#it's very warm where i am and beer is. cold.

[corroded-hellfire]

no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo

Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍

Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer

Words: 3.3k

Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it. 

It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.

“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.

His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”

“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it. 

You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.

“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.

“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”

A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.

“You want a blanket?” he asks. 

His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.

“You want me to cover up?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”

“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”

“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”

“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”

“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”

Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”

With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you. 

Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.

As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue. 

You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own. 

Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.

“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out. 

The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.

A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.

“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair. 

“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth. 

“Get. Up.”

You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper. 

Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.

“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you. 

Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.  

A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.

“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.

“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”

You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality. 

Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do. 

A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.

“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says. 

You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”

He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle. 

Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face. 

You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower. 

Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass. 

The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right? 

As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point. 

“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.

“Yes?”

He was going to drive you insane one of these days.

“It’s over, right?”

“It is.”

“So…?” you trail off.

“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”

You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes. 

“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh. 

“I guess you were.”

“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”

“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”

“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”

He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger. 

“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt. 

Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met. 

“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”

The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth. 

Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull. 

“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”

“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.

“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts. 

“God, I would die.”

Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”

“Uh huh,” you pant. 

Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.

“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips. 

“Open.”

You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers. 

Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days. 

“Eddie, fuck.”

“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”

“W-Wanna cum with you.”

He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat. 

“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane. 

The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder. 

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”

“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”

“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.

He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.

“Want some company?”

[xechu]

cw: nsfw, fem!reader, 18+ mdni, sexual content

notes: from the same au as my one shot: "Warm on a Cold Night" // check out part 1 HC here & part 2 HC here

P.S. I've now created a master list for this series: Cross My Heart - check it out!

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who has an insatiable sex drive, especially when it comes to you. It still boggles his mind that you're the perfect combination of sexy and cute.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - would prefer it if you didn’t use toys (except for butt plugs). Why use it when you have him? That doesn't stop you from owning them though, you like it when he gets a bit riled up.

"What is this useless junk?" He scowled.

"I couldn't wait, Ryo," you admitted.

"Tsk, so impatient. Well then, show me how you played with yourself, and then I'll show you how I can top that," he smirked.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - may not be the most patient man to walk this green earth, but when the two of you are getting down and dirty, he will make sure each time you are coming undone, screaming his name, and clawing his back - no matter how long it took. If the two of you happened to be experimenting that day, he'll make sure that you are enjoying yourself, and if it doesn't work out, then he'll immediately switch back to something he knows will get you cumming.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - loves grabbing your hips and thighs, not just during sex but even outside of the bedroom.

"So, what are we thinking here? Have you decided?" He snuck up behind you and placed his hands around your hips.

"Hm, I'm not so sure, Ryo," you let out a small sigh as you contemplated on which dress to buy for your upcoming vacation to Greece.

"Why not get both then?" He says nonchalantly.

"I don’t know…it’s quite expensive."

"What am I? Chopped liver? I’m paying for them, why should you care?" He was genuinely offended.

Or, when you're at home watching Netflix (usually he goes with whatever you want to watch, he's not much of a TV/shows guy):

"I can't believe it! He actually did it," you turned to Sukuna, as the crime documentary you were watching was coming to an end.

"It's so fucking obvious he did it, I could tell immediately that he's batshit crazy," he rolled his eyes, taking in another swig of beer. His hand was on your thigh, as he mindlessly rubbed circles with his thumb.

"Okay, next one!" You said all giddy, reaching for the remote, but Sukuna stops you.

"Hey, it's my turn to have some fun," he murmurs, as he trails kisses down your neck.

Needless to say, he (and you) had a fair share of fun for the rest of the night.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who would almost always fuck you in the back of his car whenever you came to visit him for lunch. He would tell Jin and the other workers that he's taking you out for lunch, and while he does treat you to a nice lunch (by the way, he loved it when you ate well), you also become his afternoon dessert.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - loves to push you to your limits in the bedroom. The more you say you can't take it anymore, the more it spurs him on.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - has an overstimulation and exhibitionism kink. On one of your travels, he brought you to a fancy hotel with a floor to ceiling window, where he had your naked body pressed against the window while he savagely fucked you from behind.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - isn't super talkative during sex. He would grunt, swear, and praise you once in a while - that's about it.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - usually prefers to top, as someone who has a tendency to dominate and be in control. But if you request to be on top he will gladly oblige. Highkey revels in it when you caught a mood that day and use his dick to blow off some steam.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - given how badly he lusts for you, one would expect that he has some obscene photo of you on his lock screen, but surprisingly it's very tamed. It's a photo of you smiling by the ocean when the two of you visited Paros (Greece). He also has that same picture of you in a photo print, put in a very expensive silver frame, and proudly displayed in his workstation. If you couldn't tell already, that's his favorite photo of you. You were always so goddamn beautiful when you smiled.

"Shit, Ryo - that your girl?" one of his regular customers asked.

"Mhm, that's my woman," he responded casually, but inside he was brimming with pride.

"Does she have any single friends that y'know - kinda has the same vibe as her?"

"Like what you see, huh?" It was more of a challenge than a genuine question.

"Eep."

(Even during your one year separation, he still had the photo on his workstation, and on his lock screen - but he will never tell you that)

ex/boyfriend!sukuna- speaking of pictures, he has this one polaroid picture of you that absolutely brings him to his knees (you secretly slipped it in his back pocket for Valentine's Day). It is carefully tucked between his ID and cards in the window slot of his wallet.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna- said polaroid picture is of you in black lingerie, splayed out on his bed, with crotchless panties and a jeweled butt plug. Needless to say, that night you both had your fill of wild, steamy, debauched sex.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - on the topic of that R rated polaroid, he would get all on edge when someone touches his wallet, but ironically, he couldn't give two shits about his phone (even though there are also some obscene pictures of you two in there too. His FBI can see it for all he cares). That polaroid though, was for his eyes only. He had a nightmare one time where he got pulled over and instead of giving his ID to the cop, he accidentally gave the photo. In the nightmare the cop says to him "Hm, interesting. I'll confiscate this and you can be on your merry way, buddy." He thought he was going to have to go to jail a second time. After that, he begrudgingly put the polaroid in his safe.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who noticed the way your eyes slightly darkened when Choso (his apprentice) accidentally mentioned in front of you that he had a frenum piercing. He is now seriously contemplating on getting one himself.

a/n: The polaroid and Choso incident was something that happened after the events of 'Warm on a Cold Night'. Do we all want our big strong Kuna to get the piercing or nah? ;)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A mark and a promise

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 8

Prompt: Gift

Rated: T

Tags: Fantasy AU; Fae!Eddie; Knight!Steve; Eddie Munson whump; Flirting; Sexual tension; Just a bit of mindfuckery

“Boy. Pretty boy. C’mere.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a show of turning the other way. This has been going on for the better part of the night and it's getting annoying. For a few, blissful moments, silence settles over the great hall, the only sound the crackle of the torches. 

“For all that you couldn’t take your eyes off me earlier, you sure like to play coy now, sweet thing. All I ask is some company, is that-” 

Steve whirls. 

“Alright, enough,” he snaps, stomping towards the small cage. “I am a knight. My father is lord of this castle. I'm not a boy, and I'm most certainly not your sweet thing.” 

The boy in the cage regards him through dark lashes. “But you do not deny that you're pretty? Interesting.” 

Steve sputters. Despite the icy winds howling through the castle, his face feels hot all of a sudden. 

“Shut up,” he snaps. “I know what you're trying to do. You fae are all the same, clouding our minds with your sweet talk and magic. Father warned me you'd do this, I won't-” 

“Yes, yes, he's a formidable man, your father,” says the boy. He attempts to sit up straight, but stops with a wince. The cage is small, and the heavy manacles on his wrists hinder the movement. Iron, Steve knows. The only thing that will keep the fae’s magic in check. Some say its touch burns like fire for them. “What does he intend to do with me, can you at least tell me that?” 

Steve huffs. As if his father would let him in on his plans. “No idea. Send you to the royal court, probably. Gift you to the king.” 

The fae boy ducks his head to let his dark hair obscur his face. “So that more humans can gawk at me while I slowly waste away in this iron coffin? Lovely.” 

Steve doesn’t quite know what to reply, so they lapse into silence. It isn't exactly fair, he guesses. Sure, their races have been enemies for generations, but this boy doesn't look like a high fae lord or warlock. He's rather … scraggly, in fact. A thin, pale figure, dressed in a nondescript gray, pointed ears poking out from tangled hair. The only noteworthy thing about him are his eyes. Deep and dark like a winter night. The reflections of the torchlight gleam in them like stars. 

Steve thinks of how small and forlorn he looked earlier, when the hall was teeming with his father's knights. The real ones, those he takes out on his forays - not the useless son he tasks with guarding a lone prisoner in a cold and empty hall. How the fae boy sat there, head bowed and shoulders hunched, while they all taunted and laughed at him. The ground of the cage is still covered in puddles of stale beer from where they emptied their goblets over his head.

“You could always just let me go.” 

Steve flinches back to the present to find that he has grit his teeth and curled his hands into fists. The boy's eyes are still trained on him. He scoffs. 

“Nice try. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. You think he gave me the keys?” 

Those unsettling eyes follow his gaze to the padlock on the cage. The boy's lips curl into a smile. When he speaks again, something about his voice is different. Steve can't exactly pinpoint what it is - just knows that it feels like it's seeping into his very bones. Heady, warm and tingly like the first hit of spiced wine on a frosty day. 

“Oh, but you do. You know what it feels like, after all. Being the target of their jokes. Being sneered at and looked down upon, treated like a vile and dirty thing. Like you're not worthy of sharing this world with them when it should be yours by right. You've been putting up with their vanity and their cruelty for so long, and you're dying to pay them back. To put them in their place and show them you won't be treated like-” 

“I said shut up!” 

The dagger is in his hand before Steve knows it, but instead of the boy's throat, it lodges itself in the padlock. Steve watches how it falls open, and the boy's smile goes large. 

“Very good,” he coos, lifting his shackled hands. “Now free me of these.” 

Steve is crawling inside the cage and prying at the manacles before he even thinks to disobey. 

“I'm not doing this because you told me to,” he lies. “It’s only because-” 

He never gets to finish the sentence. 

The shackles fall open, and a wave of sheer, unbridled power sweeps over him, ripping the breath right off his lips. Steve recoils, scrambling backwards out of the cage. 

The man who follows after him is so beautiful Steve is overcome by the irrational thought that he must shield his eyes or go blind, but he can't move. 

“You've made me a great gift, pretty child,” the man smiles. His long, dark curls fall around them as he bends down to cup Steve's face in soft, cold hands. His robes billow like liquid midnight, dark and black. “I'll make you one in return.” 

If his voice felt like spiced wine in his veins, his kiss is like sweet mead weighing down his limbs. Steve is powerless to resist. 

“My mark,” the man says, pecking his lips once more before pulling away. “And my promise. You've spared my life, and I shall spare yours when we meet again. Until then, I bid you farewell, my little lordling.” 

An icy gale sweeps through the hall, making the torches flicker, then die. The hall plunges into darkness.

When Steve’s eyes adjust to it, he's alone in front of the empty cage. His lips still burn with the memory of the man's kiss.

Part 2

More holiday drabbles

[justsomerandomfanfic]

What Am I Going To Do With You? - Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Title: What Am I Going To Do With You?

Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Additional Characters: N/A

Requested by Anon!

WC: 4,438

Warnings: Death mentioned briefly, X-Men canon violence briefly mentioned, italics, cursing, unconsciousness?, alcohol (beer), very brief mentions of poisoning, yelling mentioned, nightmares mentioned, confessions, strangers to friends to lovers, nicknames, banter, teasing, flirting, slight suggestiveness, slight angst, and fluff

The snow was falling softly outside, and a few puffy flakes were already starting their journey into the ground of the forested land that surrounded your small cabin in Hunter, New York. The air was cold and biting with each puff of wind that blew across the open landscape. It was early in the morning, on a Friday, when you would usually go out and cut up some new firewood for the upcoming days. It was hard work, especially in such cold weather, but it ultimately kept you warm for a week or two before you'd have to chop up some more.

In your oversized, white coat, you gathered as much wood as you possibly could fit into your arms before setting off through the thick snow, back to your back door. Kicking and knocking your snow boats against the slightly raised threshold, you shook your hair out as you nudged the door closed with your hip. The snow that had landed softly in your hair began to instantly melt into its liquid form once the warm and comforting heat of your house hit you. Setting down the wood logs on the small wooden table by your wood-burning furnace; you stood up straight, back slightly aching as you did so. 

Upon looking at your wood pile, you worried on your bottom lip before deciding to go out for a couple more from the large stack you had up against the side of your cabin. You weren't entirely sure that you'd have enough, so it was best to grab more wood than you'd need. You didn't want to freeze to death during the rest of your winter, and you didn't want to go out into the freezing cold more than you'd have to. 

With a short glance at your still-steaming coffee on your dining room table, you let out a sigh before stepping back out into the cold. Stuffing your mittens together to keep them tight on your hands, you rubbed at your chill-to-the-bone nose before heading back around to the side of your cabin. But right as you turned the corner, you froze, not literally. There, lying slumped in the thick and deep snow was a man. He definitely wasn’t there when you went out to get the first load of logs. He didn't move, possibly unconscious... Or worse... Dead. You couldn't have a dead man on your property... It would only bring trouble. 

Hoping, praying that his man was still alive, you dragged your feet through the seven-inch snow, standing within inches from him, you dropped to your knees. Eyes wandering his large figure, you bit your lip; he was breathing, his back rising and falling slowly. This man wouldn't survive long, him facing down like that. Tearing off your gloves, you quickly pushed him over, groaning slightly from how heavy the man was. What did he eat? Rocks?

Once upon his back, you let out a short breath, a small foggy plume escaping your lips as you looked over him. You couldn't help but stare, completely entranced by the man's striking features. His face, although covered in bits of stubborn snow, was a rosy pink, with a dark beard, and brown-curly hair. And though he was unconscious, he looked at peace, even though he lay in the middle of the cold snow. He reminded you of someone, but you didn't know who... Your mind began racing as you racked your brain to figure out where he might have been coming from, why he was unconscious, and why he would be out and about in just jeans and a flannel button-up?

Feeling the biting tingling on your hands from the cold you blinked out of your thoughts. And as if on instinct, you stood back up, your knees aching in the process as you moved around to his head. Taking hold of his arms, you grunted lightly as you pushed him forward, in a sitting position. Once you were satisfied that you had him positioned as he needed to be, you began to drag him to your back door.

It took you a long time, but by the time you had gotten the unconscious - handsome - stranger inside, you were well out of breath. You had to take a moment, taking a moment to catch your breath and calm your heart rate as you stared down at the man lying on your wooden floor. Tossing your gloves onto one of your couches, you quickly tore off your winter coat, hanging it sharply on the hook near your front door. Turning back to the man, you placed both your hands on your hips, huffing lightly. 

"What am I going to do with you?" You asked, mostly to yourself as you ran your hands through your hair. “I can’t call the police… They’ll only bring trouble…”

Thinking that now would be the best time to lay him down somewhere more comfortable before he woke, you grabbed the man again and pulled him over to your other couch, closest to the fire that was burning. You thought it would be easier to lay on your other couch than your bed; lifting the man was already hard enough - him feeling like he weighed a million pounds - but lifting him as you have up the stairs... No way. 

Staring down at the man, you worried whether or not you should get him a change of clothes, but that would be impossible. You live a good couple of miles from the closest shops and you didn't have any clothes that would fit the man; who you guessed was around six-foot-something. But you didn't want him to catch his death, so a good couple of blankets would hopefully suffice. You didn't really know… You had hoped so. Grabbing the throw on the back of the other couch, you carefully tossed it over the man before grabbing the rest of the blankets you had around the cabin. 

Upon placing the last blanket down on him, you stopped. Finally, away from the cold air and snow, you began to see the redness in his cheeks fade away slightly, and only then did you have the chance to take a better look at his face. Now that there wasn't any snow in his hair, you let your eyes run over his handsome features, noticing all the little details. From the way his eyelashes curled delicately, his short, dark brown curls became more pronounced as his hair dried, and the way his tanned skin seemed to glow under the artificial light of your lamps and the fireplace; he even had barely-there freckles upon the apples of his cheeks. Your hand twitched with the urge to stroke his cheek,.. Nope. Bad idea, bad idea... Maybe... You paused to think. Yeah, to check if he had a fever, you could do that. 

Reaching out, you softly brushed some of the stray hairs from his forehead - in awe from how soft they were from just the brief brush - your mind searing into you that having this unknown man in your home was dangerous. He could be dangerous. He was tall, obviously strong; he could easily break you in two with those large hands of his, but you ignored it. Finally, you pressed the back of your hand on his forehead, only to sigh in relief. No fever. Quickly, you pulled your hand away, making sure that he was breathing once more before you headed to the kitchen, grabbing your coffee from the dining room table as you did so. Maybe you could make some soup, for you, and possibly for the man that was in your living room. 

~~~

It had been a couple of days since the mysterious man had come into your life. And for the past couple of days, that mysterious man was still unconscious. You had been doing your best to take care of him, not really knowing what to do; though you read up on the few First Aid and Nursing textbooks you had found three years ago at a thrift store, but never got around to reading. Sitting next to the fire, in your old rocking chair that you got for the amazing price of seven dollars, a book in your hand, you decided to catch up on some reading. As you rocked, turning page after page, you occasionally looked up to make sure that he was still breathing, in turn, not fully paying attention to the words on the page. Looking over to the clock on the wall, you let out a sigh before standing and setting down your book on the rocking chair seat; the book was a bit boring anyway. 

Walking over, you sat on the ground beside the couch. Resting on your knees, you stared at the man, your mind wandering. Who was he? He looked so familiar. Like you had known him or had seen him before. But you hadn’t been out and about in - quote on quote - ‘the real world’ for years. You had been sort of living off the grid for the past couple of years. 

Reaching out, you went to feel his forehead for a fever again when his hand suddenly reached up, gripping your wrist. You gasped, eyes widening as you watched the man's eyes open, a small but gruff groan reverberating from his well-built chest. Slowly, he sat up, bringing your wrist with him, tightening his grasp slightly as he stared down at you with hard, dark brown eyes. You couldn't look away, both scared and lost in those eyes that were locked onto yours.

"Wha' happened?" He rasped, his voice rough and hoarse, "Who are you?"

You swallowed down your spit, trying not to let the nervous feeling overwhelm you. "Uh, I'm Y/N... Uh, I found you outside my cabin, unconscious." You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice quiet as you stared up at the man with wide eyes.

The man stared at you, his brows furrowing as he tilted his head slightly, clearly confused though he never dropped his slightly threatening demeanor. "Where am I?"

"You're- You're in my cabin... In, uh, Hunter, New York." You answered as you glanced from his dark eyes to his hand on your wrist, "Uh, could you please let go of me?"

His own eyes snapped to his hand, tightly wrapped around your wrist before quickly dropping your hand. Without another word, he stood, the pile of blankets falling to the side as he made his way quickly to the closet door. Staggering to your feet, you made your way to him, grabbing his flannel sleeve without really thinking. 

"Wait! You can't go back out there! It's freezing!" You exclaimed, his eyes staring down at your hand sharply before meeting your worried gaze once more.

"It don't bother me." He spoke, voice deep, sounding irritated, "I don't care 'bout no damn weather." 

"But you have no jacket, gloves, or hat... Or- Or anything! You'll catch your death out there!" At that, the man clicked his tongue, pulling his arm from your grasp, "Besides, the nearest town is miles away. Fifteen to be exact. You won't be able to make it. Especially after being unconscious for five days!" The man said nothing, walking the rest of his way to the front door, his large hand grabbing the door handle. Becoming slightly irritated, you grabbed his arm again, using enough strength to turn him towards you a little. "Listen here. It's freezing out, you just woke from some sort of small coma-like sleep thing, haven't drunk or eaten anything, and you expect me to just let you leave?" You growled, tightening your grip slightly, "At least stay a couple more days until the storm calms down. I have soup on the stove and a few drinking options in my fridge. Though, if you have a death wish, by all means, I can’t stop you, go on out there."

You stared up at the man as he stared down at you, his eyes moving around your face before he huffed, "Got any beer?"

"Beer?" You asked, slightly deadpanned, as the man looked back down at you and nodded, "Yeah... Uh, yeah, I got beer. Uh, just follow me, please." Breaking away, you turned and made your way to your kitchen, the sound of the man's heavy footsteps following close behind you. Reaching the stove, you grabbed a bowl from the cupboard before grabbing the large spoon and pouring a bit of mashed potato and onion soup into the bowl. Turning to the fridge, you grabbed one of the Coronas you had next to your hard lemonades before shutting the door with your hip. 

Turning, you found the man sitting on the stool, his lower arms resting on your counter. Clearing your throat, you set the beer and bowl of soup down before him before you grabbed your own soup. "Thanks," You heard him mutter slightly as you turned your back. 

Leaning against the corner of the counter, you stirred your soup around with a spoon, feeling very awkward. Glancing over as the man took a long sip of his beer, you spoke up once more. "Uh, may I know your name?" You asked, watching as he froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, "I mean, it's only fair. You know my name, and I've most likely saved your life and all. Nasty storm."

The man took another sip before setting the glass bottle aside, running his hand through his hair before glancing over at you, "... I'm Logan."

"Logan..." You repeated the name slowly, testing it out, "Well... What were you doing in my woods before you fell unconscious?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Logan shrugged, glancing away at the picture of a moose on your wall before taking another sip of his beer. Silence followed the question and you wondered why he hadn't answered. What was he hiding? Was he even hiding anything? Could he even remember? What did he know? What did he know about you?

"You live 'ere?" He suddenly asked, making you pause eating this time.

"Of course I do. What kind of question is that?" You asked, looking up at the man once more with an eyebrow raised before pushing off of the counter and tossing your empty bowl in the sink. You quickly rushed away from the kitchen, Logan watching you as you grabbed your winter coat from the hook and shrugged it on.

"Where ya goin'?" He asked as you slid on your gloves and grabbed your old messenger bag.

"Out to grab more wood for my furnace and fireplace." You answered simply. "It'll take a bit. So, if you're not here when I get back, I'll understand. But you should at least stay until the snow dies down and I can get you a ride into town."

Logan pursed his lips, finishing off his beer before speaking, "'nd ya think ya can trust me? Some stranger?" He asked as you made your way to the back door, shuffling your boots on.

You paused at the back door, hand on the door handle, "Yeah. I can trust you." You said confidently before turning to look at the burly man with a slight grin, "There's more beer in the fridge if you want it, and water too if you're still thirsty."

And with that, you opened and shut the door behind you, a waft of cold air hitting you in the face before you started walking along the thick snow to the side of your cabin.

~~~

"Logan! Could you help me in the kitchen for a moment!?" You called out aimlessly in the cabin from the said kitchen, hands covered in dough and flour.

Needing the dough, you smiled as you heard the familiar heavy footsteps make their way to you. Logan huffed, pulling his hands from his jeans pockets as he made his way over. "Wha' do ya need me fo'?" He grumbled, leaning against the counter. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, gesturing to the bag of flour on the counter beside the both of you, "Could you pour me some of that? I miscalculated how much I was going to need."

Logan grunted, grabbing the bag and dumping a small pile onto the dough, "That good?" He asked and you smiled with a nod.

"Yep! Perfect, thank you, Lo." You replied, smiling up at him as he stepped back, eyeing you curiously.

"What're ya makin'?" Logan asked, peering over your shoulder at what you were doing.

You grinned lightly, "Pie dough." You stated, glancing up at him.

"Pie dough?" He asked, "What kind of pie?"

"Cherry."

He stared at you, his eyebrows furrowed. "No kiddin'?"

"Yup." You giggled, grinning brightly at the man. "Didn't I tell you about it last night?"

Logan shook his head, "Nah, ya didn't mention it. Didn't say a thin'."

"Well," You began, "I'm making cherry pie. It'll be ready for dessert tonight. Just have to make it, bake it, and give it enough time to cool down a bit." You glanced up at him before finishing, "Wanna help me with this?"

Logan huffed, "I don't know… I ain’t good at bakin’." He began, watching as you tried to blow a couple of stray hairs from your face, "I was goin' to go out and get more wood for the fire." He answered, bringing his hand up to brush the stubborn hairs away from your face and behind your ear, making your face heat up as you smiled sheepishly up at him.

"We already have enough firewood in here to last us a few more days, Lo." You laughed out, looking back down at the dough on the counter.

"Fine. But ya owe me a beer," Logan answered, pouring a bit more flour over your dough before you could ask him to do it "And an extra slice of the pie." 

Your smile widened, chuckling lightly, "It's not like you take the beer anyway." You teased as Logan scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. "But, you may have an extra piece, maybe three pieces, since you're helping me and all."

"Fine by me," Logan muttered, "Whaddya want me to do?"

"Oh, uh, could you cut me up some of those cherries, and make sure the pits are out of them? Cherry pits have amygdalin."

“Amy-wha’ now?” Logan asked, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“Amygdalin.” You corrected, “It’s what’s in cherry pits. Our body converts it into cyanide.” You answered as Logan took in what you were saying, his lips just pressed onto the glass rim of the beer bottle as he paused.

Logan hummed deeply before finally taking a sip of his drink, grabbing the see-through bag of pre-washed cherries with one hand. Glancing over at him briefly, you couldn't help but smile. It had been a little over a month since you found Logan in the snow. And the past month had been pretty amazing. After the initial awkwardness passed, Logan became really nice to talk to and even began to become a little fun to be around, though he was still quiet and kept to himself for the most part.

The only thing that ever seemed to truly change was when he would wake up in the middle of the night screaming from inside his guest bedroom. The first time it happened, you had rushed over to his room across from yours and came face to face with a set of claws. He didn't hurt you, but he apologized to you as if he did. He didn't really talk to you much after the first nightmare, and it took you a mighty long time to get him to open back up to you again. Though he was rather stubborn, so were you, and with a lot of reassurance, you finally cracked him out of his shell enough for him not to run away into the snowstorm. And after a long conversation by the fire, and with warm coffee filling your stomachs, you finally got some of his story. 

And though you feared that he was going to leave you, Logan stayed.

And the longer he stayed, the more you began to fall for him. Under that gruff exterior, Logan was actually a softie. A sarcastic, sarcastic, softie. It was one of the many things you loved about him. And you were sure that he might've felt the same, or at least something close to it. From lingering glances and the less-than-accidental touches, he was certainly getting close to you, or closer than he usually let himself get to anyone. He had thought about leaving, in the middle of the night, or in the early morning before you woke up. But if Logan had left, he would’ve felt guilty, leaving you all alone, only for you to wake up and not find him there. That tension was there. And that fear of accidentally hurting you was still there. And it scared him. It scared him at how close he was actually getting to you.

"Bub," Logan called out, making you jump slightly and look up at him as you snapped out of your daydreaming. Logan stared down at you, his eyes narrowed slightly, "Are ya okay?"

You nodded slightly, wiping the flour off the best you could before going over to wash them in the sink, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost in thought."

Logan watched you carefully, "What 'bout?" He asked and you tilted your head slightly as you thought.

"Hmm… Nothing really... Uh, it happens when I bake." You mutter sheepishly, reaching out for the dish towel on the oven handle only to find it right in front of your face, in Logan's hand. Giving him a thankful smile, you take the small towel, drying your hands off. "Thank you, Logan. Are those cherries ready?" You asked, looking over past his figure to take a look at the cherries he directed for the pie.

"They're ready," He answered, grabbing your attention again, "There's somethin' buzzin' around in that pretty head of yours."

"Hm?" You hummed, raising a brow curiously. "Somethin’ buzzin’ around?" You repeated questioningly with a smile.

Logan chuckled dryly, stepping closer to you, smirking, "Don't play coy with me, Y/N. Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

You flushed lightly, biting your bottom lip and shifting your weight uncomfortably under his gaze. Your heart fluttered lightly at his closeness. He looked so gorgeous today. Hair all clean from a fresh shower, washed-out jeans, and in his new flannel that you bought him. And that look upon his face, eyes narrowed playfully, filled with mirth; the chocolate brown speckled with hints of green. And that grin, encompassed by his freshly-trimmed beard. Why did he have to be so handsome... And smell so nice? And how did he shape his hair in that way, all cute and pointy? It truly fascinated you. 

"Uhhhh," You stammered intelligently, unsure of whether you should answer him. Or just keep thinking. Yeah, thinking sounded nice. Suddenly, you felt Logan's hands on either side of your body, your hands instinctively coming up to latch onto Logan's shoulders as he picked you up and onto the flour-free counter. "Logan..." You breathed out in slight shock and surprise. His hands wrapped around your waist, standing between your knees.

"If ya don't wanna talk, ya don't have to." He murmured lowly, his dark eyes scanning your features, making you shift in your seat slightly under his intense gaze. “I ain’t gonna force you to talk if ya don’t wan’ to.”

"And let me guess, it'll help if I talk about it?" You questioned with a chuckle, shaking your head slowly.

"It might." He answered confidently, nonchalantly.

You gave him a look, crossing your arms over your chest, "And what if I was just daydreaming? Is it so wrong to daydream?" Unable to stop the corners of your lips from twitching.

"Depends. Do ya daydream 'bout me?" Logan asked in response and you sighed exasperatedly, shrugging your shoulders slightly.

"Do I daydream about you, Lo?" You asked yourself as if you were thinking it over. "I don't know. What would you think if I did?" You then asked, gaining the courage to make eye contact. 

Logan raised a brow, his grin widening. "I'd be flattered, bub." He answered, as he watched you roll your eyes playfully.

"You would." You agreed, giving him a teasing grin.

"I probably would tease ya a bit." He continued, "Daydreamin' 'bout me and all."

"You would." You repeated, lowering your voice slightly with slight annoyance, glancing off to the side, right at your unfinished pie. You really needed to finish that pie… Maybe in the end you’d have enough leftover dough for smaller pies… That’d be cute…

"I'd probably kiss ya." Logan then said.

"You would-" You paused, blinking before turning to look up at him, eyes wide and face flushed. "Wait, what?" You asked, a confused look forming on your face. Did he really say what you thought he said..?

Logan's smirk dwindled, "Do you not want me to?" He asked, and you quickly responded by shaking your head.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean... Um…" You trailed off, trying to think of a way out of this embarrassing mess. "Um… I'd kinda… Like that…" You mumbled the last part, trying to hide how embarrassed you suddenly felt. You never expected him to say anything like that.

"Really?" Logan said, seeming genuinely surprised as he watched you nod. 

"Yup." You replied quickly, hoping that he wouldn't hear the faint squeak in your voice.

"You sure, bub?" He questioned. "Because, if this is gonna make you uncomf-"

Rolling your eyes, you uncrossed your arms, "Oh, shut up and kiss me, Logan." You growled, grabbing the collar of his flannel, and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips harshly against his own, making him pause for a moment before kissing back. Your hands went from his collar to tangled in his hair, tugging gently, while his grip on your hips tightened slightly. His fingers slid a bit under the hem of your shirt, burning against the small portion of your cool skin that he had found at your waist. After a few moments, you pulled back, panting slightly. "You taste like cherries." You muttered breathlessly.

"I may have snuck some when ya weren't lookin’." He grinned a toothy grin, looking down at you mischievously.

You chuckled slightly. "What am I going to do with you?" You commented, feeling his warm fingers brush through your hair as they rested on the nape of your neck before he leaned forward, capturing your lips once more.

---

Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

[chkinpotpie]

I feel things in a big way and have for as long as I can remember.

One of my earliest memories is seeing the world behind the protection of my mom's long and sturdy legs. She was larger than life and shielded me from the loud world coming at me. She was a fireball. She walked into a room and owned it. She could talk to anyone as if she had known them their whole life. I remember watching from behind her legs -seeing her interact with people and being in awe of her ability to connect with people from all walks of life. She was magnetic. People who got pulled into her field were changed forever. She saw no color, no dollar signs, no religion, no gender, no sexual preference, no judgment. She was pure goodness. I cannot say enough good things about her. She chose me, and I am so lucky she did.

About six months before she passed away, we rented a cabin at Rough River. Just the two of us. A "girl's weekend." We packed a cooler with filets and lobster tails. We brought a couple of bottles of wine, a deck of cards, and our swimsuits. We planned on indulging in all the good stuff—food, alcohol, gambling, and gossiping. On our way to our cabin, we stopped to get a few last-minute supplies at the local gas station in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky. My mom was pumping the gas as I returned with the provisions. A man a few pumps over said, "Elaine?!" That was my mom's name. We both turned, and she said, "Earl?!" running to the man as if he was her long-lost cousin. I stood, stuffing Hot Tamales in my mouth, watching the scene unfold.

My mom knew Earl from our local Bingo hall, where she volunteered once a week for the temple fundraiser. After working all day, she would walk back and forth for four hours at Bingo, selling pull tabs. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She didn't just know people, though—she KNEW them. The names of their kids, where they grew up, what TV show they were currently into, what beauty salon they went to, etc. So while I was surprised she knew some random guy named Earl out in the middle of BFE, Kentucky, hours from home and on our first visit to this area, I was not really shocked.

I needed someone so fierce to protect me from the world. It was too loud and scary when I was a child. She gave me the time I needed to understand it all, or at least think I did. She gave me the time I needed to build up my own protection. She certainly continues to provide me strength to this day. I know she is watching over me, and I draw on her strength more and more as we enter these challenging times.

I do not feel as deeply as I used to, but I still feel very deeply. I feel other people's energy, as if their souls are speaking to me in a language that has no words—just vibrations and feelings. Lately, I have felt a heaviness like I have never experienced. So many people are feeling scared, uncertain, angry, and confused. I feel it on my chest, like someone's foot is there, pushing their heel into my rib cage. It's tough to not feel this way when every time you turn on the news or check social media, there is an astonishing development that feels otherworldly. Like, seriously, how did we get here? I suspect we have always been on this path—greed, the quest for power, lust for control. I think we have been here for a long time, but as time goes on, the path is no longer a dirt road. It is a moving sidewalk with LED displays and state-of-the-art sound systems. It is information flooding our brains at ridiculous rates every day. It is accelerating in its growth. It is gaining power and momentum.

Fear is what it eats for dinner. Hate is a piece of warm apple pie for dessert. Division is a cup of espresso in the morning. Lack of compassion is a piece of wood-oven-baked pizza, and lack of empathy is a cold beer on the side. Making sure we do not remember our worth is guacamole, and arguing with random strangers on the internet is the chips and salsa. Forgetting that most of us want the same things is a pickle on the side of a corned beef sandwich.

Do not feed the fear. Our energy, our emotions, our thoughts are what create our world. Our inner voice narrates our life and shapes our reality. Realize you have a choice in who and what you let in. If you let someone or something in and it makes you feel scared and hopeless, and you don't want to feel those emotions, then do not let them in. Your energy is your own. It is precious. You are precious. Remember your worth. Remember a time when you knew how special you were. There was no question. Do things that remind you how incredible you are. Lean into your self-care, into moments that light your soul on fire.

Do not fall into the biggest trap fear has set for us all. Just because we are on the "good" side does not mean we should speak poorly about the "bad" side. We certainly CAN speak poorly about the "bad" side. It is hard not to in these crazy times we are living in. We are charged with emotion, and it needs to be released somewhere. Bad-mouthing the bad, however, only makes the bad grow. It feeds off the negative energy, even if the negative energy is being expressed for good reason. Do not feed the fear.

Instead, I invite you to join me and draw on my Mom's strength. You can hide behind her legs, build up your protective shield and strength until you are ready. Then you can lean into the feeling my mom and I had on our girl's weekend. Not a care in the world, as we sipped our Cabernet and dined on our grilled surf-n-turf. The next day, we floated in the lake for hours, playing "I Never" and talking about everything under the sun. That night, we went to the local church Bingo. Earl had told my mom about it and said he might be there. We pulled up to the quintessential little white country church. There were about 12 cars in the parking lot. We walked in, and the music stopped, and everyone looked up at us. Everyone, being about 25 people, including the caller. We got our cards and started playing, giggling to each other about the wild situations we get ourselves into. The top prize of the night was a $250 jackpot, the last game, and a coverall. Well, we won the damn jackpot. The locals, who had probably been attending this Bingo game for 50 years, were not happy. We quickly got paid and left a trail of dust as we screeched away and headed back to our cabin, counting our cash and dancing and just loving each other.

#Love is always the answer

#itsgoingtobeokay

#createyourreality

[themultifandomgal]

Can I get a little something with either Kelly Severide or Matt Casey please where he sees the readers baby bump for the first time? Perhaps it becomes really prominent and he soon becomes obsessed with it

Kelly Severide- Little Baby Bump

YN and Severide wanted to have a baby for a while. They knew that as soon as they got married they would try for a baby, but unfortunately for them it took a lot longer than they thought for them to conceive. A year later after trying YN started to have pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness, swollen breasts, tiredness.. etc. Of course Kelly was immediately at the nearest shop to get some pregnancy tests and got home in record time. Within a few minutes they were celebrating the fact that they were going to be parents.

That was 5 months ago and while YN has been looking a little bloated there wasn't a prominent baby bump until today. The weather in Chicago has been rather nice recently, so YN gets dressed into a maxi dress. What she doesn't realise is that the dress being tight fitting shows off her small baby bump. YN leaves her shared bedroom with Kelly and heads downstairs into the living room where Kelly is sat watching the TV

"Is it just me or is it really warm?" YN asks

"Just you babe. Well it's warm, but not..." Kelly stops when he sees his wife. Kelly looks at her little bump

"What? Is their a stain on my dress" YN goes to look down

"No it's just, your bump is showing"

"What?" Kelly takes YN's hand and guides her back upstairs to their bedroom where there is a full length mirror "Kel what are you..."

"Look" Kelly stands behind YN rubbing her little bump "our little baby is in there"

"We've waited a long time for this" a tear falls from YNs eyes.

That night YN and Kelly lay in bed together, Kelly rubbing her bump ever so slightly before sitting up and little and then leaning down

"Hey little one. Mummy and daddy can't wait to meet you. Tomorrow we're going to paint your bedroom, well I am. Mummy is going to keep out of the room because of the fumes instead she's going to sort out the millions of clothes she's bought" Kelly laughs making YN chuckles. Kelly lays back down on his back, YN turns over so that she can lay on Kelly's chest

"I love you Kel"

"I love you too" Kelly replies before they both fall asleep.

The following day Kelly, Matt and Jay go upstairs to build the baby furniture and paint the walls while YN and Gabby sort through the already washed baby clothes and the ones that need to be washed. Again the weather is warm so YN is wearing another maxi dress with the air con on. She notices Gabby shiver a little

"Sorry if it's to cold, I've just been so hot"

"No it's ok don't worry"

"I'll grab you a jacket" YN gets up smoothing down her dress

"I bet Severide is excited about being a dad"

"Very. Last night he spoke to the bump, then all night he would either be holding my bump or stroking it a little" YN grabs a jacket off the back of the dinning room chair and hands it to Gabby

"You guys are so sweet. Your going to be amazing parents. Just remember I am godmother" Gabby jokes

"Of course. You want a drink? Bet the boys will want a beer"

"I'll just have a soda"

"Ok" YN goes into her kitchen and opens up the fridge grabbing 2 sodas, one for her and one for Gabby. She then grabs 3 beers for the boys upstairs. YN takes the beers let's Gabby know her soda is in the kitchen while YN takes up 3 beers.

YN opens up the nursery room looking at the sweaty men in front of her

"Beer anyone? It's cold"

"Thank you YN" Matt walks over to her smiling

"What are you doing in here? The fumes..."

"Won't hurt for a couple of minutes. The rooms looking good" Kelly wraps his arm around YN's waist rubbing his thumb up and down against her bump slightly

"How's the clothes folding coming along?" Jay asks taking his own beer

"Ok rather be in here helping you guys, but I'm way too hot" YN chuckles "I better get back downstairs, left Gabby folding"

"We'll be down in a bit" Kelly presses his lips to YN's forehead before kneeling down to place a kiss on her bump.

Since YN started showing, Kelly has been constantly touching and kissing the bump. Basically he's obsessed. Kelly is going to be one of the most amazing dads ever.

[exololyunho]

make you see god

masterlist

wc: 5.1k

summary: your dad had always warned you nothing good would come from relations with navy boys, but you were never one to listen

warnings: kinda e2l, drinking, this fictional mingi would be a red flag to me but its fiction so its hot, sexualizing the US military, oral sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms, mingi picks the reader up, kinda rough sex, very minor sacrilege but its probably only offensive if you're super catholic, role-play??, tentative daddy kink but 'daddy' is never mentioned, reader does call him 'father' but I promise it's not as weird as it sounds

an: I wrote half of this over the summer when I went through a phase where all I could think about was glen powell so I watched like all of his movies and this was the result. I am aware this is very much a summer fling fic but it's cold where I am and the summer vibes feel fun. also sorry I've been gone so long but since I last posted I moved across the country, broke up with my bf, got a cat, got better antidepressants and got diagnosed with adhd so I've had a bit going on lol. I probably won't be posting often but once again I am soft launching a return. kinda. shits complicated

taglist: @staytinyinmybpack @jeonride @becky4733107-blog @ignoretheskies

Being raised by your dad and his navy buddies had taught you many things. Chief among them being not to mess around with navy guys. And to never surf at dusk. Of course you never learned your lesson.

It was during a surfing session at dusk that you met the navy man who would rock your world.

Sitting on your board, you took in the gentle rocking of the small waves as you waited for the swell that would carry you into shore. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange glow over the water. It was serene, peaceful, a gorgeous warm summer evening.

Until a shout broke through the air.

“SHARK!”

Immediately you drew your legs up on the board, frantically scanning the water around you. The only sharks around Miramar were white sharks and that meant almost certainly losing a limb if not your life.  When your eyes failed to find the telltale dark shape, you turned to look back at the shore.

Standing there, chuckling at his shitty joke, was a man. It was too far to make out the details, but from what you can see he was tall and lean, wearing a white short sleeve button down and khaki shorts.

“Just kidding!” he yelled. To say you were unamused was putting it lightly.

With a sigh, you decided to call it a night, having not seen any surfable swells coming your way anytime soon. Putting your feet back into the water and pivoting your board back towards the beach, you paddled in. 

Reaching the shore, you unclipped your ankle tether, gathering your board under your arm and storming up the man.

“Did you think that was funny? Everyone knows you don’t do that,” you glared at him. Up close you could see this man was a lot more handsome than you’d expected. His eyes were covered by aviators, but his jawline was strong, and his smile was cocky. His clean cut appearance and the way he carried himself gave you an inkling that he had military training

“I thought it was a little funny,” he quirked his head, nodding at you. “What were you doing out there?”

“Surfing, dipshit,” you moved past him. “Don’t do that again.”

“Are you going to at least tell me your name?” he shouted after you.

In response, all you offered him was your middle finger.

Working at the Hard Deck was a great job. It got tedious at times, dealing with overbearing and overly flirtatious sailors, but it was overall great. You loved bartending, loved meeting new people, loved eavesdropping on ridiculous conversations, and loved the lively atmosphere.

As with every usual night, you were enjoying your shift. You’d made friends with a few spring breakers, serving them tequila sodas and making plans to meet the girls at the beach the next day. 

The night was still young, so you balanced chatting with them while pouring beers and shots for the other patrons. The music was loud and so was the chatter.

Until a new group walked in, wearing service khakis. When the other patrons spotted them, they went quiet for a moment, raising their glasses in appreciation. You watched them make their way in, indifferent, as all it meant for you was more beer to pour. 

Your mood suddenly changed as you made eye contact with your prankster from last night. Rolling your eyes, you returned to polishing the glasses before you. 

“Hey surfer girl,” there he was, standing before you on the other side of the bar. Without his sunglasses, you could see his brown eyes looking back at you with a glimmer of something that had the dual effect of making your stomach flutter and making your fists itch to hit him.

“Hey asshole,” you kept up your work with the glasses, averting your eyes from his.

“So welcoming,” he placed a toothpick between his absurdly straight teeth. 

You sighed, setting down the glasses. “Can I get you something?”

“A friendly conversation and your name would be nice,” his eyes looked over you.

“Sorry we don’t serve that here,” you braced your hands on the counter. “How about a beer?”

“That’s a start,” his grin was blinding.

You rolled your eyes again, grabbing a freshly cleaned glass, pouring him the shittiest beer you had on tap. You placed the glass in front of him. Neither of you said anything for a moment, him staring at the glass, you staring at him expectantly.

“Weren’t you going to ask what beer I wanted?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you going to pay me?”

“Makes no sense but here,” he threw a card on the counter. “Close me out, would ya?”

“It’s $2.50 with a military discount, you don’t have any cash?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, picking up the card and dangling it lazily between two fingers. He waited for you to take the card, and after a moment of glaring at him, you snatched it. Quickly running the card, you returned it to him. 

“Anything else I can get you?” your tone was dry.

“Your name,” he responded, taking a small sip of his beer and grimacing.

“Yours first,” you countered.

“Priest,” he grinned.

“That’s your name?”

“It’s my call sign,” he looked smug.

“I wanted to know your name, not your call sign, douchebag,” you picked up another glass to polish.

“Give me yours first.”

“Nice to meet you, Priest,” you gave him one last smile before turning to serve another guest.

“Hey!” Priest called after you. “Your name?” 

“Next time!”

Next time came sooner than you had expected. 

It was the following day, you were with the two girls you’d met the night before, relaxing on the beach, your board next to you. The three of you were making small talk about the books you were reading mixed with questions about your backgrounds.

“So, Y/n, did you grow up here in Miramar?” the blonde, Yeji, asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you were interrupted before you could.

“So your name is Y/n, then.”

A shadow fell over you, forcing you to remove your sunglasses to face Priest. It was the first time you’d seen him shirtless and as much as the man annoyed you, you were very appreciative of the view above you. His chest was chiseled, strong and muscled, but lean. His thighs were equally as strong and toned, covered by navy blue swim trunks that hung low on his hips.

“My eyes are up here, babe,” he was grinning, his own eyes flicking over you.

Leaning up on your elbows you grinned back. “So are mine, Priest.”

“Touche,” he took his own sunglasses off. “Who are your friends?”

“This is Yeji and Lia,” you gestured to the two girls.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Priest gave a half-hearted wave. “Hey, Y/n, you wanna take a walk?”

“No not really,” you lowered your sunglasses.

“I’ll buy you a daiquiri.”

“What makes you think I like daiquiris?”

“Everyone loves daiquiris.”

“Fair enough,” you took his hand, letting him help you up. Grabbing the oversized button down you used as a cover up, you threw it on. “Watch my stuff?”

“Sorry, babe but we’re heading out soon,” Lia looked between you and Priest apologetically.

“No worries,” Priest grabbed your tote bag and surfboard for you. “We can leave it with my friends.”

“You think I trust your friends?” you put your hand on your hip.

“Just cooperate for once in your life,” Priest rolled his eyes.

“You’ve known me for 3 days and you just learned my name.”

“Let’s fix that,” Priest grinned down at you.

“Fine, fine,” you waved him off, then waved to the girls. “See ya.”

The two of you started down the beach, Priest holding your bag and board. A few hundred feet down the beach, you stumbled on his friends. A bunch of men, all toned and laughing as they tossed around a football. 

“Guys, this is surfer girl,” Priest called out to them. The seven men before you all turned, waving hello. “Introductions can wait. Watch her stuff?”

“Sure,” one of them called out and Priest dropped your stuff on a towel.

“Come on,” he took your hand. Priest was dragging you along, but he only made it a few paces before you were jerking your hand out of his.

“I can walk on my own, you know,” he started chuckling. “I don’t know what you think this is, but I'm following you for a free drink.”

“I like to think that my company also has something to do with you following me,” he slowed his pace to match yours.

“Presumptuous,” you stared straight ahead, refusing to have to look up at him.

Priest grumbled something under his breath, but you weren’t listening. Instead you were focused on the beachfront bar you were rapidly approaching. It was tacky, decorated with tiki torches, fake coconuts, and plastic leis. The bartender was wearing an open Hawaiian shirt.

“Aloha and welcome to Miramar’s premier Hawaiian style beach bar!” Priest made small talk with the man as you scanned the menu, picking out the most expensive drink you could find since it was on his dime.

“I think I’ll take the Ultra Aloha,” you gave your best smile to the bartender.

“Coming right up, pretty lady,” he turned his focus to Priest, his smile dying. “For you?”

“The same,” Priest was pulling out his wallet.

As the blender whirred away, you turned to him.

“So where did Priest come from?”

“Oh come on now,” he ran a hand through his black hair. “I can’t give away all of my secrets on the first date.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “I thought I told you I was just here for the free drink.”

“You’re the one who called me presumptuous,”  the bartender set your drinks on the counter, taking the $40 from Priest. “Keep the change.”

The two of you took the drinks, walking away as the bartender called after you. “The change is 50 cents!”

You followed Priest down to some chairs nearby, slowly sipping your drink. It was actually pretty good. So good, you couldn’t taste the rum over the pineapple. Dangerous.

“What were we talking about?” he asked as he sat in the chair. His legs were spread tantalizingly. Seeing him like this made you so mad for a reason you couldn’t put your finger on. Something about how lazily and confidently he looked over the beach before you, the casual confidence with which he held himself. What was really getting to you was the way his tongue played with the straw of his drink.

Shaking yourself out of it, you cleared your throat. “We were talking about how you thought this was a date.”

“Ah yes,” he nodded sagely. “Two people, getting drinks, talking alone on a beach, getting to know each other. Not a date.”

You snorted, gesturing to the quite busy area around you. “First of all, we’re not alone, there's a million other people on this beach. Second of all, we are not getting to know each other, you won’t even tell me your name.”

“You wouldn’t tell me your name either, I had to find it out from other people,” he shifted to face you. “So, in exchange for buying you a second drink, can we cut the crap? I think we can both agree that I clearly find you attractive, and I have a sneaking suspicion that you feel the same about me, and I want to know more about you.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in his words and thinking over yours carefully. You moved to look at him better. “What’s your name?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” his grin was wider now. “It’s Mingi.”

“Mingi,” you repeated with a smile on your face. Taking a moment, you started sucking down your drink, rushing to finish it.

“In a hurry for that next drink?”

“Sure,” you finished your drink, handing him the cup. “Mingi’s a nice name.”

With that, you were standing up, and walking away from him.

“Where are you going?” he called after you.

Turning and walking backwards, you lifted your middle fingers. “To surf!

It was a week before you saw him again. A Thursday night to be specific. It was your day off, yet here you were, sitting at the bar of the Hard Deck, chatting with your coworkers between them serving other patrons and you sipping on your vodka cran.

Your night was peaceful. Not quiet, with the music playing and the few other patrons chatting, but still peaceful.

Until, once again, your peace was ruined by someone sliding into the barstool next to you. Glancing up, you weren’t surprised to see Mingi sliding into the seat. He was dressed casually, jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t look quite as cocky as he usually did. In fact, he looked almost irritated. 

“Rough day?” 

Mingi snorted, and ordered a beer. “You have no idea.”

He took a long drink. “Made worse by you running away from me last week.”

You glanced at him. You hadn’t felt bad before, but seeing him so frustrated now made you feel slightly shitty. “I’m here now. Wanna talk about what’s got you in a mood?”

“I didn’t think we were close enough for that. You know, since you ran away when I said I wanted to get to you?”

“I get it, I get it,” you waved your hand. “So what’s wrong?”

Mingi sighed. “Shitty instructor.”

“Wait, you're still in flight school?” you looked at him quizzically.

“Kinda. It’s complicated but I graduated a while ago, top of my class by the way, but a bunch of us got recalled for extra training. Top secret mission, y’know? If-”

“If you tell me you’ll have to kill me?” you smiled at him.

His cocky smile was back. “Exactly.”

You laughed, finally willing to admit to yourself that you were starting to enjoy his company. 

“So, if I buy you another drink, are you going to run away from me?” he arched an eyebrow. 

“I think it’s my turn to buy you a drink,” your eyes met and both of your smiles started to fall, the tension building between you.

Before it could build anymore, you cleared your throat. Looking away, you ordered both of you a new round of drinks. As the bartender poured them, you glanced back at him.

“So, where’d Priest come from?” new drinks were placed before you and you eagerly accepted the glass.

“If you were to ask me, I’d say it’s because I could make you see god,” Mingi’s smile was salacious, his eyes dropping to scan over your cropped t-shirt and daisy dukes. 

You swallowed hard. “And if I were to ask anyone else?”

He took a gulp of his beer. “If you were to ask anyone else, they’d say it was because I fly recklessly. Make the guys I’m flying with need their last rights.”

You were silent for a minute, taking in his words. “Why?”

He looked at you, clearly confused. “Why what?”

“Why do you fly like an ass?”

He chuckled, watching for a moment as you took a sip, waiting for him to answer. “I fly like I do because it gets the job done.”

“You don’t worry your buddies won’t have your back if you put them in danger?” your eyes scanned his face over the rim of your glass.

A faint smile graced his lips. “Our missions are important. And sometimes they call for drastic measures.”

You hummed in response, still focused on his face. You could see his face shift ever so slightly with what could only have been memories of past missions.

“So have they ever needed them?”

He quirked his head, not quite following your chain of thought. All you could do was hope that this hot man before hadn’t actually killed someone because of his own reckless nature.

“Needed their last rights.”

He laughed again, but it wasn’t nearly as joyful. “Not through any fault of mine, thankfully. I’ve lost people, sure, but I’ve never been the reason.” Mingi took a deep drink. “As much of an asshole as I can be, and my call sign aside, I don’t think I could live with myself if it ever was my fault.”

You nodded, finally tearing your eyes away from his face to fiddle with the two tiny straws in your glass.

Mingi clearing his throat drew your eyes back up. “Do you want to get out of here?”

At your raised eyebrow, he backpedaled. “We can just take a walk that’s totally fine but I-”

“Yeah,” you interrupted. “Let’s get out of here.”

Your back slammed against your closed front door. Mingi’s lips were on yours the moment the two of you made it inside your apartment. A combination of the furious kisses and the sudden impact of your back into the door had knocked the breath from your lungs, but not a single cell in your body wanted to pull away from Mingi.

He was intoxicating. He tasted faintly of beer and something indescribable that was just him. His lips were soft, his tongue insistent, and his hands wandering over every inch of you was exhilarating.

Eventually, you did have to come up for air, pulling away from him to let your head rest back against the door. Mingi didn’t miss a beat, his mouth migrating to your neck, nipping and sucking and kissing across your pulse point. 

Your left hand was grasping the front of his shirt and your right was on his back, feeling the flexing of the muscles there as he held onto you as if you’d disappear if he loosened his grip for even a second. 

Without missing a beat, his lips still attacking your neck, his hands slid to your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion. A gasp escaped your lips as he settled your legs around his waist, perfectly situating you to feel exactly how hard he was under his jeans. 

The pressure of that length pressing right between your thighs combined with a perfectly targeted bite to a sensitive point on your neck had you releasing a breathy moan. 

Mingi’s lips parted from your neck as he now looked up to face you. One of your hands instinctively went to tangle in his hair as you crashed your lips onto his again. The force had his mouth dropping open as you took your turn to entwine your tongue with his. The two of you were aggressively fighting to see who’d come out on top.

You had thought you were winning until it was Mingi’s turn to grab your hair. He pulled your mouths apart and the act had you clenching around nothing as his face nuzzled into your neck, licking a stripe up the side before he spoke in a low tone. “Where’s your room?”

“Down-” you were cut off by his hips grinding into yours. Painting, you pulled yourself together enough to answer him. “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

Mingi immediately pulled you away from the door, his steady hands holding on tight as he seamlessly navigated your small space. He damn near kicked your door down, slamming it open before he was tossing you onto your bed. 

You let out a startled yelp before laughing. Scooting farther up your bed, you gave him your best bedroom eyes and spread your legs, suddenly remembering his call sign.

“Forgive me, father,” your lips curved into a faux pout as you made your voice as sultry as you possibly could. “For I have sinned.”

Mingi stopped for a moment before he put his head in his hands. For a moment you feared you’d made a mistake. Until you saw his shoulders shaking with laughter. He managed to compose himself, crawling towards you on the bed until he was situated between your spread legs on his knees. He still looked as if he was trying to hold it together.

“I don’t know if that was the corniest or the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Both of you were trying to hold back laughter, but his hand making contact with your thigh sobered you up. His long, nimble fingers stole your attention away from the joking atmosphere.

“So how should I repent?” your teeth bit into your lower lip as you laid back to pull your shirt over your head, revealing you weren’t wearing anything underneath. Mingi’s laughter disappeared as well as he took in your breasts. 

His lips curved into a wicked smile as he leaned over you, laying a kiss between your breasts, his eyes meeting yours. “I think 3 orgasms should be enough to forgive your sins.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips found one of your nipples and your hand once again found his hair. His own hand rose up, those long fingers playing with your other breast. 

He savaged it with the same vigor he had attacked your neck with earlier. His teeth left small nips all around as his tongue soothed the bites. You were panting, holding him tight to you with your eyes closed. 

Leaning back slightly to admire his work for a moment, Mingi quickly switched his focus to your other breast. He lavished the same treatment, leaving small marks all over. 

When you were thoroughly decorated in hickeys, he finally sat back up, admiring you splayed out before him as you caught your breath. As he stared, his hand came up to grab his shirt by the back of the collar, pulling it over his head.

Now it was your turn to ogle, thoroughly enjoying his broad muscled chest and a light dusting of hair that trailed down his abs and disappeared into his pants. 

You were broken out of your trance as his hands came down to pop the button on his jeans and then your shorts. Recognizing his goal, you lifted your hips, allowing him to pull your shorts and underwear down in one fluid movement. He flung them across the room.

Once you were naked beneath him, his hands fell to your thighs. They slid up until they reached your hips. Mingi slid himself down the bed until he was on his stomach, face level with your core. 

His hot breath fanning over you was enough to have your breath hitching and body tensing as you waited for him to touch you where you so desperately needed him. But he didn’t move, his eyes locked on yours. 

Both of you were frozen for what felt like a century, until he was suddenly moving forward, parting your folds with his tongue. The exhalation of relief that left you quickly morphed into a moan as his tongue found and circled your clit. You were so distracted by the bliss of finally feeling the pleasure you’d been hoping he’d give you that you didn’t even notice his hands moving. 

One hooked under your thigh, finally coming to rest on your stomach, right above your pelvic bone. The other slipped a finger inside of you. You were practically dripping at this point.

Mingi’s tongue never stopped working tight circles around your clit as his finger quirked up, stroking along your walls in a way that had your legs shaking while you gasped out moans and whimpers.

He slid a second finger inside you, alternating between scissoring them and swirling them around inside you. The pressure in your abdomen was tightening more and more every second. Your hand was fisted in the sheets, your head thrown back, breath coming quicker and quicker.

Mingi could tell you were close. He kept the same rhythm on your clit, but focused his fingers' attention purely on your g-spot, applying more pressure.

You were right on the edge and then you tumbled into the best orgasms you’d ever had. Your whole body tensed and your moans were silenced for a moment as your muscles clenched around him before whimpers were escaping you as your hips jerked and your breath came in shaky spurts.

Mingi hadn’t let up with his fingers or his tongue, keeping your high going until your body was trembling and you were pushing his head away. He relented, pulling back and wiping his mouth.

Your eyes were closed as you laid there, panting, legs still twitching as you tried to recover. You could have sworn you blacked out for a moment when he kept your orgasm going.

“That’s one down,” Mingi’s smug tone had you opening one eye to glare at him before it slipped shut again.

“I think any more might kill me.”

In response, he grabbed your hips, jerking you down the bed and pulling your legs over his thighs until your core was pressed to the front of his boxers. He’d pulled down his jeans at some point while you were recovering.

You could feel the heat of him against you, the hardness of his cock pressing into you as he subtly ground his hips into yours.

“I think you’ll probably live,” his hands slipped from your hips to grab your ass.

“I highly doubt it,” you shook your head, then a smile crossed your face. “At least you’ll be here. I can get my last rights and finally have a hope of going to heaven.”

He smiled, but was quickly pulling down his boxers. “I told you I could make you see god. I just hope I can do it without actually killing you.”

You would have laughed, if not for the fact that as he finished removing his boxers, his dick finally came into view. He was bigger than you’d thought he’d be. He wasn’t horrifyingly big, but he looked long enough to reach the deepest parts of you and thick enough to stretch you out enough that you’d be feeling it tomorrow.

Mingi tracked your gaze focused on his cock and grinned. “I think it’s time we finish your penance.”

His words had you swallowing as he guided his length into you. God damn were you right. He was moving slowly, but you felt every inch of him sliding into you, stretching you and filling you in all the right ways. 

When he bottomed out, you were expecting him to give you a minute to adjust, but what you weren’t expecting was for him to not move at all. He stayed seated all the way inside you as his fingers moved to your clit. 

“What are you-” you cut yourself off with a whimper as his fingers began moving in quick circles. 

“We’ve got to get you to three orgasms,” he leaned over you, his lips once again connecting with your breasts. “And I am so hard, I won’t last if I try to get you through two by fucking you.” 

His teeth gently bit down on your hard nipple. 

“That, and I really want to be able to focus on how fucking good you feel when you cum on my cock.” His voice was low, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Already you were so close. Still sensitive from the orgasm you just had, his fingers were pushing you right up to the edge once again. It was all you could do to cling to his strong arms as your back began to arch and your legs tightened around him.

Mingi kissed up from your breasts to your ear. He took your earlobe between his teeth before brushing his lips along the shell of your ear. “Cum.”

And you did, thankfully, not as intensely as before. But still, you cried out as you held on to him, your hips twitch up on their own and your muscles contracting around him.

“Fuck,” Mingi groaning in your ear had a high pitched moan leaving your lips. 

This time, he didn’t prolong your orgasm for too long. He gradually slowed his pace before pushing himself back up onto his knees.

“Thats. Two.” he punctuated each word with a thrust. Your head dropped back, the feeling of him finally moving was ecstatic. The slight upward curve of his length dragged across your g-spot every time he moved in and out.

“God, fuck, I think I could watch you cum all day,” he was settling into a rhythm that combined power with deep, slow thrusts. The force of each inward push was moving you up the bed. Mingi’s solution was to simply drag you back down to meet every one of his movements.

Each time your hips met, your skin slapping together combined with your moans and his low curses and grunts. It was music to your ears as you lost yourself in the sensation.

His thrust gradually grew in speed as he got closer. You were still a ways off from your third orgasm and he could tell. You yelped in shock as his hand on your hip shifted so his thumb could softly brush over your clit. 

“I-I can’t” you stuttered out.

“Yes you can,” he slowed his thrusts ever so slightly, leaning over you. “Gotta finish your penance, yeah?”

You laughed, only for it to be broken off into a moan as he leaned back up, increasing the speed of his thrusts and the rate at which he rubbed your clit. Your body was tensing up again, the pressure building up alarmingly quickly.

“Mingi- I-”

“Do it,” he grunted, thrusting even faster. “Cum. Cum on my fucking cock. You can do it. Cum for me.”

And you did, one last time. Everything was so intense. The sensation washed over you, an all consuming wave of pleasure that quite literally had tears falling down your face. Your vision went white and you felt like you were floating.

Mingi continued thrusting into you rapidly, prolonging your orgasm, although he did thankfully take his thumb off your clit to spare you some overstimulation. 

You were just starting to come down when Mingi was finally moaning out his own release, spilling deep inside you. His hips stuttered and his head hung as he rode out his own waves of pleasure.

Both of you were panting heavily, but he stayed inside you for a few moments after he came. 

Finally, he pulled out of you. He flopped down beside you on the bed, pulling you into his side. You happily snuggled up to him, resting your head and hand on his chest and throwing a leg over his.

The two of you basked in the silence. 

Until you broke it. “So, am I forgiven for my sins?”

Mingi was silent for a moment. 

“Mmm, I don’t know. Three might not have been enough.”

You lifted your head to look up at him incredulously. He met your gaze with laughter before he pulled you into a kiss.

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 10 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You missed out on a lot of things when you lived in Chicago, because you didn't want to do them without Bradley. On a very important trip, you and he both visit the city together.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and swears

Length: 1500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Five Months Later...

"I can't believe we're willingly flying to Chicago in January," you complained with a bright smile on your face. 

"This was your idea, Sugar," Bradley reminded you, holding up both boarding passes for the airline gate agent to scan. "It's not too late to stay in Vegas or fly to Fiji like I originally wanted."

"No, no. We're going to Chicago together," you told him, taking his hand as you boarded your flight from Las Vegas to O'Hare. Bradley spun your rings around on your finger as you located your seats and settled in. 

"Chicago in January. Two days before a blizzard is due to arrive. Are we about to go on the shittiest honeymoon ever?" he asked, kissing your lips. 

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Listen, we just had Elvis marry us yesterday on the Vegas strip. We had a quickie wedding after being engaged for five weeks, and I'm not even pregnant. Now we're about to get snowed in together in Chicago. You'll be stuck in a room with me for a week. I don't think a conventional honeymoon is what we needed, Beer Boy."

Bradley tipped his head back and laughed. "Actually, now that you mention it, being snowed in with you sounds like a dream, Sugar. What am I even complaining about?"

"I don't know," you whispered against his scars. "You get me and Chicago deep dish pizza around the clock if you want it."

"I want it," he confirmed. "You can feed me pizza naked in bed after we have sex. And then I'll get hard again, we can have sex again, and you can feed me more pizza. It sounds like the perfect week. Chicago in January is everything I ever wanted."

You were shaking with silent laughter as the flight attendant went over the safety instructions, and soon you were in the air. And then you fell asleep on your husband's shoulder. Bradley jostled you awake in time to see the city all lit up against a snowy backdrop as the plane descended into Chicago. 

"Are you ready for this?" you asked, standing next to him with your bags, about to walk outside to get a taxi. "It's three degrees out there."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Bradley mumbled, but he looked scared. "No problem."

Once you and he were outside, he was practically crying as you took care of hailing a ride to the hotel. "You have thin Californian blood now," you told him as he snuggled up next to you in the back seat. You kissed his icy cold nose and forehead as you headed through the city where you lived for four years during grad school. "It's embarrassing, Bradley. I married a Californian."

He shivered in your arms and said, "We're both Virginians, Sugar. I just hate being cold."

You were playing with his hair and kissing along his ear as he melted into you. Every time you thought about the crazy juxtaposition that your life had become, you felt tears in your eyes. You had missed Bradley terribly when you were living in Chicago and still even after you graduated with your PhD. So it just felt right that he was here with you now.

"That's where I got my second tattoo," you whispered as the taxi drove slowly down a side street. 

Bradley looked out the window and smiled. "Should be a historic landmark."

Your laughter filled the small space as he kissed you. Then he paid the cab fare, and you had never seen him move as fast as he did when he hauled all of the luggage inside to the warm hotel lobby. 

"Let's go get a good night's sleep," you told him as he carried everything to the elevator and then into the hotel room. 

"We're not sleeping," he said, shaking his head. "You're going to snuggle with me until I'm warm again, which could take hours, and then I'm fucking you for the rest of the night."

He wasn't lying. You pulled him into bed with you, and held his body close, softly kissing him and telling him how happy you were. 

"I love you, Sugar. I loved you ten years ago, and I love you today, and I'll still be loving you ten years from now."

Slowly and meticulously, he undressed you beneath the blankets, touching and kissing each new bit of skin as it was exposed. He took extra time and gave extra attention to your tattoos, just like he always did. 

"I've been in love with you since the first time you wore my bathrobe," he told you before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts as you giggled. "No, before that. Since the first time I watched you put a bottle of beer to your perfect lips." He kissed his way up to your mouth, lingering there until you were sighing against him. 

"You've been in love with me since you met me then? Is that what you're trying to say, Beer Boy?"

He groaned as he slid his length inside you. "God, I fucking love it when you call me that. Every single time. And yes, Sugar, ever since I met you."

You made love to your husband all night, your hands and eyes roving over his body as you told him how happy you were that you both ended up at your class reunion in Virginia. That he was at the same bar as you that night last summer. 

When you both finally fell asleep, it was a long time before you woke up. Room service had already switched from breakfast to lunch, but Bradley got them to agree to send up a pot of coffee along with your lunch order. You and he ate all bundled up in bed together with the curtains open, the first flurries of snow falling outside as the storm moved in. 

"We need to head out soon so we can get back before it gets dark," you told him as he sipped his coffee. 

His expression looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let's go, Sugar."

The taxi dropped you both off at the edge of the park as the sidewalks were getting slick from the snow. There were only a few people out and about, and even in the middle of the day, the sunlight was struggling to break through the heavy, gray clouds. Bradley had his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you approached The Bean together. You stood side by side, examining if for a moment in silence. 

"It's just a big, metallic bean," you said, leaning into Bradley as the wind picked up.

"I knew it would be dumb as hell, Sugar," he replied, gesturing at it with his hand like there was no good explanation for what they were seeing.

You wrapped your arms around his middle and looked up at him as you started cracking up. "I'm glad I didn't see it without you. It was worth the wait."

"You were worth the wait. The Bean, maybe less so," he replied, kissing you as you took your phone out. 

After you took a bunch of selfies and texted some to Nat, you looked at Bradley and hummed. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and the tip of his nose was getting red. He was perfect, and he was all yours. 

"Have you given much thought to a little Bradshaw bean?" you asked as snowflakes stuck on his mustache. 

"Bradshaw bean?" he asked. His brow was creased before it started to smooth out. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Sugar?"

You nodded and kissed his pink cheek. "Yeah, Beer Boy. A little baby Bradshaw bean. Just something to think about."

Both of you thought about it and talked about it as you stood in front of the giant bean in the middle of a blizzard. But you didn't need to make all of your decisions right now. You weren't planning on being without Bradley ever again. 

------------------------

THANK YOU for reading along on this adventure with me! Beer Boy/Man and Sugar belong together, and I'm happy she gets to take him to Chicago, even if it's during a blizzard! I hope you had as much fun as I did! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

Please visit the one-shot The Grateful Dad for some more Beer Boy and Sugar!

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[jerzwriter]

It was a friendship that felt more like family - one that carried them through the rigors and the lighter side of their medical school years. But with tensions ramping up and graduation on the horizon, it seemed like it was all slipping away. Could the friendship they had both valued so much be saved?

Book: Open Heart (Pre-Series) Featuring: Ethan Ramsey and Tobias Carrick Rating: Teen Words: 1,200

A/N: Based on this very old prompt from @liaromancewriter. Down to just 2 inbox requests left! 😊 I hope it's decent. I have not been "feeling it" much lately, so writing has been difficult, but I had to try this for my two favorite guys (and for Mal, too! lol)

Tobias leaned against the railing of his family’s luxury box at Camden Yards, his eyes fixed on the Orioles, warming up on the field below. He took a long drink of the ice-cold beer he’d been holding idly for the past ten minutes, doing his best to ignore the tension that filled the air.

Behind him, Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his luxurious leather seat, eventually standing to grab a drink of his own. Not long ago, an afternoon like this would have been delightful, filled with the laughter and camaraderie that defined the two men over the past four years, but now, those memories felt as if they were lost in time.

Their bond began to solidify the instant they met. Two of the brightest students to enroll in Johns Hopkins in years, the administration thought pairing them - in classes, in housing, and on projects - would lead them to accomplish things they could only dream of. While they hailed from different worlds, the two young men quickly became best friends – brothers – and they believed that was how it would always be. But with graduation only months away, their friendship felt more like a forced partnership teetering on the verge of collapse.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” Ethan said, gesturing at the plush suite. Tobias’s family had connections everywhere, and this box was just another perk that came along with his name.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tobias shrugged. “Besides, I thought we could use a break. Recharge a little bit.” He turned to Ethan, his smile faltering when he caught the tension in his friend’s jaw.

“Recharge?” Ethan scoffed. “Right. Because after a week where I managed a total of eight hours sleep, this is what I need... a baseball game in a gilded box.”

Tobias’s smile tightened. “You could just say thank you and drink the free beer, Ramsey.”

Ethan heaved out a sigh. “You don’t get it, do you? You never have. This…” he gestured around him... “This is all normal to you. You step into spaces like this without a second thought. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to kill ourselves just to get by. No safety nets. No family name to fall back on. If we fail, we're done for.”

Tobias’s stomach twisted at Ethan’s words, but he refused to let it show. “And yet here we are,” he shrugged, an uncharacteristic bite in his tone. “Same med school. Same rotations. Same sleepless nights... and as of today, you're ranked top in our class, with me trailing behind you. I’d say you’re doing alright.”

“Am I?” Ethan’s snapped. “If I am, that's because I earned it through my blood, sweat, and tears. You’ve been coasting on your charm and connections from the start. I didn’t have your fancy prep school or private tutors; I didn’t have the Carrick name. My father didn't get letters of recommendation for me from his golf buddies - who just so happened to be on the board at Hopkins. You can’t even see it, can you? How easy you have it compared to the rest of us.”

Tobias turned to him with a scowl. “That’s funny, coming from you. You’re at the top of our class. Hopkins's own boy wonder. You’ve got attendings singing your praises left and right. You never needed anyone to hold the door open for you. You kicked it down yourself, and you have every right to be proud of that."

Ethan let out a gruff breath. “Yet it’s always your name being whispered in the halls. Carrick, the golden boy, the legacy. Carrick, who’ll get his pick of residencies no matter what he does... or doesn't do. Carrick, who’s never had to fight for a damn thing in his life.”

Tobas’s face flushed, his grip tightening around the neck of his bottle of beer. “You’re right,” he said evenly. “I’ve been handed a lot in life. But don’t act like you know me, Ramsey. You’ve seen the way I kill myself to make sure I'm the best. Not because it's expected of me but because I want people to know I'm here because of what I've done - not who I am. But no matter what I do, I get a pat on the head while you get idol status. Come on, man! You, of all people, know how hard I’ve worked! Do you really think we’re neck and neck right now because of my name?”

Ethan opened his mouth to reply but stopped. Tobias could see Ethan's armor beginning to crack, but that was fleeting, and when his anger returned, it was with a vengeance.

“You know,” Ethan finally spoke. “I actually hate you sometimes.”

The words hit Tobias like a knife, but he forced himself to chuckle softly. “It happens to the best of us, I guess,” he said, pretending to shrug it off.

Ethan turned away, a hint of regret crossing his face, but he didn’t say anything further. The game continued below, a meaningless blur of innings and cheers that neither paid attention to. The heavy silence stretched until Tobias finally spoke.

“Look, I’m trying here,” he said quietly. “I know things have been… off... between us. But I thought maybe this could be a way to fix it. I thought maybe if we had a nice day together, we could get back to where we were. But, clearly, I was wrong.”

Ethan didn’t respond right away; staring at the field, his expression was unreadable. “Maybe this isn’t something you can fix,” he said finally. “We're going to be doctors, it's our nature to believe everything has a solution, but maybe this doesn't. Maybe we’ve just outgrown this.”

“Outgrown what?” Tobias asked, his voice sharper than intended. “Our friendship? All the good times? The years we’ve spent having each other’s backs? We just... outgrew it?”

"Outgrew it... or maybe it wasn't as much as we thought to begin with."

They left the game just before the seventh-inning stretch, the tension between them as thick as the humidity hovering over Baltimore that night. The ride back to their apartment was silent, each second feeling longer than the last. When Tobias unlocked the door to their apartment and stepped inside, the familiar space felt foreign to him.

This is where they had created so many special memories: late-night study sessions, arguing over who was the better cook, the half-drunk debates where both were just talking jibberish and Tobias’s never-ending trail of new conquests – all except the one he really wanted – the one who had occupied the spot next to Ethan just a room away. Now, their sanctuary felt like a battlefield littered with memories they didn't know how to hold onto.

“I’m heading to bed,” Ethan muttered, heading directly to his room.

“Goodnight,” Tobias replied, though he didn’t know if it was heard.

He stood in the living room for a long time, staring at Ethan's bedroom door. On the other side, Ethan had collapsed into his bed; the distance between them felt miles apart, even as they reflected on the same things.

They wanted to salvage a friendship that had meant so much to both, but with graduation looming, time was slipping away. The competing, the disparities, the woman they both loved... they seemed larger than life... larger than any battles they could overcome.

Defeated, Tobias finally headed to his room, closing the door gently behind him. The beautiful tapestry they had created was coming undone, and both felt they could only watch it unravel, thread by thread.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[lemonxdaisybby]

How about the Legends and Ichigang fellas taking shower by themselves and with their s/o? Just anything that comes up

Hello! Thank you for your request! 💕 Some mild NSFW hcs, hope that’s okay x

I’ve just done Ichigang guys for now because I am v dumb and wasn’t entirely sure who the Legends consisted of. I’m not sure if you mean Kiryu, Majima, Saejima, etc, but also didn’t wanna make any assumptions incase I got it wrong 😭 I’m so sorry, please free to send another request in if you wanna add more characters for this hc 💕

Ichiban:

When showering on his own, Ichi would be a fan of cold showers. He has one each morning, and he finds the cool water tends to wake him up properly, and makes him more alert. He only really has warm showers if he’s feeling ill, or if it’s especially cold out…or if he’s showering with you.

He would be so shy the first time you shower together, as he wouldn’t really know what to do with himself, or where to look. He wouldn’t want to come across as a creep so would actively try to avoid looking at you at first, until you laugh at him and tell him to chill out. Then he’s gonna relax and realise he’s been overthinking the whole thing.

Sometimes, showering with Ichi would end in sex, and other times it would just be completely innocent, with the two of you washing each others hair. There would be no expectations.

You two would probably be a lil goofy in the shower, styling each others hair to make it stick up at odd angles, or creating bubble beards with the shower wash. Very cute and sweet.

Nanba:

Man is frugal, and very conscious of his water/household bills. Showers are gonna be quick, speedy and efficient. He probably would be eager to shower with you because firstly, saves on water and bills, and secondly, he gets to see you naked. There is no down-side.

Likely uses the most basic of shower products. He doesn’t really have a preference for shampoos, soaps or shower gels/washes, and tends to just get whatever is on sale.

Showering together would never really get sexual. Nanba can’t see very well without his glasses, so likely would be a little clumsy when showering, and is definitely not up for attempting to fuck you in there. However, once you two are out the shower, well, that’s another story.

Honestly, showering together would just be quick and no nonsense. There wouldn’t really be any goofing around. He’s there for a purpose, to get clean. No shenanigans.

Adachi:

Hums and sings in the shower. Also, he just really enjoys showers in general? He is so happy when showering, and will always have a lil content smile on his face. Adachi has super hot showers too, the heat relaxes his poor old muscles.

He likely prefers baths, to be honest. As he can just lay back and close his eyes, and maybe even have a beer whilst he bathes.

He has a yellow rubber ducky just sitting on the side of the bath. He bought it because he thought it looked cute and funny. He won’t admit it to anyone, but sometimes after a hard day, when having a bath to de-stress, he finds himself absentmindedly telling the ducky about his problems. He wouldn’t necessarily talk to it, but he’d kinda lean back and just begin venting, glancing at the duck every now and again and telling it how lucky it is, not having to deal with everyday shit.

When showering together, if it’s in one of those shower cubicles, it would be a bit squishy, as he’s so huge and takes up a lot of space. If it’s a shower-head over a bathtub, it’s less squishy but you two will definitely end up fighting about who gets to stand under the shower head.

Horny man, so he probably adores showering with you, and often it does end up with sex. He’d lift you up and have your back pressed against the wall, with your legs wrapped around his hips as he slowly thrusts in to you at a relaxed pace.

Joon-Gi:

Joon-Gi takes hygiene and beauty regimes very seriously. He likely uses the most luxurious shower washes and shampoos ever, and has a careful shower routine to follow. He showers every morning and night.

Showering with Joon-Gi wouldn’t happen often. Showering is like his chill time. He likes to relax, unwind, and allow his mind to go blank. He takes it as an opportunity to pamper himself too.

However, on the occasions where you do shower together, he would help you wash your hair and body. He would not allow you to wash him or his hair though. He’s very particular and likes to do it himself.

He would have been pretty bashful the first time the two of you showered together, not quite knowing what to do with himself, or where to look.

On rare occasions, showering together can result in shower sex, but most of the time, it’s pretty innocent and he’s more focused on getting clean.

Zhao:

Zhao showers every morning, and is likely still half asleep when showering. There has been the odd occasion where he’s almost dozed off whilst standing under the shower head, the feeling of the hot water cascading down his back almost sending him to sleep.

Definitely smooths his hair back under the water like one of those fancy shampoo adverts.

He does jerk off in the shower when showering alone. The hot water has him relaxed, and also it’s easy to clean up after.

When showering together, it’s always going to end up with sex, with only one exception - when you’re ill. If you’re feeling pretty sick and weak, to the point where you’re struggling to walk or carry out daily tasks, he will shower with you. It would be so soft and wholesome. He’d wash your hair and body for you, and then help you dry afterwards. He’d be pretty good at taking care of you when you’re sick.

Any other time you shower together, you’re gonna end up with your front pressed against the cool shower tiles or glass, as he thrusts in to you from behind.

[trivialbob]

Last night Sheila and I went to a seafood place. For a cheeseburger.

Coastal Seafoods in Minneapolis is a fresh seafood market. It's a neat little place. When @littlerunnergurl visited us years ago she and I shopped there for ingredients of a seafood stew LRG made for us.

There's a small counter for hot food in back. Two four-tops and a small row of bars stools next to a cold window is the complete dining room. A Facebook page devoted to smashburgers had mentioned this place's burger recently. That's what got us over there.

We ordered one Coastal Burger. "Two 4oz Wagyu Beef Patties, Caramalized Onion Jam, Pickles, American Cheese, & Dijon Mayo on Toasted Brioche!" (images from the Coastal Foods website)

I also ordered the wonderful looking Connecticut Style Lobster Roll. "Warm Lobster & Seasoned Butter on a Toasted Tom Cat Bakery Roll"

The cook cut them in half so Sheila and I could try some of each. Both were fantastic. We didn't order French fries or any sides. The older I get the wiser I am about not ordering too much food. For sure if there had been a serving of fries in front of me I wouldn't have left until the plate was clean. As it was, we walked out feeling satisfied yet not needing to adjust the car seats back so we could fit in the Subaru.

I'd been wanting to see some dive bars. A block away is the Fraternal Order of Eagles #34. It's an appropriately dimly lit place where most of the customers seemed to know each other. We didn't order food, but I almost did just to purchase a cheeseburger for under ten bucks, a rare thing these days.

The bartender was friendly. She knew what to pour for people a few times without asking. I chuckled when she asked us if we'd be okay for a bit unattended when she went outside for a quick smoke.

It's located at the intersection of two similarly named streets. When I was a kid it was mind-blowing when I saw Minneapolis street signs with the same numbers. Sure, the Av and St make a difference, but it still seemed like division by zero to someone not yet accustomed to how cities named numbered east/west and north/south roads. Similarly, I was amazed when my dad pointed out the named streets in some places were in freaking alphabetical order.

After a bottle of beer (and a sunset) we drove south a short distance through the cold and dark night to the Schooner Tavern. It too is at an intersection of numbered streets.

It was a bit louder, but no less dimly lit, than the previous place. The two bartenders were very friendly. Sheila and I again sat at the bar for one beer.

We listened to conversations around us. It was only 5:30 PM but some folks appeared to have started the evening early. A frazzled looking guy (who was probably 15 years younger than he actually appeared) must have gotten the happy hour special on "fucks" which seem to have been a 20-for-1 deal. Whew, I got tired of hearing that word used as noun, verb, adjective, preposition, pronoun, article, and adverb.

The bottles behind the bar appeared to glow. If the bar had been quieter maybe I would have heard them hum.

Sometimes I want of those tiny Red Bull refrigerators with the glass door (as seen in the left side of this picture I took). Sheila doesn't think it would look appropriate on our coffee table no matter how well it fit. People would probably trip over the power cord she also claims. I still want one though.

We still enjoyed the atmosphere while we had one beer. After that we headed to the brewery by our house. It's at the intersection of one named and one numbered street, more to the sensibilities of my suburban mind.

We met up with one couple we know and another couple who were on a second date. The guy is a regular, the woman is new to that crowd. At first she seemed like she wanted to move to a private table. Soon though she warmed up to us, and the six of us had a great conversation.

I'm going to start looking up some more dive bars for another weekend.

[the-fiction-witch]

That's Y/n!

Media - The Queens Gambit Character - Benny Watts Couple - Benny X Reader (Age GAP) Reader - Y/n Rating - 17 Word Count - 696

Benny pulled up to his old friend Daniel’s house, a familiar mix of excitement and nostalgia washing over him. Having been on the road for the chess season, he had unfortunately missed several of their cherished poker nights, so he was eager to reconnect, even if just for a few fleeting moments before his upcoming trip to Paris.

He made his way into the dining room, which Daniel had transformed into a permanent poker room. The soft glow of a Tiffany lampshade cast a warm light across the large plush poker table.

He stepped into the lively gathering, his warm smile lighting up the room as he greeted each person with a friendly nod and a few words. After making his rounds, he made his way to the cooler, where he selected a cold beer, the condensation glistening on the bottle as he popped it open. With the satisfying crack of the cap echoing in the background, he took a moment to savour the refreshing drink.

Benny perked up as he heard footsteps, and peeked into the kitchen to see a very interesting sight, that immediately made Benny bite his bottom lip.

A woman gracefully descended the staircase, her bare feet making soft sounds against the polished wood. She wore a playful, short mod mini dress adorned in vibrant shades of green and white, featuring a neat row of buttons running down one side. Delicate bracelets jingled on her wrists, catching the light as she moved. Her hair fell in soft, bouncy curls, framing her face beautifully, while a stylish white headband perched atop her head, keeping her locks effortlessly in place. With a carefree demeanour, she wandered toward the refrigerator, her thoughts drifting, as she reached for a cold soda can,

Benny felt an instant connection when he laid eyes on her, a spark of intrigue igniting within him. He took a slow, appreciative sip of his cold beer, letting the crisp flavour linger on his tongue. As he brushed his fingers thoughtfully through his thick facial hair, he gathered his confidence. With a playful swagger in his step, he approached her from behind, the vibrant sounds of the bar fading into the background. In one bold, decisive movement, he planted a firm smack on her backside, his grin widening, “Well hello Baby,” He growled,

“Ahh-” She squealed as she flipped around to face him, almost dropping her soda,

“Are you the pretty little thing who’s gonna be bringing me beer while we play tonight?” he smirked, “Or are you just one of the prizes?”

She quickly and sheepishly shook her head,

“No?” he smiled wickedly, “what is your pretty little ass here for then, baby?”

“Benny,” Daniel warned from the doorframe,

“What?” Benny complained, “You can’t have this walking about and not expect us to want to get a little taste too.” he smirked, “Come on Dan, share your pretty girly,”

She quickly took her soda and scampered away up the stairwell again, Benny of course taking a moment to lean on the counter as she went doing his best to get a view up her dress as she climbed the stairs,

“Not my girlfriend. Benny.” Daniel sighed,

“Oh? You just got cute girls running around your house now?” Benny laughed, “Should have told me, I’d been over way sooner.”

Daniel gave up trying to make Benny catch on, very quickly realizing that Benny wasn’t thinking with his brain right now, so he smirked, “That’s Y/n.”

“That’s Y/n-” Benny began but his eyes went wide and he gulped, “That’s Y/n!”

“Yep, she just got back from college.”

“…Well how the hell was I supposed to know!” Benny complained,

“The fact you’ve literally known her, for her whole life?”

“Yeah but I don’t see her alot, I don’t think I’ve even seen her since like… she was… in high school… maybe…”

“Benny you are literally one of her godparents.”

“I am?” Benny asked, “That seems like a terrible idea.”

“Yeah well, Alice said I was allowed one friend as a godparent and you're the only one she ever remotely liked.”

“Damn… What a bitch,”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “but come on we’re starting the game, and please do try not to hit on my daughter.”

“No promises.”

[princess-glassred]

A short interaction I wrote between Henry and Butch about Patrick

Tw: Bruises, abuse, blood, cuts, Butch Bowers, toxic henpat

It was 11 AM on a saturday, and the Bowers house was still dark as a sewer drain. The warm sunlight from the windows hit the floor to illuminate the room, but even natural sunlight was not nearly enough to make the pig sty of a house feel like a home. Today was like any other day in the Bowers residence, everything was right where it was supposed to be, as if Henry and Butch had been plopped down in predesignated spots like dolls. They sat on the couch together, not talking, entranced by the cold blue glow of the tv. Nothing good was ever on tv at this time, not that public access television was ever that good to begin with, but at least on late nights you could find some decent adult programming. Right now it was all shitty kids shows, probably ran by people who shouldn't be within 25 feet from a school zone, so Butch and Henry were stuck learning colors and watching unfunny clowns preform for screaming kids on a bench until around 6 o' clock.

Henry wasn't too focused on the tv though, he was watching, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was much more focused on the bowl of oatmeal he was stuffing in his face, almost like he expected Butch to reach over and take it from him. He was pretty famished though, his stomache had been rumbling since he woke up, and lord knows Butch Bowers would never cook breakfast. That was a woman's job, and when there wasn't a woman around to do the job, it was Henry's. They sat in silence for a little while longer, until Butch suddenly turned his head to look Henry up and down. As per usual, Butch's eyes were only ever locked into one specific emotion whenever they landed on Henry: contempt. Suddenly his eyes stopped on one specific part of Henry's body, transfixed on his right wrist that he was currently using to shovel strawberry oatmeal down his throat. Butch cocked his head to the side and squinted at Henry. "You're not very sneaky son." He said plainly, and right on cue, Henry's entire body went stiff.

Despite the vauge statement, his son's suddenly panicked face indicated that he knew exactly what he was talking about, which only made it worse when he inevitably tried to deny it. "What-" Henry coughed, nearly choking on his food as he put his spoon back in the empty bowl with a clink. "What are you talking about?" He said, trying and failing to hide his terror. "I raised you, I know when somethings different about you. Your stupid braclets are on one side of your arm now, you've never done that before. You're hiding something." He grumbled, grabbing an open can of beer from the end table and taking a swig.

Henry blinked in shock then tried to deny it again with a nervous laugh "That doesn't mean-" but suddenly, Butch lunged for him, and Henry instinctively flinched. Fortunately for Henry, this did not result in a punch or slap like it usually would, but Butch did grab his wrist and pull it over to his side of the sofa. His muscular calloused hands squeezed down hard enough that Henry wanted to yell "you're hurting me!" but stopped himself. Butch wasn't a man who could listen to reason, and in fact, to Butch, "you're hurting me" was basically like saying "Good job!" and would have encouraged him to do it more. He used his fingers to scooch Henry's bracelets down his arm, his fingernails and the thick leather of the bracelets causing even more pain to him as they inched down his arm. After what felt like an eternity of burning, scratching, and writhing, the pain finally stopped, but Henry's shame quickly took it's place as Butch stumbled upon his secret, and there was no way for Henry to hide it anymore.

There were big bruises on his wrists, and even a big cut on the back, like some one wanted to cut him but didn't wanna risk slitting a vein open. Henry had attempted to cover up what the bracelets couldn't hide with make up yesterday, but that was now rubbed off too, and even then, Butch could tell. Seeing bruises on Henry was typical, in fact, Butch was often the cause of these bruises, but Butch was always very careful to only do it on the torso where they could be easily hidden. Whoever caused this had been sloppy though, real sloppy, maybe even wanted them to see the bruises for some weird reason. For a brief moment he considered the possibility that Henry might have done this himself, but that was quickly dismissed. Henry was too much of a pussy to ever hurt himself, he could barely handle Butch's beatings with out whining. Besides, Henry knew if he did some embarrassing cry baby attention seeking shit like that then Butch would have to buckle down and give him something to really cry about.

Eventually Butch unclenched his grip and allowed Henry to break away, leaving him to cower and rub his wrist on the far end of the sofa like an abused housewife. A twinge of shame and pain flashed across his face as he rubbed and whimpered like a scared dog, something Butch found both pitiful and incredibly annoying. Those bruises on his wrist could only be from one person in this stupid town, Henry might have been a little pansy but he was big for his age, so the only person who could hurt him like this would have to be some one taller than him, and more importantly, some one who he'd actually let hurt him. Butch crossed his arms and frowned, making the already humiliated and scared Henry feel even worse.

"So, who did that?" he asked, not a hint of concern for Henry's well being. "I... don't know." Henry mumbled, letting his voice go a little soft like he always did when his dad caught him in a bad situation. "But it was probably you, sometimes you get-" "Bullshit." Butch interuppted, insulted by the accusation. Butch might have been a crazy abusive drunk, but he could always recognize his own work on Henry, and those bruises were not his. "It's him, isn't it? It's from that Hockstetter fag you hang out with. I know it is." Butch said, so disgusted it was a miracle he didn't spit in his fucking eye.

Henry looked down to the floor, no longer able to deny the truth, but still desperate to cling onto his last shreds of dignity. Henry groaned, growing a little angry and defensive "it's not a big deal! He said he was sorry..." that was a blatant lie though, and Butch knew it, Patrick never apologized for anything unless it benifited him in some way. He'd apologize to adults anytime he got in trouble, but he never meant it, he was just very good at manipulating others to get what he wanted, and those manipulative tendencies leaked into every facet of his life, including sex. He got sex through manipulative means and the sex itself was a form of manipulation, but Henry just couldn't find a way to ever say no to him. Everything they did seemed to cross a boundry, and yet, everytime, Henry still found himself asking if it was really bad enough to warrant putting his foot down. It always started the exact same way too, first it would be pretty normal, then it'd get rough, and then it'd get violent, and then it'd be over before it ever really started, and Henry was beginning to like it less and less each time.

"Do you have pig shit for brains, son?" Butch questioned, catching Henry so off gaurd he thought he misheard him at first. "Huh?" he stammered, and Butch sighed at his own sons stupidity "I only ask 'cause i'd never be fucking brain dead enough to be friends with a guy who beat the shit out of me." he continued, getting up with a grunt to go get himself his third beer from the fridge. Whatever, it was certainly better than asking him to go get it, but it did kinda seem like the only reason he went to fetch it himself was so he didn't have to look at Henry anymore. To anyone else that would have sounded almost cartoonishly cruel, but for Henry that was just the kind of shit his dad liked to do, and had been doing to him for years.

Henry lowered his head and clenched his fists, beginning to quietly seethe with anger he would no doubt let out on Mike Hanlon or Bill Denborough later on. He shook ever so slightly as his rage boiled inside him "well- you hit mom and expected her to stay..." He mumbled, regret hitting him like a truck the instant the worlds left his mouth. Butch spontaneously let the beer in his hands slip out of his fingers, sending the bottle plummeting to the floor where it bursted into a big mess of booze and broken glass. The sound was so loud and out of nowhere, Henry jumped from his seat in fright and skittered away from the couch. He'd been afraid of that sound for a while now, ever since Butch got a little too drunk one night and threw an empty bottle at him, he'd found any kind of breaking glass noise horrifying. He thankfully missed him, but it was still a pretty fucking awful thing for a kid to experience, and it left some lasting damage on his psyche.

Butch whipped his head around to glance back at Henry while he knelt down to the broken glass, a difficult feat for some one as large and out of shape as him, but one he still managed to accomplish regardless. "That's different, women need to be hit so they don't get out of line, if they don't get hit they don't learn. You're just a fucking idiot who thinks when some one beats you it means they like you." butch shouted over his shoulder, poking at the shards of glass but never daring to actually clean it. Henry nervously swallowed and stared off to the side, racking his brain as he tried to understand it all. He furrowed his brows as his lip quivered, unsure of what to say but not quite content with the awful silence that filled the room.

He sighed and hung his head, still shaking and still silently enraged. "Yeah... wonder where I could have possibly gotten a stupid idea like that..." Henry muttered, letting his gaze drift down to the floor and away from his father. Suddenly, Butch rose up and put his hands on his hips, his face twisting into a repulsed grimace. At this point, Henry fully expected to be screamed at, beaten, and kicked out of the house, all in that order, but butch managed to do none of those. Instead, he just stood and stared at him in scornful silence to show his disappointment.

He glowered at him, balling his hands into tight fists ready to strike and shook his head "you know what? I take it back." said Butch, breifly catching Henry's attention again with the smallest bit of false hope. "Maybe this hockstetter kid has the right idea about you! after all, you were always a bit girly, maybe you need a good smacking every now to knock some snese into you." He elaborated, and that small bit of false hope Henry had flew right out the window, because of course it did. His father turned back to the broken glass and groaned, gesturing at Henry to look at it and do something. "God, Why don't you do something actually useful and clean this shit up? I'm sick of looking at it." he "asked", but really it was more of an order, an order he knew damn well Henry would never have the guts to say no to.

He hesitated there for a moment, shifting his weight from side to side on each foot before eventually giving up and giving into his fathers command. Even when Henry complied Butch didn't even have the decency to stick around and see him clean, he grabbed his coat and ran out the front door with out a word, probably off to go get wasted somewhere else. But that was fine, it didn't matter if he left or not, I mean, it did kind of hurt but Henry didn't really care, just like how he didn't care if Patrick hurt him sometimes. He was used to hurting, in the same way he was used to hurting others. Henry was durable. He was strong. He could handle himself just fine with or without his fathers input.... or at least, that's what Henry liked to think to himself. In reality, if all of that were true, then Henry wouldn't be in this situation right now. Groveling down on his knees, sniffling back sobs as he scooped little pieces of broken glass into a dust pan, the tiniest bits of blood dropping down his fingers with each new bit he tossed...

[darling-i-read-it]

Sorry

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: mw2 spoilers, spoilers for the new packs and online campaigns and things, (me knowing NOTHING about the military. I just be googling words. I am very sorry if they are wrong! I also didn’t play the online stuff so I had to read on that too. So much work for u philip), the reader leaving price and ghost behind technically, grief, heavy insinuation to smut, VIOLENCE like a lot. Reader kills people and has a mini extensional crisis about it, let me know if I missed anything! 

Author’s Note: me: i’m so normal about him.  Also me: writes a six thousand word fanfiction about my delusions 

Summary: You and Phil had been together when he ‘died’ in the tank. You’ve been grieving him ever since, not knowing he was still out there. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When he was up in the air, sometimes Phil Graves thought about home. He thought about the way the air felt in the south. The heavy humidity of a late night around a fire with family and friends. His childhood home, a two story house with some land. The feeling of flannels over his shoulders, wind against his face when he rode the truck late at night, stupid country songs playing through the radio. He only let himself have these moments briefly. When he was up in the air and everyone was quiet with anticipation. No one wanted to talk about the moments before a descent, the seconds before disaster. 

That was when he let himself think of home. 

He thought of the world he used to call his own. He loved his job and he thought he was doing good with it. But sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened had he stayed back after high school, instead of hoping on the military like it was a moving train. 

Whoever that was, he was gone now. 

Shadow 0-1. Commander. That’s who he was now. That’s who he was always meant to be. That’s who he had been when he betrayed 141’s trust. That’s who he was when he got out of it. That’s who blew up in the tank in South America. That’s who misses you. 

“You good boss?” Phil snapped out of his thoughts. He nodded once. 

“Golden, Sparks. Thinking about dinner when we get back tonight.” 

“You makin barbecue?” 

“I sure am. Got a damn fine steak to cook.” 

“You really oughta have more get-togethers, like old times.” Phil gave his subordinate a thin lipped smile. He fondly remembered the times when he would bring his closer soldiers around, cook for them, listen to shitty music, drink beers. In the back of his eyelids he could see you, handing him the tongs, making a joke about his dad barbeque. He would tease you about children. 

He had stopped having them after the mission where he left some behind. He hadn’t wanted to; the strain in his voice was clear. But he had. 

“Maybe when I’m legally back from the dead,” he countered. Sparks chuckled and Graves stood up. It was far better to be back in the commanding position with his guys, the same ones who would follow him into fire. It distracted him from the rest of it. The house he lost, the home he no longer had. 

He had this. 

-

You brushed your hair out of your face. You messed with the glass in your hand, rolling it around the ring on the wooden table. The ice had melted into the alcohol, making it watery and less effective. It was cold outside, fall finally taking hold. You were wearing a thin jacket that seemed useless. 

This drink was Phil’s regular. You remembered it like the back of your hand, ordering it when he was caught up behind the crowds. It tasted like his lips after a long night out. It was warm, like his breath on your skin. 

“You listinin’?” You lifted your head. You had been staring at your half drank glass. Simon Riley’s eyes met yours. They were objectively beautiful. You would never understand why he kept them mostly covered up. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought. What were you saying?” 

“I was asking what you thought about Price going back out there so soon.” 

“You of all people know what it’s like to be married to your work.” 

“You aren’t irked he’s going without you?” His accent was thick. It was rare to get him to talk like this but you had known each other so long, it felt ormal now. He seemed unnatural when he clammed up in missions. 

You shook your head. 

“I’ll get back into it,” you told him. You cleared your throat. His eyes narrowed down, staring at you. His long face felt threatening, though you knew better. You stared back at him, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow. “Stop staring at me like that.”

“How many times does Soap have to apologize for you to get over it?” You bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. 

“Stuff it Simon.” 

“I won’t. It’s been a year. We’ve given you your time, we’ve apologized, we’ve been nice and cordial about it. You need to realize who Graves was and that what happened to him was warranted. There’s only so many times we can spell it out for you before we stop babying you.” As he spoke, your head continued to shake. It felt like the words were rattling around in your brain, bouncing off your skull. He was right, you knew that. But the words still stung.  

“You don’t understand,” you protested. He cut you off. 

“I know I don’t. You’ve told me.” You leaned back in your chair, your glass landing with a light clang. “Love,” he muttered, leaning forward. “It’s time.” 

You wished you could be done with it. You wished that his words could will all the pain to subside. You wished you didn’t have to suck it up when Soap followed Phil to the tank and blew it up. You wished you could forget about the moment you held your tongue, knowing that if you spoke up you would be a traitor too. You wished everything was different.

You didn’t want it to hurt anymore. You didn’t want to wake up and think he was next to you, even now. It got better as the time passed but it never fully went away. You knew it was never going to subside completely, always stuck to you like a stain you couldn’t get out. 

“I’m trying,” you promised. “I’m trying.” 

“You need to come to the next one.” Everytime you put on a headset you could hear Soap's words. Graves is KIA. How’s Price? He moved past it with such grace you almost missed it the first time. 

“I’ll try.” 

“You need to do more than that.” You swallowed hard. 

“I know.” -

“I’m glad you’re here.” Price's voice was low but gentle. Careful. Like you were an object that would break if he spoke to you the wrong way. 

“Me too,” you said, nodding. Your voice sounded fake and you knew it. You only agreed to this because you knew you had to. You had Price here and Ghost promised he would do all the heavy lifting. It would be nothing. The men you trusted would have your back when you flew out to enemy territory. “You didn’t have to lobby for me, you know.” You had become a liability the second Graves became a traitor. The already rocky relationship with the Shadows was broken clean in half. You were a problem now. 

“I wanted to. You’re one of my best shooters.” 

“Did Simon tell you to?” 

“He gently nudged me.” He had his helmet on, the strap under his chin. It had been a while since you saw him in uniform. 

“Where are we going again?”

“You should really read the debriefs.” You shrugged. You used to, religiously. You would tell Phil classified information like it was pillow talk. He would give it back to you after coffee in the morning. You cleared your throat. 

“I do. I just trust you more than the papers,” you joked halfheartedly. 

“Don’t worry too much. It’s all scouting, no shooting.” 

“Why’re you bringing me and Ghost then?” 

“I like hanging out with you guys.” You laughed, this time for real. He gestured forward. “Let’s head out.” 

-

You could only see the blocks of land below you in the plane. You wondered who was living in the little houses the size of dots. You wondered if they were happy. You could feel the sweat piling in your uniform. 

“There’s some guns held in a storage facility. They shouldn’t be heavily guarded but will be servilenced,” Price said. He spoke above the noise in the plane, loud and rumbling. “Ghost, you’ll go ahead. I’ll be down there outside the building, watching your six. Y/L/N, you’re up here on guns.” 

“It’s boring up here,” you complained. “Can’t I come with you guys?” 

“We need you on your A game to be on the ground,” Ghost said, coldly. You gave him a look but couldn’t read his expression with the mask. Price was avoiding your eyeline on purpose, you could feel it. It almost felt like a fake mission, something to get you back out there without putting you in real danger. Though you were vaguely insulted, it was nice to know they cared. You tried to shove your feelings aside. 

“Alright,” you said finally. “Fine.” 

“You’re good on guns,” Price said. “An Eagle eye will ensure everyone's safety.” 

“I already said alright Price,” you said as gently as you could manage. The plane started to slow down to a hover. Price stood up, using the railing above to steady himself. 

“You ready?” Simon questioned, coming up behind you as you stood up. You nodded once. Muscle memory would kick in before your panic would. Everything would be fine. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know.” 

Ghost gave you one last pat on the back before he walked towards the back of the plane. You watched him go, his hand on his side, looped around his belt. Price followed behind. He turned back to look at you, the wind rushing towards the front. You tried to keep your face neutral, professional. Your bones ached with familiarity. This was okay. This would be okay. 

You turned towards the guns. The plane had a designated corner for them, buttons lining the walls. You zoomed in on the house that was holding the guns, turning it to infrared. You sat down at the chair, leaning over it. You didn’t need to put on all your gear to push some buttons but you refrained from complaining. 

“You hear me clear up there?” Ghost’s voice came through your ear piece. 

“Yes sir. Loud and clear.” You could see Ghost’s little figure as he landed. “I’m seeing two hostels outside of the building. On either side of the doors, they both have guns.” “Roger,” Ghost said. You followed his heat signature. Price had also made his way to the ground.

“What’s the house looking like?” he asked. You moved your camera along, narrowing in on the building. You could see men walking. Patrolling. You couldn’t help but wonder how many guns were being held there. The building was larger than Price made it seem. Were they in the heart of the building, with the clump of men? 

“Lots,” you admitted. 

“Give me a ballpark,” Price responded. You could see Ghost down there, taking out the men. He was always quick with it. Sometimes you forgot that the man you shared drinks with was a cold blooded murderer. You would not want to be at the other end of his knife. 

“Ten upstairs. Can’t tell how many downstairs. Probably 20?”

“That’s quite a few people for some guns,” Ghost chimed in. 

“No kidding,” you muttered. “I can see some on the balcony. I’m ready to hit whenever Cap.” 

“Roger,” Price responded. You went to hone in, aiming just in case Ghost needed back up quicker than you could aim.

The plane jerked right, causing you to lose focus. You cursed, shutting one eye to get a clearer view. You painlessly lined it back up. Just as you had it, the plane jerked again. 

“Hey man!” you called to the front. “Steady!”

“You seein this?” the pilot called. You turned back towards the infrared. Ghost hadn’t made it inside yet. You got out of your chair and pushed aside the door to the cockpit. Through the large window you could see another plane making its way towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How could someone know you were here? 

“Enemy plane?” you asked. 

“Not on any paths,” he admitted. “I’m willing to bet.” You quickly pivoted back towards the infrared. 

“Hey boys, we got some company up here.” 

“We need to secure this area,” Price said. His voice had gone rough. Professional now.

“If they’ve got more men, we aren’t securing shit,” you told him. 

“I’m going through the downstairs,” Ghost added. With his voice you could hear gunshots and commotion. You cursed and sat back down. 

“Do I have permission to shoot Price?” 

“Yes,” he responded, quickly. You pushed down on the trigger, taking out the men on the balcony. They fell with ease. You looked back towards the cockpit. The plane was only getting closer. You could hear the pilot trying to contact it, like it was a civilian plane. The menacing figure loomed in the air. 

“How much longer?” you asked. 

“Five minutes,” Ghost responded. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “We don’t have five minutes.” 

“Make five minutes.” You stood back up and went back to the cockpit. You put your hand on the chairs. 

“It’s an AC-130,” the pilot called. “Military.” 

“I’m going down,” you yelled. “Get me down there.” There was little protest from the pilot. You grabbed your gun off the chair. The back hatch lowered. The wind rushed towards you. The air was threatening with how fast it blew. It was like the whole world was going to be sucked into the plane. 

You took a deep breath. Life or death. Your friends would die if you didn’t do something. 

You turned back towards your safe spot in the plane. It looked more dangerous by the second. Each moment you hesitated was a moment wasted. 

You turned back towards the entrance. You grabbed the leftover parachute and buckled it tightly. 

And you jumped. 

There was a moment of sheer panic. You forgot the reason you were in the air, you just knew you were freefalling. You were rushing towards the hard ground, towards the sound of gunfire. Everything felt fake for about ten seconds. 

Then you pulled on the parachute line and drifted towards the ground. 

“What’re you doing down here?!” Ghost said in your ear. You wondered if he could see you through the window. 

“Helping!” you called back. Price was right. You were one of his best shooters, handicapped or not. You rushed forward, shielding yourself with a large rock. You looked down at the gun, the familiar feeling in your hand. You took a deep breath, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready. Then you turned around and started to shoot. 

There was so much going on that it was almost simple. You couldn't focus on one thing so you tried to just breathe. Each shot was a breath. You didn’t think about how that was a person's life. Each shot a family member, a father, a sister. You forgot all of that as you focused on your breathing and your aiming. 

“They’re deploying from the plane!” Price said in your ear. You still had no idea where he had gone. 

“We should call for backup!” you said back. “Gaz’ll be here in twenty minutes!” 

“Soap is closer,” Ghost said. He was in the house. You could tell by the amount of silence around him. He must have cleared the floor. 

“Call someone!” you yelled. Price’s voice started to drone on but you didn’t pay much attention. You moved closer to the house, sticking close to cover. Blood was smearing your clothes now. How many people were here? How many people would come? 

You looked up at the enemy plane. There had been a constant train of people but now they were slowly diminishing. 

You came to a startled stop beside a body that had landed next to cover. You reloaded, your back against the wood, your eyes looking towards the body without thinking. Your head snapped back up but when it registered something familiar, it looked back at the body. 

You kneeled all the way down. Your fingers brushed a Shadows patch, engraved on the lifeless soldiers' clothing. Your head started to blur. You hadn’t seen that symbol in months. Its patchwork was now smeared with blood, likely your doing. You ripped off the soldier's helmet. 

You recognized him. 

Sparks. He had come over for a barbecue. He helped Phil cook. The taste of brisket hit your tongue. The smell of a campfire. 

You scampered onto the ground, almost falling over to get away from him. The sounds of gunfire started to muffle. Your breathing grew ragged. Was someone speaking? You held your gun tightly, like it was the only thing holding you to the ground. Was that Price’s voice? You looked around, the sun suddenly blaring. You should’ve come at night. There were clouds. How dare there be clouds when people were dying? You wanted Simon. You wanted Phil. 

Someone came around your cover. You raised your gun, a fumble really. You raised it to the soldier in front of you, finger on the trigger, fully intending to shoot. The man in front of you had halted completely. His gun stayed on you, capable of killing you easily, but it remained. He had a helmet on. The glare of the sun covered his face. 

Your hands were still shaking. 

Suddenly things felt very quiet. A subtle movement of the soldier revealed a glimpse of his face. A face you knew very well. 

It all flashed in your mind. His morning snoring, the shitty dad jokes, his guttural laughter. The sound of his truck starting. His mom’s phone number. The first thing you bought for your shared apartment. The taste of his lips. The feeling of his hands on your skin. HIs eyes in the moonlight. The feeling that you could never shake when he died. 

He turned and ran. You stood up. You gathered your bearings and followed him, almost slipping on yourself to do so. He couldn’t get very far. People were shooting at you but you had him as a cover. You shoved him down and disarmed him. It usually wouldn’t have been easy to do. Maybe he let it happen. You pulled his collar so you could land behind a discarded car. He struggled against you as you ripped off his helmet completely, disconnecting whatever comm he was using. 

His hands reached forward for yours and he took it off, not even bothering to unbuckle your chin strap. His touch felt like a ghosts. The same calloused hands that promised you the world. Your eyebrows furrowed, recognition in your eyes. You reached forward, not thinking. You cupped his face, your fingers sprawled on his cheek and neck. 

“Phil?” you whispered. He couldn’t hear you over the commotion but he could read your lips. He knew what his name looked like coming from your mouth. 

He didn’t know you were going to be here. If he had, he never would have come. He can’t do this, he can’t blow his cover like this. He had been told maybe Price would make an appearance but you had been out of the field since his death. He was breathing heavily. He couldn’t come near you because he would cave. It was hard enough being without you, checking his phone like you would text him. 

“Y/L/N?! Y/N!” Your comm was going insane. It was on the ground though, forgotten. 

He was alive. Phillip was alive. His face was there and it was moving, all flesh and blood. You never thought you would see him again except in pictures and videos, ones where you had memorized all his movements. 

“Phillip Graves?”

“Yeah baby. Yeah.” His voice was quiet, like he was in disbelief too. You fought the tears rising to your eyes.

“How..how are you here?”

“Long story. “

“I wanna hear it.” 

“Your men are shooting my men right now,” he said, like it was a minor inconvenience. 

You snapped back into reality. Suddenly all the sounds became crystal clear again. Time resumed. You grabbed your comm and put it to your ear. 

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” you said. 

“Come back with me,” Phil said quickly. 

“What?” He grabbed your comm, putting it in his back pocket.. You reached for it like a child, even letting out a gentle unintentional whimper. 

“Come back with me,” he repeated. “Get in my plane.”

“You’re dead. You died in a tank in South America!” 

“You should know MacTavish couldn’t take me out.” He cupped your face with both his hands. You had never felt something so good. “Quickly. Yes or no.” 

He dreaded a no. He knew Shepherd would have you killed or kidnapped. You couldn’t go back to your friends, knowing what you now knew. They could come up with a retaliation before Graves had even gotten on his feet again. 

You had been waiting months for him to come back to you. The answer, despite your morals and your stress, seemed to slip off your tongue easily. 

“Yes. Yes I’ll go with you.” He smiled, a genuine smile, covered in dirt and grime. 

“C’mon baby. Follow me.” He put his comm back in his ear and grabbed your hand. He held it tightly, like you would slip away. “I’m going back up. How’re we lookin?”

“Significant casualties. The shooter on the edge is killing us.”

“I got her,” he responded. He looked back towards you and you both stood up. He nodded towards the plane, which still had the latter hanging down. “The guns?” 

“The house is being defended. We haven’t been able to break through.” 

“We can’t afford to lose those. Do what you have to.” He held your hand tightly, dragging you through the battlefield. You passed those that had died in the rubble. You wondered if you had been the cause. Your head was spinning, looking towards the house. You couldn’t even think yet, things were going so fast. All you knew was Phil and his hand in yours. 

He grabbed your hips, helping you onto the first step of the ladder. 

“I’m comin back up,” he said into his comm. “Someones ahead of me, foreign. Do not shoot. I repeat, do not shoot.” There was a muffled reply. He climbed all the way to the top with you, helping you up onto the plane floor. You pulled yourself up and stood in the middle of the hanger. There was barely anyone left up there. You looked towards the window. 

Price. Simon. 

You had left them. You hadnt’ meant to. You hadn’t even thought for longer than a moment about it. You put your hand flush against the glass, looking down. You wanted them to make it out okay. They would surely think you had died. 

You hadn’t thought this through. 

Your favorite ghost had returned and asked you to go to hell with him. You hadn’t even thought.

“Price. Ghost,” you said, quickly. You turned to Graves, panicked. “Let them go. Don’t hurt them.” 

“I need those guns.” You had heard his work voice before, the slur between charming and serious. At that moment, his voice was all game. He was giving you an order. 

“I need them to live.” 

“They shouldn’t have come.”

“I came.” Phil pursed his lips, chewed the inside of his cheek. He looked towards the pilot and the men still in the plane. Your eyes were back out the front window, seeing the plane you had just come out of. You had just been there, standing in that cockpit. The feeling was eerie, tingling in the back of your neck. “Phil please.” 

Graves thought for a moment. He looked towards you, your pleading puppy dog eyes. He could see you in the morning, when he said goodbye before work. He could see your back in the bathroom mirror, foggy from a shower. Your favorite cereal on his taste buds. The way you had your coffee. 

“We’re losing numbers down here!” a voice came in his ear. He looked back down towards the house. Ghost was taking his men out one by one. Price was likely sneaking behind them, sniping from somewhere. 

But Phil was a proud man. He wasn’t going to let those people die for no reason. 

“Those men are dead down there,” he said, evenly. He approached you. His hand gripped your arm. “They can’t have died for nothing.” 

“Let me call them off. Give me something to call them off,” you pleaded. He groaned in retaliation but gave you your comm back. You put it in your ear.

“I’m getting overwhelmed here!” Ghost exclaimed. 

“Get out of there! Get out of there!” you said, desperately. You turned back to the window. “There’s too many of them. They keep coming.” 

“She’s right,” Price said, voice gruff. “We need an exit. Soap is on his way.”

“To help?” 

“Not enough manpower right now. We have to take this loss.” You could practically hear Ghost’s annoyance. He had done all this and it would’ve been for nothing? He groaned. You stood there, deathly still. “Get to the southside of the building,” Price demanded. “Both of you.” You looked back at Phil, who was staring eagerly. You nodded once. He patted your back, turning back to the pilot. 

“Set up post.” 

-

Some men made their way back up to the plane. Others stayed down below to hold down the fort. The ones you recognized starred as they passed you, sitting in the front seat, just behind Graves. He made no comment on you being there. Didn’t talk on the way back to base. 

He knew he would have to face Shepherd about it. He just happened to figure he would win. Shepherd couldn't do shit with the Shadows until Graves got back. He was useful and he was a good soldier. Breaking this rule would be okay, he was sure of it. 

You followed him onto the tarmac, your body close to him. The plane landed unceremoniously. People gently spoke about their win. Most mourned their losses. No one had managed to get it in their head that you had probably killed their best friend. Most everyone just ogled you in confusion. 

“We’re going back to my room,” he explained. You wanted an explanation. You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. 

“Okay.” 

He led you through the twisting turns of the facility. You had never been in the Shadows main buildings before. They were high tech and likely dangerous. 

Graves opened the door to his room. It was larger than the others, for being the Commander. He didn’t have to sleep in bunks or share a room when he was on base. He had called you from this room dozens of times. The phone he used had been crushed, unable to receive anything. He missed it. It had all the pictures of the two of you. 

The door clicked shut behind you. You wanted to fight him but in the moment, you could only melt. You wrapped your arms around him and he held onto you for dear life. His touch was fiery and aggressive. He was digging his fingers into your sides, breathing in the scent of your hair. He had missed you so much. More than he had been able to let on. He never wanted to live without you again. 

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered. You hadn’t realized the tears had steadily made their way back until you felt them on your cheeks. Graves had his face buried deep into your neck. “I mourned you.” 

“I know baby,” he muttered against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” 

He was crying. When was the last time you had seen him cry? He sniffled, though he tried to make it subtle. He pulled back, turning away to rub his eyes. You grabbed his shoulders, not letting him. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly. Speaking any louder than a whisper seemed like a crime. 

“Shepherd.” 

“You weren’t in the tank?” He shook his head. You let out a sigh of relief, despite the horrors you had been through over the months you had believed he was in there. He grabbed your hand. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” he promised. His eyes were red, stuffy. He wasn’t sobbing but there were clearly tears forcing their way through his hard exterior. “I did it because I thought it would keep you safe. It would keep you out of the way.” 

“You’ve just been out there?” you asked, voice hinting of betrayal. It broke his heart. 

“Missing you every second of every day.” 

“Did you know where I was?” 

“I wasn’t allowed on missions with you confirmed to be in it. It was supposed to be Price, maybe Ghost, maybe Soap today. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“I was a last minute addition.” 

“And thank God for that.” His hands were staying on you, lingering. “Bringing you back was selfish,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t leave you again.” 

“When they told me you were dead,” you started, swallowing your emotions. “I couldn’t eat for a week. Simon had to come force me. I had to pack up all your clothes in the closet, give them to your mother. I had to go to your funeral, the funeral of a federal traitor. I had to see the man who killed you everyday in the hallway,” you spilled. Your voice felt fluid. “I had to..I had to tell Price I was getting better when I wasn’t. I had your drink every time I went to the bar. I haven’t had barbeque in months. I had to go on shitty first dates with people Soap set me up with. I slept in your flannel. I..all my plants died.” 

Phil’s voice was quiet. He was pleading, lips wet. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tried to grab your hands. Ground you. You let him. You stared at him, breathing heavily, reliving every moment you had without him. “I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t…I can’t do that again.”

“Me neither. Trust me.” You both were still covered in blood and dirt. You could feel the grime between your fingers. You could see the muck on his face, his perfect face. You put your hand on his cheek. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise. I swear to God,” he whispered. 

And you kissed him. 

And things had never felt so right. 

His lips were frenzied, desperate. He had never tasted something so good in his life. You were all he had been craving, every moment of every day. His hands were practically shaking as he touched you. Long lost was his Commander front. He was just Phil. 

You hadn’t been so desperate for him since you first had him. Your anguish pushed forward onto his skin, holding him as close as you could get him. He tasted like beer and cologne and dirt. 

Phil turned you on your heels so he could sit down on the bed. You straddled him, hands cupping his face, running through his hair. You were both too bulky for this kind of making out. You hadn’t stripped of any gear, still wearing weapons of mass destruction. You pulled away, to verbalize this, but he spoke first. 

“Baby I need you. I need you,” he breathed. He kissed you chastly. “Please don’t stop.”

He used to hold back his pleading. He thought it made him look weak in front of you, unattractive. But he couldn’t do it now, when his defenses had been long shattered. 

“We need to take all this off,” you said. You looked down into his eyes. They were so beautiful and needy that it hurt your chest. You kissed his lips again, as a promise. “We gotta take off the grenades at least.” He chuckled. He had forgotten all about that. You brushed his hair back, out of his face. “Phil,” you muttered. “Philllip Graves,” you mumbled, a borderline moan. He groaned in need. 

“Quickly. Quicker than that.” You laughed. It was the first time you had heard your laugh in months. It was genuine and filled with life. It felt good. You slid off him and started to strip. 

He studied you with such intense eyes it felt like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. 

-

You almost couldn’t fall asleep. You traced his features with your gaze, even with his closed eyes. The scar on his cheek. You traced it lightly with your finger. His hair was still wet from the shower. You had both slipped and slid around the bathroom, limbs remaining intertwined. He had made it a point to always be starring or always be touching. You were his. You would never be anyone else's. 

He had an arm lazily around your side. You had so much to worry about, so much to do. Were you technically behind enemy lines? What would happen when you woke up in the morning?

Phillip groaned and pulled you closer, smushing you against his chest. 

“Woah there cowboy,” you whispered. He smiled, eyes still closed. 

“You remember when you used to take my hat?” he asked fondly. You did. The cowboy hat rule. If you wear his hat, you ride the cowboy. You giggled, nodding against the pillow.

“I do.”

“We should do that again.”

“We can do whatever you want,” you told him. “Whatever you want.” He nodded. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll figure it out in the mornin.” He put his chin on your head. “I got you.” You believed him. 

You hadn’t had such a good sleep since he died, exhaustion over taking your body and forcing you into darkness. 

[atomictyphoonkitten]

Charlie Weasley and the utterly complicated matters of the heart - Part 2

a/n: Welcome, this is my very first fanfiction, like ever. I think there is not enough Charlie Weasley fanfiction out there, so I thought I'll take the matter into my hands. It will be long and slow-burning (I warned you!). My native languge is not English, so sorry if you see anything weird.

warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of past traumas

word count: 2400+

Chapter directory: here

Part 2: The one where she offers a beer

Charlie had paced the length of his cabin at least six times since the sun dipped below the horizon on the next evening, after he managed to survive the day sanely somehow. It was quiet outside, the stillness broken only by distant dragon roars and the rustling of trees in the warm breeze. Most of the time he welcomed the solitude here; it was one of the things that had drawn him to the sanctuary in the first place. But tonight, it felt…different. Restless.

He’d told himself it was because of the newcomer, that it was normal to want to check in, make sure everything was going smoothly for someone who’d just arrived. Especially when he was such a dork the day before and managed to stumble over every single one of the three sentences that finally made it past his lips. And he even forgot to introduce himself. Great, just great. Yet even as he hesitantly reached the door, he could feel the weak excuses weighing on him. She’s fine, he thought. I am just overthinking it.

But another part of him, more persistent than he would have liked, kept nudging him. There was something about you that had stirred his curiosity. You were like a book with a hidden cover, something both guarded and raw that he felt drawn to. Finally, despite his better judgment, he grabbed an old hammer from the shelf, one he’d hardly ever used, which would make a terrible excuse but was better than nothing, and headed towards your cottage.

The air was warm as he approached, the glow from your cottage casting a welcoming light across the pathway. He swallowed, feeling a strange tightening in his chest, and knocked lightly on the door.

After some moments, you opened it, looking surprised but not displeased to see him standing there, hammer in hand.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly feeling foolish. “I, uh… thought I’d check in. Wanted to make sure everything was working alright here. Sometimes the… the shutters, you know, they stick. Oh, and I am Charlie, by the way” He winced inwardly, realizing just how ridiculous he sounded.

You looked at the hammer and then back at him, a small smile forming. “The shutters are fine,” you said, amusement in your voice. “But come on in. I was just getting settled, after packing all day. And my name is Y/N.”

He nodded gratefully, feeling the warmth of the room as he stepped inside. The cottage was simple but cozy, just like his, and he already noticed a few scattered personal items: many books still in boxes, your worn leather jacket slung over a chair, a mug with cat ears left on the table: these gave the space a faint but unmistakable sense of home. He wondered, not for the first time, about the life you’d left behind.

Then he noticed the small cluster of beer bottles on the kitchen counter, and he forced himself to look away, not wanting to appear too interested in your personal habits. “Nice place,” he said, nodding as if he were appraising the walls, though his eyes kept drifting back to you. Why the hell can’t I keep up a normal conversation like a normal person, he cringed silently.

You, with a slight, knowing grin, gestured to the beers. “Interested in a drink, Charlie? They’re cold, and I could use the company if you’re sticking around.”

He hesitated, torn between the polite thing to do and the desire to stay. The polite thing would have been to leave, let you settle in, and not make this into something more awkward than it was already. But he found himself nodding, a little too quickly. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be great.”

You handed him a beer, your fingers brushing his slightly, and he felt a small jolt, though he tried not to show it. He glanced at the label, chuckling softly. “Imported stuff? Fancy for these parts. Most of us just go with whatever they bring in from the local pub.”

“I figured I’d treat myself,” you replied, taking a seat outside, on the top step of the stairs at the porch and gesturing for him to join you.

He sat down next to you, trying to ignore the rapid beat of his heart as he took a sip of the beer. Silence fell between you, and Charlie felt the urge to fill it, despite his usual preference for quiet. “So, uh, the bike,” he started, unsure where he was going with it. “Looks pretty… sturdy. Good choice for the hills here. You ride often?”

You nodded, smiling as if you knew he was reaching for something - anything to say. “I do. It’s the best way to clear my mind, I think. Nothing like a few hours on the open road to help you forget.”

He took another sip, feeling the weight of those words. The way you said it… with a kind of haunted edge, it made his chest tighten. He wanted to ask, to know what you were trying to forget, but he held back.

Instead, he found himself talking, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Yeah, I get that. I think that’s why I ended up here, actually. This place… it has a way of giving you distance, letting you… restart.”

You looked at him, your eyes thoughtful, and he felt himself start to ramble, the usual steadiness in his voice faltering. “I mean, it’s not that I was running from anything, not exactly. Just, you know, needed a break from people, from… expectations. They’re always there, you know? Family, friends… everyone wants you to be a certain way, fit into their molds. And I just… I just couldn’t.”

He stopped, realizing he’d shared too much. Normally, he didn’t talk like this, certainly not to people he barely met. But there was something about you, the way you were watching him, patient and understanding, that made him feel like he could open up, even though it terrified him.

You tilted your head slightly, the hint of a smile on your lips. “So you ran away to live with dragons? That’s definitely one way to break free from expectations.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it sounds a bit dramatic when you put it like that.” His face warmed, and he hoped you couldn’t see the slight flush creeping up his cheeks. He wasn’t used to feeling so self-conscious, especially not over something as simple as his choice of career. But he couldn’t shake the thought that you might be laughing at him, though your expression was far from mocking.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” you said, your voice softening. “I think it’s… admirable, actually. Choosing what you really want and making a life out of it. Not many people have the guts to do that.”

He looked at you, a mix of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name flickering in his eyes. No one had ever put it that way before. Most people saw his life here as an escape, a refusal to grow up or settle down. But you seemed to judge it differently, and it threw him off balance.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking another long sip of his beer, hoping it would calm the slight tremor in his hands. He noticed the way you were watching him, and for a second, he wondered if you could tell how nervous he felt, how uncharacteristically anxious he was.

“You don’t talk much about yourself, do you?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, a bit too loudly, then tried to cover it with a casual shrug. “No, I, uh… I guess I’m not much of a talker.” He paused, then felt the need to add, “At least, not usually. You, uh… you’re just easy to talk to.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Fuck, what am I doing again.

Your eyebrows raised slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Am I?”

He nodded, feeling the heat in his cheeks intensify. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually go around… rambling. It’s just, uh, I guess you make it… comfortable.” He rubbed his neck again, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t really know why.”

The air between you felt charged, and he didn’t know how to handle it. A reckless part of him wanted to lean closer, to see if you’d let him cross that line, and the other part was practically screaming at him to pull back, to keep things simple and professional. 

Sensing his inner battle, you offered him a warm smile.

He felt a mixture of relief and embarrassment, but also something else—a tiny piece of hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself. The silence stretched out between you, somehow comfortable yet electric, and he wondered if you felt it too.

And as he finished his beer, Charlie found himself feeling strangely content, as though just being here, beside you, was exactly where he was meant to be. He stole a glance in your direction and noticed the way your face softened in the low light, a warmth in your eyes that sent a shiver of both excitement and anxiety through him. He’d never felt so out of his depth, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

You didn’t seem in any hurry to end the evening either. Your fingers traced circles around the rim of your own bottle, your gaze thoughtful. He wondered what was running through your mind, if maybe you’d been hurt before, if that quiet sadness he’d sensed earlier was a wound you kept carefully hidden. He wanted to ask but didn’t want to pry, unsure if he even had the right.

Finally, you broke the silence. “So, what is your favorite thing here?” you asked, your tone gentle but curious.

Charlie hesitated, his usual barriers faltering under your steady gaze. “It’s… hard to explain,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “I guess it’s just this place itself, with these amazing creatures, it’s like they need someone who sees them, really sees them for what they are.” He paused, glancing away. “I know it sounds strange. But the dragons, they don’t judge or expect things of you. They just… are. And for someone like me, that’s enough.”

You listened without interrupting, a slight nod encouraging him to go on. And so he did, letting his words tumble out, feeling more vulnerable than he had in years.

“I guess I’ve always felt… different, you know? A bit on the outside of things.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “My family, they’re wonderful, but they’re so… close, so tied to each other’s lives. I love them, I do. But I needed… space. And this place, it gives me that.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Guess that makes me sound like a bit of a loner.”

You smiled, and the warmth in your eyes eased his self-consciousness. “I don’t think it’s strange at all. Some of us need to get away to find out who we really are. And some of us just need space, yeah.” It was as though you’d just described his own heart.

Charlie took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his own words settle between you both. He’d never expected to talk about these things with anyone, let alone a near stranger. But somehow, with you, it felt right. But the question lingered at the back of his mind: was this just the comfort of a shared beer and a quiet night, or was there something more? He thought he saw it in your eyes, the way you held his gaze a little longer than necessary, the subtle flicker of interest that made his heart race. But he couldn’t be sure. 

Eventually, the clock on the wall reminded him of the late hour, and he realized he’d stayed far longer than he’d intended. He took a deep breath, reluctantly setting his empty bottle next to him. “I should probably let you get some rest,” he said, his voice soft, almost regretful.

You nodded, but there was a glimmer of something - disappointment? - in your eyes, and he felt a pang of both relief and longing. As you both got to your feet, he fumbled for words, searching for something that would leave the door open, something to hint that he wanted maybe to see you again without making a complete fool of himself.

“Thanks… for the beer,” he said, feeling the inadequacy of the words even as he spoke them. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing away. “I, uh… I’m glad you’re here. You know, at the sanctuary.”

You smiled, and in that moment, he felt his pulse quicken, his earlier nerves flaring up again. “Thank you, Charlie... I am glad too” you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

The silence between you grew a bit heavier. For a brief, reckless moment, he considered leaning in, bridging that last bit of space between you. But then his nerves kicked in, reminding him of how out of character this whole night had been, how utterly foolish he’d look if he’d misread the signs.

So instead, he only gave you a small, shy smile. “Well, goodnight, then,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you replied, your gaze lingering on him in a way that made him wonder if you were just as hesitant, just as uncertain about whatever was happening between you.

He walked out into the night, the warmth of your proximity fading behind him, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the evening, the soft look in your eyes. As he made his way back to his own cabin, he tried to brush it off, to tell himself that it was just a friendly conversation, nothing more. But as he lay in bed, sleep wouldn’t come.

Your voice, your smile, that look in your eyes, they haunted him, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of his mind. He didn’t know what it meant or what he was supposed to do about it, but one thing was clear: tonight had changed something, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t pretend otherwise.

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[funny-upset-clown]

Write everyday, and that will be good enough.

I ripped myself from my cycle, from the sheets, the burning candle; cackling, waning, from the pale window side and the brownie pan, from the sulking desk, the blackening curtain that once smelled of turmeric and a spring dawn.

On the bus I felt the eyes and fumes of strangers, I felt winter loosening into its skin, the bus halt, go, halt, twist, accumulating hot air. I did not think of anything, nothing I can remember now, except that one mantra I shall not refuse:

I must become an acquaintance to that which passes through me and circles back, hour to hour, the pang of lost love, the image of love in a person who is now lost totally, or even the sneeze of peace, the forgiving hello of my life's image: multi-florescent and whole.

I cannot get out of my head the fear of what alienation cumulatively does to me. I cannot quite pinpoint the ideal exodus of my isolation. I imagine myself surrounded by church bells, I imagine myself grinning at climax - covered in saliva and sunrays, I imagine the lullaby that is pure curiosity as it butters my nerves with the first phrase of mystery. I imagine myself and a flower alone considering the sound. I imagine falling in love over and over again.

Perhaps I imagine being more open to the sensation of love wherever it may take me.

That is the secret of the time I was once most happy.

To recall that security, is to outline its absence in me now. I breathe in.

Sitting at the cafe where I will be reading poetry in a few weeks. I cannot afford a refill on my tea. The street lamps just turned on and the sky has shifted from a blinding pale gray to a shadowed cerulean that peels my very heart from me and it is just 4:40 in the afternoon. As for the hunger, I don't feel it in my stomach, I feel it in my lips and my spine, now in my nose with the whiff of a stew being boiled in the back. I wrap my thin sweatshirt around my bound torso and adjust my glasses, the window glass gets thinner and my fingers jump over the keys- broken by chill. I consider commuting home, I consider the waiting and shivering. I consider passing groups of friends and lovers seen through restaurant windows, feasting and laughing, I consider the light in eyes that will not look my way. I consider the jealousy and the building starvation. I also consider waiting here, writing here, then reading. Finding a way to resource any warmth, drinking the free water, my right leg crossed over my left swaying weakly and melodiously. Waiting until Coles opens. I wouldn't buy a beer. If I did it would fill me up like a meal and I'd feel warm for a moment. I consider being there, no money in my pocket, nothing to fall back on except the single day bus pass I dropped half of all my money on.

I consider my options. 

I could steal again. I'd steal a candle and a hot drink. 

I think about A and flinch to my surprise. A song plays that reminds me of when they bought me a bouquet of marigolds from out the car window on my birthday.

I imagine them walking in through the jingling door and feeling okay. I imagine their warm hands falling all around mine 

and now the cold is becoming too much to bear. 

The sky now looks like an oil spill in ocean waters. The door jingles, the train roars, my nipples get cold, my foot starts shaking faster. I don't need anybody to look at me, no I do not. All of this because I am practically nothing at all, especially as long as I am alive, and this is not to rouse despair. 

It is now 5pm, and I will prepare myself to find something new. I just have to gnaw the sting of wind and the blow of hunger. 

I am content to have eyes, I will record for this sake, for the sake of writing just to write everyday.