spend time alone with you, missed having you like this” He tells you, close enough now that you can feel his breath fanning over your cheek, his lips brushing yours with every word.

“I’ve missed you too” You rest your forehead against his, hands coming up to hold the back of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

The word is barely past your lips when he presses his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss, taking you by surprise for a moment before you regain your composure, melting against him and kissing him back with just as much vigour.

His lips work in perfect sync against yours, his arms wrapping securely around your waist to pull you further into his lap and he hums into the kiss when you roll your hips over his.

Your hands find his shoulders, holding hard enough that you’re sure you’ll find little crescent shaped marks there later, but that’s the least of your concerns when his hand gravitates up your front. His warm palm cups over your boob, thumb stroking over your nipple and the feel of him toying with the hardened nub has you gasping into his mouth.

He takes the opportunity to coax his tongue between your lips, slipping it into your mouth and brushing it against yours in slow, unhurried strokes. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, tangling your fingers into his hair and scratching your nails over his scalp and the way he groans into your mouth has heat heading south to your already dripping core.

You reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, whimpering when his teeth tug on your bottom lip.

“Fuck, Mase, I need you”

“You’ve got me, Angel” he mutters, drawing kisses over your jaw before dropping his head into your neck.

You sigh on top of him when he trails kisses from your shoulder to below your ear, grazing his teeth over your delicate skin and the scratch of his beard has your back arching, grip tightening in his hair when he pays attention to your most sensitive spot. He nips at the skin, lips suctioning over it and you have to remind yourself to stop him, tugging on his hair and moving his lips away to prevent a bruise forming there later.

Your lips find his again, this time a lot softer as he slides his hand down between your bodies. His warm palm cups over your centre, a faint moan leaving your lips and a groan rumbles in his throat when he feels your wetness coating his fingers.

“Fuck, angel, you’re dripping for me” he speaks against your lips and you buck into his hand, whimpering when he nudges a single finger between your folds.

“Need to feel you, Mase”

“Yeah?” He coos, and you hum in confirmation, growing more impatient by the second.

His lips come back to your neck and you take the brief moment where he’s distracted to reach down, taking his length in your hand to find him hard again as you give him a single pump. You wiggle around a little, rising on your knees to try and find a comfortable position.

It takes him a second to process what you’re doing, but he stops you with a hand on your hip before you get a chance to line him up with your entrance.

“What about y-“ he speaks, but you cut him off with another peck to his lips, shuffling in his lap and he whimpers when his length brushes against the inside of your thigh.

“Later” you reassure him, and you smile softly at the pout that forms on his lips.

You know that he probably wants nothing more than to have his head buried between your thighs right now, always so eager to make you feel good, and you’d no doubt love that too, but you know that you’re working with limited time and you’re aching to feel him inside of you.

“Promise?” He holds his hand up between your bodies, pinky sticking out towards you.

You stifle a giggle, shaking your head at him in disbelief, but you quickly link your pinky with his none the less and he leans forward to peck your lips once more.

“Are you ready?” He asks you, lips trailing over your cheek.

“Yeah”

You line him up with your entrance, bracing your hands on his shoulders and you both moan in unison when you lower yourself onto him, his tip nudging past your folds.

His hand finds your hip, thumb rubbing over your skin in soothing circles as you sink down on him, head falling into his neck and eyes fluttering closed when you take him all the way.

“Take your time, love” he hums and you give yourself a moment to adjust to him, brushing your lips over his skin until he’s cupping your cheek and pulling your head back from his neck.

You meet his eyes, the dark brown orbs staring right back at you and you swear you can see his pupils dilate, with your flushed cheeks and messy hair, lips parted and swollen, the sight of you on top of him is one he wants to remember forever.

“You okay?” He asks, thumb brushing over your lips and you nod, sending him a warm smile before slowly lifting yourself until only his tip is left inside of you.

You sink back down, moaning at the feeling of him nestled inside of you, able to feel every inch of him as you repeat the action.

“Fuck, taking me so well Angel” he drawls, and your whole body lights up at the praise.

You pick up your pace slightly, bouncing on top of him and his hands never leave your hips as he helps guide you, letting you take it at your own pace until you’re reluctantly slowing down, legs starting to feel tired.

“M-Mase” you whimper into his neck, falling limp on top of him and opting to roll your hips over his.

“I’ve got you, Angel” he whispers, lips finding your temple before he’s pulling you off of him slowly.

He takes a hold of your hips gently, lowering you to the mattress and he watches as you relax back into the sheets, head falling to the pillows as your hair spreads around you like a halo.

He parts your thighs before crawling in between them and settling his body on top of yours.

Resting his body weight on one arm, he reaches down with the other and you feel his warm palm slide up the back if your thigh, giving your bum a playful slap before hooking your leg over his waist.

“Sorry” you speak, voice quiet and small and he hates the pout that forms on your lips.

“Don’t be silly bubba, it’s okay” he whispers, lips brushing over yours.

You send him a soft smile, eyes locking onto his when he lines himself back up with your entrance. The new angle has him hitting deeper, your back arching off the mattress when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and your moans mingle between you when he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back in.

He keeps his pace slow, resting his forehead against yours as he thrusts inside of you and his tip brushes that spot that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Mase. Feels so good” you breath, one hand finding the back of his neck and when he notices the other clutching at the sheets, he takes it in his own, lacing his fingers with yours and holding them up beside your head.

He hooks his other arm around your waist, holding you closer to him and he hits that special spot inside of you with every thrust of his hips.

“I love you so fucking much” he growls against your lips, punctuating each word with a kiss and when you meet his eyes, they’re already gazing back at you, shining with adoration and a range of similar emotions.

“I love you too, holy shit” your voice is breathless and you send him a soft smile, sliding your hand up from his neck to the back of his head, pulling him down to place a series of pecks to his lips.

Your heart thuds at the way his eyes lock on yours. The chocolatey orbs shining with so much love as he pounds into you, able to feel every inch of him as he rolls his hips.

“Are you close?” He looks down to where your bodies meet, the way you’re clenching around him a tell tale sign that your orgasm is nearing, “Taking me so well, baby”

“Y-yes! Mase, fuck, gonna cum” you sob, eyes fluttering closed when he buries himself to the hilt inside of you.

“F-fuck” he stutters, thrusts faltering when your walls flutter around him, his own orgasm fast approaching.

“I’m there with you, angel. Let go for me” he rasps, and it only has one last push of his hips to have you toppling over the edge with a cry of his name.

Your high is overwhelming, pleasure overcoming your senses as your back arches off the mattress, pressing impossibly closer to him.

He isn’t far behind you, a moan of your name muffled into your neck when his own orgasm hits him, the feeling of your walls fluttering around him sending him toppling over the edge and he slumps on top of you, thrusts becoming sloppy as he works you both through your highs. His fingers still brushing over your clit until your bucking your hips from the sensitivity.

Your hand finds the back of his head when his thrusts slow, scratching your nails over his scalp when his body goes limp on top of yours, well and truly spent from his orgasm.

He keeps himself buried inside of you, laying in a comfortable silence with his head pressed into your neck whilst you catch your breaths and steady your heartbeats.

After a while, he moves to pull out of you slowly, littering kisses over your forehead when he notices you wincing from the sensitivity, before flopping down on to the bed beside you.

Getting himself comfy on his back, he opens his arms for you, letting you crawl into them and settle against his chest and his arms wrap around you securely, caging you to his body.

You stay laying like that for a while, enjoying the comfort and warmth of his body wrapped around yours. He has one hand on your thigh, massaging the sore muscles and the other tracing patterns over your shoulder until he’s shuffling around slightly to look down at you.

“How about another shower?” There’s a cheeky smile on his lips when you tilt your head to look up at him, “I still owe you an orgasm”

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I hope you enjoyed 🤭

[evanescencelovrr]

Part 7 college!simon x reader. Gahhh this is melting my stony black little heart 🥺 pls leave feedback! Always appreciated! And reblogs, likes are appreciated.

Masterlist here ✉️

“Work…with you?”

“It ain’t a request. I’m tellin’ ya.”

Was all that echoed in your mind as you sat in your bed. Between how he stepped in for you—defending you and now offering you a job—you were startled.

Why did he suddenly care so much?

What changed?

You wondered, eyes roaming around your room. You sipped your tea, trying to stay warm amidst the cold front outside. Simon.

He was a real piece of work.

You had to know more. You felt like there were questions you had about the job—and most importantly Simon. You got up, setting your tea aside on your desk. You threw over an oversized zip up, your hair messed up and left down. You shoved your feet in your slippers before making up way to his door—which was shut.

You knocked. You waited for a minute, then the sound of creaking, groaning, and heavy footsteps commenced. Your pulse quickened and you pinched gently at your arm to steady yourself.

Enough of that—

When Simon opened the door, his hair was a rugged mess, arm leaning up against the door frame, the other resting on the knob to hold it. His brow cocked in confusion—but then realization crossed when he saw you. “You ere’ bout the job?”

“That I am. You gonna make me stand or do I have to barge in?” You said, jokingly, although heart fluttering at the sight of him.

Simon scratched at his stubble before glancing behind him. Almost as if he were self conscious or guarding his room. Not that you were a threat, right?

As you looked at him, you had to admit this overgrown stubble look suited him. Even with the scars.

“A’right. The flat ain’t Devil Wears Prada, so don’ expect much.” Simon grumbled, although his face was flat. He moved aside, big frame against the wall as he watched you slither past. Your sweater brushed his chest and his breath caught momentarily.

He then shut the door, alone with you.

“Payback, you were once in my room.” You snickered, sensing how uncomfortable he felt with you in his personal space, standing in the middle. You tilted your head at the various records hung on his walls, posters that were falling down. Jackets hung neatly in his half open closet, shoes tucked inside. Although a pair of boots stood outside—most likely for convenience. His usual rugged distressed worker boots.

Simon felt odd watching you. It was like his heart had a mind of its own, speeding up when you tilted your head, and leaned to watch his objects. It had been a while since he had a lass up in his room. He shifted and then sat his form at the edge of his bed, torso angled to you. One leg folded inward. He then chose a topic, most likely trying to get under your skin for amusement.

“Fixin’ ya damn window. It was easy.”

“Oh. Right. Because you’re 7ft tall, and I’m 3ft tall.”

Your eyes caught onto his trash can. It was filled and you narrowed your eyes. Your cup was sitting at the edge, from the hot cocoa you’d given him.

You grinned, now you had something to wield and head butt him with.

“You still have that in your room? It’s been over a week.”

“Been busy.” His gruff tone sounded behind you. Simon was glad you weren’t looking, because now his ears and neck were flushed pink. He cursed himself inwardly.

As you roamed and checked out his desk, seeing the pens and pencils for drawing, it piqued your interest. Ink pens, charcoal, and an eraser. Little lamp to the side as you saw when you first met him. A leather jacket lay folded over the chair—“Lieutenant,” written all over. That caught your attention.

He noticed where your attention was, arms folded now, as his eyes tracked you like a hawk. The bed shifted and he tipped his head slightly.

“Easy there, wot, you tryna’ figure me out or somethin’?”

“You bothered?” You cracked a grin widely, and then perched yourself up on his desk, sitting at the edge. You crossed your arms, the light angling at shining over your form.

Simon oddly found himself itching. The more he stared at you the more it became pronounced. His fingers more-so. Itching to draw the way you sat—hair illuminated by the sun, and face partly shadowed. The curve of your lips highlighted.

He shook the feeling off and swallowed, adams apple bobbing.

“Listen, Johnny—my man owns this bar we work at. Mollys. I can talk to him and get ya assigned.”

You perked up, head downed previously to look at your lap in thought—now at him. “Do tell. I need the hours.”

“Campus jobs aren’t much, so. You’re better off here.” Simon shook his head and rubbed calloused fingers over his lids.

“Didn’t know you were a Lieutenant.” You spoke, voice calmer and hushed now. Simon raised his head up to glance at the jacket, then you. He shifted in his spot, then stood up. The bed bounced.

You watched as he approached his jacket and then grabbed at the thick material, hanging it up in the closet.

For a second your heart pounded—had you said something wrong? Your gaze faltered.

“I was. Till’ I joined ere’.” He then said, to which your nerves eased slightly.

You watched, lip catching between your teeth.

“Why the sudden change?”

“You’re askin’ a lotta questions, bonnie.” Simon said, unable to help the nickname now. You sat straighter and sensed his defensiveness, although it was not as sharp as it used to be.

Even the nickname had you gripped—surely something was changing.

“You don’t have to answer. But that would make you a stranger to me, still.” You said, slowly.

He shut his closet door and faced you, arms crossing. He tilted his head and glanced away in thought for a moment—then eyed you.

“Did you not want us to be strangers anymore?”

And all of a sudden the room felt hot. Intense. Your breath caught, throat squeezing slightly. His piercing gaze did nothing to calm you. You shifted on his desk and your thumb sought to soothe you—rubbing the inside of your pocket. You eyes found his—lips parting to speak.

“Just—friends…?” You awkwardly say. You glance at him and then around the room, needing anything to take the edge off.

“Just friends.” He repeated, as if testing the weight of the word on his tongue. He flexed his neck, before moving closer to you.

Your breath caught—and you froze. He sensed it, but didn’t say anything as both arms pinned you temporarily. Long fingers grabbed at a pen from behind you, and a notepad.

No way. He had to be doing this on purpose, you thought. Your eyes stared deeply into his, knees brushing his waist. Your heart was pounding.

“I need y’er number.” His voice was hushed, like a murmur.

“What for?”

“For Johnny. Don’t ya want the job?” He said it so casually.

You nearly facepalmed and Simon leaned away, waist at the desk, no longer caging you. You still shuddered from his proximity, and bit your lip. His body warmth originally extended to you—but with him gone, it was cold.

Like November.

As you told him your number, you slipped up halfway.

“Not 5–I mean 9.” Probably due to your nerves.

“Slippin’ up, aye?” He couldn’t help the small grin that pulled at his lips.

“Get on with it, otherwise I’ll find another job.” You half joked, half threatened. It was empty.

Simon lips curled up even more, revealing teeth. Wolfish. His eyes crinkled under as he gazed at you.

“Nah, you’ll be a’right at this one.”

He then took your number.

——

That night as Simon went to sleep, he couldn’t stop replaying your figure perched up on the desk, hair illuminated softly by oranges and yellows of the sun, the way your lipstick hugged your lips. The way your sweater fell—

Enough. Damn it, Lieutenant. He thought to himself. He needed to do something. Anything.

Once again, 3am. He got up, stiff muscles straining and he grunted. He padded to his desk, pulled out his sketchbook with a sigh and slapped it down. He turned on his lamp, sat down, and began sketching.

By the time he was done, his charcoal rendered a soft, messy elegant figure of yours. Despite that lip you gave sometimes. The most pronounced feature being your eyes: the one thing he found striking.

“Fuckin’ hell…now she’s hauntin’ my mind.” Simons gravelly voice said, as fingers pressed and dragged down his face wearily. He slumped back in his chair, long legs protruding.

And now, she’d be at his job too. He grunted softly, arm moving down to the armrest. Fingers tapped the side in thought, pensive.

“Campus jobs aren’t much, so. You’re better off here.” He remembered his own words.

“Didn’t want her workin’ a damn illegal side hustle…” Simon muttered to himself, getting up. He switched his lamp off, and found himself getting comfortable in bed.

At least, he tried to.

[techs-goggles9902]

Hello! a couple things

1 youre so freakin awesome and i love your writing

2 what does your nickname ge'tal mean?

3 are you willing to write something sweet and fluffy for fives x reader x echo?? like theyre not dating each other just both dating reader and its all lovey and completely okay w everyone if not maybe just echo x reader? 👉👈

Mr. Echolocation (Echo x GN!Reader)

Summary: Echo’s on leave (thank Maker)

Warnings: none just fluff. THIS CAN BE EITHER PRE OR POST CITADEL ECHO

Word Count: 484

A/N: Hi!!! I wish I know who you are, anon!! 1) THANK YOU 2) Ge’tal means “red” in Mando’a and my pookie bear Jamie AKA Ka’ra named me that 😊 3) okay, I spent a long time simmering on this. I’m comfy writing it but I’m not sure how and I don’t want to give you a crap story so I chose the latter option 🥺 I’m sorry though!!! I’ve been dealing with stomach and leg issues so I’m really sorry I took a while to answer :(

Requests are open! See Masterlist for details!!!!

Echo’s fingers drum against his chest softly, the only sound other than your quiet snoring. He returned from his latest mission yesterday afternoon, spoiling you with so many loving kisses.

His hazel eyes drift over to you. The gentle curvature of your figure nestled beneath your bed sheets brought a warm feeling to Echo’s chest. He slowly turns onto his side to face you, bringing his warm hand to your cheek, brushing over the bone.

“Cyare… are you awake?” He whispers, soft enough that if you were still sleeping, he wouldn’t wake you.

“Mmmm… no,” you reply, your voice laced with sleep. Your eyes crack open to find Echo’s staring at yours through the darkness.

“Oh, okay,” he grins, his thumb brushing over your soft lips.

“Mr. Echolocation, it’s barely tomorrow… why’re you awake?” You ask as he pulls you closer and curls a leg around your own.

“I didn’t wanna sleep… ‘cause then I’ll miss out on time with you,” his eyes look so innocent, his eyebrows just barely knitting together and turning up in the middle. His little pout that always makes you fold during arguments or spats.

His gentle fingers gliding along your soft skin, down your cheek, tracing your Adam’s apple, tugging slightly at the collar of your sleep shirt.

“You may be here today, gone tomorrow… but it’s the fact you made it home, no?” You groggily mumble, this time pulling him closer and burying your face in the warmth of his neck.

“Yeah… home to you.’ He presses a kiss to the top of your head, your hair ticking his lips.

“Go to sleep… we have tomorrow to have fun.”

”Is that an order?”

”Yes, it is, Mr. Echolocation.”

A soft chuckle leaves Echo’s lips as his breathing becomes more and more even and quieter.

How you managed to escape Echo’s grasp, you have no idea. The man barely moves in his sleep, his arms never releasing you throughout the night. You would’ve stayed in bed longer, just to watch him get quality rest for once.

The way his ARC Trooper expression softens in sleep, the tight muscles finally smoothing back into his skin, makes your heart melt. Even thinking about it makes a small grin creep onto your lips as you stand at your stove to make breakfast - real breakfast.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t hear the soft footsteps behind you. You only come out of your trance when you feel Echo’s arms snaking around your waist from behind, his chin resting in the crook of your neck.

“You left me, cyare… wake me up next time.”

“No, you need the sleep, Echo. Plus, you’re cute in the mornings.”

”What, I’m not cute all the time?”

”Oh, you…”

His gruff - yet warm - chuckle sends a ripple down your throat and through the vertebrae of your spine.

“I love you, cyare.”

”I love you, Mr. Echolocation.”

Cyare = beloved [sha-rey]

Taglist: @will-is-silly @fionajames @sevdidntdie @hellhound5925 @dangraccoon @skellymom @isthereanechoinhere96 (<- in case you come back and youre interested:)

Dividers by @ saradika

Lmk if you want to be taken off or added to taglist 🫶🏽

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Next Time ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: porn without much plot, fingering, p in v. We waaants hiiiim 🥺

You roll the moment your feet hit the roof opposite, the bullet whistling past your cheek as you rise from your crouch.

A bit too close this time.

"You're gonna have to work on your aim, Castle. Missed me again!" You yell at him despite your heart rate spiking just a little.

His growling gruff voice shouts back from somewhere behind you. "My aim's just fine darlin', that was a warnin' shot. Back off the lawyer or next time I won't miss."

He'd been chasing you around town for hours after he kept seeing you hanging out in places you shouldn't, getting a mite too close to the truth. You didn't know that Matt Murdock was Daredevil, and Frank was intent on keeping it that way.

You duck down behind one of the numerous vent shafts, sneaking around within the cloak of the shadows. You hear the leather swish of his coat.

"I'm no good at math castle but I know I ain't got enough fingers to count how many times you've said 'next time'. When are you gonna do it huh?" you call out.

He doesn't know where you are, too many places to hide on the roof and bounce your voice around for him to find you.

You wait. He doesn't respond. He's gone quiet.

Shit. You've lost sight of him while you were busy snarking.

You take a risk, peering back around the stack searching the shadows.

Big mistake, as you're suddenly yanked backwards with force and slammed up against the wall with a breathless oof.

He towers over you. You squirm but his bulk has you pinned hard, his huge forearm braced across the top of your chest pressing down on your neck and making you choke out a laugh.

"You finally gonna make a move, take me out this time?"

He increases the pressure, squeezing down harder making it extremely difficult for you to breathe.

You wheeze your words out, keep on goading him. "Gonna end this, Castle? C'mon, you ain't got the balls to shoot a woman and we both know it."

He growls and you feel the hard press of the cold steel muzzle against your temple.

Oops.

"You're a goddamn pain in my ass. Like a fucking fly always buzzin' round me."

"Well if I'm a fly that must make you a steaming pile of shit!" You retort.

"Fuck… you just love to run your mouth round me huh?"

You hiss as he shoves the gun harder against your skull.

"Just wanna see if you'll snap Frank, now you've finally caught me. Must say that I'm gettin' curious why you want me to stay away from Murdock so bad. He your boyfriend or something?"

His eyes glint in the dark as he stares you down.

"Shut the fuck up." He spits.

But it's not his words that shut you up when you open your mouth to get another snarky comment in, it's his bruising kiss as his lips crash against yours, hard and full of frustration. He drops the gun, you've touched a nerve. You're too shocked at first to do anything, eyes wide as he forces your mouth open against his, but then you hear your own moans as his tongue slides against yours, closing your eyes as he presses you into the wall, thigh wedging firm in-between your own, tasting the sweat, smelling the gunpowder residue, the scratch of his stubble against your face.

It's intoxicating.

Your hands fist around the straps of his stupid skull vest, grabbing and yanking him closer. You find yourself wishing you could take it off and feel the heat of his body against yours but that's not quite the way this is going.

Your hands snake upwards, holding his head and tugging at the longer lengths of hair on the top as you trade evermore ferocious kisses in a battle of lust, your leg wrapping around his hip, dryhumping like a pair of teenagers. You can feel the unmistakable evidence of his arousal as he grinds right into your core, annoyed that it feels so good and that you're doing nothing to stop it.

Frank's groping the firm swell of your breast as he feels your hand slip down between you and grabs hold of your wrist instinctually, slamming it back up on the wall above your head and grazing your knuckles painfully in the process, his mind screaming at him that you must be going for your knife.

"What the fuck?!" You yell, "I'm trying to open your pants, idiot!"

"Oh, right… yeah." He rasps as he lets you free when his brain catches up with his body and you continue ripping open his fly. When you get your hand around him your mouth drops open with an impressed huff.

"Jesus, to think that all this time I was bad-mouthing your dick."

"Fuck!" Frank grunts into the long column of your neck as you fondle him, soon scrabbling to loosen your own tac pants and shove his hand down between your legs. He doesn't know why he's surprised you're so wet. He hums as finds your clit, circling it a few times making you pant and writhe.

"Aw look at you. Now you got my trigger finger just where you want you're purrin' like a damn kitten."

"Are you clean?"

Your straight out question makes him stutter his answer. "Y-yeah, yeah m'clean."

"Alright, then shut up and fuck me."

"Jesus Christ-" he says under his breath as you race to push each other's pants down.

He hurriedly pulls off one of your boots to get a pant leg past your foot and then he scoops his big hands under your ass to lift you up, groaning with unrestrained pleasure as you help guide his rock hard cock inside you. The sound you make as he stretches you open is almost embarrassing, but then you realise Frank's going just as feral.

He's strong. You'd only ever encountered him in ranged combat, trading bullets not fists. You were pretty sure he could bench press you. At this moment however it seemed he was only interested in trying to fuck you through the wall. The tension between you both was still thick, you couldn't think about what would happen after this except that this was a dangerous line to cross, and not just for you.

You scrabble for something to hold on to, a drainpipe, the rebar sticking out of the wall, anything as Frank absolutely rails you into it. It's frenzied, it's fast, it's blowing your mind how fucking easily he's gonna bring you to orgasm. Your moans are increasing in pitch every time he snaps those hips and thrusts up into you.

You grab his hair and yank his head back from where he's buried it against your neck and he curses, legs shaking as you guess he's close.

"Mm fuck! You almost there? Cos m'bout ready to blow baby."

The waver in his gritted out words is scrambling your brain making you unable to form your own. Seeing him like this is like nothing you've ever imagined, and you imagine you're going to be replaying the night's events long into the future.

"Uhuh!" Is all you can manage as he fucks you deeper, harder than you ever thought possible until you're chanting something, almost screaming out as you quake around him, and you realise it's his name.

Frank Frank Frank.

And that's when he unloads into you, with an animalistic sound that trails off into a hot-as-fuck moan of release, his fingers pressing into the soft round meat of your ass, muscles locking up after he drives past the point of overstimulation to ensure you're satisfied after you've milked him dry.

"Oh fuck…" you collapse against him breathing heavily.

His hot breath fans over your face as you both come down from the unexpected high.

He gently lets you down, pulls out and tucks himself away.

"Back off the lawyer, okay?" He warns, pushing off from the wall you're slouching against, struggling to stay standing.

You shake yourself back to reality, bite into your lip and smile as you look up at him and the flush you've brought to his cheeks. "No promises." You reply, pulling your own pants back up.

"I mean it. I'll say it again just so it sinks into that pretty head of yours." He starts walking away and you're already missing his heat. "Next time… I won't miss."

"Who says there'll be a next time Castle?" You tease, wondering how long you'd feel the ache between your thighs.

"There's always a next time sweetheart."

You stay on the roof watching him climb down the fire escape, your legs trembling beneath you as you try to process what just happened.

[writing-whump]

I need Matthew's lighthearted teasing-grumpyness back. He seems so off recenty, poor guy. I don't know, maybe put him in the box with Hector and shake it a little, or something. Maybe some barking will help release some tension. 👀

(and i can't see the story progressing with Matt in current state, i know he is dealing with the situation as he can, but... We know what's coming 🥺)

A.

Well, people have been screaming at me bc of Matthew, so here you go. Your wish heard loud and clear :D

Hitting the limit

Matthew was exhausted.

He had been keeping up his routine the whole week as always. Except it was maxed up to two times its normal amount.

When he woke up, he took a protein shake and went for a run. After 10 kilometers he went to the gym and worked out. Ran the way back to their apartment gym and did the boxing routine with punching and jumping with the sail. Then weight lifting. Then another punching round. Then a session with his shadow.

When his legs turned to jelly and thoughts died down to bright lights and louds noises, he allowed himself to follow the scent to their apartment.

Isaiah found him on the couch and forced him to drink and eat. Then he passed out.

So went the days for the whole week Rip was almost healed up and the first week after the kids moved away.

To an apartment next door.

Matt understood he would have to get used to it. To the proximity, to the scents, to the shadows.

Heck, Dylan showed up not a day into them moving out and crashed on their couch for the whole day like it meant nothing.

Matthew was very very proud of himself for being so exhausted he couldn't hold a coherent conversation.

He hated himself for being so weak and a burden. For his shadow being hungry and curious about Dylan's presence. In a way the boy felt like a threat, his jealousy almost his own perfume. It irked the possessive part of Matthew's shadow.

Isaiah and Seline were his. And now there were those two kids, Rip and Dylan, drawing each of them away in different ways.

Away from Matthew.

It was stupid and childish and he was so emberassed he couldn't even formulate the thought out loud.

So he kept running. Running and running and running, so he wouldn't have to look any deeper why his shadow was a mess and why his core was shaking in fear he would be left behind, cause look, Seline had a family and Isaiah could connect with anyone and there was nothing special about Matt without them, nothing where he could go...

It wasn't hot, the weather switching between quick rains and puffy greyness. That was good, he didn't have to worry about heat exhaustion.

At some point he did get a bit of blackness over his eyes and his legs got a bit shaky. He would sit down in a second. That couldn't hurt, right?

Maybe he had decided that too late, cause his vision went from black to nothing.

"Oi. Oi. You dead?"

Someone's feet next to his ear. His ear? What?

Matthew blinked himself awake. He was lying in a ditch by the sidewalk that led to the economy university campus.

It was a rather calm side of the road, now that the holidays kept the complex of buildings empty.

"Oi. Go pass out on someone else's turf, you hear?"

The gruff and annoyed voice sounded familiar.

Matthew felt too tired to move, only lifting his gaze. And sure enough, Hector's spiky hair and bushy eyebrows came into view as the wolf leaned over him with an angry scowl.

"Hmmm?" He said intelligently.

"Are you gonna be lying there for a long time?"

"Maybe we should call an ambulance." Another voice. Girlish, one that Matthew didn't recognize.

"Nah, that's fine," Hector waved his hand dismissively. "He is fine, just being lazy. Matt, get up or you're gonna seriously piss me off."

"You don't need me for that," Matthew said in a scratchy voice. He had to cough to clear it, but his throat still felt dry and painful.

He dragged himself up into a sitting position on a second, nope, third time, blinking like a madman as the sun came into view and his surroundings got back their colour.

Hector was still standing there, looking terribly smug. Beside him was a girl, small in statute with a heart-shaped face, round puffy cheeks and short black hair. Her eyes were wide and smoky, looking at Matthew with worry.

She kept glancing at Hector as her reference point, so she was probably crazy.

Matthew let his shoulders slump. Where was he going? His digital watch was out of battery and he had no idea how much running he had left for the day.

When Hector opened his mouth to say something again, Matthew quickly interrupted: "What do you mean, 'your turf'?" This was the biggest university campus in Vienna, no way someone could just come and claim it as part of their pack's territory.

Hector shrugged. "You heard me."

Matthew shook his head, the notion amusing him, despite himself. He braced himself against his knees, trying to work up the energy to stand up. "You can't claim fucking Praterstern, man. It's a whole subway stop, school and lunapark, are you crazy?"

Hector huffed at him, insulted, before a hand suddenly appeared in front of Matthew's face.

Matthew stared at it a bit longer than he should have, almost spacing out again. Then he took it.

Hector got him upright in a smooth motion, without a single catch in his breath. "Am not. It was nobody's, so now it will be somebody's. Mine."

Matthew steadied himself, then lost his balance again.

Hector scoffed, grabbing him by the elbow. "Olive, Matthew. Matthew, Olive." He maneuvered him to the nearest bench. Ah. It was so close, he should have noticed.

A noise of paper hitting pavement caught his attention. The girl let go of the pile of notebooks in her hands, rumpaging frantically through her backpack.

"Here." Olive offered him water in a cute black and pink thermo bottle with shaking fingers, cheeks red with embarrassment. "What do you mean, 'claim turf'?" she said, turning to Hector.

Hector put his hands on his hips, glaring at Matthew like the question was his fault. "Why are you here, anyway? The buildings are closed during summer break."

The black-haired girl gave him a miffed look. "The Messe is right behind you, genius. There is a manga expo as we speak."

Matthew looked vaguely in that direction. Yes, there was the giant Messe building, where all big expositions took place. This was a very frequented district. It didn't belong to no-one because all kinds of wolves and humans passed through it.

Claiming it was inviting trouble.

It was kind of funny. Everyone was moving on with their lives, having hobbies and interests and people. Matthew couldn't deal with any of his problems, while Hector was actively looking for some.

How much more behind could he get?

Matthew took a swing of the water. It was nice and cool, soothing his throat.

"You can't expect me to know what manva means, Olive."

"Manga, it's manga!"

Hector laughed. "You mean the comics for children?"

"They are graphic novels, you jerk, and it's a highly artistic and deeply expressive medium!"

"Oh, another artistic cr- I mean, I see, it fits you very well."

Olive gave him a pouty look. "Anyway. Your friend doesn't look well."

Hector rolled his eyes. "That's not my friend. He is just a pain in the ass sec-I mean, friend of my brother. He is an annoying, good-for-nothing, muscle head with a scary look, nothing more."

Matthew leaned back against the bench, staring at the ground sullenly. That was typical Hector. Nothing surprising.

But it was one hit too much while he was feeling this sorry for himself. He couldn't muster up a retort, tears burning at hearing what he had been thinking the past weeks out loud.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Matthew closed his eyes, all hunched over himself. Hopefully, they would both leave him alone soon.

"Olive, could you get him a coke from the vending machine over there?" Hector pushed his credit card into the chubby girl's hands. "Take one for yourself too. I'm buying. Sorry, I'm doing it wrong."

"No, that's fine," she shot a timid look towards Matthew. "I'll be right back." She hurried away.

The bench dipped under Hector's weight. "Hey. You are acting weird today."

"Nah, not really," Matthew said, sniffling a little. The water must have gotten into his nose. "Just amazed you are picking up problems left and right. Do you want some of mine?"

Hector's scowl deepened, looking positively scary. "Isaiah?"

Matthew shook his head. That was the only important thing, wasn't it? For Hector for sure.

"Do you want me to call him?" Hector's voice dipped a little, like he wanted to whisper but never tried before, so it came out as normal instead of a shout.

"No. Though you might-" Matthew took a shuddering breath, covering half of his face with his hand. "-you might wanna keep that girl away from me."

"Bad day, eh?" Hector said lazily, one leg coming up on the bench.

Matthew clenched his jaw. "If the voices could stop for a second..." He felt raw and exposed without his shadow, but when it was exhausted, at least it wasn't so loud, screaming at him to tear, to fight, to be angry.

"It'd be like that sometimes." Hector leaned back, hands coming behind his head.

Matthew lifted his head at the nonchalant voice, peeking through his fingers. He just told Hector his shadow was messed up and upset, that he could be dangerous to the girl the other wolf obviously wanted to keep out of the shadow stuff — and Hector didn't react at all. Instead of defending her, ushering her away, getting angry....

Was he that confident he could handle Matthew if something went wrong? Or did he believe in Matthew's exhaustion keeping the shadow at bay?

Matthew couldn't imagine Hector understanding, of coming anywhere close to a state like this one.

And yet the blond wasn't alarmed, choosing the most non-fighting position possible.

Something about the sheer calmness of the scene, the mundanity, the sun coming down on the horizon painting everything in orange, while Hector wasn't making a fuss, trying to solve this or control it...felt comforting.

Olive returned with three cokes, panting for breath from how much she was hurrying. She offered one bottle to Matthew. Hector snatched it and opened it for him, for some weird reason, only then handed it over.

It might have been the right move, because Matt's hands were shaking as he took a sip. The sugar exploded on his tongue wonderfully, though.

Hector clicked his bottle with Olive's, draining half of it in one go. Olive watched him in disbelief.

"What? You wanted to be drawing something? Your sunset is going out."

Olive exclaimed, throwing herself to the ground to grab the right notebook so suddenly Matthew jumped in his seat. "Where did I- ah yes, this one..." She took a thick notebook and colorful chalk, sketching the sunset right there, still on her knees.

"There is nothing weirder than drawing," Hector said thoughtfully. His hand came to rest on the backrest behind Matthew.

The red-haired wolf watched with narrowed eyes as the human fought to save the light from being swallowed by shadows, mind going blissfully blank.

[nescaveckwriter]

Saving Grace - Chapter 4 💓😭🩷

A/N: 🐞... While writing this chapter, the emotions were running high extremely high... So fair warning, grab a BOX of tissues 🤭🥺🥺 okay y'all... L💓VE y'all...!

Warnings: *18+ Only* Mentions of a medical condition, and dying ... bit swearing, heartache,🥹❤️

Characters: Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Benny Lafitte, Grace Tucker, Kelly Tucker 😍

Words: 1800-ish😊

Cover & Pictures: Pinterest, Canva, Google

Side Note: Songs not my own, also, Please check out my Masterlist for more, epic stories🐞💕

The old man’s voice is gruff as he speaks to Kelly “Listen the whole point of this album, and show is about touring” Kelly looks at him “Bobby it's simple you sign it or you don’t, Dean Winchester needs Grace more than she needs him, and you know that’s the truth”. Bobby couldn’t deny it, the truth in her words, and Kelly drove a hard bargain, so after some small changes, and a promise of a world tour in a year, he signed.

Kelly walked out of that meeting with Bobby feeling satisfied, and saddened, she promised the old man that Grace would do a world wide tour in a year, letting out a humourless chuckle… ‘Grace will be gone by then, she’s only got a few months left, and I just lied to an old man, great job Kelly, you a horrible damn person, she cussed herself. As she left the studio she tried her very best not to break down, hating the fact that Grace is so strong and all she wants to do is break down and cry, life ain’t fair. 

The thought of burying her sister in a few months overwhelmed her and she broke down crying in the middle of the hallway, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling as she keeps replaying the news they got, not so long ago, the doctor’s words tumbling around “Sorry Grace the scan’s” the doctor’s tone turned sympathetic “honey I’m sorry you have less than a year left” she looked at the doctor then at Grace and she just smiled and said “Then I’ll make the best of the few months I have left, thanks Doc” she looked at Grace like she didn’t understand what he said , but she did. And Kelly wanted to do was break down, scream and shout, and curse and yell, at how it can be possible that her lovely, kind hearted sister could be taken away so early from her.

A hand on Kelly’s shoulder snapped her out of her thoughts, the greenest of green eyes met hers, a gruff voice “Hi? You okay?” she immediately knew who it was, not just was she a fan of his music, but her Fiance, is the drummer for him, and Grace raved on about him, of course she wouldn’t admit but she likes him, and not just about his singing voice. Kelly smiled brushed her tears away and said “yeah, fine thanks Dean” 

Smiling “You don’t look fine?” 

She nearly bit his head off “I’m fine dammit, just leave me the hell alone” Dean raised his hands in the air “Hell I’m just trying to be nice for once, and this is the reaction I get” he huffs “And people still wonder why I prefer Jack Daniels?” he just walked off growling something to himself. And Kelly was left standing, feeling ashamed and heartbroken, she couldn’t tell him the reason. Grace made everyone promise that on one should know, she doesn’t want to be treated like some kind of fragile person, but hell she was fragile. She started making her way out of the building to the car, time to act as if everything is just fine, like her sister is going to die.

Dean walked into the studio, huffing, the little muscle in his jaw jumping. He shot Benny a look “What the hell is the matter with your fiance?” Benny was so confused “Excuse me?” Dean growled “I tried comforting the woman and she bit my head off” Benny nearly jumped up from his sitting position “where is she, is she okay?” Dean glared at him “hell if I know!”.Benny didn’t answer, he shot out of there like a man on a mission, leaving Dean there, still kind of ticked off about the whole situation. 

Grace sat there reading, and humming to the songs they’ll be recording together, she made sure to get some rest the night before, drinking lots of water. She heard them stetson boots on the floor, and there he was, plain old jeans, a black t-shirt and white-creamish cowboy hat, and she could’ve sworn her breathing hitched, but hey she has a heart problem, so it ain’t got nothing to do with him right? His voice broke through, bouncing off the wall “Howdy Grace?” she smiled and greeted “Morning, ready to do this?” he gave her a cocky smile “darling I’m born ready”, shaking her head, laughing a little “good thing your humble?” he found his seat next to her, his forest green eyes piercing her “Oh Honey, why should I be humble, people love me” she tossed her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder “Oh your pretty smug aren’t you?” he laughed “what can I say darling? I am just confident! She shook her head “nope the word your looking for are arrogant!” he mocked offence “ouch, you know how to humble a man don’t ya?” she giggled and it sounded like a choir of joyful angels, “Nah! Just simply keeping you in check”. He smirked “Alright Miss Humble, why don’t we start with this song?” he tapped on the paper and she nodded, “yeah alrighty let’s do this cowboy”.

She started with the few first verses…

I pushed him away

And carefully said

I'm just not that kind of girl

You might think I'm square

'Cause you've been around and you're wise

In the ways of the world

I know that making is taking for granted

It's all easy come, easy go

He pulled me close and whispered

His gruff voice begun…

Now darlin' there's something I want you to know

I still believe in Waltzes

And girls with old fashioned ways

I still believe in love songs

In the good, in the good ole days

I've always liked happy endings

Somebody's dream coming true

I still believe in Waltzes

And dancing the last one with you

She pitched in again…

He slipped into bed, I turned over and said

I'm worried you working so late

Is it just your job that keeps you away, Lord

I know the temptations are gray

I'm just a wife, I'm just a momma

It's not too exciting I know

He pulled me close and whispered those same words

He told me that night long ago

His voice drew …

I still believe in Waltzes

And girls with old fashioned ways

I still believe in love songs

At the end, both of them started to sing in harmony 

In the good, in the good ole days

I've always liked happy endings

Somebody's dream coming true

I still believe in Waltzes

And I'll dance the last one with you

We still believe in Waltzes

When they hit those last notes, they were so in sync, like they’ve been doing it for years, Dean let out an impressed chuckle “damn that was amazing” Grace nodded excitedly, “yes that was perfect, that was amazing, the way you came in on that first verse ‘now darling’ that was mind blowing” while she explained she gestured with her hands, and he couldn’t really make out the rest, of her sentence because he got mesmerised by the way her lips moved as she spoke, watching intently, the way it curved, the way it pursed together with certain words, and then finally as she spoke and her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, to speak further, all he could think is how is it possible for one woman, to do such an innocent act, that was downright turning him on. He had to take a sip of water to cool himself down, and then he heard her sweet voice “You okay Dean?” he just simply nodded and gestured that he was thirsty. She simply smiled and took a few sips of water herself. 

Bobby, who was sitting, listening and watching to them, handed them the next song, and Dean shot him a somewhat uncomfortable glare, but of course the old man didn’t care. After Dean adjusted he started strumming on the guitar, and looked at her, smiling, a smile reaching his eyes. As he sang the first verse he knew never had a song felt so true, because he’d really love to lay her down.

There's a lot of ways of sayin' what I want to say to you

There's songs and poems and promises and dreams that might come true

But I won't talk of starry skies or moonlight on the ground

I'll come right out and tell you I'd just love to lay you down

Lay ya down and softly whisper pretty love words in your ear

Lay ya down and tell you all the things a woman loves to hear

I'll let you know how much it means just havin' you around

Oh darlin', how I'd love to lay you down

A slight pinkish colour crept onto her cheeks as he glanced directly into his eyes, falling in with the next verse…

There's so many ways your sweet love made this house into a home

You've got a way of doin' little things that turn me on

Their voices collided with the next few verses, and they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, emotions running high, their voices, singing the words their hearts and bodies wanted so badly…

Oh darlin', how I'd love to lay you down

Lay ya down and softly whisper pretty love words in your ear

Lay ya down and tell you all the things my woman loves to hear

I'll let you know how much it means just havin' you around

Oh darlin', how I'd love to lay you down

Lay ya down and softly whisper pretty love words in your ear

Lay ya down and tell you all the things my woman loves to hear

I'll let you know how much it means just havin' you around

Oh darlin', how I'd love to lay you down

The song ends and the air is palpable with so much unspoken desire, and need, to simply taste each other’s lips, the two of them stared at each other, Dean slightly leaning in, merely inches away from finally giving in and tasting her lips, but the moment was ruined by Grace getting up and walking out hastily, mumbling something about she needs fresh air. Dean groaned out of frustration, he could’ve sworn she felt the electricity too, but no, she just left.

Grace hurried outside, trying to catch her breath. Before she knew it, she called Kelly, before Kelly could properly greet her, Grace rambled on “Sis, I’m in big trouble, the man… I nearly kissed, I nearly kissed him, I can’t feel this way… why do I feel this way, I barely know him… I can’t be falling in love with him.. Can I ..?” Kelly’s heart broke, she knew what her sister meant, “Gracie, sweetie… I don't know what to say!” Grace’s voice came out sounding slightly brittle, “This can't be happening… why? I can’t be falling in love now” Not now! Why did he have to be him” she grunted. 

Kelly tried to calm her down, knowing she shouldn’t exert herself, “please calm down, please”. Grace broke down for the first time since she got the news “K…Kelly, I can’t fall in love with Dean, I am going die in a couple of months, and I can’t imagine a future, because there is now future, there is now, rainbows, and roses, candle light dinners, whispering loving words to each other, there is nothing, that’s certain” barely audible through the crying “the only thing that my future holds, is my heart stopping in a few months, or weeks or days…” all you could hear on both ends off the phone calls, is heart shattering sobbing. 

@jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @k-slla @angelbabyyy99

[cosmos-coma]

Hey!! If it's okay for you, may I request something about elf&innocent!reader and Geralt? Like they know each other and meet often in Novigrad. She helps Geralt when he is injured and so on 🥺

Blossoms of Beggartick

A/N: Of course!! I hope this works for what you were thinking of because I absolutely loved writing this little ficlet!

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Words: ~700

_______________________________

The day had felt like a sack of bricks on your mind, squishing all of your grey matter into one flat and exhausted pancake. You just couldn’t wait to get home so you could relax and unwind a bit. 

As an elf, you had made the hard decision to take some time away from your people and were currently taking courses at the Oxenfurt Academy. You were already well-practiced as a healer in the use of elvish medicines but had yet to fully delve into the ways that humans and other species used theirs. There was a lot of overlap between them all, so you were making your way through your classes without too much trouble, but the three-hour lectures were starting to wear on you. 

You crossed the bridge into Novigrad, bag slung over your shoulder, medical kid in hand, and made your way up the stairs to the balcony of your apartment. 

“Oh..?” you paused as you noticed the beggartick blossom tucked into the door frame and the droplets of blood leading up the steps from where you came. You knew it could only mean one thing. 

“Gwynbleidd?” you asked as you poked your head inside, excited to see him again after so long. 

“In here…” he mumbled from the other room, sounding tired and gruff. 

You set down your bag of books and brought your kit in towards the living room where you found Geralt sitting on the couch, holding a head wound that was still dripping blood- amongst other injuries. 

“Oh, Geralt… you’re bleeding all over my rug,” You said with a smile as you came over to look over his wounds, fingers wrapping around his wrist as you gently but firmly pulled his hand away. You rummaged your free hand around in your kit before finding what you needed and pressing a gauze against his forehead. 

He snorted, “Well that’s one way to say hello, I missed you too.” He said and rolled his eyes with a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s been a little longer than usual, how are you holding up?” 

You smiled and kneeled down to his level as you got to work fixing him up, your gentle and easy hands working over his already scarred and time-roughened skin. “It's good. I’m almost finished with my certificates actually.” You said with a proud smile as you handed him a mortar and pestle. “Would you crush this, please? Thank you. I actually finish this spring… but I’m thinking of sticking around for a while. How would you ever know where to find me otherwise?” You said with a bit of a playful scrunching of your nose as you spoke.

As Geralt crushed and helped you prepare what you needed, you began stitching up the wounds too deep to heal on their own properly. “You’re right on that. I’d be shit out of luck in Novigrad without you around.” 

“Language, my dear Witcher,” you warned and tied off a line of stitches, straight and concise just like you had practiced hundreds of times before. 

“Oh, ‘your dear Witcher’ am I..?” he teased, with a cheeky smile about him. You never understood the rumors of witchers having no emotions- dulled? Maybe. But you look at the smile he gives you now and you know the rumors can only be that. Rumors. 

“Not if you keep that up.” You said with a gentle swat to his arm before taking the mortar from him, ”Thank you for your help.” You slathered the poultice over his wounds before bandaging them up with care. “There you go, all fixed up,” you said with a warm smile and stood once again, wiping your hands on the front of your dress. 

“Really though…. I don't know what I would do here without you.” Geralt paused to say, his hand now wrapping around your wrist to make sure you stay beside him just a little longer.  

Your smile softened and grew even wider as your free hand came up to graze his cheek. “Then it's a good thing you’ll never have to worry about that, My dear Witcher. Now rest up for a bit and then maybe you can help me get to work on dinner?”

Geralt smiled an easy smile and nodded, hand loosening away from your wrist and lingering on your hand before fully dropping away. “Of course, my little elf….”

_________________________

Taglist: @open--till--midnight @writingmysanity @dark-academia-slut

[whispers-of-lilith]

Lilith, who're your top 8 One Piece loves?

Star! Hi & thank you for popping in 🥺 Honestly, I had to think about this for a hot minute bc my brain has been hard focused on JJK lol.

Buckle up, bc this is going to be a long ass ride.

Liliths Top 8 One Piece Loves

Silvers "Dark King" Rayleigh

While I do love young Rayleigh when he was in his "prime", I will always choose older Rayleigh. It's no secret that this man definitely slept around at some point in his life. Not only does he have experience, but he knows exactly how to utilize all the skills he's learned over the years.

Rayleigh has stamina for days [ie. when his ship sank & he casually swam to Amazon Lily], he knows how to please, how to edge, etc. He could fuck me for days, to where I couldn't walk, but he wouldn't even have broken a sweat.

He seems like a fun person to be around & honestly I could see myself spending nights sitting in his lap while he drinks & tells stories of all the crazy shit he's done.

Dracule Mihawk

Ah, the dark, broody man who lives alone on an island. Literally my ideal type, bc dealing with people is hard & I'd rather spend my days on a rainy island in a massive castle.

I've probably said this one too many times, but whenever it rains I always have the urge to get railed by Mihawk next to the fireplace in his library. You just know he has a plush rug in front of it & if you bother him enough while he's reading? Best be prepared because he's going to teach you a lesson & you sure as shit can't finish until he finishes the chapter he's reading.

We could just enjoy the quiet together, I'm okay with spending time with someone even if we're doing our own thing.

Shanks

Shanks is like the golden retriever to my black cat. He doesn't take life too seriously [unless the situation calls for it & fuck if he isn't sexy when he's serious]. He knows how to have fun & would probably have the easiest time relaxing me simply by just cuddling with me.

Another man who clearly sleeps around, but knows exactly what he's got & how to please. I'm easily embarrassed & Shanks loves to embarrass, it's just in his nature.

I will always be a blushing, stuttering mess when it comes to this man's charms & I wouldn't have it any other way.

Benn "Big Dick" Beckman

You can't really have Shanks without Benn, or Benn without Shanks for that matter. Where Shanks throws caution to the wind, Benn is there to keep his ass in line.

He's gruff, stoic at times, doesn't seem to talk much, but will go feral when it comes to protecting something or someone he loves. Also, if you couldn't tell by the title I gave him, I just know this man is HUGE.

I'd melt if he called me "princess", "kitten", "pet" or anything along those lines and it's always a bonus when he follows it with a smirk. I'm down for a good railing sesh whenever he gets frustrated with Shanks [which is often].

[I just need to be eifle towered by Shanks & Benn, it'd probably solve 90% of my problems]

Charlotte Katakuri

Clearly I like the quiet / strong type if this list is any indication. Let's get the obvious out of the way first, Katakuri can & will split me in half with that dick & if that's how I go– then so be it.

I love a man with tattoos & have you seen his body?? Absolute perfection. Don't mess with the people he loves unless you have a death wish, he can & will obliterate you on sight if you do.

When he's not going feral in battle, his quiet & calculating personality is precious. He seems like the type to be easily flustered & I'd love to push him a bit so I could see his little blush. Idk he's just precious & adorable & needs to be protected at all costs.

[Ps. Would climb him like a koala]

Trafalgar Law

I loved him before I even met him in the anime. Fell for the scrungly, tired, lanky man seated on a box in Saboady. I even went as far as to cosplay a fem!Law for one of my first cons.

Again, another broody, quiet, tired man to add to my list. We're literally one in the same, we hyperfixate on things & neither of us sleep. So I know he'll always be awake at 3am to listen to me ramble about all the stupid facts I know.

Also, tbh, the tattoos do something for me. I mean, watching as his death tattoos disappear inside with each stroke? Fuck. Jsjdjajsbbxjsj. He is another one that flusters easy, but if you push him too far he 100% lets his dom side out.

Sir Crocodile

Sir Crocodile, hng. Money laundering? My man would never [yes he would & we live well bc of it, so no I'm not snitching]. I could sit in his lap like a perfect little kitten, whether he's sitting in on meetings or just enjoying a cigar, just lemme me on the big mans lap.

Lo said it best earlier, the rings. THE RINGS AND MAKING YOU CLEAN THEM JAHDUSJHAJAI. To be dominated by him would be a dream, he's so smug & cocky & ugh.

I would be his little princess, my self respect would go out the window. He 100% showers you with gifts just bc he can & he loves when you wear things he's bought you.

King [Alber]

Oh, what do you know, another quiet, strong, stoic man... see a theme here? Another man who would split me in half & I'd say thank you for doing so.

Just. His hair. His wings. His face tattoo. Everything about him was perfectly sculpted from the heavens & simply looking at him makes my day better.

On days when it's cold he could wrap us both in his wings & I'd fucking melt into a puddle. He's the type of man to be cold towards others, except for the person he loves & I'm all here for it.

[rodolfoparras]

Hi!! You might not remember me, but I’m the shy anon from a bit ago that you said had a pretty way of writing (which still makes me like 🥺 when I think about it). It was an ask about Price kind of wanting you to just collar him, touch him, have him. Anyway, I come with another thought!

As I was scrolling through your blog, I started to think about how it would be so delicious if those headcanons about a dog/wolf hybrid reader where switched to Price. Like, he’s not a lone wolf. He would be a pretty shitty leader and captain if he was, after all! Every inside Price, every instinct he has is driven by pack. It’s his pack first, his boys first. Whatever they need, he gives it to them. Because that’s what a good dog does doesn’t it? It protects and provides and maybe he’s a little rough around the edges, but all Price does is care.

And Price is gruff and professional. His bark and bite alike have landed people in the ground. He does not bare his neck nor offer his belly. That’s not how he works, not how his pack works. He needs his team’s respect and support (and there’s that niggling need for affection and attention that makes his tail tuck low when no one’s around).

But then there’s you, a new teammate. A fresh-faced rookie with excellent marks and little field experience. Your scores are fantastic, your reputation on of vicious determination. Price isn’t doubting you—everyone has to start somewhere, but you’re still new to this. To bloodshed and battlefields, to pain and misery and watching lives bleed out into the sand. But then he sees you in action for the first time, and everything just freezes for a moment.

Because, finally, Captain John Price has found someone’s worthy enough of his submission. His unwavering loyalty and dogged stubbornness a mirror of your own reflection. (And maybe it gets him just a little bit hot under the collar to see you bare your bloody teeth like that. In a challenge, like you want to protect him with bruised knuckles and a split lip.)

Hello sugar of course I rmr you and the statements still rings True you write beautifully sugar and you should def share your writing!!

And I absolutely love this!!!! I have like this image of price inching closer to old ages and god he feels lost bc without his squad he has no purpose in life besides he hasn’t even met someone and all of a sudden you arrive and he’s torn between going after you- pursuing you or just leaving you alone because he’s an old man after all no? But it doesn’t take much for him to give in literally submitting by letting you order him around on the battlefield- leaving everyone wide eyed and gasping, or practically letting you kick his ass during sparring session just bc he wants to feel your body on top of his or how he looks at you with so much love and adoration when you’re simply just existing and before he knows of it he’s found another purpose in life- to love and protect you for as long as he can

[aftershocked]

would love to see number 10 🥺🙏

(And if you’re up to it, here’s some others that caught my eye: 18, 35, 49, 54)

so. i was going to wait and answer these all at once but the first prompt came out to 1,487 words. so.

Valvert - #10, hair/caressing/braiding; 1.5k, rated G leaning briefly on T:

“Oh, let me get that, my dear.”

One of Valjean’s large hands reaches forward to cover Javert’s own, still pinching a bit of ribbon between his fingertips.

Javert huffs soundlessly as he passes the ribbon to Valjean without complaint, lowering his arms and settling more comfortably onto the small upholstered stool they keep next to the little desk in their bedroom.

He is already dressed for a brisk, wintry day, despite the few scant rays of dawn just now peeking past their curtains—still nervous, even now, whenever he accompanies Valjean to visit Cosette and her husband and their children. He cuts a handsome figure to Valjean’s eyes, wrapped in warm trousers and pleated woolen shirtsleeves, layered with the embroidered waistcoat that Valjean had gifted him the previous Christmas, its back panel a deep navy satin that hugs Javert’s waist with a delicately knotted bow.

Valjean forces his eyes away from the cinched fabric to note where the folded heap of Javert’s cravat yet lies on top of the desk, and beside it the simple, battered wooden hairbrush that was one of the few items Javert had brought with him to the Rue de l’Homme Armé all those years ago. His long waterfall of hair has been neatly brushed, and now needs only to be tied back into its customary queue; of late it is more grey than black, fanning out from his temples to fall in interlocking layers of iron and silver and gunmetal down nearly to Javert’s mid-back.

Valjean gently gathers the silky cascade of loose hair into his hand, stomach fluttering at the simple pleasure of his callused skin snagging on the thin strands—impossibly soft to the touch, and smelling faintly of the lavender and rosemary of their little bottle of hair oil.

He cannot resist sinking his fingers into where the hair grows thick at the other man’s nape, nails lightly scraping over Javert’s skull as he tugs a little more firmly at the hair clutched in his palm, the better to keep it straight and tidy for Javert’s queue—but a smile tugs at his lips at the quiet gasp Javert makes in response; the way Javert’s head tips back to follow the movement of Valjean’s hands in his hair.

“Do you have a second riband?” Valjean asks, enjoying the luxurious weight of Javert’s hair within his hand. His other rests at the juncture of Javert’s neck and shoulder, the heat of Javert’s skin seeping slowly through the material of his collar, Javert’s pulse strong and steady against Valjean’s palm. The impressive bristle of his whiskers brushes Valjean’s fingertips, and he looses a shuddering, indulgent exhale as Valjean’s thumb begins to rub in tiny, aimless circles; catching on the wisps of hair there, relaxing muscles that are always too tense, even so early in the morning.

“Another one?” Javert replies, bemused; even as he tilts his head into the tempting caress of Valjean’s fingertips, heedless of the way the angle pulls a lock of hair free of Valjean’s hold to tumble down his back, and Valjean ducks his head to press a kiss to the crown of Javert’s head.

“Perfect,” he says, withdrawing his hand from Javert’s throat to pull at the escaped hair. “I needed to separate it anyway; it’s been too long since I got to braid your hair for you.”

“It’s only been a few days, you old con,” Javert says, voice rasping faintly at the edges, shivering at each new touch of Valjean’s hand along his neck, the hinge of his jaw.

“Exactly,” Valjean agrees, “Nearly an eternity.”

He parts the thick layers of hair into sections, still running his hands through the glinting tangle shaded as mercury and coal and stardust. If Valjean could put a color to the glimmering constellations the other man will speak so fondly of—in that spare, gruff way of his whenever it is a matter of any importance to him—surely it would be here, in Valjean’s hands, coiled sleek and gleaming between each stout finger.

He carefully pulls and twists the familiar river of Javert’s hair into an orderly, uniform plait; resisting the urge to dither too long with the soft strands between his fingers, knowing it will only result in lopsided loops and frayed, frizzing ends. And while Valjean would hardly mind starting right back over from the beginning, Javert would likely insist on doing it himself the second time, for the sake of efficiency.

And so Valjean applies himself to the task as scrupulously as he knows the other man would do himself, the well-known rhythm soothing and intimate and over entirely too quickly by Valjean’s reckoning; the finished braid slipping easily from his hold to thump softly against Javert’s back.

“I don’t suppose you could grow your hair out longer still,” Valjean says, not entirely sure himself if he means it in jest. “I do so love to brush and braid it for you.”

The other man turns his head to look up at Valjean over one broad shoulder, his thin lips pulled down into a considering moue, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I would have no strong objections,” Javert says, his voice now steadied to its usual deep and resonant baritone. “Though it seems impractical. But you already know you may brush or braid it as often as you wish, whatever the length of my hair.”

“If I were to do this as often as I wished, I would need to be the one brushing out your hair morning and night,” Valjean replies, grinning in earnest now. He allows himself to tug gently at the tail of Javert’s plait, thinking ahead to the evening, when they prepare themselves for bed:

Javert changed from this more formal attire into his long, ruffed nightshirt, stockings yet in place in deference to the cold night; loosing the ribbons in his hair and fastidiously unwinding the individual strands until they fall in snaking waves down his back, enticing Valjean’s fingertips.

Valjean would want to trail his hands through the curls left by the braid; clasping messy handfuls in his work-roughened palms as he hauls Javert around to meet the other man’s mouth with his own, fingers buried in hair the color of quicksilver and glimmering to match the starlight falling through their bedroom window.

He would want to lace his fingers through the jumbled tresses falling around Javert’s shoulders and pull the other man closer to him, pressed chest to hip to thigh before walking Javert to their bed, slowly lowering the other man to lie beneath him on the plush duvet, Valjean’s hands still pulling at Javert’s hair as it spilled across the bedding, and—

“—jean,” Javert says. He sounds very much like this is not the first time in the past few minutes that he has called Valjean’s name. “Jean.”

Valjean blinks. The sunlight peeping through their curtains looks, perhaps, brighter than he last recalls. It is still early in the morning, with a long day yet ahead of them; and Javert’s expression has drifted somewhere between fondness and an amused exasperation as he says, “Are you still tired? It’s early yet, you could nap for a while longer…”

“No, no,” Valjean waves the suggestion away, cheeks heating as he determinedly sets aside his wandering thoughts and their decidedly inopportune nature; it will do him no good to keep thinking that way, with a trip to the Pontmercy-Gillenormand househould and a half-dozen errands ahead of them before nightfall—and any potential reenactment of his imaginings. “I’m not tired at all; I simply was a bit lost in thought, planning out our day.”

He pauses, and adds, with an attempt at nonchalance he knows will not fool Javert for even a moment: “But I may take you up on your earlier suggestion, if you will permit me to brush your hair out tonight.”

An eyebrow creeps up Javert’s forehead, deepening the creases cut across it by time and age and experience, and the ghost of a smirk plays around the corners of his mouth as he replies with a knowing, “Indeed?”

He tosses his head, braid swinging over his shoulder as he faces forward once more, picking up the cravat lying on the desk before him to loop it around his neck. The cravat had been a gift from Valjean as well, to match the waistcoat—and Javert slips it beneath the rope of his braid and edges of his collar, to fasten it expertly at the hollow of his throat. Once complete, his hands pull away from his neck, and he swallows; the elegant knot of the cravat bobbing in time with the motion.

Javert glances at Valjean from the corner of one eye, where a single coil of hair has been missed by Valjean’s handiwork; now lying tucked against the crow’s feet that deepen when Javert smiles. He murmurs: “As I said; whatever you wish, my Jean.”

[rileysghostt]

I of course need a price one-shot from you🥺 I’m thinking meeting him in a bar, and then… 😈

SASHA YESSSSS OF COURSE 🥲

and i’m sorry this is late ilysm ❤️

Captain John Price x F!Reader

smutsmutsmutsmut

Minors DNI!!!!!!

You were sitting alone at the bar at the local pub, a place you frequented from time to time, but you wouldn’t say you’re a regular by any means. You just liked a glass of good whiskey and this made more sense than buying a bottle and drinking alone in your apartment. The pub was dimly lit, a few people sat at the bar, having their own conversations. However, you were sitting between two empty bar stools. You didn’t really mind, just here for the whiskey. You needed this drink, you had an awful week. Everything at work, everything at home, with family, friends etc. went all to shit this week. You sighed to yourself as you took a sip, the two ice cubes clanked around in the glass as you sat it back down on the coaster. Watching them swirl around the burgundy liquid, you flicked your eyes toward the door. You watched as it opened, a man with a black beanie stepped inside.

The rest of his clothing was dark, but with how dim the atmosphere was in the bar. that’s all you could really tell. He was definitely handsome, facial hair traced up his jaw along with a thick mustache. You love gruff facial hair on tall, burly men. This was no exception. Before he caught you gawking at him, you looked away toward the back of the bar. You caught your reflection in the mirror behind the shelves of liquor bottles. You definitely weren’t dressed up by any means, but at least your hair was done, and you decided to line your eyes with liquid liner and mascara before you came in. You’ve been in worse condition, not that you really expected this man to come talk you up or anything.

“Wishful thinking…”

You picked up your glass and brought it toward your lips, finishing it off. You raised your glass toward the bartender who took the hint with a nod to you, grabbing another short glass to begin making your whiskey on ice. Running your fingers through your hair, you waited patiently for your drink. You decided to take a peak toward the handsome stranger once more, seeing where he could have ended up. To your surprise, you catch his eyes looking right at you. He was still standing by the door as he looked at you. The bartender set the glass new glass front of you making you jump slightly. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, with a thank you.

“This seat taken?”

You turn toward the stranger, his accent was thick and his voice low. You have him a small smile and shook your head no.

“All yours.”

He smiled back at you, pulling the stool back to take a seat next to you. He ordered a bourbon on the rocks from the bartender, then turned back toward to you.

“What’s in the glass?” He nodded toward your cup. You look down at it and pick it up, clinking the ice cubes around again.

“Jameson on the rocks. Real fancy stuff.”

You took a sip, eyes on his as he watched your lips touch the glass.

“What’s your name?”

You set the glass down gently, finger tracing the rim as you spoke to him.

“John, yours?”

His eyes glanced down watching your fingers trace the rim of the small scotch glass. He was taking you in, looking at your features. The way your lips curled around the glass, the way your leg was crossed over the other as you sat at the bar alone. He couldn’t imagine why a woman like you was sitting in a pub alone, drinking whiskey of all things. He couldn’t deny, it was very endearing.

“Y/N, you’re not from around here are you?”

You were also analyzing him, even though he was wearing rather dark clothing and a heavy coat, you could see how built he was underneath. You could only imagine the muscles of his board shoulders, to his defined back. Even his thighs seemed thick with muscle. His stature was tall, taller than you. ‘He’s just so attractive,’ you thought to yourself.

“Nah, how could you tell?” His accent rolled off his tongue, his voice was rich like mahogany. His chuckle tumbled in his chest.

“Hmm, I wonder. Couldn’t be your sexy accent or anything.” You tested the waters, the alcohol giving you the nerve to be a little flirtatious. What’s the harm anyway, might as well end your shit week on a high note.

“Sexy? Now I wouldn’t say that. You’re the one with the sexy accent. Can’t imagine why you’re sat here by yourself, you’re much too pretty for that.” The bartender set his glass in front of him, he took a sip after paying for the drink, refusing to start a tab.

“If you must know, Ive been sitting right here all night waiting for you.” You laughed taking another sip, you were really feeling the alcohol now. The room began to move a bit, and your body felt light.

“Now you’re just bein’ cheeky.” He laughed, taking a large swig of his drink, almost finishing it off. He had to play catch up to get where you were on the sober to drunk scale.

As he ordered both of you another drink, the two of you talked a bit more. About where you’re both from, what brought you into the pub tonight. You vaguely told him about you terrible, awful, no good week and he sympathized, he was there for roughly the same thing. Needed to take the edge off.

After a couple hours flew by, the pub was beginning to empty and the bartender announced last call.

“Listen, I have a hotel around the block. Wanna come back up with me? I have a half bottle of scotch we can polish off?” John was slurring just a little now, definitely feeling his buzz. Every time he spoke, you could see him staring at your lips. You couldn’t help but stare at his too, wondering what it’d be like to kiss them,

“Sure, scotch sounds great.”

You weren’t going for the scotch, but it wasn’t a bad addition to what you’d hoped to be getting into.

John pulled out more cash, paying off your tab for you. He ignored every objection you spit at him, that you could pay your own tab. You had to admit, though. You weren’t really complaining. John grasped your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as he helped you off the stool and out the door of the pub. The alcohol kept you warm as the two of you stepped into the cold, crisp night air. You were both giggling at each other, walking like brand new baby giraffes. This was the most fun you’d had in a while, you needed this.

John led you up to his hotel room, lazily slapping the keycard on the lock of the door, unlocking it as you both gained entry. It was a quaint room, one queen bed in the middle with a desk and lamp, bathroom of course. You took a seat at the desk while John tore off his coat and beanie. You were right about his defined shoulders and back, you could see them now through his long sleeved shirt. He grabbed two coffee cups from the tiny coffee and tea brew station the hotel had set up for the room, as well as the scotch from the mini refrigerator. He poured two liberal cups, sliding one over to you and setting the open bottle on the desk beside you. He sat on the edge of the bed closest to you, taking a swig of his drink.

“You’re quite beautiful..” John mumbled, bringing the cup down the rest in his leg. His eyes never moved away from yours, you could see just how tipsy he was from his half lidded stare at you. You weren’t much better.

“So are you, John.” You smiled, keeping the conversation light.

“You wouldn’t mind if I kissed you, then?”

“Of course not..” You breathed, your eyes falling back down on his lips again. John stood, taking a step towards you. He grabbed your hands, pulling you up to your feet. His hands left yours immediately, now taking your face in his palms. He slowly pulled you to him, his lips bushes against yours, his warm breath fanned over your lips before he placed a light kiss onto them. He moved his lips against yours, parting them as he opened his slightly. He breached your mouth with his wet tongue, lightly licking against yours. He tasted of scotch mostly, his tongue soft. You breath a light moan as the two of you continued, your hands running up his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you in closer. Your bodies now flush with each other, your breasts pressed into his chest. This kiss quickly became a little sloppy as both your hands explored each others bodies. For you, you hand ran back down his chest. Feeling the hardened muscle down to his stomach, resting your hands on the front of his belt buckle.

His hands ran straight down to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of each cheek. He loved how soft your ass was, he couldn’t help but grope each cheek as he groaned into your mouth.

“This okay?”

You nodded, not quite able to get any words out. That familiar tingle spreads through your pussy, your clit beginning to throb for him looking at how pink and plump his lips were now. He made quick work of your shirt and bra, throwing the garments to the floor as you worked on his belt. After unclasping you, you quickly pulled the belt through the loops and tossed it aside, you fingers now making quick work of the button and zipper.

Before he could tug your panties off, he pulls you back into a kiss. Your bare breasts pressed into his chest once again, nipples bushing against his soft skin. John’s hands trailed down past your ass to the back of your thighs, gripping them and hoisting you up. Getting the hint, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist. He walks a few steps, pressing your back against the wall. He pulls away, looking down at you with a smirk.

“ ‘that pussy wet for me?”

You smirked back, your hands on either side of his neck. You could feel sweat beginning to bead below his hair line.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Your voice was almost a whisper, so sultry as your breath tickled John’s ear. You were indeed so wet for him, your panties were soaked through already. The thought of him thrusting into you like this sent chills down your spine.

John took his one hand, snaking it in between the two of you. His hand cupped your mound over your panties, feeling the wet spot you’ve created.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl.. So wet for me already..”

His voice rumbled and vibrated through your body as he spoke in a low tone, his fingers playing with the cloth of your panties as he moved the fabric to the side. His middle and ring fingers slipped between your folds, your sex dripping down to his knuckles. He groaned feeling just how bad you wanted him. His fingers then dipped into your tight hole, curling his fingers as he slowly penetrated your pussy. You let out a small whimper, the stretch around his thick fingers felt so good. They curled and pressed right into that sweet spot, earning another sweet moan from your lips.

John watched your face as he pleasured you, beckoning with his two fingers inside you. Pressing into your g spot every time, he picked up the pace. Your moans becoming louder and more frequent. He pressed his palm into your clit, offering friction from his calloused skin. It didn’t take long for you to unravel for him, your hips bucking into his hand.

“That’s right, gorgeous. Cum for me..”

Price slurred into your ear, his encouragement sending you over the edge. Your pussy gripped his fingers, pulsating as you rode out your high, the searing build up in your lower abdomen being released. Making you moan into his neck.

“So perfect.. You’re ready for my cock, lovely?”

You still heard static as you came down from your high, his voice barely breaking through. You tilt your head back, resting it against the wall as you looked back at him.

“I’m ready.. I need you inside me..” You confess as you start to catch your breath. He nods, his hand pulling his cock out from behind the confines of his tight boxer-briefs.

Feeling the head of his cock lined up with your entrance made you throb, letting out a small sigh.

“Please.. John I want you so bad..”

You were slurring your words, the alcohol still having its hold on you. Price simply nodded as he slowly push his thick cock between your folds and into your wet entrance. You moaned and arched your back of the wall as you stretched around him, pushing his cock all the way into you. Filling you to the brim. He pulled out slowly, then back in. Setting a slow and steady pace. His cock slicked every time he pulled out, then pushed back into you. Your wetness dropped down his balls, there was no doubt how bad you wanted this. Wanted him.

John started to pick up the pace, his one hand gripping your ass to hold you up against the wall, the other now on your neck, his thumb tracing your bottom lip as he kept up his assault on your tight pussy.

“That’s it baby.. Take my fucking cock.. Make me cum inside that pretty pussy..”

John huffed as he starred into your eyes, wanting to see every expression you had to give as he fucked the every living shit out of you. Your eyes rolled back as Price thrusted up into your g spot all over again. It was still so sensitive from earlier, it made you moan and grip the hair at the nape of his neck. The over stimulation almost being too much. His thrusts turned sloppy, and he was panting heavy. He was definitely close.

“Cum John.. cum inside me please. I need it.. I need you.”

That’s all the encouragement he needed as kissed you hard, groaning to your hot mouth. He came hard, hot ropes spilled into your cunt as you tightened around him. Squeezing every drop from him.

He pressed his forehead to yours, both of you sweating and panting. You curl a small smile to your lips. He did the same, chuckling a little.

“You staying, yeah? Really want to get to know you..”

Price was breathless as he spoke, barely holding you onto the wall. His grip lessened as your shaky legs anted themselves on the floor. He hold onto you so you don’t fall, leading you to the wedge of the bed and sitting you down. He looks down at you again, taking in every detail of your irises. He loved getting lost in your eyes.

“I’d like that..”

[rosethreeart]

perchance some more baby Abby and Uncle Scotland? (or maybe her aunt Ireland 🥺) writing or art I’ll let you decide <3

(obviously only if you want to!)

Okay so this is technically more Alasdair and Arthur centric but the plot revolves around Abby so...

School of Punk Au, set a few days after that other fic ;)

little over 1k long :D

Alasdair needed a drink…

A strong one…

A really strong one…

He collapsed onto the old dingy couch and placed his head in his hands. Somehow, the sliver of moonlight that had cut in through the blinds and the dim warm light of the lamp at the side table next to him, was able to agitate his headache even further. Pulling his hands down far enough for his eyes to peak out, Alasdair glared at the offensive object to his right.

There was a creak of the floor from the hallway.

Alasdair prepared himself for the inevitable conversation that hopefully wouldn’t be occurring at that moment.

“Alasdair..?” His youngest brother, Arthur, tentatively called out.

Just his luck…

“Over here.” He responded exasperatedly, as his head lulled over to stare at the man hidden in shadow.

Anger that had dwindled began finding ways to re-spark with every inch his brother drew closer. At last his brother reached the edge of the couch, and his anger hit the rim of its glass.

“May I?” Arthur asked awkwardly, pointing to the empty spot next to his eldest sibling.

Alasdair's mouth twitched as he snapped, “You need to even ask? Ye fuckin’ live here now, don’t ya?”

Alasdair's eyes focused on a stain on the rug, but even still he was able to see the wince— or was it a cringe? That his littlest brother made. 

Arthur cleared his throat as he tentatively sat down, “I..suppose I do…”

Alasdair just gave a gruff hum of agreement. 

“What were you thinking, Arthur?” Alasdair said as he shook his head in disappointment.

“I wasn’t—”

“That’s right, you don’t fucking think!” Alasdair snapped.

“Well you don’t have to be so bloody harsh about it!” Arthur retorted.

“I don’t?” Alasdair barked out a laugh, “ Really? Because clearly you haven’t gotten it through that thick daft skull of yours that that’s something you need to fucking do more of!”

Arthur looked panicked with each word that Alasdair’s voice rose with. Arthur raised both his eyebrows and hands as he tried to shush his brother.

“Don’t fucking shush me!” Alasdair sneered as he smacked his brother’s hands down.

A cry emitted from a few rooms deeper into the house.

Oh.

The baby…

Perhaps Arthur had a right to shush him after all. Which was never a sentence that Alasdair would have ever thought he’d have  to say to himself. Yet here he was….

Unfortunately, for the both of them, they happened to be the only two in the house at the moment. Which meant that they had to go and handle things. Or rather Alasdair had to go and handle things, since his stupid youngest brother seemed to be incapable of caring for his own damn kid.

“I did warn you.” Arthur said.

Alasdair immediately whipped his head around and glared at him in only a way a pissed off sibling could possess and pointed a finger that meant ‘watch it, dickhead’.  

‘Little brothers…’ Alasdair grumbled to himself internally as he marched his way up to the make-shift nursery. 

He paid no heed to the very tall shadow that nervously trailed behind him.

“Alasdair—”

“What?” He snapped.

A part of him, a very small part of him felt a tad guilty at the expression on his sibling’s face.

Arthur seemed like he had something rather important he wanted to say or get off his chest if the rapid blinking and chattering of his mouth was anything to go by.

“Spit it out.” Alasdair demanded.

“I…” Something shifted in Arthur’s eyes, “..Never mind.” 

Alasdair watched curiously as his brother quickly skirted around him and headed straight towards the infant in the crib. The moment he held the baby Alasdair could practically see the stress melting off of him.

Alasdair always knew that his younger brother had potential. Potential to be a good person. Potential to get far in life. Potential to, now, be a good father. Alasdair also knew that his youngest brother was a reckless boy who continuously threw caution to the wind, and all that potential down the drain. 

That’s not to say that Arthur wasn’t successful, because he was. In fact, he was far more successful than most people would ever even dream of becoming. Alasdair feared that a part of him resented Arthur for that fact. A part of him also didn’t care if he did, because despite all the recklessness, despite all the success, despite all the greed, the glory, and the praise that flowed through him like a power cord, he hardly ever had to face a consequence. 

Alasdair found himself wondering if his helpless baby niece was a sacrificial lamb or blessing sent by god to right his brother’s path, or some cruel sense of punishment and manifestation of all the mistakes her father has ever made. 

Alasdair also found himself wondering if there was even a difference in those two things to begin with. 

He watched as Arthur bounced the little dear in his arms as he whispered sweet nothings to her. Alasdair’s eyes softened at the scene. 

To think, only a few days ago Arthur had tried to abandon her…

Abandon them…

Abandon him…

But he didn’t. 

He stayed.

And now here he was, holding his daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world yet still being unable to look her directly in the eye. 

“I’ll be better.” Arthur spoke, bringing Alasdair back into reality, “I promise.”

“You’re not very good at keeping promises, mate.” Alasdair replied.

“I can change!” Arthur huffed.

“Can you?” 

“...I want to..”

Alasdair smiled somberly, “Well, if you ask me,” He said as he approached the other man, “The old Arthur I knew wouldn’t even want to change in the first place. So it seems like you might be making a fine start here.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Alasdair could see genuine hope and pride in his little brother’s eyes, as a soft smile appeared on both their faces.

“You still mad at me?” Arthur asked tentatively.

Alasdair smiled.

“Bloody fucking furious.”

[xamaxenta]

Roger ace and rogue could potentially be the funniest dynamic ever because you’ve got:

Roger ace where roger just wants to smother his son to death with love and is so proud of him and affectionate and ace is the equivalent of a drenched angry cat who will try and rip your face off if you touch it.

Ace rogue which is the most wholesome thing ever because ace is a mamas boy who will do anything without shame if his mother wants it. He’s so well behaved and the ideal son around her and it’s perfect.

Roger rogue where roger loves his wife and worships the group she walks on while rogue thinks this funky little man is great fun.

And again roger ace where ace wants to stab roger for being attracted to his mother no I don’t care that’s how I exist you’re gross stay away from her old man.

THIS EXACTLY theyre like the funniest little family ever i love them

Roger doesnt let his son’s prickly behaviour get to him, he just doggedly continues lavishing his fatherly love onto him in hopes one day Ace will return the sentiments

But he also understands the resentment bc if its for a modern au maybe he was an absent father for most of Ace’s childhood hence his great relationship with his mom but lacking one with his father

So hes trying to regain that trust and love between them 🥺

And Rouge could intervene but this is between her husband and son and Ace is very prideful she doesn’t want to interfere where she knows he’s handling it in his own way

And yes Rouge looooves her goofy ass husband she thinks hes awfully funny, cute how he trips over himself to help her with anything at all

Interesting how her son tries to do the same in a more gruff manner though she thinks its sweet

[maeby-cursed]

mae!! i am dropping by with a few things i find pretty bc april is so very pretty to me! 🍞🌻💭🌷☀️🫧✨🌱💗🍓 how are you?? i hope the month is lovely to you 🥺

i also come back with a curious sel question 🤓 a more technical writing one but, what is your anchor point to writing a character like toji? what part of him do you like exploring and what quality of his stays the same to you across any universe you put him in? 🥺

sel !! oh my god, i've missed you ! (your asks are always the best part of my month, i'm going to spam answer them when i'm done w the academic year)

i am doing well, a bit stressed but i enjoy spring a lot ! watching ghibli movies and eating strawberries and wearing pretty dresses and being in the sun >//<🌷

thank you for your questions, they are always so interesting to think about ! i believe that when i write for toji i reach a lot into a deep part of me (??). he's a bit gruff in my head but overall just a reserved guy. i like to think about his past and how it has affected his character, if he's pleased with how he's turned out, if he's conflicted with thoughts of all that he could've been . . . i tend to find common ground with my own character but try to center the text around his own voice and how he would word it or act . . . i try to make him as layered as i see him ! just a lonely child underneath it all, trying to keep safe all the love he can get (reader's if i'm writing non-selfship).

across every universe and every fanfic and every situation, my toji communicates through actions. he's awkward and clumsy, a bit shy but confident in his work (and very insecure about his way of loving, i feel like he'd find himself thinking "oh my god what the fuck am i doing" like thirty times a day). there's something very comical to me about how he navigates the world. he's this Huge Guy with the emotional stability and beating heart of a little kid. i just feel like he has a lot to give, even though he thinks he's too rough to give it.

now enough of my yapping ! how are you, my darling ? is spring treating you well ? do you and your faves have any picnics planned for the season ? 💗💗

[imaginedreamwrite]

More of SBTL 🥺?

“Little Doe!” A booming voice calls for you, and you’re stopped in the middle of the street with a book on your hands. “Little doe!”

You raise your head and are rooted to the spot as Thor, the Norse god with a streak of black woven into his hair, comes toward you with a knit black toque on his head and a thick flannel jacket opened at the front.

You debate turning and running, like the waitresses at the diner said you would, but b you have no time and no choice but to stay. Before you could even run away, before you could dip into a store on main street in the small mountainous town, Thor is before you.

“Little doe!” He picks you up and hugs you tightly, your feet dangling and the book nearly slipping from your hands. “You’ve been avoiding the alphas-“

“Put her down.” The gruff voice, the aggression lingering on a tongue comes from Logan.

You’re set back on your feet with Thor’s large hands resting on your shoulders and his eyes boring into your own. Logan, like Thor, is dressed like a wooded mountain man in plaid and a toque. His knuckles are pronounced slightly from the weapons hidden beneath his flesh, and his scowl makes you shiver.

“What are you doing here?” You glance between Logan and Thor, suspecting that Steve and Bucky could be behind them in someway.

“Little doe!” Thor greets you again, nearly picking you up once mode before he settles you into his side. “We were on our way to the late fall festival when we saw the little dove walking down the street and had to stop.”

“The other two?” You asked with mild curiosity.

“Something came up.” Thor smile brightly and leads you away with Logan, talking you ear off affectionately while you walked together.

Thor on one side and Logan on the other, shielding you as if they were aware of your past.

Guarding you as if they knew the heinous history you hadn’t told.

No one would touch you, no one would hurt you. They’d kill anything that tried.

[thisonesatellite]

Hiiii 💕💕 Okay. So while I desperately want to ask about despite all my rage (which I love so, sooo much 🥺💗) I’m gonna ask you about this one instead - because I’m just so intrigued & curious and will take just about anything you’re willing to tell us about this self-indulgent fic 🥰

HOW DID i KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO ASK THAT? 🤣🤣🤣

So, like, there's self-indulgence and then there's whatever i'm doing with this fic. Like, seriously. i don't know that i can ever let that see the light of day. It's not like it's explicit or anything, it's just for a fandom i have never attempted to write for, and it features a little bit of violence and SUCH indulgent h/c, i can't even tell you. i am not using any restraint at all. i'm just diving into the deep end. 🤣

So, uh, did you want a snippet?

“Please sign the form on top,” says the man with the clipboard, and hands the first guy in line his pen.  “It states that you’re here of your own free will and agree to all tests.”  He smiles.  It’s perfunctory.  “Also, you are free to leave at any time, no one’s holding you here.  However, if you do leave, you get no money at all.”   Gruff guy hands her the pen as if he’d rather do anything else, and she has to actually pull it from his fingers.  She signs.  “Are you all clear on that?”

Everyone nods, and down the left side of the wall, metal doors slide open.  They each reveal a cell with a cot, a sink, and a toilet.  On each cot is a can of Spam and a piece of bread.  She chuckles.  How fitting.

“What are you laughing about?”  Gruff guy whispers as they start to make their way towards their ‘room and board’.

“The absurdity of this,” she says.  “And the lie.”

“The lie?”

She smiles.  There’s nothing to lose here.  “If they were going to let us go anytime, they wouldn’t have taken our shoes.”

CAN YOU SEE THE SELF-INDULGENT INSANITY ON THE HORIZON, BC TRUST ME, IT'S SO THERE.

This was probably more than you wanted, wasn't it.

Thank you for your ask and for always being so very lovely. 💕💕💕💕💕