#that tyre is over half the size of him

[stray-kaz]

Ready or Not : a Gun-woo x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Gun-woo has learned things are not going entirely to plan with his money grabbing scheme and he needs his wife to help him get rid of some tension.

A/N: Gif really has nothing to do with exact moment used from the film for this, but I am insane, so I do not care. You can pry it from my cold, dead hands. I love his cheeky smile.

NSFW

You were lounging on the king size bed when your cell phone trilled, the ringtone set for your husband's number and only his. You set your book upside down on the duvet and stretch to reach it, swiping to answer. You could hear his quick breaths on the other end of the call before either of you spoke. You sat up quickly and crossed your legs.

"Hey, husband" you murmured. "Good or bad day?"

He grunted and your spine straightened.

"Bad" he muttered. "I - I need you to be ready for me. Can you do that, princess?"

You nodded to yourself; you'd had a feeling...

"Yes. Instructions, handsome?"

He sighed, and you could hear the relief in the sound. He shuffled round a bit and you could hear the scrape of his nails over the leather of his belt. You waited a little longer.

"You know the light blue set I bought for your birthday?"

You slid off the bed and padded to the towering dresser, pulling open the lingerie drawer, riffling through until you found the right set.

"Sorted" you said, laying the delicate material on the foot of the bed and already shimmying out of your pajama shorts.

"Need lube, princess."

His voice was low, a little hoarse, and a shiver rocked down your spine.

"Uh huh" you mumbled, barely restricting a moan at the end. "How do you want me?"

You heard the slam of a car door and a quiet groan, a metallic clink as he opened his belt, the sound of tyres as the car pulled out of its park.

"On all fours, princess" he rasped, barely above a whisper. "As ready as possible, yes? I need you."

You bit your lip, glancing across the room at the half full bottle of lubricant standing on your bedside cabinet.

"Okay, husband" you whispered. "I can do that. Get here fast, 'kay? I love you."

"Love you, princess."

The line deadened and you got moving, finishing stripping and pulling the lingerie into place, tiny satin bows resting against your clit and nipples. Gun-woo had made certain they were the exact perfect fit so he could drive you crazy with the teasing fabric.

You flinched a little, the tiny bows already doing their work, and reached for the lube bottle.

You heard Gun-woo's familiar footsteps, loud at first and then quieter as he kicked off his shoes, and then the exhilarating clink and thud of his belt hitting the marble floor.

He found you waiting right how he wanted, your head turned so that you could see him stride into the room, his dress trousers open and the zip down. You could see the strain against the sleek fabric and shuffled on the bed, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some relief. Lubricant had pooled in your fancy expensive blue panties and you watched his hot dark eyes zone in on the wet patch.

Gun-woo offered you your favourite grin, lopsided and just a little cocky, as he came to stand behind you and lean forward, relishing your tiny gasp and wriggle as he pressed his covered, straining cock against your barely covered heat.

"Good girl" he mumbled. "I like these on you."

He reached underneath you and slid his fingertips over the bows on your bra, causing you to jerk back against him and another unrestrained gasp to fall from your mouth.

"You did as you were told" he murmured. "So good for me, princess. I think you're ready."

He tucked his fingers between your thighs and played tauntingly with the bow on your clit and you whined and bucked, pressing down into his hand and backwards against his cock.

"I'm ready, I'm so ready!" you cried out.

Gun-woo smoothed a warm, steady hand down your spine, deepening your arch a little, then shed his jacket and pulled himself free of his trousers and underwear, his other hand finding the side of your panties and pulling, hard. The delicate fabric tore almost instantly and you cried out, pushing back toward him.

He wasted no time in pushing into you, bottoming out with a guttural groan as lubricant mixed with your slick coated his cock and made the initial entry almost too easy. You gasped out a moan and dug your fingers into the duvet, curling them into fists just as he pulled free and shoved back in, palming your hips and setting a brutal pace.

He was still mostly dressed and sweat gilded his forehead from his earlier stress and his current efforts, dark eyes wide and focused fully on you as you whimpered and shook, trembled under his onslaught. As he moved, leaning over you a little to whisper in your ear, he brought the cool, sharp scent of his cologne with him.

Your eyes rolled as you inhaled, the spicy scent filling your head and blurring everything else. All you knew was him surrounding you, clouding your mind, drowning in his scent as he plunged in and out, his cock building friction you couldn't get enough of.

Gun-woo moaned right in your ear as you tightened on him, desperate, soaked and throbbing. Trusting you to hold yourself up, he shifted his hands from your hips to your breasts, rubbing his fingers over the satin bows until your nipples pushed them out and then plucking at and rolling them between his fingertips. He sighed as you whined and gasped, trying to push yourself further onto him as he railed into you again.

"You always do so well for me, princess" he murmured, grinning over your head at the bedroom wall. "So wet, wife. All riled up for me, huh? What is it, honey? Why are you so tight? Why so happy to see me?"

You fought against the cologne fog in your mind to give him an answer, but the sweet, hard drag of his cock inside you was making it difficult. You choked it out eventually, unable to see his pleased, indulgent smile, so pleased that he could so easily break your ability to think straight.

"You - you smell good!"

Gun-woo huffed a laugh, lowered his head to bite your shoulder, soothing over the indent with his tongue as you writhed and whimpered, seizing around his cock.

"Do I?" he asked, amused. "I'll buy more of it then, princess. Okay?"

He punctuated this with another hard, brutal thrust that drove you up the bed on your knees. You nodded weakly, thrusting your hips back and feeling him slide in whole again. He swore quietly and carefully slipped a hand up your shoulder, soothing it over your throat and tipping your head back. You squeezed him again and he groaned, pressing in until he had taken up all the available space.

"I need to have more bad days" he rasped, lightly squeezing your throat, just enough to have you wriggle under him and keen. "If this is the reception I get. I smell good? You feel incredible, princess. Taking me so well. I love you."

You moaned and nodded, and he understood: you couldn't talk right now, his cock, his hands and his mouth were rendering you speechless. He got it. He smiled again and doubled down on his efforts, his hips bullying your body, slamming against your ass with every thrust.

As he felt his climax rushing at him like a train, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear.

"I'll make you come later, okay?"

You didn't get a chance to respond before he was arching into you, grunting roughly, filling you fast and hot. You collapsed and he followed you down, nuzzling at your bitten shoulder. He kissed the angry mark.

"Thanks, princess."

Tagging: @writingmysanity

[blubushie]

RANT/NSFT/SOME TRAUMA-DUMPING INCOMING

Sometimes I think about how I could just suddenly decide to make this a Sniper roleplay blog one day and not tell anyone and no one would notice because nothing would change.

"Yeah nah I'm out in New Mexico for a job–" I've already been to New Mexico for work. Expected.

"This month's target is–" Sometimes I do have specific targets. Sometimes I take bounties. Massive razorback that's already gored 2 sheep to death and wounded a third? Gonna pay me $500 to kill him? I'm on it. I'll bring the bastard's hide back in two days.

"Dad's yelling at me about my job again. Mum's begging me to come home. I've always been an other in my own country. I've never fit in. My own country doesn't want me." All me, baby.

There'd be no difference.

And sometimes people forget that this is my life. That I'm not a roleplay blog. Sometimes people kinda romanticise the whole bushman thing. They only see the upsides and don't see the downsides. I've been involved with some rough crowds. I'm damaged as a human being. I've done some bad things to survive. I'd done bad things because I wanted to. I've lost my head a few times too many. I've almost lost my life a few times more.

How do I look into my father's eyes and expect him not to see the person I've become? How do I hold my mother's hands and expect her not to see the blood on mine?

What people think my life is like—maybe that's my fault. Maybe I talk too much about the fun bits. Maybe I preach too highly of the stars, or the sunrises and sunsets, or the summer storms, or the beaches, or my encounters with the wildlife. Maybe I don't talk enough about how terrifying Australia can be. What it's like to wake up to the smell of smoke and be forced to outpace a bushfire with a smoking engine and a terrified, screaming dog next to you. How I'll wake up in the middle of the night to thunder in the Outback and I'll get Misty and leave because I'm not going to be caught in another tornado. How I've had my windscreen shattered with hail the size of billiard balls. How I've been chased up trees by angry pigs. How I've been caught in floods. What it's like to feel the moisture evaporate off your tongue as you die of dehydration. How I've been so thirsty I've drank my own urine. How I've been so hungry I've eaten dog kibble.

I can't read social situations. I'm autistic, so that's always been difficult, but I've lived in the bush since I was 19. I have spent most of my adult life without human contact. I've tailored myself to Australia's wildlife and that makes me act strange sometimes.

I piss in jars so I can pour them out near my camps to keep dingos away. I think I could take a dingo, but I'm not going to risk the safety of my dog.

I have a tendency to stare because when you stare at dingos and keep eye contact it's a territorial challenge. Stand your ground and they won't attack you. I find myself doing this to people that are no threat to me. It's the clerk at the servo, an old man at the shops, the lady across the street. I've been told it's creepy, and I can't help it.

I've forgotten how to act around people. I've built up this façade all my life to mask the autism because it's ostracised me, so I can appear more "normal," and it's funny how 15 years of masking can be thrown out the window by 3 years alone. Combine that with gradually going more and more feral over the past 3 years and is it any wonder why I can't hold conversations?

I don't smile with teeth because showing teeth to a predator is a challenge. I wake up at every little thing that goes bump in the night. In a house—a house, it's been years since I've lived in a building—sleeping out on the porch is the only way I can sleep. It works until someone drives past the street and I hear tyres and then I'm awake, and it's another half hour until my heart calms down enough to sleep again. I can slow my heartrate by force to get a good shot, but it doesn't work for waking up in a panic because I can't hold my breath long enough to make it work.

I have to sleep with a knife. Usually it's one. If I've had a rough day it becomes two or more.

There's things you see in the bush that change who you are as a person. Things you can't unsee. It's not all peaceful campfires and stargazing and pretty sunrises. There's things that are out there that people know are out there but no one talks about. That other people would call you crazy for saying you saw. Sometimes you'll meet an old blackfella in an Outback town who'll talk to you about it. Most won't, but every now and then there's one that will. It's no consolation. He'll just give you a name, something muttered under his breath that you probably don't catch and definitely can't pronounce, and he'll clap you on the back and tell you that it happens, and if he really likes you he'll give you a tinny and offer to shine your boots "to get the bush off." He'll act like he understands but then he'll turn to the bloke beside him, the one who's just listened in silence the whole time, and say "He's crazy" in words he doesn't know you understand.

Chihuahuas are popular in California. They sound like dingos, and I can't take my dog to the dog park.

I can't sleep. I wake up in cold sweats like I've been running a marathon. I dream of eyes watching me from the darkness, always the same dream. They get closer and I'm trying to keep some pitiful little fire going but it always goes out. I grab my torch, and the battery dies. I hear howls. I wake up. My dad's neighbour has huskies and they let the dogs out every morning at 5:30 on the nose and I can't sleep.

I don't know how to be intimate with people. My clothes stay on. My hat stays on. My sunnies stay on. I treat it like a job. I do my part, and I leave. I've never pursued someone. I've never approached someone first. I don't know what people see in me. I've never let someone kiss me, but I dream about it.

I can't sleep unless I have my back to something. I always have to face the door, see the door, when I'm in a building. I'm left-handed, so my left hand is always empty. I carry four knives on me at all times, or five if I'm in the bush and you count a machete.

Touch was never an issue with me before. Now it is. What few mates I have know not to stand behind me. I have to be approached like a horse--don't approach me from behind and if you do, make sure I know you're there.

I don't show emotion. I express it through touch—hands, or arms, or shoulders. I communicate love like I do with my dog, my best friend and my only companion. I feed her. I provide for her. I pat her head, I pat her back, I run my fingers through her fur, I share my meals with her. I hope she knows I love her. Matilda is my home, and I tend to her carefully. I wash her windows. I keep her petrol tank topped off. I keep her clean and tidy. I fix her flats myself, I never curse her when something goes wrong, I keep her parked in the shade when I can so her engine doesn't overheat. I hope she knows I love her. My rifle is my lifeline, and without her I am useless. I clean her every night, even if I don't use her. I buff out her scratches with a gentle hand, I handload the ammo she fires, I polish her walnut stock. I've memorised her serial number. I know her better than I know myself. She knows me better than I know myself. She's seen me at my worst and at my best. I hope she knows I love her.

I hit a low point last year. I saw a therapist in Melbourne for three weeks. I hate the cities. She wouldn't call me Blu. She called me by my legal name. Strike one. She asked me too many questions about my job, about where I go and what I do. "You said you live out in the bush. It's the 21st century. What are you doing out there that makes you flinch when a car backfires? That makes you so untrusting of people?" Strike two. "You have PTSD symptoms on par with a veteran who's seen combat," she said. "I want to refer you to a doctor who can get you on medication for your anxiety." I've been put on it before. I asked if it'd make my hands shake. I can't shoot with shaking hands. "Living in the bush isn't any way to live. You should sell your guns-" I hate that term, guns. She's a rifle. "-And move somewhere permanent. You should reacquaint yourself with society." Strike three. I never went back.

I can't communicate well through words. People forget that, or maybe they aren't aware to begin with. I'm a good listener, I've been told, but don't expect an articulate response.

Too many people think that trauma is just "something bad that happened to me." Bad things happen to everyone. Most people don't have any kind of trauma. Most people do not have PTSD.

It's one of those things that really bother me. It's usually just edgy teenagers going "oh I'm so traumatised" or just people on social media proclaiming their trauma when it's just "bad thing happened" and not actually trauma. It's been downplayed to a detrimental degree, to a point where any bad thing that happened is now trauma and so nothing is. This also applies to things like intrusive thoughts. I have intrusive thoughts. They're not random impulses like you hear people talking about on TikTok—they're obsessive, disturbing thoughts that you can't stop thinking about. That's what makes them intrusive. Oftentimes they include violence toward yourself or others. Sticking your hair in a bowl of pasta is a random impulse—it isn't an intrusive thought. Seeing someone walking down the street and picturing their dead body is.

One thing about actually having trauma is that you become really good at picking up when people actually have trauma or when they're just saying shit to be edgy and get a reaction out of you. Here's the tip: if they're constantly bringing up their trauma, fair chance they're lying. The thing about trauma is that it's traumatic. It's traumatic to remember, it's traumatic to think about, and you don't want to talk about it. You might bottle it up so much that you end up screaming into the void like I'm doing, or if you really feel safe with someone you might be willing to discuss it, but you don't talk about it unless it's really eating at you. You don't bring it up out of nowhere all the time to remind people of how traumatised you supposedly are. That's attention-seeking, edgy behaviour.

I had a mate dump some pretty heavy stuff on me without warning a few days ago, about some violent thoughts they said they have. That's another tipoff: people who actually have violent thoughts are ashamed of them. They don't talk about them unless very prompted, they don't bring them up out of the blue. I'd only been talking to this person for a month. They were the edgy type, but they're overall kind. I was edgy as a teenager too. I was hurting and I wanted someone to listen. I understand where they came from. I grew out of it, but I understand.

That said, I've got my own stuff going on in my life. Stuff that's happened to me that I don't talk about. Stuff I've done that I don't talk about. I've got my own secrets that I'll take to my grave. I don't have the mental capacity to really handle more. Sure, I can take some venting. I can even take some trauma dumping if you warn me first and don't blindside me with it. If I know someone well enough I can make the effort and try to figure out how to smooth things over, but most of the time I'm at a loss. I am not the person to come to for an emotionally compromising conversation. I am not a therapist.

I told them this and they laid into me. "Can't I tell my friend how I feel? I'm not a therapist either but I listen to people I care about." I reiterated that it's a discussion for a therapist and I'm not one. I was uncomfortable with this conversation. I told them I'm not good at handling emotional stuff. Their response?

"My advice? Fix that. No one will stick around with someone who can't even pretend to care. It took me a long time to learn but I did. I help even when I'm at my lowest. I listen and I care, or I pretend to." I've pretended my whole life. I'm tired of pretending. It's exhausting. "Whatever, you can't help people who don't want help."

People wonder why I don't open up, why I'm stone cold, and that's why. Because when you open up, people will use that shit against you. My job's taught me to be ruthless. I must fire true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.

And sometimes there's a crack in that façade I've made. Sometimes the soft parts seep through like the solder in a bad weld. Sometimes it drips through my fingers, or my mouth, or my eyes. The difference is that in my line of work it's not something I can let people see. It's a weakness I can't afford to have. But I think the desire for companionship is human. To desire to be intimate, to form friendships, is to be human. My hands were made for holding more than rifles and cartridges. I have more of a purpose in this world than being an equaliser. I'm more than the weapon I've made myself to be.

But then I hear things like that. I hear the parting words of a mate I've lost—"With this attitude you will go on being alone in the bush"—and I wonder if I've already stopped being a person. If I've just solidified the other I've always felt I've been.

I think I lost my humanity a long time ago.

[journeysofpatrickandarchana]

Patrick gets experience on canal transit as line handler on Jehol - by Patrick Dwyer

Original Blog posted: Saturday, 11 May 2013

"Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy" Norman Vincent Peale

Well we have been at the Shelter Bay Marina (Colon – Atlantic side of canal just inside the northern breakwater) for a few days for some well deserved R & R organising all the red tape to allow us to passage through the Panama Canal. Some of the other crew have taken line handling jobs on other yachts needing assistance taking their yachts through the canal. I decide to do the same so I have some first hand experience when I take my own yacht through next Tuesday i.e. practice on someone else’s yacht first.

The requirements are that all yachts need 4 line handlers in addition to the master of the vessel to be allowed to transit the canal. Further, yachts under 20 metres also require 4 mooring lines of at least 50 metres each and up to 12 car tyres wrapped in plastic bags with a bit of rope attached so you can attach to the sides of the vessel for protection against the canal wall or when rafted up to the other vessel/s.

I hear that Philippe the master and owner of a 53 foot super catamaran made by X Light Catamarans in France is looking for an extra line handler. He is just opposite us on the next marina arm. I visit his yacht “Axe Jehol” (Named after a famous Belgium race horse) and meet him. He gives me the job for his transit on the Saturday & Sunday giving me time to take the busses back from Panama City for our transit on the Tuesday.

His yacht is amazing. Over $2m worth of yacht in carbon fibre yacht with rotating mast also in carbon fibre (when rotating it he can get up to another knot of boat speed and also allows him to reef or bring the sail down when underway and not into the wind as most non rotating masted yachts do). It looks mean and fast designed to easily cover 200nm a day and often travelling at 15-18 knots for long periods. On looking inside everything is designed to save weight. It has a very spartan layout with no doors only curtains, no wooden draws or steps or other bits and pieces just pure unadulterated carbon fibre. Philippe was considering not even having a hard bimini for sun protection because the carbon fibre to make it would add 30kg. His engine controls are only on one side of the yacht because of the extra weight and no steering wheel just 2 tillers like on a 3m yacht just to save weight. How much weight is saved well his yacht is 6 tonnes and mine is 12 tonnes and his is about 3 metres longer. Say no more.

All this reminds me of an alleged quote from one Sydney to Hobart skipper who told his crew that they had to cut down the weight they brought on board suggesting they cut their toothbrush in half to save weight. Philippe has taken this to another level.

There is usually a compromise in most choices i.e. speed V comfort. Hestia will cover 160nm a day if things are going well so for 40-50nm a day difference in our yacht you have one ice box not 3 fridges and freezer, 4 generous single berths and one queen berth in saloon and one shower & toilet versus 4 queen sized cabins & 2 single cabins, one shower versus 5 showers, one toilet versus 4 toilets, 3 small batteries versus 7 large batteries and you see where the extra weight goes. The differences are many these are just a few of them.

Anyway the days fly by until Saturday afternoon arrives. I meet Philippe and his other crew at 1pm and depart Shelter Bay Marina for an area known as “The Flats” some 2nm away where transiting yachts wait for an advisor at 3pm to assist each of the yachts transiting the canal. Note that boats under 20m have advisors whereas vessels over 20m have pilots. Both have the same purpose.

We are then met by an advisor on a launch who is dropped off at our yacht and is equipped with all his paperwork, mobile phones and radios. Each yacht has its own advisor even though we are one of 3 vessels rafted up side by side at the rear end of a 600 foot container ship going through the first of the locks (The Gatun lock) that has 3 chambers each lifting the vessels about 10 metre per chamber. This lock is about 3 miles away from our anchorage at The Flats.

We raft up just outside the entrance to the locks and go through to the lock as one unit after the container ship we are transiting these locks with enters first.

Once inside the first chamber the lock door shuts and we are thrown a small rope called a messenger with a monkey fist (rope tided into a ball) attached to the end from about 30 metres away. The two line handlers on shore throws this missile at us and it hits the deck hard and is then picked up by the line handlers on board each of the outside vessels and is attached separately to 2 of the mooring lines required to be on board each vessel and is then hauled up by the line handlers ashore and secured onto a bollard. The fore and aft lines on both the 2 outside vessels ( the vessel in the middle just watches) are then adjusted by each of the line handlers on each yacht so that the vessels stay in the middle of the lock as the vessels rise as the waters flood into the lock. The water that is released is enormous and causes many whirlpools and disturbs the vessels creating a hazardous situation if left unmanaged. One of the 3 advisors on board the 3 yachts moves onto the centre yacht and gives commands to the other advisors, the masters of the 2 outside vessels (to put their engines into forward or reverse) or to the line handlers on the outside yacht to take up or let out their dock line.

We eventually get through the 3 chambers without incident and then unraft just outside the lock in Gatun lake and then move under our own power to a big muffin (the name we called the huge mooring buoys about 2nm away from the main shipping channel where we rafted up again and had a swim and cool down in the lake (avoiding any alligators alleged to be in the lake) before having dinner and going to sleep in my new crammed quarters).

The following morning we were greeted at 6am by a new advisor who walked all over the slightly damp boat in his printed plastic shoes making marks like an animal at an African water hole. I was following him around with a rag wiping up the brown marks he was leaving everywhere. He could see me and what I was doing but he wasn’t going to take his shoes off for anyone. He was in charge, or at least that is what he thought.

Then after giving him breakfast we were off at about 6.5 knots for the 5 hour transit of the lake following to the port side of the red channel markers. For quite a long time we did not see another ship as there had been some fog at the Miraflores locks (the first lock on the Pacific side) that had delayed the passage of some ships. I was amazed to learn that only 45 vessels of any sort transit the canal each 24 hours and of those 3 to 6 vessels are small craft like ours. The lake has a current minimum depth of 38 feet which they are hoping to soon bring it to 45 and then 60 feet to allow bigger vessels to transit. Many vessels now off load their cargo at either end of the canal and transport their cargo by rail to the other end to be loaded onboard another vessel for its continuing voyage.

On the way to the Pedro Miguel locks which has one chamber we saw many dredges keeping the channel at least 38 feet or to slowly increase the depth to 45 feet.

After around 5 hours we had arrived at the only lock which only has one chamber. We rafted up again and duplicated the previous manoeuvres. We stayed rafted up to the other vessels after transiting this lock as the final lock (Miraflores Lock) was only 1nm onwards. This lock has 2 chambers and like the preceding one you drop about 10m each chamber. This is less troublesome to yachts as there are much fewer whirlpools as the water is leaving not coming in.

After going through the final lock we were in the Pacific. Yahoo!!!!. Philippe opened a bottle of champagne that we all had a glass of.

As we motored to our anchorage at Flamenco we dropped off our advisor to a launch that picked up the advisors off the other yachts we looked up to see what looked like a flattened version of the Sydney Harbour Bridge another 2nm onwards

Having passed under this bridge we dropped off our mooring lines & tyres that were hired in Colon to a waiting barge and then continued on to our anchorage.

I stayed the night on the yacht doing a few things in Panama City the following morning before I took 2 busses back to Colon and then Shelter Bay Marina.

Now I have all the knowledge to do the transit on Hestia in two days time.

[raiding]

This was for the most part a more relaxed day, as we wound down to the end of the trip, and to sea level.

But first, up. We left Girona by the road to Els Àngels — in full, the Santuari de la Mare de Déu dels Àngels, on one of the highest points around Girona. The road up is a cyclist's joy: smooth, sinuous, and shaded by the pine trees, which are open enough to afford good views. We shared it this morning with an "Everesting" event, which I think means that the people around us were going to ride up it about 17 times, thus climbing the equivalent of Mount Everest. It's always good to be able to point to someone else and say, "No, they're mad."

"Undulate" is verb of the week, and we undulated to the coast by way of a detour to take in the climb to Romana de la Selva (323m): not high, by this week's standards, but with a lovely descent. Another great road: Matt and I bonded by descending it fast. As we rode on from the base, he told me he'd sold his motorbikes because that kind of cycling is more fun. Then we were so deep in a conversation about the relative benefits of 23 mm, 28 mm and 32 mm tyre sizes, that we missed the next turn.

By lunchtime at Sant Feliu, on the coast, there was a growing feeling of the ride being almost over. We'd been riding as a group, about half a dozen of us, so we lunched as a group, too. Dave and I, though, thought it was a bit early to start on the fleshpots, so we shared a pizza instead of having a whole one, and agreed to do the extra 40 km of the red route. He'd done all five so far, and wanted an incentive to get the sixth.

So he and I, having thrown in our euros, left the others doing complicated-seeming arithmetic over the pizza bill. There is (it emerged) a difference of about 15 kg and maybe 30 years between Dave and me, so he was faster on the climbs, but I had gravity and experience on my side on the descents. We made it together to Tossa de Mar, then I told him to ride at his own pace up the long climb inland and then back to the Alto de Montagut (475 m). One more hairpin descent, then a reprise of 10 km of the wonderful corniche road, and we were done.

[z0mbiefrank]

@funeralpost: frank ft a slurpee yesterday while we were waiting in line [11.11.22]

[violet0203]

Ken Ryuguji

It was a Sunday afternoon, but Draken still had a lot to do at the shop so he was busy working.

You had come to the shop to forced him to take a lunch break. Once you two finished he went back to work and you decided to wait until he is done.

Despite of Draken believes it wasn’t a burden for you to stay there with him. Actually you love it. Watching him with his overall half open, his hands covered in grease, his grunts.

Suddenly you heard him sigh and the a clank of his spanner when he left it in his tool’s box.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him while he was cleaning his hands in a nearby towel.

“It’s missing a piece I don’t have”

You got up of the sofa and walked over to him.

“Do you want me to go and buy it?” When he looked up to you, you noticed his tired eyes, but even then he refused.

“I’ll be back soon and I promise you that we will go home in no more than two hours, I just have this bike left and to change the tyre of that other one” his voice sounded as if he was really trying to make you believe his words, like a promise he owes you, but you owe him more to him than he to you.

“Hey, it’s okay. We are in no hurry” you reassured him as you hugged his arm and let him kissed your temple.

After he hummed a thanks, he left the shop. The closest store was just a couple of blocks so you knew he was going to walk over there. That should be enough time to surprised him with what you had learned lately.

Hands on work, you put an overall he had left hanging. It was way over your size, but it will work. You grabbed the tools you needed and carried them over to the bike that needed the tyre change.

The first time you did one was pretty hard and you messed it up a lot, but you have been practicing so much that now it didn’t even take you more than a couple of minutes.

Proud of your work you restored the things as how it were before Draken left the shop and you went back to your spot.

The little clink of the bell informed you that your boyfriend was back carrying in a bag the things he were missing.

He walked up to the bike he was working in before to finally fix it, but something was off. He could sense it but didn’t know what it is.

Took a look around when he realized the flat tyre gone. He looked up to you and smiled. You had a little grease stain in your cheek.

“Thanks” he said taking a seat next to you and with a clean towel cleaning your face “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I asked Mikey to teach me the basics about this stuff”

“Why would you do that?” you sighed and turned to face him. One of your hands in his shoulder while the other one cupped his right cheek.

“Because I see how you work hard everyday in this shop and I have a lot of free time, so I thought I could be of help at least with the easy stuff. This shop is your dream, but that doesn’t mean you have to do this all by yourself”

Draken was never good at expressing his emotions, but the way he hold you in a tight hug while he kept kissing your temple was enough for you to understand how much he appreciated your gesture. There was nothing else to say. You both were deeply madly in love with each other.

“We can go home, I’ll finish the bike on Monday” you separated of him and looked him at the eyes. You got a much better idea.

“Let’s finish it together, you can teach me. I bet you are way better than Mickey”

How his eyes lighted up you will never forget. You would definitely do anything for seen him always as happy as this.

[angryschnauzer]

Distraction

Summary: As a junior CIA agent you are added to a mission to help with scientific analysis, but when half the team are hospitalised you have to suddenly become a hands on field agent, alongside August Walker and Will Shaw. When the final part of the mission at a tropical plant glass house has an unexpected side affect, you have to work as a team to survive the night.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader x Will Shaw Fandoms: Mission Impossible: Fallout (Movie), The Cold Light of Day (Movie), Henry Cavill - Actor.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Sex Pollen, Threesome, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Blowjob, Cum Play, Double Penetration, Anal Sex.

A/N: This is my first time writing the Sex Pollen trope, so i hope you like it. Fic is unbeta’d; only the finest free range organic typos for me. I do not run a tag list, but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you will then get an alert when i post something new.

Back catalogue can be found on AO3 Link Here, or you can follow my facebook page HERE.

 Distraction

 If there had been someone narrating a movie of this mission, the first line would have been ‘it was a simple mission’. However, they would have been lying. The mission was far from simple, it was convoluted, complicated, and the team fucking hated each other.

 The team were scheduled to arrive via two flights, from opposite directions of the globe as not to arouse suspicions that a large team would do if anyone was picked up on facial recognition. You had been brought on board because of your scientific and tech background, and as the team were tasked with retrieving the formula for the most dangerous biological weapon in the world, you were the one that would check they had the right thumb drive before the mission was able to be called a success. There would be multiple extraction points, numerous undercover assignments that would all lead to the final extraction at the gala dinner.

 That was the plan. What actually happened was the half of the team coming in from Dallas ended up with severe food poisoning and were currently being hospitalised in a local treatment facility. That left just your half of the team, and the senior agent now in charge was none too happy about it;

 “I’ve got a fucking chemistry nerd and a number cruncher for a hands on mission that requires multiple scenes where infiltration and distraction are needed, and neither of you have any fucking field work!”

 August Walker hated everyone and made sure he did everything he could so that everyone hated him in return. The other member of the team quietly ground his teeth, Walker never once let him forget that he came into this agency completely by accident following a rogue faction and a situation that started with the death of his CIA Agent father, and resulted in smashing up half of Madrid’s traffic in a 24 hour long series of car chases;

 “I was a stockbroker, and i didn’t hear anyone complaining when i discovered the currency discrepancies that found us the targets insider trading”

 Will Shaw was so similar yet so different to Walker it was startling, you even thought they looked similar enough to be long lost brothers, but never dared to mention it.

 The hotel suite had all the facilities you needed to set up a small command post, with enough counter space to set up the laptops and work-stations, whilst not getting under each other's feet. However it was still small enough for the two men to continually bicker and make snide remarks at each other, and you had to push the earpiece of your surveillance equipment closer to your ear to hear, finally you heard what you needed to, holding your hand up and clicking your fingers at the two men who immediately silenced and crossed the room;

 “They’re going to be at the MMA Gym in thirty minutes”

 “Okay” Walker huffed; “We need to extract the codes from his device that will give us access for the holding location. You and Shaw take the gym and cause the distraction, i’ll get the codes”

 Will shook his head;

 “Not gonna work”

 “It's not?” you were surprised

 “The gym is men only, the only women are administration and janitorial”

 “That’s fucking antiquated” August spat out in disgust.

 You had to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth, that August Walker of all people would be an advocate for equal rights, but nonetheless started to prepare for the first distraction.

 -

 Walker and Shaw had entered the building separately but within 5 minutes of each other, signing in under false names and keeping it simple and silent as they started training on the weights and cardio machines in the gym. You had already entered through the basement deliveries door which you’d been able to pick the lock of, finding a staff uniform t-shirt in the storeroom and pulling it on over your top. You could hear both men through their hidden comms, and within a couple of minutes pretending to sort out a cleaning kart that you knew the morning crew had finished with, you heard the code word that the target had entered the weights room.

 Seconds later you were tentatively pushing the door to the locker room open, calling out;

 “Housekeeping!”

 You had no idea if they called themselves housekeeping or janitorial staff or whatever, but when you didn’t get a reply you quickly entered the room and did what needed to be done. 

 Through your ear piece you could hear the first stage of the distraction starting, with your two fellow agents starting to challenge the other to out lift each other, and from the muffled background noise you could tell that they were drawing a crowd of onlookers.

 Tapping your comms you alerted Walker and Shaw that you’d been successful, and that it was time for them to leave. But as you got no response you quickly made your way out of the locker room through the other exit, only to find yourself in a glass walled corridor, the gym on the other side of the glass. What surprised you however was that there was now a huge crowd of spectators as they watched your two agents try to pull out more reps on the bicep curl machine. Scowling you grabbed a cloth and bottle of spray cleaner and squirted the glass, glaring at the two of them before they finally saw you;

 “Its time to go, dumbasses. Finish the contest. I’ll be in the car in the street behind the building”

 -

 Pushing through the door of the hotel suite you scrunched your nose as Will pushed past you, August not far behind;

 “You two need a shower… did you really need to get that sweaty?”

 “Well… you wanted the distraction to look convincing, didn’t you?” Will shot back, stripping his t-shirt off, already halfway to the bathroom.

 A quiet cough behind you drew your attention away from Will’s sculpted back muscles;

 “When you’re done staring at Shaw…”

 “I...I wasn’t stare…”

 “Whatever sweetheart, either way; you two need to change”

 Looking down at your outfit you pulled at the gym t-shirt;

 “Yeah, i can just find a utility shirt or something…”

 “No, you’re front of house with me. Will’s taking the extraction of the thumb drive”

 “But...I didn’t bring an outfit…”

 August nodded to a pile of bags in the corner of the room from the agents that hadn’t made it to the mission but their luggage had;

 “So check Marianne’s, she is about the same size as you. Either way its you and me sweetheart, now get dolled up, you can’t go to a gala looking like that”

 -

 Twenty minutes later you took a deep breath; you’d found Marianne’s bag and had found that although she was a similar size to you, it was one size smaller. She also had a completely different taste and style to makeup and you were now way out of your comfort zone. The red lipstick however seemed to work, a touch of gold bronzing powder across your shoulders and chest made the red silk dress really work for you. Adjusting the straps so they sat over the top of your bra, the pretty floral pattern hopefully not too noticeably jarring against the sultry silk. Taking a deep breath you stepped out of the small dressing room and came face to face with Will;

 “Oh hey” he looked you up and down before clearing his throat; “Looks good”

 “Yeah?” you smoothed the dress down over your stomach

 “I mean… the bra kinda takes away from the look… but yeah, it looks really good”

 “I...I didn’t have anything suitable for a gala, this is Marianne’s… from her bag…”

 Will stood in front of you, reaching his hand around your back and with a quick snap of his fingers he’d unfastened your bra;

 “It really will look better without the bra… trust me…”

 Without another word he turned and crossed the room, pulling his tie from his bag, fastening it as August emerged from the other room;

 “Agent. Bra off, now”

 Shimmying the offending garment down your arms you pulled it out of your dress as he crossed the room;

 “I don’t see why…”

 “Because the people at this gala have got so much money they flaunt what they’ve got. You’ve got to fit in” He held his finger out and you hooked it over the protruding digit.

 “We’d better get going… the gala is about to start”

 With a nod August grabbed the keys to the BMW you’d been assigned and tossed them to Will; he was taking on the role of Driver and Bodyguard to your’s and August’s ‘couple’, the three of you filed out of the room and into the elevator.

 The ride down the highrise hotel was slow, and you could feel both men’s eyes on you as they stood behind you, before the doors finally opened to the basement parking. You struggled to keep up with them as they strode out with their long legs, the heels of your stiletto sandals clicking on the cement. Finally as you reached the car you were surprised as August opened the door for you, not uttering a word as he watched you climb in before he rounded the car and slid into the back seat beside you.

 You’d barely had time to fasten your seatbelt before Will was peeling out of the hotel parking with a squeal of tyres and you were heading to your destination.

 “Panties, off” August’s words surprised you

 “W-WHAT?!”

 “Panties. Take them off”

 “Agent Walker…”

 “They dig into the meat of your hips and take the attention away from the sexiness of the dress. You need to fit in tonight”

 “B-b-but…” you attempted to stall, but without another word August pulled your knees towards him and slid his hands beneath your dress. He grasped the thin elastic straps that ran over your hips and pulled hard, snapping the fragile pieces of fabric and pulling the now ruined undergarments. Glancing at Will he had a brief smirk on his face but quickly looked away, concentrating on the road ahead. 

 -

 The gala was amazing, and it was hard not to get absorbed into the evening as if you were a real guest. You could hear everything through the hidden comms units in your ears, and apart from the occasional grunt as Will silently passed the guards as he made his way further into the underground chambers that ran below the massive glasshouse the gala was in, it seemed to all be going exactly to plan. The host had announced for everyone to celebrate, and you had found yourselves being swept onto the dancefloor, and suddenly you were in August’s arms as he held you close, the music thankfully loud enough to drown out your conversation from the ears of others;

 “Do you think he’s getting on ok?”

 “He’d say if he wasn’t” August assured you as he moved in time to the music, his hand on your lower back pulling you closer to his body. At that very moment you both heard a guttural cry through the comms, your eyes wide in panic as he grabbed your hand and you quickly made your way through the crowd;

 “Shaw, come in… are you ok?”

 You heard gurgling on the comms and watched as August pulled out his phone and activated the trackers that you all wore, the two of you coming up together on screen, but the third - Will’s - showing as on the level below and not moving.

 -

 The stairs had been hell in your heels, eventually you’d kicked them off and had run barefoot behind August, chasing him around corners and along corridors, before he’d finally come to a halt in front of a sealed door, his phone showing that Will was in the room behind it.

 “Stand back”

 You took a couple of steps back and watched as August kicked the door, the deafening bang as it broke from its hinges and splintered in was immediately forgotten as a sudden rush of air came out of the room, covering him in a dusting of strange grey-pinkish powder. He fell to the floor coughing and you rushed to his side;

 “Check on Shaw! I’m fine!”

 Quickly entering the room you looked around, finally seeing Will laying on the floor, he too was covered in the powder. Kneeling at his side you checked his pulse, relieved to find one as he opened his eyes and groaned.

 “What happened? Are you ok?”

 “Stop fussing, i’m fine… we gotta get out of here. Security will be on their way…”

 At that moment August appeared at your side;

 “Did you get it?”

 “Yeah, i got it”

 Will held out the thumb drive and pushed it into your hand as August pulled him to his feet, and they attempted to dust themselves off as the three of you staggered down the hallway and out of the fire exit.

 -

 Pushing into the hotel room, both Will and August had already shed the majority of their clothing, now dressed in just their smart dress pants and under shirts, still coughing from the dust cloud that lingered in their airways. You’d run the briefest of tests with the tiny blood monitor that you’d kept in the car to ensure it wasn’t a known nerve agent or poison before you’d even left the extraction point, thankfully the results being negative, but both men needed to wash off whatever it was as soon as possible. But first, you needed a proper sample;

 “Agent Shaw, i need to take some blood, hair and saliva, run it through the test software, to see if whatever it was has synthesised into your bloodstream” you nodded to the small scientific station you’d set up at the end of the table, the case having contained tiny gadgets that amounted to a microscope, a mass spectrometer, and other testing equipment… the whole point of why you in particular had been placed on this mission.

 A minute later you’d collected the samples, trying hard not to get flustered as Will had stood in front of you bare chested and in just his underwear, heat radiating from his body;

 “So what do you think it is?”

 “I have no idea”

 “Well i’m burning up, i need to take a shower”

 Quickly loading the samples into the rapid mass spectrometer you turned to Agent Walker to check his vitals and let out a tiny squeak of surprise when you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed in just his underwear. His chest was flushed and he had a sheen of sweat over his entire body;

 “I guess i’m next?”

 Pressing your hand to his forehead you could feel he was burning up;

 “I’m going to check your temperature first”

 Quickly using the thermal reader you could see that his core temp was heading towards fever;

 “I’m going to take the samples then as soon as Will is out of the shower you need to get in there”

 “Yes Ma’am” he chuckled, closing his eyes as you pushed your fingers through his hair to pluck a sample strand. The powder had caught in the strands and it was only as you combed your fingers through the dark locks did you realise he had soft curls. As you tried to separate them he let out a groan as you stroked his scalp. He swayed a little even though he was sitting down, and before you could do anything his hands were on your hips to steady himself, the heat almost searing through the silk of your dress. 

 Finally having got all the samples you needed you reluctantly pulled away, not saying a word as he simply flopped back onto the bed with a smirk on his face. You busied yourself preparing the test samples from Agent Walker, the machine finishing with Shaw’s. You were vaguely aware of the shower being turned off and the men moving around the room, before the shower was on again and you presumed it was August in there.

 Peering at the saliva samples through the microscope you frowned, the particles present completely organic and very familiar.

 “So what is the diagnosis Doc?”

 Will’s voice surprised you, and as you jumped and turned your eyes went wide when you saw he was in just a towel, tied low on his waist as he drank from a bottle of water.

 “Y-You don’t want to put some clothes on?”

 He looked down at himself, almost surprised to find he was only wearing a towel and shrugged;

 “No point, the way i’m burning up i’ll be naked soon” he nodded to the screen; “So?”

 Turning your attention back to the screen you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry;

 “Well… it seems organic, spores of some kind. Its hard to tell what they are from, but their chemical make-up is unique. The only time i’ve seen anything similar is in isolated microclimates that are cut off from the rest of nature… there was this one… in a volcano… a pollen from a plant that grew in tropical climates…” you trailed off as you sensed another presence now flanking your other side, glancing away from the microscope, taking in the sight of August in an identical outfit to Will, his broad expanse of chest at eye level as he bent down to look into the microscope.

 “Hmmn… so, how’s it gonna affect us? The gala was in a fucking giant greenhouse; you saw the plants they were growing there, some of them were 20ft tall and looked like they’d come from another planet. Do we need to pop an antihistamine or something, what’s it gonna do?”

 Standing you quickly slid out from between the two barely dressed men, checking the mass spectrometer and frowning;

 “It seems to be elevating your testosterone levels…” you peered at the saliva results; “...and pheromones… your bodies are heating up where your body is fighting against the pollen, its affecting all your hormones...”

 “Pheromones…” Will mused; “... that’s the sex hormones, right?”

 “Urrr…” you faltered, looking up at the two men who were now looking at you like hungry wolves.

 August stepped closer;

 “Sweetheart, i think you’d better get yourself tested too…” he paused, his finger hooking beneath the thin strap of your dress, making you acutely aware you were completely naked beneath it; “... cos’ i could smell you from across the room… and you smell so sweet right now…”

 You went to take a step back, only to bump into the hard expanse of Will’s naked chest, his hand curling around your arm;

 “C’mon, lets get you tested…”

 You were suddenly putty in their hands, your head swimming and it was only then that you realised you were burning up. It felt like you had a core of lava within you, and the only thing you could liken it to was a hot flash, your body flushed with heat. You recalled the time you’d overheard a much older agent talking to her friends, unaware you had been in the room and she’d spilled the beans on how she would recover from an episode and calm her hormones down... with the help of her husband.

 As your head had been swirling, Will had taken your blood sample and had loaded it into the mass spectrometer, having watched as you’d shown him before the mission. But you could barely concentrate;

 “I...I know how to counteract the affects of the pollen…” you panted out, unsteady on your feet as you swayed and August caught you in his arms

 “Oh yes?”

 “En… Endorphins… they counteract… they burn off the pheromones…”

 You felt hot breath on the back of your neck as Will pressed against you;

 “I’m not a scientist, but i know how to create endorphins…” 

 His lips made contact with your neck and you turned to jelly, your head resting against his shoulder and your eyelids drooping, barely open, yet you had enough of your senses to be aware of August in front of you, pulling the straps of your dress down your arms, you pliable in his hands as he stripped you of your only remaining garment, pressing his lips to your over heated skin as went as the silk pooled at your feet;

 “So beautiful…”

 “Absolutely” Will agreed from behind, his lips grazing over your jawline as his arms reached around you and cupped your tender breasts; “We need to work as a team to get through this… what are the hazards of hot flashes then Doc?”

 “Y-Y-You can over heat your brain… your heart could give out…”

 “Uh-huh… and endorphins will help stop this?” August enquired, his breath hot on your naked chest

 “Y-yeah…”

 That was the last word spoken for a very long time. From that point on the only sounds in the room were hums of pleasure combined with the carnal soundtrack of three bodies moving towards the inevitable. By the time you got to the bed both men had lost their towels, hard naked bodies pressed against your soft curves, sculpted hard muscle available everywhere you touched, and oh did you touch… and caress and stroke, the second you’d reciprocated their affections they had softened to your touch, sighs of pleasure as your fingertips gave them just the slightest relief.

 You found yourself sandwiched between the two men on the soft covers of the king-size bed, each taking turns to capture your lips for searing kisses, each having their own unique talent and style with their tongues. When you were deep in August’s embrace you felt Will move down the bed, his hands pulling your legs apart before he pressed kisses up your inner thighs and his mouth made contact with your soaked folds. The cry of pleasure that erupted from your mouth broke the kiss, yet August didn’t seem to mind as your hand had found its way to being wrapped around his weeping shaft, tugging him sloppily as you struggled to concentrate;

 “That’s it Sweetheart, you don’t need to be gentle… i like it rough…”

 You tried to answer, but Will’s tongue had found your soaked entrance as his hand curled around your thigh and sought out your clit, the pleasure he was giving you was too intense to allow you to form coherent words. August claimed your lips again for another searing kiss, humming his appreciation as you worked your hand over his heated flesh.

 Before you knew it you were coming hard, your orgasm tearing through your body as you ground your core against Will’s face, his eyes sparkling from between your thighs, and as you were floating on the high of the afterglow you could feel the two men moving you, adjusting you to suit their needs.

 On all fours on the bed you were faced with August’s dick, opening your mouth instinctively to take him deep, the heavy weight on your tongue a welcome feeling. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth as you struggled to stretch around his girth. At the same time you felt Will’s powerful thighs pressing against the back of your own, the velvet touch of his bulbous crown pressing to your still trembling hole before with a grunt he thrust into your soft body.

 There were only grunts and gasps of pleasure, the two men rocking your body between them as they defiled you in the basest of ways, but that you were eager to participate in, the mixing of pheromones in the room removing your inhibitions, knowing that it was an act of survival. You could feel your body climbing again, your orgasm imminent. You felt the first salty tang of August’s seed on your tongue, the tensing of his muscles as his body prepared to release into the welcome warmth of your mouth. His massive hand cupped your chin and pulled your head up to look him in the eye as he finally reached his peak, grunting curses as he pumped thick ropes over your tongue, raining praise upon you as you swallowed everything he gave you. 

 August fell back onto the pillows, but before you could let gravity take hold of you too Will wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you upright until you were pressed against his chest, his hips thrusting as he filled you so deliciously from behind. Through lust soaked gaze you watched August watching the pair of you as you fucked in front of him, his eyes travelling down your heated body until he was watching where your bodies were joined, how Will’s thick cock stretched you out so well.

 “Get your finger on her clit Shaw, i wanna watch you make her come undone”

 Doing as the senior agent instructed, Will snaked a hand down your stomach, rubbing tight firm circles against your sensitive bud as he continued to fill you, until you were shaking, hanging onto the precipice of pleasure and that final flick of his finger was enough to set off another orgasm. 

 The vice-like grip of your velvet walls was the final trigger for Will, and with a sin filled groan he pushed in one last time and you could feel him spilling deep inside you.

 Finally he pulled out, carefully setting you down onto the soft bedcovers. Your eyelids felt heavy, but the burning deep in your body seemed to be sated. You felt the men moving around the bed, a large hand cupping the back of your neck before lifting you from the bed a little;

 “Drink…”

 Opening your eyes, you watched as August lifted a water bottle to your lips, making sure you gulped down the chilled water before pulling away;

 “How… how are you guys feeling?”

 He turned and sat on the bed beside you, his finger trailing down your neck and between your breasts, and only then could you see the sheen as his skin glistened with sweat, a droplet running down his abdomen to where his cock stood hard and proud from a thatch of dark curls;

 “Not… not quite done yet…”

 Gently pushing you back down onto the bed he tossed the empty bottle aside before crawling atop of you, capturing your mouth with his as you felt the nudge of his hardened dick breach your body, his wide expanse of chest pressing you to the bed. He didn’t start out gentle and it only got rougher, ploughing into your body as he sought to relieve the effects of the pollen coursing through his veins like fire, burning within him until all that was left was red hot embers of passion. Your body writhed beneath him, begging for more, eagerly taking whatever he could give.

 He hit spots you didn’t know existed, your back arching with pleasure as he filled you, your hardened nipples almost too sensitive from his chest hair roughly rubbing against them, the stimulation almost too much until the levy broke and you came hard, your fingers digging into his back to leave dark welts, the pain his trigger for the final thrust as he pumped you full of his seed. 

 Finally he rolled off you, laying at your side as your chests heaved, struggling to catch your breath when you felt another hand grasp at your wrist;

 “Babe… please… i need you…”

 Looking to Will you saw a pained look on his face as he sat partially propped up against the pillows, his chest soaked and his dick standing hard and proud;

 “Please…” he begged.

 Somehow you found the energy to move, your body still shaking but yet you straddled his lap, pushing his sweat soaked curls from his face;

 “It’s going to be ok Will, i’ll take care of you… its ok…”

 You sank down onto his waiting body, taking him where August had been only a minute before, the comingled seed lubricating you as this new angle found yet more pleasure points that had remained undiscovered until then. Wills hands moved to your hips, his grip tight as he gritted his teeth and moved you on his lap, rocking you to ride him like a rodeo stallion. Sweat dripped down your body, rivulets running between your breasts as you threw your head back and basked in the flood of pleasure chemicals soaking your brain. The haze of lust clouding time and space as you came to another orgasm, Will filling you with another load of his thick cum, your cries of pleasure finally ebbing away as you collapsed on his heaving chest, his hands stroking your back whilst your bodies stayed joined.

 A pair of strong arms lifted you off of Will and set you down on the mattress, August’s dark smile haunting over you as he parted your legs and kissed down your thigh, before with a smirk he bit the soft flesh. It wasn’t enough to break the skin but the pleasure pain receptors in your mind were immediately set off again, and you knew that even if you couldn’t see the mark you’d feel it for days to come. He lifted your legs and parted them, his face at your centre, yet where his tongue ended up you let out a squeak of surprise as he circled your back entrance. 

 “Oh, OH… August…”

 “Mmmnnfff” was all that could be heard as he pushed his tongue at your asshole, his thumb pressing against your clit as he worked you open, your body deceiving you as a fierce orgasm washed over you almost immediately. When he pulled away he had a smug look on his face;

 “Thought as much… hold tight…”

 He quickly disappeared to the bathroom, before returning with a small bottle in his hand. Pouring some of the liquid contained within on his fingers, he worked the oil over your skin before pushing his thick finger into your ass, eagerly praising you as he worked your body until you were ready.

 “Walker… hurry up and fuck her… i’m burning up here, i need another round…” Will gasped out as August moved you.

 “C’mere then Shaw, we’re never gonna get this out of our systems if we have to wait to take turns…”

 Even through the haze of the pollen Will immediately got what August was saying, the pair of them pulling you from the bed before Will took you into his arms;

 “Jump…”

 With a surprising amount of strength Will pulled you up, your legs hooked over his forearms as he angled his hips to push his dick back into your cum soaked cunt, letting gravity help as he sank deep. Just as you thought you were about to overbalance a hard chest pressed against your back, August stooping behind you as he took his iron hard dick in hand and sought out purchase on your ass;

 “Gonna take this as slow as i can Sweetheart…”

 Slow didn’t seem slow enough, and you cursed Newton and the laws of physics as the same forces that had pulled you down onto Will did the same with August, leaving you gasping for air as you were filled in both holes. The boys held you up, in place and still whilst they resisted ravaging your body, fighting against the pollen until they could no longer hold back and they unleashed their raw power upon your body. Fucking you in tandem with the thinnest of walls separating themselves inside you, they defiled your body as you begged for more; harder, deeper, faster. It was never enough.

 -

 The night ebbed away into the mists of time, each sex act more depraved than the last, the three of you driving the deadly force of the pollen from your bodies in an endless battle of lust.

The last thing you recalled was the sun rising as the two men stood before your kneeling body, spraying your face and breasts with a final load before sleep finally claimed your sated body.

 -

 Bright light streamed in the window and you winced as your head pounded. A deep voice could be heard but you weren’t listening. A warm body beside you shifted and a large warm hand pressed to your aching abdomen, soothing the overworked muscles. A soft pair of lips pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and the lack of moustache told you it was Will that was spooning you.

 “C’mon Agents, rise and shine” August barked from the bathroom doorway, packing his things; “Got a flight to catch in two hours, debriefing in twelve”

 -

 Closing the file you nodded at your superiors, their approval of a good job done ringing praises in your ears as the debriefing ended, people pushing their chairs out and making small talk as they were dismissed for the weekend and a well deserved rest.

 Walking to the elevator you didn’t make eye contact, trying hard not to wince as your thighs rubbed together and you felt the bite that August had given you, wanting to avoid any probing questions. You’d skimmed over a lot in your report, mainly the sex-pollen induced orgy that had taken place, but as the thumb drive with the vital data on had been recovered no-one was concentrating on the part between the retrieval and the debriefing.

 The elevator dinged as the doors opened, and absentmindedly you stepped in, looking out of the glass windows as you were only partially aware of just a few other passengers. It was only when you realised you were flanked on both sides did you look up and see that August and Will were either side of you. 

 With a smirk August handed you a file;

 “This wasn’t needed for the debriefing”

 You flicked it open and saw that it was the mobile test data from the hotel room;

 “Yes, probably for the best” you agreed, your throat dry.

 As you held the pages Will pointed to a trio of lines towards the bottom. For a moment you stared at the numbers before you recognised what they meant;

 “That’s our results…”

 You felt August’s breath hot on your ear as he whispered;

 “Look at yours…”

 You saw the readings of Will and August’s blood count, of the pheromone saturation… then you saw yours;

 “But… but that can’t be right…”

 “You know that equipment better than anyone else… when has it ever been wrong?”

 The elevator reached the Lobby and everyone filed out, August and Will stopping and nodding to the bar across the street;

 “We’ll be catching a drink or two… you’re welcome to join us once you’ve taken in the test data…”

 You nodded, speechless, staring at the data in black and white. It couldn’t be wrong; it was never wrong. It was clear as day.

 You hadn’t been infected by the pollen.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2002 day 5

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

Good lord a bare draft of FAR too many words because I have no time to edit, was enjoying writing ashram weirdness and Jerott flapping, and will certainly be coming back to edit this and incorporate it into a current WIP anyway... Mainly, I spent the day researching aquifers in Nevada just to check the plausibility of the context and I’m not a geologist so screw it. This fic ties into various others I’ve posted already around Jerott’s wrist injury trying to escape the ashram and leading up to the Zuara equivalent (timeline is a little different in the AU, but still. Zuara!). Don’t you love how ExtraTM Pawn in Frankincense is? I know I do...

So warnings are really just about the build-up - dangerous roads, sink-holes, storms, tunnels, blood, flooding etc...

---

Since they'd begun the journey back into the mountains the weather had only worsened. Gilles was a competent driver, but he was angry, and there was no passenger side seat-belt - Jerott sat tense with terror, every hair on his arms and neck standing on end, as the truck's gears screamed up gravel tracks, its tyres fighting against the rainwater that was beginning to pour down from the peaks along roads and arroyos. In his arms, he clutched Dasypus the armadillo, trying not to squeeze the animal's leathery carapace too hard even as Dasypus' long claws scrabbled at him in protest.

The rain was so heavy up at the ashram headquarters that they didn't see the damage until Gilles had to slam the brakes to avoid hitting a crowd of sodden Rajneeshees in pinks and reds.

Regardless of the solid rain, they were gathered around a pile of dark rubble where half of Swami Geetesh's compound used to stand, some holding shovels, some gesturing angrily, all looking lost.

Jerott bolted from the truck, shoving Dasypus into Gilles' arms and ignoring his alarmed questions.

He grabbed the soaking wet shoulder of a former colleague, who didn't recognise him at first.

"Swami! It's me, Vadan! What the fuck happened?"

The other man peered at Jerott, at his short, scruffy black beard and over-sized clothes - none of which were in sannyasin colours. Still, whoever he supposed Jerott was, he offered the explanation Jerott needed: "A sinkhole, beneath Swami Geetesh's house...we can't see what the damage is, but it looks like there were tunnels, or a cellar beneath it. Ma Daso was inside when this happened."

"Ma -?" Jerott felt his stomach flip and his temperature drop. He looked about him in a panic. "What happened? Is she ok?"

"She's over there..."

Jerott squinted in the direction indicated and saw some of the Rajneeshees clustering around a figure seated on an upturned bucket. He slapped the other man gratefully on the shoulder and ignored the query that trailed after him: "Swami Vadan? What happened to your arm?"

The woman who had been rescued from the building looked small and folorn from a distance, but when he approached her, Jerott saw the fire in her green eyes.

Oonagh O'Dwyer held one pale, thin hand to her bloodied brow, but the other was clenched into a fist in her lap. She studied Jerott with a frown, her thick black brows fierce and her mouth a grim line, and he didn't expect her to recognise him - they had only met the once, several weeks earlier, when Geetesh had been occupied with tormenting Jerott in the room that now gaped open on the edge of the sinkhole.

"Ma Daso?" he said carefully, glancing at the others who had been fussing over her. "Ms...Ms O'Dwyer?"

Her eyes widened, though her expression remained suspicious. She nodded minutely. "You were here before..."

Jerott nodded and crouched down beside her bucket. Oonagh O'Dwyer shooed the others who had been helping her away and bent towards Jerott. She was thin, her skin barely more substantial than the clouds sitting low all about them, but even so, Jerott felt the power of her presence, the heat of her spirit and all that Francis Crawford must have found compelling about the ex-model.

"I thought he'd kill you," Oonagh hissed.

To Jerott's surprise, something like a memory popped into his mind: Swami Geetesh looking down at him, contempt and pleasure all mixed together in his expression. In Jerott's vision, he imagined a pressure on his throat and the taste of blood on his lip. He shuddered and shook his head. "No. Just sent me away. What happened? Was he in there?"

"He found Francis," Oonagh's words, low and urgent, struck Jerott with a piercing horror. "He was keeping him in the tunnels. Please for the love of God, tell me you knew about the tunnels? None of these precious fools did..." she rolled her eyes at the Rajneeshees standing around the sink hole, some of whom were now looking pathetically at their unresponsive pagers.

Jerott shook his own head, and felt despair clutch at his chest. There had been so much going on here he hadn't known about, so much Geetesh had been involved in that he should have recognised, should have stopped.

Oonagh swore in Irish and, he realised through the rain, blinked back tears as she gazed up at the sky. "He's in there with him. Can you imagine that?"

"What did he want with Francis? Why the tunnels?" Jerott asked, mortified to have let her down, to be letting Francis down, to find himself - yet again - just another of Geetesh's useful idiots.

Oonagh blinked and shook her head, her lower lip projecting miserably. "Music? I suppose? He was always whistling when he came back...singing..."

"Oh!" Jerott leapt to his feet. "There was the store beneath the studio! We started expanding it before I left, but I never knew why. Maybe it linked up?"

Oonagh looked up at him incredulously. "The studio's miles away!"

"By track, yeah, but if he went under the mountain it's just down there," Jerott gestured vaguely to the trees on his left.

"So they might not have been anywhere near the sinkhole..." Fear settled over Oonagh's body once more.

Jerott hesistated to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder - her wet hair hung over thin, clingy linen, and she seemed too exposed already, raw like a seam of precious metal. "I'll take the truck and go."

"Wait - " Oonagh stopped him, her voice a desperate whip-crack. "Wait, what's your name? Be careful. If Geetesh is..."

"I know," Jerott nodded tightly. "I know who he is. There's a shotgun in the truck."

Oonagh swallowed and took a breath. She didn't look as perturbed by the mention of the gun as most people would have. "Vadan, was it?"

"Jerott. Blyth. I knew Francis...ages ago. He probably didn't -"

"He did," Oonagh smiled tightly. "Best go after him, eh? I hear you didn't before."

Jerott reeled away from her, hurrying back towards Gilles and the car, trying not to think about what she'd said.

"Hey, hey! Where you goin'?" Gilles dashed towards Jerott, Dasypus under his arm.

"I need the keys, I need the truck..."

"Non, non, we use it to clear the hole!"

"No, he's not...he's not in there, Pierre. You want to find the land-owner? Reid Malett?"

"We gotta clear it out, get to the tunnels..."

"Arrêtes! Arrêtes, je sais, mais ils ne sont pas la!" Jerott grabbed Gilles' broad shoulders and shook him. He had no idea how clear his French was to someone who spoke a Cajun dialect, but at least it made Gilles understand his seriousness. He explained that he knew another entrance to the tunnels, that a friend was inside and likely in danger. Gilles didn't quite get it, but he'd gathered, through their weeks working together, that Jerott was the kind of maniac he could trust - and so he handed over the keys and told Jerott where the spare gun cartridges were.

Jerott was so used to working with the improvised cast on his left wrist now that it didn't impede him at all as he reversed away from Geetesh's house in a spray of mud and gravel.

Driving that had been terrifying when Gilles had been behind the wheel seemed perfectly sensible when Jerott was the one breaking, steering and then immediately feathering the accelerator as soon as he was on the exit of a bend. He hurtled down familiar roads, the windscreen wipers clattering like the brush hitting the sides of the car. He didn't even think about the last time he'd taken this route and what had happened - if he had done, it might have occurred to him how much more likely another landslip was in this weather.

Down the mountain he went and round its foot, into land that had been cleared for crops, across a plain that was still dry and dusty compared to the land at higher altitude. The road swept round, curving back to the wooded base of the range, where the little black studio building squatted all on its own - Jerott had often thought of it as resembling the Kaaba in Mecca.

The windscreen was covered in mud and dust that clung to the wet glass and Jerott had to switch the wipers off. The truck skidded in wet dust as he came to a halt and he leapt out, Gilles' old snake-scaring shotgun in one hand, a handful of cartridges in the other that he stuffed into the wet pocket of his jeans.

He sprinted for the studio and ran inside without stopping to consider what he'd do if Geetesh and Francis were there.

It was empty, luckily, and Jerott wove his way between chairs and equipment to the door at the back and the dark steps to the basement. He was beginning to think it had been a foolish thought, anyway - how on earth could Geetesh have constructed so many tunnels and bunkers without anyone's knowledge? He wasn't coming down here himself with a shovel every night...he had probably taken Francis far, far away. Oonagh must have been mistaken about the tunnels at the main building...

But there was a door in the basement there hadn't been before. Jerott fumbled around on the shelves and found a torch, and then he tried the handle.

No dice: the door was metal, and it was locked. Everything smelled damp and rusty, and there seemed to be a breeze from the other side and Jerott paused, leaned his head against the surface, and tried to hear anything beyond his own ragged breath.

There was a kind of rushing noise, like the sound of the sea in a shell, and Jerott shook his head in frustration and stood back from the door.

With a shrug, he readied the gun and pointed it at the lock, and gave up any pretence of subtlety.

There was a flash and a loud, metallic clang, and the lock broke open beneath the gun's bark, and Jerott shouldered his way into the dark tunnel beyond.

He trotted onwards into the depths of the earth, increasingly troubled by the coolness of the air and the damp floor. Rainstorm or not, they were in the desert - there shouldn't have been this much standing water beneath his feet.

Sooner than he expected, the tunnel widened into a chamber, and inside, beneath the wavering light of his torch, he was met with a scene of carnage.

The floor was covered by two inches of dirty water. In it various examples of detritus floated: clothes; plates; scraps of paper; a ukulele. Against one wall there was a table covered with papers, stationary, a broken lamp... Opposite it lay a narrow metal bedframe with a thin mattress on it, and on that bed a body was awkwardly sprawled.

Jerott caught his breath - there was blood all over the mattress: a dark, shining pool of it that spread from the leg of the man lying there. He wore rose pink linens, and he lay face-down against a pillow, his hair shining golden beneath the wavering light of Jerott's torch. Everything was wet, the blood on the mattress thinned at its edges like tie-dye, and the golden hair was matted with the same filty water that covered the floor.

Jerott stepped down into the room and moved his light around again so he wouldn't notice his hand shaking. As he did, he caught sight of the other body, which had been swept up against the table legs and lay half-submerged.

Jerott glanced once more at the body on the bed, wanting to be certain that it wouldn't move, and then he put the gun and the torch down on the table and dove down to check for signs of life.

"Francis!" He hissed, casting another nervous look at the bed as he touched the wet, cold skin of his friend's neck.

He wasn't breathing, but Jerott had had first aid training and didn't hesitate to haul him to the dry tunnel and turn his head to the side. He pinched Francis' fine-boned nose between his thumb and forefinger and covered his long lips with his own, filling his lungs with warm air and then forcing it into Francis' body with all the power he would usually put into singing the lyrics Francis wrote. Jerott's mind was on the amount of oxygen he could push into Francis' body and nothing more - he repeated the breaths until, beneath him, Francis flinched and retched, and Jerott had to sit back quickly as rancid water sputtered up from his lungs.

Francis coughed and coughed and Jerott helped him to sit up, and eyed the dim lit room with Geetesh's body inside.

He hadn't moved.

The boy who had almost gone to medical school hesitated, supposing that he should do the same for the other man. But Francis was leaning into him now, still coughing, his eyes screwed shut, his body struggling against the new availability of air.

The first thing he asked, when he was able to, and had cast a perplexed look at Jerott's bearded face, was: "Is he dead?"

Jerott froze and then nodded. Geetesh hadn't moved. The bed was covered in blood. There was so much blood.

"Yeah. Yeah he's gone."

Francis closed his eyes and bowed his head. Beneath Jerott's steadying hand his body shuddered and winced. The words he murmured sent chills up Jerott's spine: "O mill...o mill what hast thou ground..."

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Imagine being neighbours with Maglor in the 21st century

Inspiration struck me as I realised I am technically an adult now and have no idea how to pay taxes.

Moving out and fleeing the nest was no easy task. With no parents to turn to or an appropriate adult, worries started to pile up high—akin to the envelopes collecting in your mail slot.

Flicking through each bill, you knitted your brows. None of it made sense to you. What did half the words even mean?

Groaning, you threw the letters down onto your coffee table and leant back into the sofa.

Swallowing deeply, you glared at the ceiling. You had googled the process a hundred times, and more often than not you were left with new questions and no answers.

It was only when you heard the crunching of tyres on pebbles that you lifted your head.

Looking outside the adjacent window, you noticed your neighbour—Kano, short for something like “Kane”, you imagined—had returned home from the store.

He was your neighbour, and a quiet one at that. You had moved into the lakeside cottage nearly one month prior now, and had only spoken to him a handful of times.

The most stark of your meetings is when he told you his name. You asked him what “Kano” was short for, and he went quiet for a moment.

He blinked at you a few times, unsure of how to answer, before the gears in his head turned.

“It’s...a Scandinavian name,” he said slowly, as if learning the information himself for the first time.

He was sweet, but definitely weird. He almost always wore a beanie, too, which covered his ears.

Fair enough, you supposed—it was cold down by the mountainous lake.

You watched as he opened the passenger side door to his car, and collected brown bags of groceries.

You knew he was quite older than you, at least thirty, even if he did have the soul of an 80-year-old Scotsman.

Looking between your bills and Kano, you quickly made up your mind. Grabbing the letter pertaining to taxes, you slipped on a coat and rushed out the door.

Met with chilly air, as fog danced on the clear lake, you called out to your older neighbour.

“Kano!” you shouted, jogging towards him. “Hey, need some help?”

You motioned to the groceries, and ignored the studious look in his eyes as he sized you up.

He was always on edge, as if he were growing a pot of marijuana in his living room, and you an undercover cop.

His eyes briefly flickered to the envelope in your hand, and a smile almost tugged on his lips.

“Sure,” he said. “That would be great, thanks.”

“No problem,” you smiled back, helping him unload the car.

Piling your arms high with groceries, you walked behind the tall “man” back to his front door.

He jingled the house keys for a moment, before the door slid open.

Warmth met you instantly, as you entered the house. Embers danced in his fireplace, and you observed his fishtank as you walked by it towards the kitchen.

There were six fish inside the tank, and each were treated exceptionally well by your neighbour—as if they were family.

They each all had names, but he had never told you them. There were three red fish, one white, and two brown.

Smiling at them, as they puckered the surface of the water, you followed Kano to the kitchen.

Setting the bag down onto the bench, you assisted in unpacking the groceries—only after ensuring he didn’t mind first, as you were afraid of what you might find inside.

Satisfied with your momentary help, Kano moved away from the table and turned the kettle on.

“Tea?” he asked.

Fondling the letter in your hand, you looked up from one of the grocery bags and nodded.

“Yes please, thank you.”

He smiled back, and retrieved two mugs from the elevated cupboards.

“Are you dropping off a Valentine’s Day card for me early, then?” Kano’s voice came after a moment of quiet, save for the tinkering of mugs and the rustling of bags.

Stunned and confused, you looked up at him. He was kindly smiling in your direction, as he placed sugar in each mug.

Noticing your perplexed expression, he nodded at the letter in your hand.

Following his glance, you flickered your eyes down at the letter. Holding it up, you in turn looked at it and spoke.

“Oh! No! Actually, it’s a little embarrassing, but...well, since you’re older, I was wondering if you could help me figure this letter out...please?”

He took into account the wince of your eyes, as you smiled sheepishly.

He took another long moment to respond, as he looked between you and the letter.

And then, after a few more seconds, he laughed—a quiet and soft laugh, but an amused one nonetheless.

He now saw frustration flash across your face, as you quickly grew offended.

Kano waved a gentle hand in your direction, and eased your annoyance. “No, no, please don’t take it that way—it’s just, it reminds me of when I was first introduced to taxes. It’s a weird concept, huh?”

Relaxing, you offered a tentative smile back. “Totally, it makes no sense whatsoever to me.”

Kano ignored the fact that you mistook his words regarding learning taxes for the first time, for how could you possibly know he was born long before they were conceived?

He grinned in response, and pondered mortal life momentarily. It was truly funny how young each human he came across seemed, no matter how mature in their own race they were.

Pouring hot water over each aromatic tea bag, Kano slid the two mugs over the length of the counter.

He then walked around the wooden bench, and pulled up another stool—similar to the one you were leaning against.

“Here,” he said, opening the letter and motioning for you to sit beside him.

It took you a few seconds to slowly slide onto the stool beside Kano, as you blew on your tea and watched as he opened the envelope.

Now sitting side by side, you listened intently as your wiser neighbour began explaining the concept to you—making you entirely grateful to have at least one responsible adult around.

“Well, the first thing you’ll want to look at is...”

[duskholland]

Ok I got another one reader comes home to find that mob!Tom isn't there she calls him n he doesn't pick up, she's really worried n has a very bad feeling that something's not right when Tom comes back at night in bruises n dirty clothes reader just breaks down n cries in his chest with him telling her that he's fine n they end up in a bathtub. 💙💙😘😘😘

—it’s mob monday—

You have a bad feeling the moment you arrive back at home and discover not only the absence of your boyfriend but also the disappearance of most of his guards. You know that Tom had an important meeting scheduled for today with some suppliers, and you also know that he’d been incredibly anxious going into it. The moment you realise that he’s failed to make it back to the mansion, you pull out your phone and try to call him, only for it to hit his answer phone every single time.

You try Harrison. Nothing. The same with Sam and Harry. You end up perching on the sofa in the entryway, pulling your knees to your chest as you try to pass the time on your phone. Your nerves rattle through your chest, each laboured breath bringing you more anxiety as you catastrophise every possible situation.

It takes an hour for Tom to appear. You hear the roaring of car tyres against the gravel in the driveway, and immediately stand up and rush to the door, just in time to open it in preparation for him staggering in.

“Tom?” You mutter, voice shocked. “What’s happened?”

He looks awful—clothes tattered and stained with blood and mud, dark grimy grey marks smeared across his face. His eyes are tired and bloodshot, and there’s a hard red laceration cut across one of his cheeks. Tom practically collapses into your awaiting arms, his fingers grabbing at the front of your shirt as your hands wrap around him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters. His voice is scratchy and broken, and you feel your shirt dampen as he cries into your front.

You hold him, feeling him shake as you support his weight. You’re strong, but he’s heavy, and you find your body failing after a few minutes of stroking his back.

“Come upstairs,” you encourage. You’ve never seen him like this before and it scares you. “Come on.”

It’s hard to get him up the staircase. He’s limping, and he curses with every step. Tom manages it though, with your arm wrapped around him, and you get him all the way into the bathroom. You push him up onto the counter and watch as he groans and leans back against the mirror, his head slamming back to rest there.

“What happened?” You ask, surveying him for damage. The cut on his cheek seems to have stopped bleeding, and it would appear the rest of the bloodstains aren’t his. You can’t see his chest though, and the way he’s breathing laboriously makes you concerned.

“Got jumped,” he says, wincing. “They fucking set us up.”

You curse softly. “Fatalities?”

Tom shakes his head, and you release a deep breath. “Haz is in the hospital though,” he says, voice full of emotion. “They got him pretty bad.”

“Will he be okay?”

“Yeah.” Tom winces as he shifts about. “Might be on crutches for a while though.”

You hum, stepping closer. With tender fingers, you reach up and push his hair from his face, allowing you to softly kiss his uninjured cheek. “We need to get you cleaned up,” you whisper. You glance back at the shower, then frown. “You need a bath. I don’t think you’ll be able to stand in the shower for too long.”

“Okay,” he grunts.

As the bath pours, you dab at Tom’s face, trying to get off as much grime as possible before he has to sit in it. You carefully pull off his shirt and gasp as you see a myriad of bruises staining his skin, varying in size and colour, but each one looking horrible. He winces as you carefully clean him up, and you resort to kissing him after each painful movement, just to try and ease him however you can.

“There you go,” you murmur, finally finished with your actions. Tom’s left just in his boxers, and you help him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to look at you desperately. “You’re an angel.”

You smile as you help him over to the bath, warm and bubbly and smelling of soothing lavender.

“I just want you to be okay,” you tell him. You gently help him shed his boxers, then help him clamber into the bath. Tom groans loudly as he sinks into it, tired muscles relaxing immediately. After a moment, he looks up at you, pouting.

“Get in too?” He asks. He clears his throat, and you’re shocked to see more tears filling his eyes. “I… I need you.”

He looks so fragile sitting in the large tub alone, his face beaten up and his eyes glistening, that you hurry to shed your clothes and join him as quickly as possible. After laying out two towels by the side of the tub, you sink in behind him, your back resting up against the end of the tub as Tom lies out in front of you, his head drifting to rest on your chest. You hold him close, whispering soft words of care as you feel him shake, his eyebrows furrowing and forehead creasing as you listen to him cry, very quietly.

You try to comfort him as best you can. In the end, you end up with one hand resting on his chest, both of his hands clinging to your fingers, and the other softly rubbing up and down his side. Bubbles cover both of you, the warm scented bath helping to ease his tension, but it breaks your heart to see him in so much despair. You kiss the top of his head, over and over again, wishing that you could swap and take his pain.

“Why are you so upset?” You murmur, nuzzling your nose against the top of his head. “Does it hurt really bad?”

Tom hums. “Yeah,” he says. “Just… Overwhelmed.” Finally, he blinks open his eyes and tilts his head back to look at you. Your hand shifts up to his cheek, and he turns his lips to kiss your palm softly. “Thank you,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You lean down to kiss his forehead, the curls of his brown hair tickling your chin.

“I’ll always take care of you, Tom. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He sounds sleepy, and that’s only emphasised when he yawns.

“C’mon, baby,” you mumble. You give him a final kiss to his head, then gently squeeze him. “Let’s get you dry. I think you need some sleep.”

Tom nods in agreement. “Yeah.” He flutters his lashes at you, causing you to chuckle. Half-asleep and pained, he’s still the Tom you know. “Will you cuddle me?”

“Of course.”

[fullmetalscullyy]

For the sharing a bed ask bc I can't remember for the life of me if I've sent one to you yet 🙈 'they took turns sharing it while the other was on watch' or however exactly that one was worded ❤️❤️

aaa tysm for the prompt! i loved it and i hope you enjoy! continuing with the no plot just vibes agenda~

send me a prompt

rated: g | words: 3679 | tags: royai, there was only one bed, shelter from the storm, snowstorm, tending to wounds, comfort, fluff

read on ao3

Exhaustion followed both occupants of the crumbling bothy like a shadow. It clung to them, slowing their movements, as if it was physically attached to their ankles like two weights. Booted feet were dragged across the polished, undulating stones underfoot, worn down after years of use, and finally came to stop in the centre of the main room.

Years of use didn’t warrant years of upkeep apparently, Riza thought, as she did a sweep of the building. It was not in the best condition however it was still standing, and it was shelter from the storm outside. That was all Riza was currently concerned with.

There were only two rooms, plus a bathroom with a functioning sink and toilet – surprisingly enough. The pipes grunted and groaned, screaming in protest at being used, but it worked and was clean. A worn plaque above the sink indicated the water was drinkable as well, which was the best news she’d heard all day. A small blessing in this wretched situation they’d found themselves in.

To counteract that thought, at that exact moment, a howling gust of wind rattled the door thoroughly and whistled through the cracked class of the windows to its left and right. The Colonel whipped around to stare, partly in fright and partly because he was on edge. They both were. The sudden scream that sounded as the wind tried to force its way inside through the glass made Riza jump as well.

They shared a look and the Colonel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“So much for the famed northern hospitality,” he muttered. His words held a bite to them, however Riza was unsure whether it was directed at the situation itself or at anyone in particular.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault they’d found themselves in this situation, however it was not ideal, nor was it pleasant. The first point on their ‘bad things that have happened today’ list (at this point, they were up to around number six) was a snowstorm had rendered their transport from the station in North City to the town they were supposed to be visiting useless. The truck owner boasted it was an all-terrain, all-weather vehicle, that he was handpicked by the military for transport because of his “beauty’s” prowess. He quickly stopped bragging though and started muttering angrily at his prized possession, kicking the tyre in fury as it sat pitifully in a snowy ditch, unable to escape the confines of it. It was safe to say his “beauty” fell short of the mark for the two soldiers. No amount of pushing from the three of them would shift it. However, they had deadlines to meet, so were forced to say their goodbyes and go ahead on foot.

There was no way they’d make it in time but at least they could honestly say they had tried when questioned.

It was by a stroke of luck they’d stumbled upon a walker’s bothy. Night was creeping in quickly, especially with the ongoing snowstorm. The world was turning greyer by the second and when Riza spotted it, she made a beeline straight for the shelter. The wind was too loud to talk over, but the Colonel saw her beckoning gesture and nodded, following behind her without question, already trusting her judgement and thought process.

The main room housed a single wooden bedframe with no mattress. There was another spot where another bed frame should be, but only half it remained. It had been broken in half. Whether that had been from an accident, an act of vandalism, or due to the passage of time, Riza wasn’t sure. Not that it would be of any use to them split in half, but simple curiosity had the Colonel searching the rest of the small building for the other half. There was a large stone fireplace that was bereft of any wood, they noticed with dismay, however after venturing through to the second room on the left, there was a massive pile of it within. It was a supply for the winter months for anyone who needed it, so the piece of paper tacked to an old corkboard on the wall said. There were two chairs placed around the fire and some cast iron cooking utensils stacked in a neat pile upon the hearth, lifting their spirits slightly. They had rations from the truck driver that would not require their use, but the sight of them was still a positive.

“I think we’ll be safe enough to sleep here tonight,” she announced, ignoring the Colonel’s petulant comment.

“Lieutenant,” he called quietly to her, catching her attention. When she turned her head, he gestured to one of the chairs. “You should rest.” He glanced down at her feet, and Riza knew exactly what he was thinking.

She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle while they walked. The pain had eased completely the more she’d walked, so Riza assumed it would be fine. Now they’d stopped, it was throbbing in time with her pulse. It appeared to be worse than she’d thought.

Just what they needed.

She sighed and mentally added that as number seven to their list.

Sitting on one of the chairs, Riza sighed quietly in relief as it lessened the pressure on her injured joint. The Colonel followed suit and he too sounded extremely relieved to finally sit down.

“What a day,” he muttered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Riza hummed in agreement, causing him to reopen his eyes and glance tiredly over at her. She shifted in place, feeling a shiver travel down her spine.

Without a word, the Colonel stood and ventured into the other room. He came back with arms full of firewood and started the process of arranging them within the fireplace. After a single snap the fire roared to life, filling the room with a soft orange glow and warmth. A few minutes later the invading bite of the winter chill was beginning to alleviate and Riza could feel her muscles relaxing.

“Do you think there will be anything outside waiting for us?”

His question was so sudden as he stared into the fire that it took Riza a moment to process it.

“Pardon?”

The Colonel blinked and tore his eyes away from the dancing flames. He repeated his question as he turned to look at her, expression serious.

“Like what?”

“What about bears?” He looked genuinely concerned.

Riza blinked at him. “Probably. I think so, yes.” She faintly recalled hearing stories about the size and might of the bears in the north but elected not to bring it up. She didn’t think that would have been beneficial or productive in that moment, especially not after recognising a faint glint of fear that was discernible in the Colonel’s eyes.

“Do you think we should be concerned?”

Riza glanced over her shoulder at the door as it rattled on its hinges. “I don’t think so. We’ll be safe in here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you know any bears that can open doors?” Both her brows lifted as she regarded him.

“I know a bear could open that door,” he scoffed, jerking his head towards it. “It’s hardly a strong line of defence.”

That was true. One more gust of wind might snap it off one of the hinges. The top one rattled playfully to emphasise his point.

“I think we’ll be okay, sir,” Riza replied smoothly, trying to keep her amusement out of her tone.

The Colonel scowled at her anyway. Apparently she hadn’t been entirely successful.

Riza chuckled upon seeing his expression. “City boy,” she muttered to herself, her tone light and playful.

“I would say it was a legitimate concern,” he replied haughtily.

“You also thought there were bears in the woods outside my father’s house.”

“I think my point still stands.”

“Bears do not exist in every wooded area and forest, Roy.” She rolled her eyes at him in amused exasperation, momentarily forgetting herself.

It was so easy talking to him like this. The two of them were alone together and stuck in a predicament that neither could have ever predicted or conjured up, yet here they were. It was surreal, but it was nice. Despite everything that had happened today she was still relatively happy. She was grateful to be with him. Ideally, she’d have neither of them stranded in a snowstorm, however she was glad he was here. If there was anyone she’d want to be stranded with, it would be him.

After she’d realised her minor slip up, Riza paused and glanced over at him, noting his soft expression and smile. It was so genuine and happy that she didn’t cringe or apologise. She didn’t feel the need to.

“We sound like we did when we were children,” he replied.

Riza felt her own nostalgic smile spread across her face. “We do.”

“I’ll take first watch,” he offered.

Riza opened her mouth to protest but he’d already shoved a threadbare blanket he’d found towards her. Riza didn’t particularly want to use it – she had no way of knowing how clean it was – however the building was not heated in the slightest, aside from the fire. It was built for hikers who were well prepared with sleeping bags, which they were not. For survival, Riza had to accept any kind of warmth she could get.

“You need to rest that ankle,” he added.

She nodded and took the blanket from him. Riza settled herself on the hard, wooden bedframe so she was facing into the room. It was warmer than facing the cold stone of the wall beside the bed.

“Colonel?”

He glanced over at her expectantly.

“Watch out for those bears.”

* * * * * * * *

The wind had died down throughout the night at least. Roy had been partly joking when he brought up the bears that may be lurking outside for them, however now that he’d put the idea inside his own head, he couldn’t help but take an extra glance every now and then out the window.

Just in case.

It was worth bringing it up to hear the Lieutenant’s laugh. To hear her accidentally call him by his first name. It had been so worth it.

To whittle away the time his mind tried its best to summon a plan of attack against any bear that did appear, going over how he would react and how he would fend one off, but Roy had come to only one conclusion after about half an hour of plotting. It was folly. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take on a bear. His eyes narrowed at the rickety old door and took solace in the fact the doorway looked too small for a bear to fit through. They were safe from them so long as they stayed inside, and that was good enough for him.

Now the bear appearance dilemma, likely or not, had been put to bed, Roy’s thoughts turned towards the Lieutenant. He glanced down at her ankle as she lay sound asleep, remembering how she’d stumbled and fallen in a snowdrift. Insisting she was fine, they’d pressed on. They didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway, but he was still concerned. He had a strong inkling she was suffering for it as they travelled. A sprained ankle under normal conditions would ease with rest, but that was not a luxury they’d been afforded as they traversed the snowy landscape to safety. Snowdrifts up to their knees were common and Roy had felt dead on his feet when they finally came to a stop inside this shelter.

That was one blessing of the day, at least. He’d simply laughed at their luck, shaking his head, now they were safe beneath shelter, dry, and out of the storm.

But if he’d felt tired down to his bones, then he couldn’t imagine how the Lieutenant must have felt upon their arrival.

Steadying his resolve, Roy determined there was no imminent danger. No bears coming through the night to get them. Now the storm had eased, looking through the shards of the window, Roy could see the gorgeous landscape splayed before him, illuminated by the moonlight, and enhanced by the heavy snow. It looked a lot more inviting than it had a few hours ago.

He wouldn’t, but he was tempted to wake up the Lieutenant to show her how beautiful it looked.

Roy smiled to himself, the thought dredging up an old memory from their past. He faintly recalled doing something similar when he’d experienced his first winter at the Hawkeye house. He’d ran to her room without a thought, excited and eager to show her how the dark forest outside had transformed into a silvery white and green wonderland.

It had been something he’d been desperate to share with her.

“Colonel?”

A tired voice called to him, and Roy immediately lost his interest in the world outside. He turned, seeing the Lieutenant blink tiredly at him.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted, an air of concern about him. He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, and if she did, he knew she’d want to take over watch duties.

She shot him a small smile, placating his nerves somewhat. Pushing herself up into a seated position, the Lieutenant stretched her arms over her head.

“How’s the ankle?”

She grimaced, but only slightly. “Better now that I’ve taken my weight off it.”

That didn’t answer his question entirely. “Is there any pain?”

She was silent as she looked down at her legs. “It does throb every now and again. That’s what woke me up.”

Roy nodded, dismayed to hear she was in pain. If he could take it away, he would, but they didn’t have painkillers in their first aid kits. The only thing that would help was a support, which the Lieutenant had already put on after gently easing her boot off. She didn’t react to the angry red hue of her skin, but Roy felt his stomach tense. It hadn’t looked good. The compression support had been slipped on slowly, but Roy saw the way her eye twitched twice and how her jaw clenched while obviously trying to conceal any kind of pain.

“Why don’t you try and get a few hours sleep,” the Lieutenant offered. “I think I’ll be up for a while now.” She swung her legs around and to the floor, visibly wincing when her sore ankle contacted the floor. Another appeared when she tried to stand, but Roy quickly scrambled towards her.

“Please, stay seated,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

The Lieutenant shot him a strained smile. “That doesn’t bode well for us for tomorrow,” she quipped.

Roy opened his mouth to reply, but she was right. Still, hewas right. She shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.

“Regardless,” he admonished, placing his hands on her shoulders as a gentle restraint to keep her in place. “All the more reason to remain seated and keep resting it then, right?” Triumph flashed through him, and he smirked when the Lieutenant’s lips pursed, because she knew he was right.

“You can’t sleep on the floor, though,” she warned.

His shoulders fell in defeat, glancing down at the bed. His mind rejoiced with the idea that sprung into it, however it was so far out the realm of what was appropriate that it was completely out of the question.

Roy retracted his hands as the Lieutenant placed both hands by her sides and effortlessly slid herself backwards, so her back came to rest upon the stone wall behind her. She made herself comfortable and looked at him expectantly, patting the space beside her to indicate he should join her and sit.

Even if it wasn’t appropriate to share a bed with his Lieutenant, Roy only needed to take one look around them both and remember where they were. This day was already bizarre enough. What was one more occurrence to add to that list?

He wouldn’t particularly class it as sharing a bed with her either. They would both be sitting upright, looking out at the room, with considerable distance in place between them.

“We can take turns with the blanket,” she smirked as she handed it over.

Roy snorted lightly and gratefully received her offering. The room was warm enough with the fire but the stone behind his back still stubbornly clung to the icy temperatures from outside, refusing to accept the warmth they’d provided the room. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Roy settled back in place and made himself comfortable.

He woke with a start a few hours later. His head jerked upright and swung left and right, unseeing as he still tried to shake the vision from his dreams.

“Colonel? Colonel!”

He paused for a second, recognising the voice. It was from someone he thought he’d lost in his dream.

“Roy,” the Lieutenant called to him.

It was enough to surprise him, that it brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw his Lieutenant still seated next to him, eyes wide and concerned.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes were searching his, moving back and forth frantically as she scanned his face with worry.

“Yes,” he breathed, trying to get a hold of his racing heart to slow it down. He was all right. She was all right. They were safe. He gulped down air, trying to get enough into his lungs and take away the fear that had both restricted them and wrapped tightly around his heart. “Just… A bad dream.”

The Lieutenant nodded in understanding and patted his forearm. That was when Roy realised she didn’t remove it, and that it had been there the entire time.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roy shook his head. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Thank you, though,” he quickly added. “It was just… the usual,” he offered. The usual nowadays was him losing someone dear to him. The Promised Day had not been kind on his mind. To this day he still suffered, and he didn’t particularly want to relive it after it was so fresh. His reply was code enough that the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was referring to. They’d already been open about what their ‘usual’ nightmares consisted of nowadays.

As suspected, realisation dawned upon her features, and she nodded in sympathy.

“I… I need some time before I can sleep again,” he admitted. There was no shame in his voice though, not with her. Never with her. They were both very well acquainted with the reasons the other struggled to sleep. “You should try for a while.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. She gave his forearm a squeeze and again, she didn’t remove it. “Wake me if you need anything, all right?” She waited for him to verbally agree with her. Only once he did, did the Lieutenant’s eyes close.

Watching her do so caused Roy’s brow to furrow slightly in confusion.

She must have moved closer to him as he slept, because where there had been about two feet of distance between them before, there was now mere centimetres. Just enough distance for the Lieutenant’s head to loll and fall against his shoulder comfortably as she slept.

He’d been startled awake, so Roy hadn’t realised he’d initiated it. In sleep, his head had bowed and rolled to the side, seeking out her presence. After shifting closer, the Lieutenant had eased him from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head to lie upon her shoulder.

Now recovered from the turmoil of his dream, Roy smiled down at her and relished in the comfort her presence brought him. The weight of her head against him eased his mind and slowed his racing pulse. He could breathe easier with her lying against him. A peace washed over his body, relaxing his taught muscles, and soothing his very soul.

Despite their predicament, he was glad she was here with him.

The grip she had on his forearm loosened, so Roy snaked his hand over to it, hooking their fingers together and holding on tightly. The Lieutenant stirred next to him, disturbed from sleep.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

There was a brief pause with no reply, then the Lieutenant’s grip on him tightened and remained.

“Okay,” she exhaled peacefully. She moved next to him, shuffling closer, which Roy was more than happy to indulge in.

As she was lulled back to sleep, her grip on his hand slackened but Roy never let her go. He anchored himself to her.

They’d get through this and get home. Not that she’d allow it of course, but Roy would carry her through the snow with that ankle if need be to ensure their safety. It had been the day from hell professionally, however ending it with the two of them curled together on that uncomfortable bed, gripping onto one another, was not bad in the slightest. Roy thought that was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.

* * * * * * * *

Their luck must have finally been turning for the better, as that morning a group of hikers entered the bothy loudly, laughing and joking with one another, while Roy helped the Lieutenant strap up her ankle. They were offered food and directions to the nearest town, which was only two miles away. The group set off with them, insistent on offering their help and support, and even assisted the Lieutenant with some painkillers as well.

After the day of travel they’d had before, it brightened up both soldier’s moods somewhat as they set off again through the snowy northern landscape with their new company.

Thankfully, they didn’t come across any bears.

They made it to the town in one peace and called North City Headquarters for assistance. And also requested back up for that assistance.

Just in case.

[guro-giri-letters]

You think so? : Shigaraki x nurse reader!

- By Guro. ♡

/You’re a nurse at a recovery centre for villains, and you think you might be in love with one. Just a wholesome fluff fic! The VRC is an idea Sweets helped me come up with and I may write more things connected to it in the future! Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; brief description of medical procedure, Shigaraki being grumpy, (secret?) established couple, nurse, wholesome. ♡/

“Tomura, stay still please,” Shigaraki grumbles, but you can see his fingers trembling around the glass you gave him to sip from. You don’t even think he drinks, but anything to keep him occupied while you give him a few stitches is good enough.

Snipping the medical thread and leaning back, you study your handiwork and give yourself a nod. It’s not too bad, a medium-size wound curving over the back of his shoulder, but awkward as hell to stitch. It looks good, despite all of his fidgeting. If he doesn’t do anything too strenuous for a few days he should heal fine, you think, resting your palm against his bony back. You can feel the knots of his spine through his pale skin. He jolts in surprise and shivers a little, leaning back against the warmth of your palm. “There, you want something for the pain?”

“No. I’m fine,” he mutters in response, voice rough as stones stuck in car-tyres. He stares into his glass a moment before downing the last of its contents, clenching his teeth right after doing so. “Ugh.”

“How about some of that for me, nurse?” Dabi’s own gritty voice rattles across to you and you turn your head. He’s laid out on the table in the middle of the kitchen, being worked on by your co-worker. You shoot him a look from where you sit behind Shigaraki, rising and tucking your stool back under the breakfast bar. “Come on, I’m torn open here,” the burnt man continues. He’s not lying. The patch of purple prosthetic skin that wraps around his side and creeps over his stomach has torn at the seams quite badly, your co-worker currently stitching it all back into place. They glare at Dabi every time he moves, earning a cheeky grin back from the villain each time.

“I thought you could tough out a few stitches?” You tease, but you pull down the whiskey bottle and offer it to him anyway. He takes it over the top of your co-workers head and un-caps it, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“I can, but this is good- shit,” he hisses when the needle is dug in particularly hard, scowling at the nurse bent over him. “Asshole, you trying to kill me?”

“I wish, Dabi. I wish,” they mutter tiredly in reply.

“Stop the bickering, we’re all professionals here,” you chide them, pulling out a drawer and poking around until you find the tin that holds the medical staples. You pause, considering, and then pull out a container of pills as well. If Shigaraki won’t take pain relief you’ll at least give him something to help him sleep.

You work at the VRC. Yeah; Villains Recovery Center. It’s not much, just a small team of people with decent medical experience, funding, and a common hatred for hero society. You work out of a well-hidden and out of the way manor that doubles as your own and most of your co-workers main home. You’ve got a small apartment further into the city but honestly, you barely bother going back there anymore. You’ve found yourself a family here where you had no one before, and it feels good to help people that are out there doing the work you can’t.

Even if those people are often times ungrateful, grumpy, snarling villains. “I don’t want them!” Shigaraki snaps as you try, again, to get him to take the pills. “We’re not staying the night, I can’t take them. We’re on the move.”

“Not stay- yes, you are very much staying the night, and stop scratching!” You grasp his wrist and tug his hand away from his throat, ignoring the furious look he gives you as you grip his chin, tilting his head to inspect his neck. “I’m putting cream on this.”

“Get off.” He pulls his wrist back but you hang on to him, giving him a serious look. “What?”

“You’re all staying the night, Tomura, you need some proper sleep. Dabi’s in pieces and I’m pretty sure Spinner has a concussion,” the more you talk, the more the leader of the League of Villains deflates under your hands. By the time you’re done he’s slumped on his stool, still half-glaring but not really mad anymore. You know he’ll do the right thing for his group, you’ve known that since the first time they landed in needing your teams help. Shigaraki isn’t good at showing it, but he really does care for the little family he’s brought together. They hate it when you call them a family.

“Fine. We stay,” he rasps out eventually, looking up at you through his blood-flow gaze from where he sits. With no shirt on you can see how bony and thin he truly is, ribs and collarbones visible through paper-thin, raw skin. He almost looks delicate, you think, as you trace your fingers under his jaw and down his throat. Easy to break. Yet there’s so much power hidden inside of him. You can’t imagine being him... being Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of a war against a society of false idols.

His lips start to curl up at one corner, baring his teeth at you slightly. He’s happy to be admired by you in a more private setting, but your co-worker and Dabi’s eyes are two people too much it seems. “You’re staring, nurse.”

“Sorry,” you say quickly, because you genuinely hadn’t meant to. “Take your pills, let me get the cream for your neck.”

-

Shigaraki isn’t shy about undressing in front of you anymore. He had been once, yelling at you when you’d walked in on him naked as the day he was born. You know he was just embarrassed, self conscious. You’d made it very clear that, one, he shouldn’t yell at you if he liked receiving medical treatment. And two, you really didn’t care about his appearance or for that matter, find him ugly. All of his red, raw, scarred skin was just a part of him. Probably eczema or some other allergy. But you definitely didn’t find it ugly.

He strips off slowly, wincing any time he strains his stitches, and then shoves his clothes aside in a pile with his foot. “You want to have a shower?”

“No,” he sighs, sounding suddenly exhausted, scratching at his hip and stretching before shuffling toward the bed. You pull the covers back for him, your professionalism falling away, smiling thinly as he climbs under them a little awkwardly. “You baby all your villains this much?”

“Maybe I do,” you reply, pulling the covers up over him before he can do it himself, looking at his face. The look he’s giving you tells you he’s not amused. Quite the opposite, actually. He looks annoyed. “I’m kidding, Tomura. Only you get my VIP treatment.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

“Are you jealous? Seriously?”

“No.”

Angry now, he turns over and away from you to face the wall. You can’t help the smile that curves your lips even further, looking at the stitched up wound on his shoulder. Shigaraki knows you care about him, more than you should care about any of your ‘clients’, he just likes to huff. He jumps in surprise when you press a kiss against his shoulder, just above his stitches. “Hey...”

“Hmm, Tomura?” You pull back to look at him as he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“...Are you staying?” He asks, reaching a hand back to brush his knuckles over your cheek. You know what he means: Are you staying with him. How? How can this criminal, this villain, be so sweet all of a sudden?

You don’t even bother replying, just lean back from the bed and toe off your slippers. He watches over his shoulder as you undress down to your underwear, leaving your clothes in a heap next to his and climbing in. “Careful,” you murmur as he turns to face you, still wary of his stitches but it seems he’s already forgotten about them. When you’re both comfortable he just looks at you for a while, laying on his side as you lay on yours. Your lack of fear around him has always perplexed him. You lift your hand to his face slowly, smoothing the teal locks out of his eyes. He doesn’t flinch any more, he trusts you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” his rough voice is quiet in the empty room but he finally sounds calm, relaxed. You know there’s a lot of things he’d like to say to you, that he’d like to ask of you. He just doesn’t know how to. You don’t think people realise how young he is, how timid and inexperienced he can be. He’s not used to feeling cared for. Dabi likes to make terribly dirty jokes, about your relationship, about what the two of you get up to. Little does he know the most you’ve ever done is held each other. Touched each other’s faces and cuddled close when one of you needed to feel protected. Because you haven’t had an easy life either. No one hates heroes the way you do without a reason, and sometimes you need the comfort just as much as Shigaraki. You think he gets it, he knows.

You’ve kissed a few times, but it was all so gentle and... loving?

Are you in love?

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, red eyes that almost glow in the dark studying your face close. You flush a little under his intense gaze; are you that easy to read?

“Just... that I think I’m in love with a villain.” Why not be honest for once?

“That so?” The smile that pulls at the corners of his cracked lips for a moment is so genuine, your heart does a little trick in your chest. You nod, burying the side of your face against the sheets and peeking over at him. “Hm..”

“I don’t know how he feels though-“ you’re silenced by a chaste yet warm kiss on the lips, your eyes closing instinctively as you lean into it without hesitation. For a while you two just kiss, your hands coming up to hold his face as he manoeuvres his arms around you with care. When you do pull back pink and breathless you don’t go far, Shigaraki letting his forehead rest against your own gently.

“...I think- I think, he may love you too...” he replies, almost inaudibly but he may as well have yelled it with how close you both are. You feel your heart leap up into your throat, lips breaking into a grin despite your best effort to keep your face calm.

“You think so?” You whisper back and Shigaraki snickers, snickers, nodding and letting his nose bump against your own.

“I think so.”

[scienceoftheidiot]

In my move, I’m also moving all my drabbles, prompt answers and short stories with my OCs. Here’s an old one.

In case you don’t want to click on the link, the short story itself is right here under the cut.

No prompt for this one, I just wanted to write about friends being friends. Fluff time :)

Desden sat on his sofa with a contented sigh. He’d just come back from various errands after work, and was looking forward to a nice, relaxed evening. He was considering opening a bottle of fresh beer when his phone started ringing.

He’d swapped the automated voice for music for his closest friends and family, and Master of Puppets started playing instead – Farid. He had chosen his song himself – a privilege granted only to… well, only to him.

“Yeah? “Hey! You home?” Farid sounded very excited, which was surprising, coming from him. “Yeah. “Brilliant. Come down here, bro. I have something to show you!” This made Desden curious – but he wouldn’t admit it. Farid was usually a very laid back man, rarely prone to gushing. In fact, it was Desden who was known to be the most effusive of the two. Yet this sounded like Farid was very eager to share something.

Down would mean the basement, as Farid spent most of the time he had free from work or his children in there, repairing old toys or various appliances for the whole neighbourhood. This part of the basement was a common room for the people who lived in the building, but he had somehow made it his den, and people respected it, since he was doing all the reparations for free.

“Since when do you call me bro?” Desden frowned with a chuckle. “Since I hear it’s cool. “You spend too much time with children, you know that? “Maybe. Are you coming or do I have to come fetch you? “I just got home,” Desden whined. “Come ooooon! I really want to show you!”

Farid, his friend Farid, the one who was always so calm and contained… who was that? He sounded like his daughters. Desden smiled. But it was too funny not to play with it a little more. “Well, send me a pic. “That’s horrendously funny. One day I’ll do it and you’ll feel sorry for yourself. “I don’t do this, others do it for me quite well.    “Are you coming? Please? Desden had an exaggerated sigh, cut by a brief chuckle at his friend’s tone. “Yeah, alright. Coming. “Good.” Farid hung up.

Desden groaned. He decided he didn’t need Kalinka to get down a few set of stairs, and left her in the flat. He still took his foldaway cane, more by reflex than anything else, put it in his jeans back pocket, locked the door and got down.

The door to the basement was immediately to the left at the bottom of the stairs, and he pushed it, welcomed by a sharp “STOP!” from Farid.

“What?” Desden just stood there, in the half opened door. “There’s a toy just there. One of the girls left it, I didn’t notice. Here,” Farid handed him a light object, “Hold it for me, please. Curiously feeling the object, Desden discovered a small plastic horse, its mane and tail irremediably tangled in a coarse mess. “And now? “Just stay there, let me push a few things away. Where’s your dog? “I told you I just came home. Couldn’t be arsed. I don’t need her just to go to the basement.

“Fair enough”, Farid let out between two grunts. “Here we go !” There was a broad smile in Farid’s voice.

“Can I come in now, then? “Yeah.” Farid losely rubbed his hands to get rid of dust, and walked up to his friend to pat his shoulder as a greeting. He then stayed close, guiding him without much contact needed, in this small place. It was something that had become natural between the two. And there wasn’t much to guide him towards – the thing he wanted to show him was just there, he just had to extend his arm. “How much of a mess can this place be, that you’re all over me like that? “It’s not that messy. “Yeah, sure.” Desden let the last word drag. Laurence probably never set a foot in that place, lest she had a heart attack. “So,” Desden asked, fiddling with the toy horse in his hands, “Where’s your awesome thing? “Gimme back that horse before you break it. It’s not ready yet.” Farid talked, fast, excitation palpable in his voice yet again. He took the toy from Desden’s hands. “We won’t be able to use it until I fix it for good, but once it is, I think we’ll have a blast. “What the hell is this?

“Feel for yourself, it’s on your left. Arm’s lenght.”

Farid watched as Desden extended his arm, a quizzical frown on his face, and as he found the thing. “This? “Yup. “I have no idea what that would be, and I’m afraid, now.” Desden let out with a laugh. “You’re just no fun. “Okay, okay, I’ll look better, wait.”

Desden had touched a metallic thing, like a horizontal pipe. He moved his hands along it, towards the left, and realized he was also following thin cables, that lead to… “Handlebars.” Desden sighed. “That’s a bike. You want me to bike? “Look better. “What, is it a self driving bike?” He muttered, puzzled. What about a bike would be interesting for him? Not much. But he trusted Farid, who was definitely not the kind to make bad jokes at his expense, so he dutifully continued, and turned to the right.

He moved quicker now and felt the seat, and then… another set of handlebars. The bike then continued to another seat.

“Oh, shit!” He let his hands fall to his sides and took a step away, a smile on his face. He knew what this was, but wouldn’t have expected it. Not after all this time.

“Told you it was cool! “You just bought a fucking tandem!” Desden couldn’t help but grin. In fact, he felt like jumping around. “When was the last time we talked about this? Years ago?” Desden now was as excited as Farid. He moved a lot while talking, and when one of his hands accidentally bumped into Farid’s shoulder, he quickly pulled him into a short hug. “This is bloody fantastic.” Farid laughed, giving into the hug and patting his friend’s shoulder again. “I can’t wait to try it. How come you found one? “Well, I’ve been looking for a cheap one for years… you’re not exactly helping, being that tall.” Farid gave a mock tap on Desden’s head. “Oddly enough most of the ones I found were… “women” sized. “Women” in brackets. Small ones. “Yeah, I got that. Not that it meant it was pink or else. “Would it bother you? “If it was? Nah, your daughters would love it. In fact we should paint it pink. “Sold. I can do a quick paint job – it’s a pretty ugly, fading blue for now. I need to change the tyres, the brakes… but it cost me ten euros, so…” Desden clapped his hands. “I don’t know what to say. This is great. Except, you know it’s been nearly ten years I haven’t been on a bike, right? “Well, we’ll finally be able to test that thing that says you never forget it, I guess. “And balance wise…” Desden walked to the bike again, placing his hand on the seat, thinking. Farid clicked his tongue, then replied:    “We should try, don’t you think? And if it doesn’t work, once it’s repaired I’ll be able to sell it for a lot more than ten euros. I don’t think it’s a bad investment, do you? “Nah, I’m just… I hope it works, is all. “It will, I’m sure. We need to find a place where we’ll be left alone to train, that’s it. I’ll look around, see if I can find something. “I’ll buy a good helmet, too.” Desden ran one of his hands through his hair, stopping and resting a short moment at the back of his head.“Maybe I’ll get two. My present for you in exchange. “Not too fond of head traumas, are you? “Eeeeh, strangely, not. I know, I’m full of surprises.” They both had a short laugh. Then Desden turned away from the bike.

“Thank you. It’s really a great idea, and I can’t wait to try.” Desden nodded to himself, then added: “You’re alone tonight? “At least until the girls come back, so probably until dinner. “Good. Come have a beer, my bro .”

[formula365]

The race of fairytales - Sakhir GP review

We have a tendency to see ourselves as the heroes in our life’s story. It’s only natural, after all: we can see things only through our own eyes, no matter how empathetic we are to other people’s struggles. And we always hope our life’s story will be like one of the fairytales we are told as children growing up. We want to be the hero that slays the dragon and saves the princess. This is how we see ourselves.

It never occurs to us that we might just be supporting characters in someone else’s fairytale.

In fairness to George Russell, anyone in the situation he found himself this weekend would have seen themselves at the centre of the story. After toiling at the back of the grid in one of the slowest cars in F1, the young Brit was thrust into the multiple world champions embrace, in what surely must have felt like a dream. And as the weekend progressed and he saw himself first fighting with Bottas for pole, and then comfortably leading the race, he could see that fairytale ending ahead of him: a maiden win on his debut for Mercedes.

It could not have occurred to him in that moment that this would, in the end, not be his fairytale, and he was just a member of the supporting cast in someone else’s dream weekend. We should have all seen it coming when he admitted he had to wear boots one size too small in order to fit in the car. After all, if the shoe didn’t fit, Russell could not be Cinderella.

In the end, it turned out to be a day - another one - for the man without a job for next year. Sergio Perez has a knack for snatching podiums when others fall apart around him. Like an opportunistic striker praying on any mistake by the defenders, he seemed to always be the guy to clinch an unexpected spot on the rostrum when the big teams couldn’t keep it together. With two thirds of the race done on Sunday, it looked like this would be the case again, as Verstappen had crashed on lap one, and Albon couldn’t match the pace of those ahead of him.

But then, the fairytale began. In a twist worthy of a Hollywood movie, it was the driver who replaced George Russell at Williams who set about changing the course of history and deny the 22-year-old his happy end. Jack Aitken crashed, the safety car came in and Mercedes screwed up big time in the pit lane. All of a sudden, Checo was no longer on course for a podium; he was leading the Grand Prix.

Russell, as any hero in any story, took this adversity as a challenge and set about righting this perceived wrong. He made mince meat of Bottas, Stroll and Ocon and started pushing hard in pursuit of the Mexican, who had built a cushy gap to those behind. But fate, taking the form of a puncture, denied us the final battle between the two heroes; and so it was that the man who was last on the first lap ended up first on the last lap.

You would be hard pressed to find any F1 fan begrudge Perez his maiden win, even amongst Russell supporters. The Mexican is one of the nicest people on the paddock, and has worked hard all his career in midfield cars to achieve an impressive trophy cabinet. For someone who never had a truly front-of-the-grid car, his results have always been above average. And now that, for once, he was given a truly competitive car, he has made the most of it. He will be best of the rest in the championship even after missing two races.

And he will be doing that after being ousted from the team that he helped save just a year and a half ago. Just before the Mugello weekend, he was told he wouldn’t be racing for them anymore. Many drivers would have been gutted by such news, but he refused to feel sorry for himself. That announcement marked a turning point for him, with results going onwards and upwards ever since.

With a little bit more luck, he would have been on the podium in the last four races. Even if the results didn’t always reflect his performance (that P7 in Portugal does not do him justice) he made clear on track that he deserved more. After overcoming one of the biggest adversities he could face - losing his dream job - he rose even stronger and fought back. Just like a hero in a fairytale.

Talking points * For a couple of the drivers, they must have felt they were living the opposite of a fairytale. Bottas, in particular, had a dreadful Sunday. Beaten by his young teammate off the line, he was not capable of matching his pace at any point and after the tyre mix-up start falling down the order. Even with older tyres, though, he should have been able to defend against much slower cars. This was a poor performance, and Russell’s incredible race only sheds light on how poor Bottas’ was. He must feel his place at Mercedes will be at risk, at least for 2022. The other driver with a reverse fairytale was Albon. Yes, he improved from P12 on the grid to P6 at the flag, but four of those places were due to crashes and the Mercedes shenanigans in the pit lane. Worse than that, Perez’ blitzing drive from the back exposed how little progress the Thai driver made through the race. The Mexican did exactly what Red Bull expects from their second driver: picking up the pieces when the Mercedes are not in contention. * George Russell might not have had the fairytale ending he was dreaming of, but he nevertheless made clear he is made of star stuff. He couldn’t have hoped for a better stake on a 2022 seat at Mercedes, and one has to wonder if Toto Wolff will have been secretly happy that he has made such a statement. After all, it might make what otherwise would be a very difficult decision much, much easier. * Russell might not have gotten his maiden podium, but there was another debutant there. Esteban Ocon didn’t have the most remarkable of races, but made the most of the opportunity. He couldn’t hold Perez or Russell behind, but did just enough to cling at the front, and when other frontrunners had problems, he was there to take advantage. It must have been a relief for him after such an inconsistent year, marked by multiple mechanical failures. It gives him a much needed confidence boost for 2021. * With the Frenchman, there have now been 13 different drivers on the rostrum, in just 16 races. And all it took was for one of the front three teams to have a bad car for the opportunities to open up. * Lance Stroll was also up there, but felt that, just like in Monza, P3 should have maybe been P1. He certainly put in the hard work, having done half of the race in a set of softs, when everybody else didn’t risk running more than 15 laps or so on similar tyres. His second stint, however, was not strong enough to compete with his teammate or even to get close to Ocon in what should be a slower car. The Canadian has shown some good pace at times but is still missing the killer instinct to turn these opportunities into wins. * Daniil Kvyat is definitely making the most of the (probably) last races of his F1 career. The Russian had another strong weekend, and although he admitted he could have finished higher than P7, he was still clear of his teammate in P11. A strong end of the season will go some way in helping him find a future outside of F1. * The rookies did ok. Aitken qualified pretty close to his teammate and was on course to finishing ahead of Raikkonnen when he had his crash, but still recovered to beat the other rookie. Fittipaldi was never close to matching Magnussen and didn’t have the race pace to compete with anyone, but for someone who hadn’t race in over a year, he did reasonably well. The Brazilian is sure of having another shot in Abu Dhabi, and it will be interesting to see if he can get closer to the rest of the field after his first outing this weekend.

[blahblahwritings]

Body of a Goddess.

A/N: A Billy Russo request with a reader who is insecure about her body! Hope you like it. 

Words: 1574.

Warnings: Swearing, Gross comments about weight, PlusSize!Reader if that even constitutes as a warning. Alcohol Mentions.

Business was booming. Patrons were buzzed, shots were being poured and music was rattling the windows. Working at the bar brought you a sense of joy, you knew the regulars, could handle trouble and the boss was more than happy to let you run things considering he owned about ten other bars and had a very nice penthouse in the city. He could care less as long as he makes his money. That wasn’t to say you and the other girls didn’t get good pay, he was rich but he wasn’t a dick.

This guy, however, was.

“Sweetheart, can you pour me and my friends another round?” He slurred, his attempt as a wink turning into an awkward blink as his eyes raked over you. Regardless, you did as he asked, filling three small glasses with a dark liquid, pushing them towards him. He caught your wrist as you went to move to the register. “I’d like to get a little something else from you after you finish too, if you wouldn’t mind.” Snatching your arm from his grip, you grimaced making your disgust evident then turned, wordlessly. “Fine, fucking fat ugly bitch.” He sneered, taking the drinks and stumbling through the crowd.

The words hurt but it wasn’t something you were new to hearing. Drunks often tried to flirt and a majority would be nice enough when you turned them down but others… others spat insults after a hit to their fragile ego. You had learned to ignore them, mostly, so you carried on with your night. Shots, cocktails, pints you name it you poured it and the rest of your shift ran smoothly.

When it got to around 3am, it began to empty and the girls started to tidy the mess. Glasses, spilled drinks, vomit, the usual. Last call was half an hour ago and you were wiping down the bar when the same guy from earlier fell forwards, barely catching himself on the counter.  “Can I have one las’ drink, darlin’?” It took you a little while to decipher what he’d asked between the southern accent that had made itself more prominent now he was trashed and the fact he couldn’t coordinate his tongue enough to form full words. Once you figured it out you simply rolled your eyes.

“I think you’ve had enough, buddy. How about I call you a ride home?” You offered despite his earlier rudeness. His eyes couldn’t even stay focussed on you, his head wobbling as if his neck couldn’t hold the weight. “Only if you’re coming back with me.” At this, you sighed, signalling Perry, the security guard to escort the guy out. “There’ll be a taxi outside in a little while.” You said, the man fighting against the fact he was being dragged away by someone twice his size as he struggled against his hold. More foul words spewed from his mouth, not unlike before until the door slammed behind him.

Another half hour passed before you were ready to close and you sent everyone on their way home, the girls and Perry included. Rolling down the shutters and locking up, you turned on your heel to begin walking to your car. It was freezing, your breath coming out in small clouds as you wrapped your jacket tighter around you. Mid-December in New York always brought two things, plenty of business and an icy chill.

Rounding the corner, you picked your keys out of your bag, unlocking the car as you got closer. Unfortunately you didn’t quite make it that far before someone hurled you into the alleyway behind the bar. You were quick to retaliate, your self-defence lessons not lost on you as you kicked the attacker, causing him to double over. This gave you the chance to stand and you stared, wild-eyed as the adrenaline kicked in. Feet shoulder-width apart, left shoulder facing opponent means a smaller target, dominant hand behind gives more momentum and power. The man didn’t stand again in a hurry, instead, a pool of vomit burst from his mouth, steam rising from it in the cold. He wiped away the leftover trail from his chin with the back of his hand before rising to his full height again. It was the same fucking guy.

You relaxed only slightly, knowing he was probably far too drunk to do much of anything. Staggering towards you, he gripped your coat at the chest and you landed a solid hit to his jaw. It made him falter for a moment before he returned the hit with a backhanded slap, sending you to your knees.

“Stupid cunt, you should’ve just let me have my way with you. I asked nicely but no, your disgusting fat ass isn’t even worth the fight.” He growled, chest heaving. He approached your position on the floor, towering over you as you tried to blink the double vision away. The pain flooded your face but you swiped his shaking legs from under him, taking the moment to sprint out the alley and down the street.

You called the only number you could think of calling in that moment and heard his sleepy voice after the first few rings.

“Babe? What's wrong, will your car not start again? I told you I’d buy yo-” You cut him off with a panicked explanation of what happened and he was on his way in seconds. You kept running, not taking the chance that the asshole would catch up to you. Tyres screeching broke you from your instinct to keep going and you whipped your head around. Relief crashed over you in waves as you recognised Billy’s car. He parked beside you so suddenly that had you been in the car you swear you would have whiplash.

Breaths came out in small ragged puffs, desperate to fill your lungs with air. You weren’t sure how far you’d ran but it was easily a few blocks. His hands found your face, concern etched into his features as he brought your eyes to meet his own. Concern turned to rage as he spotted your split lip that you hadn’t even felt in the rush to get away.

“That bastard I swear to god I’m gonna tear him apart for ever laying a finger on you.” He spat, teeth gritted. Stopping in his path as you buried your head into his chest, he wrapped his arms around you as the adrenaline faded and you began to sob. You had dealt with angry patrons verbally before but never physically, Perry always made sure of that. Billy’s chin rested on the top of your head, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to comfort you, anger slowly ebbing away. “Let’s get you home, c’mon, baby.” He cooed, opening the passenger side door for you.

--

Upon arriving at his place, he took your coat and brought you a cup of your favourite tea and some biscuits. You were sat on the sofa, curled up in his lap but he knew something was still off. You’d refused the sweet treats, opting just for the tea and you had tensed up as he dragged you onto his legs.

“Sweetheart, something else is bothering you, I can tell.” He whispered, tucking a stray strand of unruly hair behind your ear. His lips placed soft pecks wherever he could reach, brows furrowed as he waited for you to open up to him.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Your voice wavered and you couldn’t meet his eyes. You had always been a bigger girl. High School was rough for you and plenty of people still made comments about your size with their transparent concern for your health. Over the years you had learned to shrug it off, practising self-love and acceptance was the biggest fuck you to it all but there were still bad days.

Billy reeled back, not prepared for such a question, the nature of which, to him, was absurd.  “God, of course not, is that what it is? Did that guy say something to you about your weight?” He asked gently, hands moving to rest at your sides. You flinched away from his touch and that was all the answer he needed. Taking the cup from you and placing it on the coffee table, he pinched your chin so you were forced to look at him.

“You are the most beautiful woman to me, you have the body of a goddess and no I’m not exaggerating. Sculptors would have been glad to make something in your image. I adore every inch of this body, you’re soft and warm and it's exactly what I need.” He started, hands cupping the sides of your face. “Your cheeks are perfect for kissing, your arms give the best hugs, your stomach makes for a great pillow and my god you know your thighs drive me insane. There is not a part of you that I don’t love and that lowlife doesn’t deserve a second of your time if he doesn’t realise you’re the hottest, most gorgeous woman he has ever crossed paths with.” A stray tear fell from your eye at his words, a genuine smile on your face. You sniffled and he brought his lips to meet yours in a tender yet passionate kiss. His hands returned to your hips, stroking the skin underneath your shirt.

“Now, come shower with me and I’ll show you just what I think of your body.”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Combat Baby

A/N  If I’m going to post a Jamie POV chapter, it’s only fair that I post a Claire POV chapter as well, right?  This is a pre-quel to the Metric Universe, set shortly before The Beginning.  All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Metric that inspired the title and a few lines is here.

The emotional whiplash made her ears buzz with static.  This morning, she had been Claire Beauchamp, A&E nurse and girlfriend of Frank Randall.  Tonight, she was Claire Beauchamp, unemployed homewrecker.

More than the violent fracture that sundered her relationship into two (or was it three?) crippled pieces, more than the indignity of having her personal drama exposed to the hospital administrators, even more than finding herself suddenly homeless with a cheque for four weeks’ severance lying wrinkled in the pocket of her purse, the cut that stung the most was her utter lack of judgment.  How could she have been so blindly misled?

She’d met Frank at work.  He was a gifted surgeon at University College Hospital, urbane and grounded in a way that promised to anchor her in an adulthood that still fit like a borrowed shoe.  His pursuit felt like a badge of merit and an easy detour around the chaotic dating scene her fellow twenty-somethings frequented.  Within three weeks they were sleeping together, and only two months later she was moving the three boxes and two suitcases that represented the entirety of her worldly possessions into his Fitzrovia flat.  It had been easy.  It had been comfortable.  It had been an utter sham.

Sleeping off a series of night shifts in the skim milk light flooding their king-sized bed, she’d woken to the sound of a key in the door.  Frank was away, attending one of the medical symposiums at which he was frequently asked to present.  She barely had time to sit up in the luxurious linens before a small, dark-haired woman flew into the room.

“Where is he?” the intruder yelled.

“I beg your pardon?” Claire replied, pulling the duvet towards her neck defensively.  “I don’t... get out of my flat!  At once!”

“Your flat?”  The woman cackled like this was the best joke she’d ever heard, all while opening the doors to the closet, peering into the ensuite bathroom.  “Your flat?!  This flat than doesn’t belong to you any more than that bastard does.  You’ve got a nerve, you fucking whore!”

“I... there’s been some mistake.  You need to leave.  I don’t know who you think I am, but I can assure you this is my home.  I live here with my boyfriend...”

“Frank Randall,” the woman interrupted with a cruel twist of her lips. “You selfish, stupid girl, you have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Claire could feel her body start to shake, an earthquake of realization spreading from her limbs to her brain.  She’d never met this woman before, but she had one thing right: she was a very selfish, stupid girl.

The story that emerged had the sordid intricacy of a soap opera.  The woman, Amelia Randall, had been married to Frank for nearly ten years.  They’d met at Oxford.  When his job took him to London, she’d stayed behind in Oxfordshire, where Frank visited as often as his brilliant career allowed.   Amelia had known he was unfaithful, of course, and had chosen to remain married to him, dishonourable man that he was.  But when word reached her that he was actually living with one of his young mistresses, an invisible line had been crossed.  

“I don’t care for my own sake.  He can fuck whoever he wants.  But I have children to think of, and I’ll be damned if you get your claws on their inheritance...”

Children.  Frank had children.  Small people who looked forward to his visits, briefcase stuffed with toys or special treats.  Little rosebud lips that called him Daddy.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked into the duvet, now twisted tightly in her fists as she rocked senseless back and forth.  “I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry.”

***

She had no recollection of how she came to be at the hospital.  There was a swirling black fog that threatened to pull her down into a hellscape that lived in the corners of her memory.  It sucked the air from her throat and replaced it with burning acid, the taste of bile painting the back of her tongue.

She had one coherent thought - she wasn’t going quietly.  If the perfect world she had assembled turned out to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors, then she was laying waste to it with her own hands.

Frank’s car, a vintage burgundy Aston Martin, was parked in his reserved space in the doctor’s lot.  Popping open the boot, she grabbed the tyre iron, and then she began to swing.  She didn’t stop until two security guards dragged her away, her feet scuffing and kicking the floor and every vulgar word in her extensive vocabulary echoing off the concrete ceiling of the car-park.

***

It took the head nurse less than thirty minutes to obtain and print her letter of severance.  In that same time Claire slowly drifted back into herself.  She was appalled at her actions, but the damage was done.  There was a small kernel of satisfaction in imagining Frank’s face when he caught sight of his beloved car.

Leaving the hospital, she wandered aimlessly amidst the bright bustle of London in springtime.  She found herself at the London Zoo.  Sitting on a bench watching the lions pace relentlessly in their fabricated environment, she finally broke down.  She sobbed bitterly until her brow felt like iron and her guts like sand.  

Eventually, she opened her phone and scrolled through her contacts.  She had a small circle of acquaintance in London, but they all knew Frank.  Her family was all dead.  Childhood friends were scattered about the globe.  She hesitated over one name: Geillis Duncan.  They had been good friends in nursing school, but hadn’t kept in touch over the past two years.  Geillis had never met Frank.  She was a feisty and outspoken Scot with a personality as large as her carefully disguised generous heart.  Claire closed her eyes and dialed.

***

“Ye ken ye can stay as long as ye need, Claire.  The spare room is yers.”

She’d returned to Frank’s flat only long enough to stuff her clothes and a few precious objects into her suitcases, then taken the Tube to Spittalfields, a gritty neighbourhood as far from Fitzrovia as the moon.  Geillis had welcomed her with open arms and a full bottle of whisky, which they were steadily emptying as Claire spilled her story all over the well-worn pine floors.

“Thanks, Geil, but it’s just for a few days.  Just until I figure out what to do with myself.”  She was already slurring her words, the combination of lack of sleep, no food and strong liquor hitting her square between her golden eyes.

“Nae rush.  I cannae believe ye took an iron tae that bawbag’s car, ye wee fierce thing.  I wouldna want tae fight you.”

They lapsed into silence.  Claire’s mind was a rushing torrent, with images and thoughts slipping from view before she could grasp onto them.  She kept hearing Amelia Randall’s voice, laced with pity.  You selfish, stupid girl.  She’d been so certain she knew who she was, but now everything was tainted with doubt.  It would take time and distance to find herself again; to excavate down to her bones, where everything was true.  She would throw her youthful self on the pyre of redemption, and stand by while it burned.  It was what she deserved.

“I know what I’m going to do,” she announced out loud, half-forgetting Geillis sat nearby.

“Wha’s that, hen?” her friend asked.

“I’m going to volunteer.  As a combat nurse.  In Afghanistan.”