#the notion of a never-ending journey

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

At least they kept her in the will, Randall thought somewhat bitterly to himself-for all that was raw between the two generations, he supposed it was still good that they still kept her in the proverbial loop, allowing her to use her inheritance to take care of herself, to live a comfortable life, at the very least. He was just sorry that that freedom had to come with such heartbreak.

And what was even worse to him was it seemed as if there was no one she could turn to in her time of need: No other family members, no close friends, no one she could lean on-she had to face all of that alone? He felt his heart break at that notion, and he found himself wishing he could've met her sooner, so that perhaps he could've eased her loneliness, her heartache.

"I...I'm so sorry, Emily," he said, after for a long moment struggling to get the words out, as he squeezed the paintbrush in his hand, before setting it down (out of a fear he may squeeze it too hard and snap it in half). He looked up at her, olive-green eyes gentle, and he wanted dearly to hug her close, to take her into his arms and chase away these painful memories, but he showed hesitance, unsure if it was too forward of him...

[prokopetz]

Concept: tabletop RPG set in one of those allegorical brainfuck high school settings where the educational system is a metaphor for patriarchy or fascism or whatever the fuck, except the players take on the roles of regular background students who are just there to learn math. The protagonist of the notional cartoon series they inhabit is a rarely glimpsed background character whose journey of personal revelation is inscrutable and often absurd to the player characters, whose own goal is simply to survive to the end of the semester. Each scenario is obliquely based on the premise of the current "episode", which is not explained, like everybody wakes up as bears one day, then next week they're back to normal and never find out why.

[drfruitcake]

Matcha

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (language and smut) Word count: ~17,000 Tags: slow burn, slight plot but mostly just an excuse for eventual smut, slight age gap, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, friends to lovers, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, meet the parents, reader insert, no y/n, 2nd person POV, no beta

Summary: It's Thanksgiving and you're en route to introduce your boyfriend, Dr. Robby, to your parents for the first time. Though you're nervous about their reaction to your age difference, you reflect on the journey of your relationship and how proud you are to call him yours.

Notes: Reader is a 35-year-old psych doc. Dr. Robby is 50. This takes place a year after S1 ends. I never know if I should refer to him as Michael or Robby, but Michael just feels so weird to me. Also, I am not a doctor or any type of medical professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies. Thanks to all who take the time to read!

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Nope, not like this.

Bringing a boyfriend home to meet your parents was supposed to be thrilling. And truthfully, it was. You adored your boyfriend and you were proud of him. After years of a slow-burn back-and-forth, the two of you finally breached the boundaries of the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ whispers within the curious confines of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

So yes, you were excited to introduce your man to your parents, and they were excited to meet him, too. After all, you hadn’t introduced them to a boyfriend in nearly two decades, since you were sixteen. They’d spent years patiently waiting on you to finish med school and acclimate to your career. Now, they were ready to see you settle down and start a family. They were both newly retired and itching for grandchildren. 

But they didn’t know your boyfriend was closer to them in age than he was to you.

You, personally, didn’t view it as a problem. It wasn’t a scandalous age gap. Your boyfriend was experienced, mature, and over the performative bullshit that often accompanied relationships. He was open, honest and blunt about what he wanted, not to mention he was in therapy now, something most men your age avoided like the plague. He made you feel safe and secure, valued and loved. Most importantly, you couldn’t get enough of each other.

So yes, you loved your boyfriend. But you weren’t sure your parents would love the notion of their 35-year-old daughter dating a 50-year-old man.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland was quiet at first. You insisted on driving – you enjoyed it and you knew where you were going, you claimed. In truth, you hoped focusing on the roads would prevent you from dwelling too deep within your own insecurities.

The roads swished with steady traffic beneath grey skies as other travelers headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday. You promised your mother you’d arrive by 2 p.m. Dinner was planned for 4 p.m., and then you’d spend the night at your parents’ house before returning to Pittsburgh in the morning.

It all seemed so simple. The plans were in place, your parents were happily awaiting your arrival, and you were smitten with the man sitting beside you. But your brain buzzed with anxious energy.

Your parents were good people – kind, friendly and hard-working. They ensured you got into med school and supported your decision to specialize in psych, rather than become a primary care physician like they’d hoped. And when you’d decided to remain in Pittsburgh rather than return to Cleveland to work, they remained supportive.

But they were still old-school, set in a particular way of doing things. Your dad was protective and your mom still worried far too much about what others thought. And now, you were worried over what they’d think. 

There was no reason for them to dislike your boyfriend beyond your age gap. He was handsome and humble, but sharply intelligent and competent. Most importantly, he adored you. But you weren’t sure your parents would be able to see past the 15 years that separated you. They’d surely wonder what a 50-year-old man was doing with you.

Sometimes you wondered that, too. There was the obvious – you were pretty. And you were sharp as hell, often deemed snarky and sarcastic by your friends, but also one of the smartest people in every room. You were the classic honor student turned doctor, but that of course meant you’d ignored much of the social life you should have had in your 20s. Dating wasn’t your expertise. You were more of the girl who went home with men and forgot to call them back. But while others looked at you as the boring, albeit brilliant, workaholic, your boyfriend saw someone who understood the sacrifices required of a career in health care.

You knew your parents would also wonder what you saw in him. The short answer was everything, but you also knew few people understood your boyfriend the way you did. Others saw a man who could be gruff and moody. You saw a man who merely wanted to save as many people as possible, even if it meant sacrificing his own best interests. But you were helping him work on that.

Others also wondered why you didn’t date someone your own age, who didn’t carry as much emotional baggage, or who better aligned with your generational interests. You saw a man who didn’t lie or cheat, who didn’t waste your time or his, and who preferred to catch a ballgame than catch an STI at the club.

The two of you were simpatico, a match meant only for your understanding. You brought light to his darkness, but you never tried to extinguish it. You didn’t view him as someone who needed fixing. You embraced him exactly as he was, with hopes that seeing and accepting him would help him find comfort in you.

With twenty minutes remaining in your drive, the soft sounds of Springsteen wafting from the car speakers, you snuck a sideways glance. Though the two of you often sat in peaceful silence, your boyfriend was fidgeting with the strap of his seatbelt. His eyes remained forward, but it was clear he wasn’t actually observing anything.

“Robby,” you said gently, your eyes glinting with warm amusement. “You alright?”

His eyes shifted toward yours and he offered you a reassuring smile.

“Oh yeah, I’m good,” he said. You turned your head slightly to offer him a pointed stare, your eyes quickly returning to the road.

“Liar.” You smirked sideways at him and he chuckled.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured. “This is just…”

“Weird,” you finished. “It’s weird.”

“You said it, not me.”

It was your turn to chuckle softly. “I know,” you said sincerely. “I know it’s weird. Trust me, this was not on my life’s bingo card.”

“What, you mean to tell me the teenage version of yourself never envisioned bringing a 50-year-old boyfriend home to Mom and Dad?”

You laughed. “The teenage version of myself was supposed to end up marrying the lead singer of My Chemical Romance.”

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Robby said. “Your vinyl collection is atrocious.”

“Says the man who only owns Springsteen albums.”

“Hey, respect your elders.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips curved upward in a smile. “They’ll love you, you know,” you said encouragingly. 

“I still think you should have disclosed some of the more important details,” Robby muttered.

“I did disclose the important details,” you noted. “I told them you’re an ER doc at Pitt Trauma, that you’ve never been married, no kids and no criminal background.”

“Just not the part where I’m only twelve years younger than your dad.”

“And you’re only fifteen years older than me. It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “It’s not like this is a Bill Belichick situation.”

“Isn’t your dad a Browns fan?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like I’d be better off as Belichick.”

You heaved a sigh, though you’d be lying if you said you weren’t entertained. After all, this was a predicament of your own doing, so you might as well learn to laugh through the discomfort. Not that you’d intended to fall for the ER’s senior attending in the first place. 

Your crush on Dr. Robby developed long before you had any idea you’d end up working in the same hospital as him long-term. 

You first met him in the Pitt Trauma ER during your clinical rotations, where you quickly decided you weren’t interested in emergency medicine. Still, you developed a close bond with the ER staff and grew to view many of them like family. Once you’d decided on psych, you desperately wanted a residency at Pitt Trauma to remain close to them.

But even after you completed your residency and cemented your spot on staff within the Pitt Trauma psychiatric care team, you never predicted you’d find love within the hospital’s walls, too. After your residency, you opened up more to dating. You swiped your way through apps, stumbled home with men from bars and even let Dana set you up with a family friend.

Dates came and went, some stuck around for weeks, even months. You even had a three-month fling with Dr. Shen that fizzled when you discovered him following far too many models on Instagram.

But you never envisioned yourself in a months-long relationship with Dr. Robby of all people. You’d always admired him from afar, a schoolgirl-type crush in which you often daydreamed of pulling him into a supply closet for a hook-up, but never thought you’d learn what he eats for breakfast or what brand of deodorant he buys.

But your attraction stemmed from more than mere physical desire. You felt pulled to him. He was confident and commanding, respected and revered. Even when you made it clear you weren’t interested in pursuing emergency medicine, Robby taught you things few students had the opportunity to learn. And when you revealed you were interested in psych, he ensured you were included in all of the interesting psych cases.

You respected the hell out of Dr. Robby. The gentle banter and attraction for him were merely bonuses, as far as you were concerned.

But once you began visiting the ER for psych consultations and were no longer under his direct supervision, your chemistry with Dr. Robby ignited from a simmer to a rapid, rolling boil.

Your colleagues noticed, no matter how much you insisted on the contrary. Meanwhile, you remained convinced Dr. Robby remained clueless. But he heard the whispers, too. He shrugged off inquisitive remarks from Dana and Dr. Abbot, stifled the jealousy that shredded his insides when you dated Dr. Shen, and did his best to maintain a respectful and professional distance.

The night at the bar was the first time the two of you approached the edge, the near-tipping point into something you couldn’t claw your way back from. 

Trinity convinced you to go, insisting that most of the ER day shift would be there. So you tagged along and spent the first portion of the night laughing and drinking with your old friends.

You enjoyed catching up with them, nostalgic for your time spent in the trenches of The Pitt, while your eyes occasionally swept toward the TV airing the Pirates game above the bar. You were simply checking the score, you told yourself. You were most certainly not glancing at Robby, who stood at the opposite end of the bar with Frank Langdon.

But as the night progressed, so did the confidence in some random bar bro who offered to buy you drinks. You kindly thanked him for the offer and said no, but he lingered. You could feel his eyes clinging to you the entire evening, like a predator biding his time.

Typically your friends would have your back and tell the guy to fuck off. Typically you would, too.

But Samira was working late, Cassie was with her son and Trinity was too busy trying to beat Mateo on the skee-ball machine. And an incident a few weeks prior hovered in the back of your mind. 

You were in line at a coffee shop when a man struck up a conversation with you. You were polite and friendly, perhaps too much, because by the time you left the shop, he asked you to dinner. And when you said no, he called you a “fucking tease” and a “waste of time,” vowing that someday, women like you would "pay for your bullshit behavior.”

So when the bro at the bar moved in again, the smell of liquor and cigarettes smothering your senses as he tried to ask about your Penguins sweatshirt, you seized an opportunity as Robby happened to emerge from the bathroom.

“There you are!” you squealed, making a quick beeline toward him, leaving the bro with your vacated barstool. You tossed your arms around Robby’s neck and he froze, his eyes wide in confusion and lips lopsided in an amused smile. “Babe, it was the longest day without you!”

“Uh, you too,” Robby managed, his posture rigid. Neither of you could believe you were that close. You silently thanked the gods that Robby was sharp enough to catch on to what was happening.

“Babe, let’s go out back to the patio and have a smoke,” you said, grabbing Robby by the hand to drag him toward the back door. He followed you without resistance.

You snuck one final glance toward the bro at the bar, who was scowling at your retreating forms. Once outside, you dropped Robby’s hand immediately. 

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed hurriedly. “That guy, he’s been following me around all night. Couldn't take a hint.”

“It’s alright,” Robby chuckled, amusement blooming within his warm eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you said with an assuring nod. “Just didn’t want that weirdo near me anymore.”

“I’ve been watching him all night. Seems like he was pretty drunk.”

Your lips thinned at Robby’s admission. Why had he been watching that guy? Was it because he was also keeping an eye on you? You swallowed the naive notion and flashed Robby a grin.

“I’m sure he’s harmless,” you said. “But can’t be too sure. Anyway, thank you for… you know, being my boyfriend for 30 seconds.”

“Anytime.” Robby stood with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, the signature pose you’d come to expect from him. You struggled to meet his eyes and prayed he couldn't see the flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Well, I think I’m going to call it a night,” you finally said with a soft smile. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’ll walk you home.” More amusement glimmered in Robby’s eyes and all you could think about was how fucking appealing he looked.

“Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” you said as casually as you could manage; nevermind the sudden spike in the pitch of your voice. “My apartment isn’t far, I’ll be fine. I have pepper spray.”

“Nonsense,” Robby said, motioning you toward the door. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you walk home alone after some creep’s been following you all night. I was getting ready to head out anyway.”

Heaven help you. You returned inside the bar, where you waved goodbye to your friends and pretended to ignore Trinity’s piercing stare when she realized Robby was leaving with you. 

Once outside on the sidewalk, you silently begged every higher power to prevent you from embarrassing yourself. You weren’t sure why you were so flustered – beyond the fact the man you’d held a years-long torch for was walking you home.

But this was Dr. Robby. You’d known him for years and you were comfortable in his presence (when you weren’t thinking about how handsome he was or how nice his hands were). There was no reason to be rattled by him. Nothing had ever happened between the two of you, nor would it in the future, you reminded yourself. He was your colleague and a mentor. You couldn’t allow your silly crush to jeopardize your relationship.

“Did you, uh, end up admitting that patient this afternoon?” Robby asked as you walked. “The man who was presenting with ideation?”

“We did,” you sighed. “He has family flying in from Florida in the morning.”

Robby nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Silence settled between the two of you, and you couldn’t decide if you were grateful or terrified. You glanced at your phone to check the score of the Pirates game, desperate for a distraction. Robby smiled.

“Still the eighth inning?” he asked.

You shook your head as you slid your phone back into your bag. “Bottom of the ninth. They’re down one.”

“You ever find one of those co-ed softball leagues?” Robby asked. “I remember you mentioning wanting to join one.”

“I did, but it was too late,” you replied. “Their season had already started and the spots were full.”

“Ah, too bad.”

“I was thinking we could start a Pitt Trauma team,” you mused. “Santos said she used to play and Langdon’s competitive as hell. Could be fun. You in?”

“Oh, no one wants to see that,” Robby joked with a shake of the head. 

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “You love baseball. How bad can you be?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

You laughed, thankful for the ease in your self-inflicted tension. But as you neared your building, the anxiety bubbled into your throat again. 

“Cool building,” Robby commented as you approached the front steps. His head tilted backward as he scanned the building’s exterior to admire the historic details. “I love this part of town, all the old architecture.”

“It’s a great neighborhood,” you agreed. In fact, the architecture and old charm was precisely why you’d picked it. You fished your keys from your bag and met Robby’s eyes with a smile. “Well, thanks for getting me home… and for, you know, keeping me safe from bar creeps.”

“Anytime,” Robby said. The warmth in his eyes seemed to permeate your skin, sweeping across your flesh with a crimson flush. You hoped it was too dark to notice.

You knew it was time to say goodnight, or to say literally anything to initiate your exit. It was time to go inside, to hop in the shower and crawl into bed to pretend you weren’t down bad for the senior attending of the ER. But you remained frozen in place, your feet unable – and perhaps unwilling – to step away from Robby.

“See you tomorrow?” you finally managed. Robby seemed to swallow, though his eyes held your gaze, heavy and intense. They pierced the battlements of your resolve, then flickered downward for a fleeting moment toward your lips. You held your breath as you wondered if he was going to kiss you. Your heart threatened to slam against your ribcage. 

“Ah, yeah, I’m on tomorrow,” he said instead, knocking the air from your lungs with disappointment.

“Oh, great,” you said, much too cheerily. “See you then. Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

You avoided the ER at all costs the next day.

Weeks passed and you had managed to move past whatever that moment was outside your apartment. In fact, you convinced yourself it was nothing. Robby acted no differently at work, so you decided to do the same. You had merely been swept up in a wave of wishful thinking, you told yourself.

But the fire changed everything.

It was your day off and you’d spent the afternoon running errands around town before meeting up with a college friend for dinner and drinks. 

You declined to mention Robby when she pressed you for details on your dating life. After all, he’d need to ask you on a date for it to count as anything more than a crush, right? Instead, you merely shrugged and insisted you weren’t seeing anyone, nor were you interested in any prospects. Your friend called you boring. You didn’t disagree.

As she disclosed more details about her upcoming wedding, you were none the wiser to the fire that threatened to destroy your home. In fact, Robby learned of it first.

The ER received two transports from the scene, a mother and son who had suffered burns and smoke inhalation. Then more victims trickled in, none seriously injured but coughing and covered in smoke and soot.

“What happened?” Robby asked as another victim was wheeled past him.

“Apartment fire,” one of the EMTs answered. “1100 block of Liberty Avenue.”

Robby froze. “Liberty Avenue?”

“Yeah, big old brick building. Sounds like it started as a dryer fire in the basement.”

Robby swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Focus, he told himself. You’re needed here. She doesn’t need you.

But by the end of his shift, he was damn near ready to sprint to Liberty Avenue. He went straight there, eyes roaming the building as he approached. The flames and smoke had been doused hours ago, but fire crews were still on scene and the sidewalks were still wet. 

He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to help you. The entire building had been evacuated, its residents gone in search of other living arrangements. You had always been tough and independent. Surely you’d already figured things out.

Robby heaved a sigh and shook his head, annoyed at himself for coming there. If you’d needed him, you would have reached out. And the notion that you would have picked him for help now felt silly. You were closer with McKay, Mohan, even Dana would have been a likelier choice. 

He turned to head home, his eyes widening when they landed on you. You had just rounded the corner from the bus stop, your shocked expression revealing that this was the first time you’d been home all day. Before he could react, Robby watched you sprint toward the building before you were stopped by the fire crew. He jogged after you.

“But I need my stuff!” you were shouting. “All of my stuff is in there!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let anyone in. It could be dangerous. The structure has to be checked and secured, and the investigators need time to determine the fire’s cause,” a fireman told you.

“But what do I do? Where do I go? I have nowhere to stay! I have no stuff!” 

“See that van over there?” The fireman gestured toward the other side of the street. “That’s the American Red Cross. They’ll help you out.”

“But my stuff— Dr. Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard about the fire at work,” Robby answered quickly. “We treated a few of the victims and I… I thought I’d check and make sure you’re okay.”

“Clearly not,” you mumbled, your head spinning at the overwhelming clash of emotion. You were exhausted and stunned, scared and aggravated. But you were also relieved to see Robby.

“Come on,” he said, draping a gentle arm around your shoulder. “You can crash at my place.”

“What? Oh- no, no I can’t ask you to do that-” you started, your panic threatening to swell into a full-blown attack.

“You’re right, you can’t, because you don’t need to ask,” Robby said. 

“No,” you repeated. “I can’t, I won’t be a burden. I mean, I don’t even know how long until they’ll let me move back in and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robby said. He began steering you away from the building. 

“But I have no clothes. I have work in the morning. How am-”

“I’ll hook you up,” Robby said. “At least until the morning when we can get you some new clothes.”

You didn’t want new clothes. You wanted your clothes, which were carefully curated from years of an Anthropologie shopping addiction. Besides, Robby lived alone. He didn’t have a girlfriend or wife or daughter whose clothes you could borrow. Your eyes began to tear up at the thought of having to sleep in the jeans you were wearing. But it wasn’t the actual jeans or clothes that were making you cry. It was the sudden, crushing realization of what was happening to you.

You refused to let Robby see you cry, so instead you walked in determined silence. You didn’t even notice when you reached his building until he was leading you into an elevator. You stared at your reflection in the steel doors. Robby remained quiet.

When he unlocked his door and motioned you inside, you paused. You never dreamed you’d actually ever see the inside of Robby’s home, let alone under such bizarre circumstances.

“Go on,” Robby said in your ear as he held the door open for you. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

You held your breath and stepped inside. Had you not been distraught over your present predicament, you might have smiled. Robby’s apartment was exactly as you would have imagined – clean and tidy, but completely lacking in character or decor. The far wall was exposed brick and a vinyl record player sat on a table against it. There was no artwork on the walls, but a framed photo of Robby and Jake at a Pirates game sat on a corner of the TV stand.

“Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back,” Robby said as he brushed past you. He tossed his backpack and keys on the counter before disappearing down the hallway.

As you stood, glued to your spot near the door, Robby scrambled around his bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom was neat and orderly, but he kicked his laundry basket into the corner and hurriedly changed the bedding. He had nothing to hide, nothing embarrassing in the apartment, but he still felt the undeniable pressure to impress you. Or at the very least, he wanted you to feel comfortable. 

He popped into the bathroom to make sure it was clean – it was – before returning to you. You hadn’t moved.

“Are you alright?” Robby asked gently. His eyes suffocated you with their concern.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Just… processing everything, is all.”

Robby nodded with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you feel right now,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Trust me, you’re doing more than enough,” you said. 

“Well, if there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”

“You know I won’t,” you couldn’t help but joke. Robby smiled.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s not like you to ask for help. But I want you to know you can.”

You nodded in silent acknowledgement, not that either of you believed you.

“Right now, all I want is a hot shower. And maybe a beer.”

“At the same time?”

“Do I look like a frat boy to you?”

“Just checking.” Robby chuckled as he motioned you toward the hallway. He reached into the bathroom to turn the light on before he stood back, hands finding their usual place in the pockets of his hoodie. “Towels are under the sink. Take your time and I’ll go get that beer ready. No IPAs, right?”

“Right,” you breathed, flattered he remembered your beer preferences. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Robby retreated to the kitchen and you quietly snapped the bathroom door shut. You closed your eyes, grateful for the peace and solitude. And once you stepped into the hot shower, you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself. You couldn’t believe where the fuck you’d ended up. 

You were presently naked in Robby’s apartment, no clothing, nowhere to go. Sure, you could have checked into a hotel, but something had blocked your brain from entertaining the idea. You blinked at the bottles of shampoo and soap and snorted. What the fuck is Old Spice Swagger? You sighed and lathered up, your senses quickly recognizing the familiar woodsy scent that you had always associated with Robby. 

By the time you finished showering, steam had fully fogged up the bathroom mirror. You dug beneath the sink for a towel and cursed under your breath. Clothes. You forgot to ask for clothes. 

You muttered a string of “fucks” under your breath before securing the towel around your body. You checked it twice and a third time until you were certain it was more secure than a deadbolt. 

Your feet padded quietly down the hallway until you carefully peeked around the corner. Robby was sitting on the leather sofa, a beer in hand while the Pirates game played on TV. You inhaled sharply, as if oxygen would give you the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you managed, stepping tentatively into the living room, very aware that you were nearly naked in front of someone who was technically your superior. “Um, I need some  clothes.”

“Oh, fuck!” Robby exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet. It would’ve been a comical moment had his eyes not been so wide and your cheeks not so flushed. He set his beer down and scurried past you into the hallway. “Sorry, I meant to get you some clothes before you got in the shower.”

“It’s my bad, I should have asked,” you offered, fingers gripping your towel for dear life. You followed Robby toward the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, unsure if you should follow him as he rummaged through his dresser. After all, when you’d fantasized about being naked in his bedroom, it certainly wasn’t under these circumstances.

“Here,” he said, offering you a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. You took the pants but blinked pointedly at the shirt.

“I'm not wearing that,” you deadpanned.

“What? What’s wrong with– oh, that’s right. You’re a Cleveland girl.”

“Damn right, I am. I won’t be caught dead in Steelers gear.”

“But you root for the Pirates.”

“That’s different. Different divisions, plus Cleveland’s in the American League. I don’t mind rooting for an American League and a National League team. Now put that hideous Steelers shirt away… or in the garbage.”

“Right, right, I get it,” Robby sighed. He returned to the dresser and fished out another shirt. “Here,” he said as he held it up. “What are your allegiances to The Who?”

You snorted but reached for the shirt. “God, you’re old,” you teased. 

“Sorry it’s not Jay-Z.”

“Jay-Z’s old, too. I’m more of a Nas fan anyway.”

You both fell quiet and for a fleeting moment, you thought you caught his eyes roaming your toweled form.

“Right, well, I know that’s not exactly your style, but it’ll get you through the night. Tomorrow you can go shopping for clothes that fit,” he said. 

“I don’t mind the oversized part,” you mused. “It’s the old man aesthetic that bothers me.”

“Then maybe you can stop by the Baby Gap,” Robby teased. 

“Probably cooler clothes than what you wear,” you shot back. Robby chuckled and moved for the door. 

“You can change in here,” he said. “Your beer’s waiting for you on the counter when you’re done.”

The moment he closed the door behind himself, you seized the opportunity to examine his bedroom. A king-size bed was an interesting choice, you thought, as you couldn’t help but wonder how often Robby needed a bed that big. A TV was mounted to the wall opposite the bed above a dresser, which was cluttered with a watch, Robby’s wallet and a stack of books. You decided the room was clean and spacious, with dark, masculine tones. Once again, it was very Robby. You resisted the temptation to rummage through the nightstand and got dressed.

Robby’s gaze wasn’t lost on you as you returned to the living room. You prayed he wasn’t appalled by your make-up free face or your body, which was drowning beneath his baggy clothes.

Of course, Robby had seen enough of you to picture your body beneath the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He’d seen you in everything from scrubs to professional dresses and jackets to jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on. Those were his favorite. But this was new. He loved seeing you in his clothes. In fact, he decided you’d never looked more alluring. 

As you turned toward the counter to fetch your beer, he shifted in his seat, his head swarming with filthy thoughts as he remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear beneath those loose pants.

You sat at the other end of the sofa, your legs tucked beneath yourself as you pretended to be positively enthralled by the Pirates game. Nevermind the score was 10-1 and they were losing.

“Terrible at-bat,” you muttered as you watched Tommy Pham strike out. “He couldn’t hit sand on a goddamn beach.”

Robby laughed and eyed you from the corner of his eye. Your hair was still wet, dripping damp spots across the t-shirt. You hadn’t noticed, but the white cotton was clinging to your skin in translucent patches. Just the right amount of light and he might be able to see the color of your— fuck, Robby thought as he scolded himself for thinking of you like that. You’d surely scold him for being such a pervy old man. He decided it would be a good time to excuse himself to the shower.

Once he was out of the room, you tilted your head back and closed your eyes. How the fuck were you going to survive this? It was agonizing enough to be wearing Robby’s clothes and sitting next to him, alone, but what if you had to do this for weeks? 

There was no way. You’d check into a hotel or find a friend to stay with. There was no way in hell you could do this for more than one night.

You rested your eyes and listened to the TV until you could feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your sweatpants. Your group text with Samira, Cassie and Trinity was full of missed texts.

Cassie: Heard about your apartment! You good?

Samira: Do you need a place to crash? You can stay with Jack and me.

Trinity: Or you can stay with me if you want to steer clear of the lovebirds. I can make Whitaker sleep on the couch.

Samira: Rude.

Trinity: You aren’t dead, are you?

You sighed and tried to choose your words carefully. Not that it mattered. They were going to freak out regardless.

‘I’m okay!’ You wrote back. ‘I’m staying with Robby.’

The replies were instant.

Samira: ??????

Cassie: WHAT?

Trinity: DR. ROBBY?!

You: Yes. He came by to check on me.

Samira: What do you mean he came by? Came by where? 

Trinity: I bet it won’t be the first time tonight he’s going to c-

You dropped your phone as Robby reentered the room. It clattered to the floor with a thud and you scrambled to pick it up. Robby lifted an amused eyebrow at you and you became determined to deflect your embarrassment.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dog,” you commented with a casual air. Robby tilted his head to look at you. 

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked as he lowered himself to the couch again. You averted your eyes when you realized he was wearing grey sweatpants. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “I guess I always figured you were a dog guy.”

“I love dogs,” Robby agreed. “But I’m also not home enough to take care of one.”

“Ah, that’s fair.”

“Pretty tough to keep a pet with this lifestyle. Or to keep much of anything.”

“Cheers to that,” you muttered as you raised your bottle. 

“Says the woman who just had the day off,” Robby teased.

“And whose apartment nearly burned down!”

“Ah yeah, I suppose that’s true.” You rolled your eyes at him and returned your attention to the TV. But you could feel him studying you. “You sure you’re okay?” he finally asked.

You nodded and tilted your head to meet his gaze to assure him. “I’m fine,” you said. “Not like there’s much I can do.”

“Well, if you need to talk…”

You smiled at him. It was an amusing spin of fate. Just a year ago, you’d been the one offering to talk to Robby when it became clear he wasn’t healing from the deaths of Dr. Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend. Then Dr. Collins moved to Arizona, leaving him with no one who could pull him from the dark place that was dragging him downward.

So you spent numerous nights on the roof of Pitt Trauma Medical Center with Robby. You didn’t want to pry or overstep your boundaries, to make him feel like you were trying to treat him like one of your patients. You merely offered him friendship that crafted a slow, budding trust that eventually eased Robby into opening up more to you. 

Some nights, you'd sit there in cheap lawn chairs and share takeout, bantering back and forth. Other times, he'd speak to you with a quiet vulnerability, detailing the demons that lingered in the dark corners of his head.

And when you decided he needed help from a professional he didn’t know personally, you recommended a colleague with a private practice. Robby began weekly therapy sessions — and he hadn’t missed one yet.  

Slowly, you watched the sadness vacate Robby’s eyes. It was replaced with the old familiar laughter you’d once adored. 

“I’m fine, really,” you finally insisted. “In the grand scheme of things, this is merely an inconvenience, right? At least the whole damn building didn’t burn down, and at least no one died.”

Robby nodded in agreement. “And at least you’re safe.”

“You didn’t have to come check on me, you know,” you said. You quelled the temptation to ask him why he did so in the first place. Though you were dying to hear an explanation, you didn’t need to make Robby uncomfortable in his own home.

“I know. But when I heard the EMTs mention the fire was at your building, I got worried,” he said.

It was an honest reason, and you weren’t sure why you felt surprised by it. Robby had always been one of the most honest men you’d known, almost to a fault at times. Perhaps you were merely surprised because, though you considered him a friend and colleague, you didn’t expect him to spend any time thinking about you outside of the workplace.

“Well, thank you for checking. And for this,” you said, gesturing around the room.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Robby said seriously, his eyes matching his tone. 

The room’s atmosphere was shifting. You could feel it in the way it pricked your skin, the way it hummed in your ear, a low buzz meant to distract you from all decorum. It was a devil on your shoulder, dangerous and desperate to make you do things that would surely sever your friendship and working relationship with Robby.

He sensed it, too. He clenched his jaw, fingers gripping his bottle of beer with far too much pressure in an effort to calm his nerves. The air felt like charged static; it crackled overhead, oppressive and full of energy.

What you craved felt forbidden. You weren’t sure why. You certainly wouldn’t be the first attending and former student to do this, nor would you be the first age-gap couple to grace the halls of Pitt Trauma. 

But this felt taboo because it was Robby. Everyone wondered if he’d ever settle down, find someone who didn’t fear his surly nature and obnoxious devotion to his job. Then you came around and the whispers shifted to you, the pretty intern-turned-doctor who clearly had chemistry with Robby. But neither of you dared to breach the boundary of professionalism. And you were convinced Robby was too mature, too jaded and too busy to bother with someone like you.

“I should probably get some sleep,” you finally said. Robby swallowed audibly, but you pretended not to notice.

“Of course,” he rasped. “Bed’s ready for you. There’s an extra blanket in the closet if you get too cold.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Wait. No. No, no, no, I can’t. I won’t impose like that-”

“Nonsense,” Robby cut you off. 

“No, let me sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“The answer is no. So either you take the bed, or we’re both sleeping on the couch.”

Your lips thinned as you searched your mind for words that could help you reason with him. You genuinely hadn’t expected to take over this man’s bed when he offered to let you stay with him. If anything, you wanted to share it with him.

“Robby, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Robby insisted. “Now off you go.”

You sighed and rose to your feet. You were afraid to look at him, fearful how you might react to his gaze. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

Your insistence on only staying with Robby for a night or two fell on deaf ears. He refused to take no for an answer, even when you swore you could afford a hotel. Meanwhile, your building manager said it would take weeks before you could move in again, due to concerns about structural integrity. So you became Robby’s unofficial roommate, much to the jubilation of your friends.

“How’s it going?” Dana asked one morning when you wandered into the ER for a psych eval. “You poison Robby’s dinner yet?”

“Things are great,” you chirped. Dana offered you a knowing smile.

“I’m sure they are,” she mewed. “But I’m sure he’s also driving you crazy.”

“What? Robby’s great!” you insisted. “He’s easy to live with. Clean, quiet… I’ve got no complaints.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dana said with a smirk as she sauntered off to check on a patient.

You were about to shout a rebuttal at her when a familiar voice found you.

“There’s my favorite shrink.”

“Good morning, Myrna,” you called over your shoulder, not bothering to look. “How are you today?”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?” You spun to face Myrna, curious what kind of out-of-pocket accusation she’d make this time.

“I heard a little rumor about you,” she said in her usual raspy tone. “I heard you’ve been shacking up with Dr. Robby.”

You sucked your top row of teeth. “Oh? And who told you that?”

“I was eavesdropping on the nurses,” Myrna answered simply. “They said you moved in with him weeks ago, you dirty girl.”

“Oh did they now?” You returned to the paperwork you needed to complete. The quicker you finished, the quicker you could get out of the ER.

“Spill it, sweetheart,” Myrna continued. “I’ve gotta know.”

“Know what?”

“About Dr. Robby! I’ll tell ya, I always thought he was a fruitcake. Didn’t know he had it in him to go after the young ones.”

“Myrna, I’m in my thirties,” you deadpanned.

“Makes you a youngin’ compared to me. Now tell me, sweetheart, what’s it like? How is he?”

“How is he?”

“In the sack!”

You closed your eyes, unsure if you should laugh or sprint toward the stairs. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Myrna?” You knew she didn’t. She never did.

“At least tell me the size we’re workin’ with here, doll,” Myrna pressed. “With that posture, I can tell he’s hung like a hor-”

“Goodbye, Myrna.”

Despite the incessant teasing from your colleagues, you and Robby quickly fell into a comfortable routine. You’d never been one to go out after work much, save for the occasional date or round of drinks with friends. But now, you found yourself wanting to go straight to Robby’s apartment as soon as your shift ended.

On the days where you both managed to get off work around the same time, you’d meet him outside the ER and walk home with him. Sometimes you’d join him and the rest of the ER day shift crew in the park for beers. 

Other nights, when he ended up working late, you’d head to his apartment and have dinner ready for the two of you. He never said it, but he looked forward to those evenings the most. It’d been ages since anyone cooked for him – and ages since he came home to any company. Some nights, you sat together and ate at the counter, but most nights, you sat in front of the TV with the Pirates game on. You chatted about your days, joked about your colleagues and merely appreciated each other’s presence.

You also realized that Robby noticed the little things. When he gave you his spare key, you expressed concern you’d lose it, so he rummaged through his junk drawer until he found an old keychain from Southern Tier Brewery to help you keep track of it. The next day, you noticed he cleared space on the hook next to his by the door, where you could hang your keys and purse.

He also noticed that, like him, you enjoyed reading. One evening you emerged from a shower and found him reading on the couch, his glasses on and an open beer on the coffee table. The two of you slipped into a discussion of your reading lists and favorite writers. The next morning, you found two books from your list waiting for you on the counter, plucked from Robby’s collection.

But your favorite simple gesture was the matcha. Robby noticed you didn’t drink coffee in the mornings. Instead, you’d stop at a shop on your way to the hospital for a matcha latte. Robby teased you, said you were blowing money on “grass water,” but two days later, you discovered a tin of matcha in the cupboard.

It was simple but comforting. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you didn’t want your time there to end.

Still, you and Robby remained at arm’s length inside his apartment. You never stood too close, always sat at opposite ends of the sofa and never discussed topics that were too personal. Until the night you went out with Santos and Whitaker.

You and Trinity dragged Dennis to a karaoke bar one Thursday night after he revealed he’d never been to one. Several rounds of drinks and a group performance of Espresso later, you found yourself swaying on your barstool.

“You good?” Trinity asked, smirking at you in amusement.

“I’m fine,” you sighed wistfully, the latest round of tequila shots taking command of your composure. It was becoming painfully clear you couldn’t keep up with the 20-somethings anymore. “But I kinda wanna go home.”

“Home?” Trinity mused. “As in, to your condemned apartment, or to Dr. Robby?”

“Robby’s apartment is really nice,” you babbled. “I love the exposed brick. And he somehow manages to keep it so clean. And he buys the good ice cream, not the shitty generic brands.”

Trinity snorted. “That all you like about Dr. Robby’s place?”

“No,” you said dreamily, clearly too drunk to notice your whimsy state. “I like hanging out with him.”

“Yet neither of you has made a move yet,” Trinity noted.

“Oh, please,” you laughed. “That’s never going to happen. Robby is way too mature to be interested in me.”

“Dr. Robby is a single, straight man,” Trinity said. “Trust me, he isn’t worried about your age gap. It’s not that bad anyway. No one has a problem with Mohan and Abbot.”

“But this is Robby we’re talking about,” you insisted. “He’d never be interested in me.”

“You’re joking, right?” Trinity groaned. “Please don’t tell me you really think he’s out of your league or some self-esteem bullshit. You are way too hot to be talking like that.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed. “I just… he just…”

“You like him way too much,” Dennis cut in. “You like him so much, you’ve built him up in your head and now you think he’s unattainable.” You and Trinity both blinked at Dennis. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “I observe things.”

Trinity laughed. “Who knew Huckleberry was so perceptive.”

You walked back to Robby’s apartment well past midnight, and much later than you’d planned to be out. You treaded quietly when you approached the door, assuming he’d already be asleep on the couch. 

When you entered, the lights inside the apartment were still on and the TV was airing an old rerun of Bar Rescue. Robby was seated on the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table. He clearly had nodded off.

Your plan had been to tiptoe to the bedroom without waking him. But your inebriated brain couldn’t quite compute the proper distance between your body and the furniture, meaning you bumped clumsily into the back of the sofa.

“Fuck!” you hissed at the sharp pain that surged within your hip, and at the sight of Robby stirring. He blinked a few times before his gaze found you. “Hey,” you giggled. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“S’alright,” he mumbled. The sleepy look in his eyes made you want to climb him like a tree.

“Didn’t mean to get in so late,” you continued. “But Whitaker was really into it. Guy’s a big Kesha fan.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

You eyed the pizza sitting on the table and the tightening in your stomach reminded you it had been hours since dinner. 

You should have walked away, taken yourself straight to bed. Solitude inside the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom would have been the safe choice, where you couldn’t get yourself into any trouble.

Instead, you sank into your side of the sofa and reached for a slice of pizza.

“So, was it just you, Whittaker and Santos?” Robby asked. You nodded as you chewed.

“Mohan was supposed to come, but bailed. I saw Abbot had the night off so I suspect he spent it on her,” you said.

“Thank you for that visual,” Robby muttered. 

“Don’t be a hater,” you giggled. The laughter made your head spin. The room tilted and you decided it’d be in your best interest to be horizontal. You let yourself flop over until you were flat on your back, your head in Robby’s lap.

His spine straightened immediately.

“I think Samira and Abbot are great together,” you babbled on. “And he’s absolutely obsessed with her. Not in a creepy stalker way, but he clearly adores her.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Weird? Why is it weird? Two people with undeniable chemistry falling in love? Do you think it’s weird?” You stared upward at Robby curiously, your pulse spiking in anticipation.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird at all,” Robby responded. “I think they’re great together. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about your friend dating an old guy.”

“Aren’t you older than him?” you laughed. 

“By one measly year,” Robby noted. 

“Why do people get so hung up on age?” you rambled on. “It’s not like she’s a teenager. It’s not like he’s Leo DiCaprio. If two consenting adults want to be in a relationship, they deserve support, not judgment.”

“Hey, I’m with you,” Robby agreed. “I’ve just never heard you talk about Mohan and Abbot. Wasn’t sure how you felt about them.”

“I think they’re lovely together. And I think most of us could only be so lucky to find that kind of connection.”

The silence that settled between you rang in your ears, a screaming signal that you should say something, or better yet, take your ass to bed. But instead, you merely blinked up at Robby, who peered down at you with a soft smile. 

“You’re right,” he said. “They seem to make each other very happy.”

“Exactly. That’s all that matters.”

The warmth in Robby’s eyes made your pulse race. Maybe it was the curiosity in them, or maybe it was the alcohol surging through your bloodstream, but you were finding it hard to swallow the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

“What about you?” you finally asked, the liquid courage taking command. “When are you going to settle down?”

Robby laughed, but you noticed his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked innocently. “Marriage and kids not your thing?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robby replied. “I just haven’t had the best luck. Most people don’t understand what this job entails. It’s hard to convince anyone to stick around for very long.”

You nodded in understanding. “It is hard,” you admitted. “It’s a commitment and a sacrifice that rarely returns any favors.”

“See, you get it,” Robby said. 

You couldn’t help but pout at him, the alcohol tempting your thoughts with more truths. 

“But do you want to find that?” you pressed. “You know, your person?”

Robby shifted slightly, causing your head to bobble in his lap. If he felt it, he did a hell of a job of hiding it. 

“Of course, I do,” he answered simply. “But I’m not holding my breath. I spent a lot of years pushing people away when they got too close. My opportunities may have run their course.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with far too much honesty. “I mean, of course you will. You’re too…”

Robby rose an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “Yes? Too what?”

Your eyes bailed, shifting toward the wall in a cowardly attempt to appear nonchalant. But your tongue continued to betray you.

“You’re too… everything,” you blurted out. “Too handsome, too brilliant, too good of a person. You’re far too good of a catch to miss out on your person.”

A flush crept across your face as you spoke, drawing another smile from Robby. 

“Handsome and brilliant?” he mused. “You should go out drinking more often.”

You scowled at him in faux annoyance and he laughed fondly at the way your face scrunched. 

“Watch yourself, old man,” you threatened. “I know where you sleep at night.”

“Says the lady who’s taken over my bed.”

“You offered me that bed.”

“And you’d better stop calling me old man unless you want me to take it back.”

You managed to swallow your thoughts before they could take on the form of words that would surely embarrass you. You wanted nothing more than for him to take his bed back, as long as you were still in it.

Instead, you continued to pout at him.

“Would you really put an innocent person out on the street?”

“No, I’d send you to go live with Mohan and Abbot.”

“That’s even worse.”

“I know.”

You shared a laugh that made your body bloom with more warmth. It sprawled over your skin, from the pit of your stomach outward to your toes and fingertips.

“And what about you?” Robby suddenly asked, his eyes studying your expression with far too much focus for your comfort. “Do you plan on finding your person?”

“Of course,” you offered with a bit too much gusto. “But it’s hard to weed out all the douchebags in bars and impatient idiots who don’t respect my career. Like you said, few people really get it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Robby blurted out. You tried not to tense, in case he could feel it. That question always had a way of unsettling you. “Why’d you date Shen?”

You shrugged in amusement, a drunken giggle threatening to surface. “I don’t know, honestly,” you answered. “He really isn’t a bad guy. He just needs to grow up a little. I’d like more conversation and less video games.” 

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered. 

The silence that followed was more comfortable this time. You let your eyes fall shut, the sleepy stage of your drunken night out taking over. When you finally cracked them open again, Robby was staring at you. Though you felt like you might vomit your heart up, you lifted your head from his lap to sit back on your elbows. You were no longer in physical contact, but your face was much closer to his. 

“Sleepy?” he asked as he held your gaze. You were certain you were going to drown in his irises. 

“Very,” you breathed. The air inside the apartment seemed to hitch, as if the walls pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. They were waiting with bated breath for something, anything to happen. 

Instead, you smiled softly at Robby and sat all the way up, your hair falling in tangled tresses down your back. You rose to your feet and paced toward the hallway, stopping to linger in the archway as you turned to look back at Robby.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You crawled into bed and wondered how close you had just come to discovering the side of Robby you’d only envisioned in solitude. He went to sleep wondering why he stopped himself.

Three weeks became four and you began to wonder just how long you could get away with being Robby’s roommate. As much as you cherished all of the alone time you had with him, you felt guilty. The poor man had begun complaining of back pain, and though he’d never admit it, you knew it was from sleeping on the couch.

Finally, you received a call from your building manager informing you your building would reopen in a week. Your relief clashed with your disappointment.

Meanwhile, Robby found himself clashing with Gloria, per usual.

She cornered him in the ER one morning to remind him he hadn’t returned his RSVP for the hospital charity dinner. Robby swore under his breath.

“It’s non-negotiable,” Gloria warned. “You’re the head of this department and all department heads are expected to attend. The only reason I came down here to remind you to RSVP was so that we can add your plus-one to the list.”

“My plus-one,” Robby deadpanned.

“Yes, as in your date,” Gloria replied as if it were obvious. “Ask a date, rent a tux and don’t forget to return the RSVP.”

Robby muttered a string of curses as Gloria left.

When he returned home after his shift, he found you chopping bell peppers in the kitchen, wearing earbuds that were undoubtedly playing 90s music given the way you danced around.

He couldn’t help himself. He paused in the doorframe and watched, smiling softly to himself. It had become impossible to ignore the surge in serotonin he felt whenever he was in your presence. And this – this was too perfect; you, dressed in a skimpy pair of track shorts, your hair pulled back into a high ponytail as you hummed to the Spice Girls. It was a masterpiece mounted on canvas in Robby’s mind.

He watched as you began to chop another pepper and approached you with caution, reaching to remove your left earbud as he loomed behind you.

“Hey.”

You flinched and nearly dropped the knife. “Asshole!” you hissed, though the laughter in your voice negated your anger. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. I have a knife, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Robby chuckled. “Didn’t consider the fact you might be capable of murder. What are you making?”

“Fajitas,” you said happily as you removed your other earbud. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“My building manager called. He says I can move back into my apartment in a week.”

“Oh.” Robby forced a smile and silently prayed it was convincing. “That’s great.”

“He said there was no significant damage to my unit, but they still need to treat the entire floor for smoke damage,” you continued casually, searching his eyes for something, anything that indicated disappointment. You thought you caught a glitch in his stare, but convinced yourself you were merely seeing what you wanted.

“Great,” Robby said, turning to fetch a beer from the fridge. “I’m glad they’ve got it all straightened out.”

“Me too.”

You weren’t sure what you were even hoping for. For him to beg you not to go, to please stay forever? That was ridiculous and unhinged and you knew it. But the disappointment sat heavy within your stomach, so much so, you no longer wanted any fajitas.

You both picked at your dinner in excruciating silence, your legs dangling nervously from your barstool at the counter. Robby could sense your shift in mood. It mirrored his own. 

He decided the past few weeks had been too good to give up on. You’d be moving back home, so he might as well find a way to craft another memory with you.

“Hey, are you going to the hospital charity dinner gala bullshit on Saturday?” he finally asked.

“Oh that,” you said with a fake laugh. “No, I’m not going. Dr. Meadows in neurology brought it up, but I told him I couldn’t make it.”

“Meadows asked you out?”

You nearly jumped in your seat at the sharpness in Robby’s tone. You blinked up at him, taken aback. 

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “But I told him no. I figured I’ve got too much going on with my apartment and whatnot.”

“Oh.”

“...Are you going?”

“Don’t have a choice,” Robby sighed. “Gloria says it’s non-negotiable.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Maybe that’s just her way of getting you in a tux. Rumor has it she’s on the hunt for a new man now that her divorce has been finalized.”

“Can’t imagine why she of all people would be divorced,” Robby muttered. You snorted.

“I’m sure the dinner will be… nice,” you offered.

“Nice,” Robby deadpanned. “Nice and miserable.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. You get to fill up on shrimp cocktail, schmooze the donors and pretend like people give a shit about supporting the American health care system.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t required to be there.”

“Eat some shrimp in my honor.”

“Actually, I was thinking,” Robby started. Your mouth became cotton as you waited with your breath held. “Maybe you could come with me. Then you could eat all the shrimp you want.”

You pleaded with yourself to stop from fucking this up – even if he was only asking out of what you assumed was convenience. You knew Robby. He’d likely hoped he could get out of attending the dinner and failed to ask anyone to be his date. Now, you were his only viable option.

But you liked spending time with Robby. And if you were going to be moving back home soon, you wanted to take advantage of whatever time you could get. Even if it would inevitably worsen your feelings for him.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you noted. “All of my clothes probably reek of smoke.”

“So then we’ll go shopping.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at Robby. “What are you, my sugar daddy?” you couldn’t help but joke.

“I thought you said you’d knock it off with the old man jokes.”

“Never.” He was waiting, watching you intently for an answer. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go, you wouldn’t have said no. “Alright fine,” you finally said, not that you needed convincing. “I’ll go. But I can buy my own damn dress. And I get to make double the old man jokes.”

Two evenings later, you dragged Samira and Trinity to the mall after your shifts. Normally, Trinity would have needed to be tranquilized or bribed to go dress shopping, but given the circumstances, she was elated, and you were grateful for style advice from your younger friends. 

“I still can’t believe you’re going on a date with Dr. Robby,” Trinity teased as the three of you combed through racks of formal gowns.

“It’s not a date,” you insisted. “I’m going as his date. There’s a difference.”

“You’re full of shit. It’s a date.”

“No, it’s a convenient agreement between two friends,” you said tactfully. 

“A what?” Trinity snorted.

“He forgot to ask a date and I was around and available, so he asked me,” you said simply as you eyed a blue gown.

“Please don’t tell me you think that low of yourself,” Samira said. “We all know Dr. Robby wanted to ask you to begin with. He was just too much of a coward to do so and got lucky that you happen to be living with him, which gave him the perfect excuse.”

“Not for much longer. I can move back into my apartment in a few days,” you noted.

“Well then, sounds like you and Dr. Robby had better seal the deal soon,” Trinity said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the fitting rooms.

By the time Saturday night arrived, you were certain you’d be better off flinging yourself from the roof of Pitt Trauma. You began to wonder if you were making a mistake, if you were setting yourself up for a disastrous freefall. But as you applied a coat of mascara and checked yourself in the bathroom mirror for the millionth time, it became painfully clear that you’d already tumbled too far deep into the point of no return. 

Robby was standing in the kitchen when you emerged from the bathroom. When you appeared, your heart jumped into your throat as you watched him do a double-take. His eyes scanned you with excruciating intensity, though his expression remained stoic.

“Wow,” he blurted out. “You look… Wow.”

You stifled the urge to squeal. Instead, you eyed him back. His tux fit him surprisingly well and you made a mental note to ask him why he had such a nice suit tucked away in his closet later. 

Though you felt incredibly confident and sexy in the dress you’d picked out, you wanted nothing more than for Robby to rip it off.

You failed to notice the way he dragged a palm across his face in agonizing lust when you turned to fetch your clutch, presenting him with another view of your very backless dress.

“You look wow, too,” you said simply when you turned around again. “Langdon insisted you don’t own a suit. Guess I should’ve bet him on it.”

By the time you arrived at the dinner, which was taking place at the Rivers Casino Event Center, you were certain you were going to pass out from nerves.

The walk into the ballroom was more daunting than your med school graduation, your first day of residency and your senior prom combined. The realization seemed to creep over the room like a slow surf, breaking and sprawling until it felt like all voices had fallen to a hush and all eyes were on you.

Neither of you spoke but as you swapped a glance, it was clear you and Robby were thinking the same thing: the rumor mill was about to spin at full force. But despite the inevitable gossip, you couldn’t help but swell with pride to be Michael Robinavitch’s date. Standing next to you, he was even prouder.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting from an evening as Robby’s date. You assumed you’d spend much of it on your own, chatting with random colleagues while Robby engaged in performative pleasantries next to Gloria. 

But he was astonishingly attentive to you. He fetched you flutes of champagne from the bar. He included you in every conversation, even the ones with the hospital big-wigs who would surely forget your name the minute they stepped away. He even held your clutch so your hands would be free to eat hors d'oeuvres. And every once in a while, you could feel his hand gently find the small of your back as he spoke, leaving traces of unbearable heat from his fingertips. 

The only time he wasn’t at your side was when you excused yourself to the restroom. While you were gone, Robby waited patiently at the bar.

“You lucky bastard,” Frank mused as he leaned against the bar next to him, a sly smirk across his features. 

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Langdon,” Robby sighed.

“Oh, come on man,” Frank said. “You brought her? It was about time. But Jesus Christ, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“I know you aren’t objectifying my date, are you, Dr. Langon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m certain I don’t.”

Frank shook his head and clapped Robby on the back. “Whatever you say, man,” he said as he walked away. “But we’re all happy for you.”

You could tell Robby was ready to leave by 10 p.m. He stopped trying to mask his annoyance with Gloria, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation each time she dragged him into conversation with another person of importance.

When he finally managed to slip away from her, you offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Want me to fake a seizure or something?” you offered as you stood in front of the room’s large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ohio River. The reflections across the water’s surface seemed to dance and shimmer with the music playing behind you.

“You’re in a room full of doctors. They’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

“Want me to pull a fire alarm?”

“Pretty sure that’s a misdemeanor.”

“Wouldn’t be my first.” You cackled with laughter as Robby turned to look at you in bewilderment. “In all seriousness, if you need an excuse to leave, I’ll help you create one.”

“No,” Robby sighed. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t be too much longer before Gloria’s had enough wine to make her forget I’m here. By the way, I apologize for her calling you my girlfriend when she introduces you to people.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Robby couldn’t suppress a smile. “But you still haven’t asked me to dance,” you continued. 

“Yes, because I value your physical well-being,” Robby answered. “Trust me, you don’t want to dance with me.”  

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The words spilled before Robby could think to stop them. You tried to conceal your reaction, your eyes threatening to widen and lips tugging toward a nervous smile. Your brain began to short-circuit as you scrambled for a smart reply.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” 

Oh, fuck. You recognized the voice of Dr. Cooper Meadows behind you. 

“Cooper,” you said warily as you turned to face him with a nervous smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s a surprise to see you,” Cooper said dryly. “Thought you said you were busy tonight.”

“Well, I kind of am, right?”

“Right.” His eyes flickered toward Robby. “I guess we have different definitions of busy.” 

“Look, Cooper, I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I genuinely wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but-”

“But what?”

But Robby needed a favor. That’s what you were going to say. That was the honest, surface-level truth. But the deeper truth was you wouldn’t have come with anyone else.

“But I twisted her arm until she agreed to come with me,” Robby cut in. 

“Figures,” Cooper muttered. “Another senior attending throwing his weight and authority around to chase younger tail. Thought you were better than that, Robinavitch.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you cut in. “What the fuck, Cooper? Robby’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit. You know, I am so sick of the higher-ups at this hospital walking around like they’re gods,” Cooper continued, narrowing his eyes at Robby. Robby blinked at him and Cooper’s glare shifted back to you. “But how very stereotypical of you. The psych who needs to fix the miserable old senior attending just because he crashed out during an MCI last year.”

Robby opened his mouth to reply, but you were quicker. “Fuck you, Cooper,” you snapped. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m here because I want to be. I turned your miserable ass down because I was waiting for Robby to ask me. Just because your brain is too tiny to fathom the fact that someone is interested in someone other than you doesn’t mean you get to throw strays. Now fuck off so I can get back to my date.”

Cooper’s lip curled. He was clearly debating whether to keep pressing you, but finally rolled his eyes and stalked off. You swallowed in an attempt to ground yourself, too pissed and too embarrassed to look at Robby yet.

But he was looking at you intently. “Well, I think this night’s just about done,” he said. You thought you could detect a hint of amusement in his tone, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Sorry,” you sighed, your eyes still refusing to meet his, mortified over your admission. “I forgot he’d be here. Though I didn’t think he’d be that much of an asshole.”

“He’s in neurology,” Robby mused. “Of course he’s an asshole.”

“I’d hate to hear what you say about psych.”

“Perhaps another time. You know, when you don’t look like you’re contemplating murder charges.”

“Can’t charge me if they can’t find the body.”

Robby chuckled and you felt his hand graze the small of your back again. You fought the instinct to tense. You didn’t want to tense. You wanted to melt to the floor so that Robby would scoop you up and carry you home. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked. You nodded, your eyes registering one final glance out the window. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Best leave before causing any more scenes.”

“At least we got some entertainment,” Robby offered. His hand was still on your back. Why was his hand still on your back? Nervous tension simmered through your body, rising into your skull until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Langdon caught Robby’s eye and raised a very suggestive eyebrow as the two of you headed for the door. Robby, still guiding you with his hand on your back, shot Frank a sharp look before he snuck a glance at you to ensure you hadn’t seen.

Instead, you were staring determinedly straight ahead, fearful your knees would give out. 

Something was happening. Something had changed, a shift in the current between you and Robby. Its usual push and pull, the back and forth that had always kept you hopeful yet hesitant, now felt smoother; a free flow of high-charged anticipation. It made your insides twist and your palms sweat, a clash of uncertainty and excitement. 

But what if it was all in your head? What if your delusions were crafting a foundation built on frail glass? Or what if the two of you were one act of bravery away from getting exactly what you wanted?

By the time you were climbing into the front seat of Robby’s SUV, you were gnawing at your fingernails. Robby, of course, noticed from the driver’s seat but said nothing.

“You enjoy yourself tonight?” he finally asked. Streetlights whizzed past your window and you tore your gaze from them to study him as you spoke.

“I did,” you said assuringly. “I ate more shrimp and shook more hands than I can count.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of socializing,” Robby sighed. “Worst part of the job.”

“Gloria seemed pleased with you.”

“Gloria is never pleased with me.”

“Really? I would have thought a night of ass-kissing would do the trick.”

“You’d be surprised.”

A silence fell over the car as street signs swished past, but your mind raced faster. Were you and Robby really toeing a boundary, on the brink of leaping into something new and uncharted? Or were you merely making things up in your mind? Either way, the more you studied Robby from the corner of your eye, the clearer it was that you were already tripping over the unspoken line. 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Robby said quietly. You flashed him the prettiest smile you could manage, even if his eyes were on the road. 

“I appreciate the invite,” you said. “Even if it was only to please Gloria.”

“Can we please stop talking about pleasing Gloria? It sounds… wrong.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed.

“I didn’t ask you because I needed a date,” Robby pointed out. “You know that, right?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to those damn fundraising events solo countless times. I asked you because I wanted you to be my date.”

“Oh.”

Robby cast an uneasy glance your way. The whoosh of a passing car roared in your ears, though it may have been blood rushing to your head. The air conditioning inside the car was on, but you felt flushed and flustered as you willed yourself to respond with poise – something, anything to give yourself a fighting chance.

Instead, you shifted in your seat. Robby’s eyes darted toward you, then downward for a fleeting moment at your exposed thigh in the high slit of your dress. You watched him flex his hand around the steering wheel. 

Your quick, shallow breaths stretched into torturous seconds of silence. You had a choice, you decided, and you wanted to choose Robby.

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” you said carefully, steady enough to convince Robby of your sincerity. “I didn’t want anyone else to ask me anyway.”

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. “Yeah,” you continued. “The feeling was mutual… or is mutual.”

“Oh.”

You held your breath as you waited for his next move; a chess match between two people who had no desire to play in the first place. Neither of you wanted to continue your dance around the glaringly obvious. You didn’t want to play games. You were tired, needy and looked too damn good to waste your time on any more uncertainty.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for us both then,” Robby finally continued. You both snuck a glance at the same time, your eyes meeting for a flash. It spiked your pulse and made your pupils dilate.

And finally, Robby’s hand slowly reached for the top of your thigh. The motion was smooth, as if his hand was always meant to be there. It was a dizzying juxtaposition – Robby’s large and rough, calloused hand against your smooth, soft flesh. Your knee stilled, as if moving it in the slightest would force his hand away. You wanted it to remain there forever.

Both of your eyes remained glued to the road straight ahead. Oasis played quietly from the radio.

The walk from the parking garage to the elevator inside Robby’s apartment building seemed to extend from mere feet to miles. When the elevator doors snapped shut, you held your breath again, eyes still fixated forward as Robby stood behind you. In the doors’ reflection, you could see his eyes clinging to your form.

The dip in the back of your dress, the pieces of hair that had fallen loose from your updo, the scent of neroli and jasmine from your perfume; it was all pulling Robby to a vexing place where he was torn between his desire to stop resisting you and the vulnerability required to do so.

The clack of your heels echoed through the hallway towards Robby’s apartment door, a steady tick-tock that counted you both down to the moment of truth. When you reached the door, eyes clouded with desperation, you shared one final glance. Robby’s eyes darkened with hunger. 

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to be careful and sweet. But all of his suppressed cravings breached their dam, spilling from their confines in the form of primal dominance.

The sharp click of the lock felt symbolic – unlatching years of what-ifs. Robby entered the apartment first, tossing his keys on the counter before he whirled around. Before the door could fall shut, he had you pinned against it. It latched when it met the force of your back, concealing the two of you from the outside world with a quick thud.

Robby held your face in his hands as he kissed you. It knocked the breath you’d been holding for weeks from your lungs in the form of a pitiful whimper. The kiss was deep but sensual, fervid but sophisticated, giving yet demanding. It continued until you were gasping into his mouth, desperate for air and desperate more. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered, still cupping your face as he studied the reaction in your wide eyes. You stared back, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. 

You didn’t blink. You didn’t move. You refused to do anything that could be misinterpreted as anything but your desire to stand right there in that moment.

Robby kissed you again. This time, your hands snaked over his arms until you were sliding his suit jacket off. You only removed your lips from his to shift your focus to his tie. Once you loosened the knot, he pulled you toward himself this time, one hand pressed flat into the small of your back as he kissed you.

He dared to step forward, pressing his body against yours until he had you backed against the edge of the counter. Your fingers worked over the buttons of his shirt until you could skim your palms over his chest. You could feel it rising and falling beneath them as Robby’s breathing became more ragged.

Once his shirt was off, he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“How come I’m the only one getting undressed?” he murmured. You offered him a pointed blink.

“I don’t see anyone stopping you from helping me out of this dress,” you replied matter-of-factly. Robby couldn’t argue with that. 

You expected him to make a hasty move for your dress, but instead he hooked an arm around your waist to pull you in for another kiss. This one was slow and deliberate. Your teeth grazed gently against his bottom lip, desperate to pull more from him. Your arms clung to his neck until you were damn hear hanging from him, thankful for his sturdy frame.

You could feel his hand glide from your hip to the slit of your dress, his fingertips caressing over your thigh. His lips found your neck, first pressing a tender kiss there until he dragged his lips toward your collar bone. A low moan hummed in your throat. His touches were tender and deliberate. The ache between your thighs burned to your core.

Robby’s hand disappeared inside the slit of your dress and your breath hitched as he finally swiped a finger against the fabric of your thong, relieving some of the agonizing tension. The slickness pooling at your entrance was a dizzying paradox to the heat that scalded your nerve endings. Robby inched two fingers inside your panties and groaned at the sensation of your arousal clinging to them. And before you could beg him to continue, his index and middle fingers skimmed your folds. They met your clit and pressed until a whimper escaped your throat.

Robby leaned with one hand on the edge of the counter, the other dragging against your sacred flesh until your knees threatened to give out. Your head tipped back, your eyes squeezed shut as you silently thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in for granting you the privilege of crossing paths with Michael Robinavitch.

His lips found your neck again, ghosting hot breath against your skin that sent goosebumps peppering across the surface. 

You inhaled sharply as Robby sank a slow finger inside you until you could feel the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. It quickly became clear that Robby knew what he was doing – not that you had expected anything less.

The obscene sound of his rhythmic hand pulling you toward the edge echoed around you, your labored breaths its only rival. You whimpered over the mounting pressure within your walls, tightening them until Robby groaned again. 

“Robby,” you panted with a desperate plea. He curled his fingers and you choked out a moan. The coil inside you tightened as Robby’s hand hastened its pace, his fingers pulling against your front wall until they dabbed your sweet spot. Your fingers clutched at his bicep, nails pricking at his skin as your body tensed. 

Your hips jutted forward and a pitchy whine rose in your throat until the coil inside you finally snapped, sending your climax pulsing through your core. Your hips rolled as you rode it out around Robby’s fingers, your clit grinding against his palm until your high subsided, leaving you slumped against him.

You didn’t speak – hell, you couldn’t – but Robby eyed you in quiet satisfaction, grunting in arousal as he removed his fingers from your soaked cunt. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, head still cloudy in its post-orgasm haze.

Finally, you felt Robby’s arm squeeze around your torso as he lifted you up, your feet dangling in the air as he supported you on his shoulder.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of walking,” you noted from over his shoulder.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you nearly falling in those heels no less than five times tonight,” Robby replied.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

You could feel Robby’s body shake as he chuckled. He carried you toward the bedroom and you became certain he could feel your heartbeat rattling within your ribcage. When he set you on your feet again, he studied you with pensive eyes, as if he were waiting for you to change your mind. 

You shimmied your arms from the straps of your dress, revealing your bare chest. Robby stilled.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You are… so fucking beautiful.”

Words were failing you so you licked your lips in anticipation. Robby lifted a slow hand to guide your dress downward until it pooled in a heap at your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked your heels off, widening your height difference. You tilted your head backward to peer up at Robby, urging him to act. 

He leaned into you for a long kiss, his hand roaming from your waist until it was cupping your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, triggering your impatience. You fiddled with his belt until it clinked apart. 

Once you managed to shove Robby’s remaining clothing to the floor, he stepped from his shoes and you chewed at your bottom lip. It’d been weeks since you had sex, since before you moved in with Robby. And it’d been ages since you had sex with someone that big. You swallowed a laugh as you realized Myrna was right.

The groan Robby released when your hand curled around his cock sounded like it had been stifled for weeks. Of course, that had been exactly the case.

“Fuck,” he rasped as you stroked him, his jaw clenching at your touch. You could practically feel his cock twitching in your hand. 

Your patience waned until you were practically dragging Robby toward the bed. He tugged your thong down and kissed you hard, his hand tangling itself in your hair while the backs of your knees met the bed frame.

Robby eased you onto your back, his knee between your thighs as he planted a trail of kisses from your neck, across your collar bone and to the swell of your breasts. The ache returned between your thighs.

You held your breath as his kisses drifted downward past your navel to your hip bone, then across the tops of your thighs. You could feel them tensing, squeezing together in an attempt to relieve the throbbing between them.

Robby smirked against your skin. His hands gently parted your thighs and you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue find your clit. Your hips grinded upward, desperate for more until you were fisting his hair. It spurred Robby on, leaving his arms hooked around your thighs. The sight of your soaked entrance ignited an invigorating surge of avidity in him. He’d fling himself from the roof of Pitt Trauma before he allowed anyone to deny him a taste.

His tongue flattened against your clit, pressing and prodding until your legs were shaking. Your eyes fluttered shut and Robby hummed against you in approval of your taste.

“Jesus Christ, Robby,” you breathed, unsure if you could withstand the sensitivity. But the way your hips were jutting upward, pressing your entrance against his tongue, told him you wanted more.

He drove his tongue harder against your clit, forcing it in swift, short swipes until your feet were kicking from the pleasure swelling inside your nerve endings. You ground yourself against his tongue in slow, sweeping motions, desperate for more friction. 

Robby received the hint. He sucked on your clit, lips pulling it against his rigid tongue. It was a tactical assault of unwavering pressure. Your cries chorused higher until you issued a rapid succession of whimpers, one after another, as you climbed toward your climax. 

Robby applied more force and held his tongue in place until your body seized, your nails sinking into the back of Robby’s neck as heat sprawled across your cunt, its ripples triggering a blissful shriek from you. It left you boneless, your head void of all coherent thought.

But Robby’s desperation peaked. He crawled on top of you, his eyes dancing with a raw greed you’d never seen before. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips slow and assuring as if the two of you were exchanging an agreement to stop withholding from one another.

Robby’s eyes locked on yours when he pulled away to position himself between your legs. Your heart hammered as he held your gaze and lined the tip of his cock against your entrance. The air in your lungs screamed for relief as you held your breath, your fingers pressing into the mattress in anticipation.

He sank into you slowly, groaning at the squeeze of your tight heat. Your teeth chewed at your bottom lip as you willed your walls to stretch around him. The friction was dizzying as he filled you. Robby clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth threatened to crack. 

Once he’d reached the hilt, a clarity settled within your skull and your senses became hypersensitive to every movement, every breath and every agonizing second that Robby wasn’t driving you into the mattress.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Robby rasped. His voice was strained, as if he was in pain. In truth, he was merely fighting his final threads of self-restraint.

Robby was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Robby, please,” you begged. As arousing as the power was to Robby – the pitiful whine of your voice, the plea in your eyes, the way your body twitched in response to his cock – he didn’t make you beg again.

Robby’s hips retreated and snapped forward, driving his cock within your plush walls. You issued a low, guttural moan in response. Robby’s hands reached for your hips, pulling you into him in contrast to his thrusts. Together, your bodies composed a symphony that was approaching a grand coda.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby groaned. You bucked your hips in response, his praise heightening your arousal and your desperation to learn how it would feel to fall apart around his cock.

You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending orgasm. You squeezed your cunt tighter around him and your eyes clamped shut as you focused on the friction within your core. Robby shifted until he was directly above you, supporting himself with one arm as his shaft dragged through your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you. The bedsheets clung to their corners for dear life. 

Your nails sank into Robby’s shoulder, leaving tiny half-moon divots. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your slick passage, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips until you were certain the force would drive your heart straight into your throat.

Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot. 

“Oh fuck, Robby,” you moaned. The sound of his name spilling from your lips became his new favorite song. “Robby, I’m close.”

The desperation in your voice instilled a sense of urgency within Robby; a demand for deliverance that could only be rivaled by the high pitch of a flatlining patient. But this wasn’t loss of life; this was rebirth.

Robby rocked back to a kneeling position, his eyes glued to your joint union as he drove his cock upward. It speared your core’s pressure point until your toes were curling.

Your cunt clenched tighter, beckoning your release. It mounted within your walls, swelling until it surged. You unleashed a sharp, ringing cry that filled the bedroom while your back arched off the bed and stars filled your eyes. Robby maintained his pace as your cunt convulsed, sending spasms searing through your nerve endings.

The end of your high marked the beginning of Robby’s. The vision of your mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing, dripping cunt swallowing his cock, was far more than he could handle. He swore loudly as his cock twitched. He yanked your hips flush with his as he spilled himself inside you, his fingers pressing hard into your flesh. 

Robby stilled when it was over. He released your hips and collapsed on the pillow beside you, his arms snaking their way around your torso as he pulled you close. You, however, were incapable of any movement. Your fucked out frame was limp and weak, but you couldn’t remember the last time you were this satisfied.

Faint traces of the morning’s first sunlight leaked through the curtains of Robby’s bedroom when you awoke. He slept with one arm flung across your torso. You studied him quietly as he slept. His peaceful breaths were a soothing contrast to his serious demeanor.

Then he snored so abruptly, he jerked awake. You bit back a laugh.

“Hey,” you said softly. Robby rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hey.” Robby studied you with such intensity, you could feel the familiar flush threatening to creep over your cheeks. “You sleep alright?”

You nodded. “You?”

Robby cracked another smile. “I did, considering it’s the first time I’ve slept in my own bed in weeks.”

“And whose fault is that?” you laughed with faux indignation. “I seem to recall offering to let you have the bed.”

“I only wanted it if I could share it with you.”

You swallowed your heart back down to your chest. “Well you left that minor detail out,” you quipped.

“Well I wasn’t aware it was an option,” Robby replied. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsure how to respond and annoyed at yourself for the lack of confidence. But in all fairness, it'd only been mere hours since the man had absolutely ruined you by turning you into a pitiful, whimpering, moaning mess. “But in all seriousness,” Robby continued, the amusement in his eyes shifting to something much more serious, “You do understand that I didn’t want for this to be a one-time thing, right?”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But if you do want it to be a one-time thing, it’s alright,” Robby continued. “I just… you just…” His eyes scanned the ceiling as he decided on the right words. “Just tell me, okay?”

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, either,” you said immediately. Normally, you’d have practiced more restraint, more poise, played it cool and nonchalant, but this felt too raw and honest to hold back. 

“You don’t,” Robby repeated as if he needed confirmation.

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

You shifted to rest your head on his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you with comfort. 

You couldn’t believe that, finally, you got what you wanted. Now it all seemed so simple; you and Robby made sense and it shouldn’t have taken so long for the two of you to reach that mutual understanding. But now, you were too giddy and too relieved to dwell on the past.

“The ER’s going to have a field day about us,” Robby muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve all had their bets placed for quite some time,” you said.

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Robby said carefully. “But I don’t want you to feel like we have to be a secret. You’re not a secret or something that I could ever be ashamed of, but I understand if you want to keep this under wraps.”

“I’m not ashamed either,” you said with a frown. “Robby, I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh.” Robby seemed genuinely surprised by your revelation. He dragged a palm across his face and grimaced. “Guess we both wasted the past few years then.”

“Guess we’ll have to make up for it,” you said, drawing a grin from Robby. “But maybe to start, we just let everyone at work figure it out on their own.”

“Wanna bet on who’s the first to figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ll put $20 on Mohan,” you said confidently.

“I’ll put $20 on Dana.”

“Deal.”

A quiet moment fell over you, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the momentous change that had just taken hold of your life. Just 24 hours ago, you were single and pining hopelessly for the senior attending you thought couldn’t be bothered with any interest in you.

“I’m going to make some tea,” you declared, sliding out of bed to pull your bathrobe on. 

Once you were alone in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You gazed around the kitchen, now wondering how often you’d spend time there in the future. Sure, you’d move back to your apartment in a few days, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were in your second home.

The sudden buzz of your phone on the counter pulled you from your daydreams. 

“Hey,” you said, accepting a Facetime call from Trinity.

“Goooood morning,” she said in a sing-song tone as Samira peered over her shoulder. They were clearly at work, standing at the nurses’ station. You’d never been so grateful for you and Robby to have a mutual day off.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, your tone cheery but not too jubilant.

“How’d it go?” Samira asked eagerly.

“Wait,” you said with a frown. “Samira, didn’t you work last night? Why are you there?”

“Working a double,” she responded breezily. “Now quit deflecting. How was the charity gala?”

“It was good,” you offered casually, propping your phone up on the counter against the backsplash so you could retrieve your tin of matcha from the cupboard. “I had a good time.”

“A good time,” Trinity repeated blankly.

“That’s what I said,” you hummed.

“Oh, come on,” Samira whined. “We need details. Did anything happen?”

“Define ‘anything,’” you replied as you filled the tea kettle with water.

Trinity rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to hold out on us, after all we’ve done for you.”

“What exactly did you do for me?” you laughed.

“We helped you pick out that stunningly sexy dress that Dr. Robby was supposed to tear off of you,” Samira answered matter-of-factly. 

“You two are insane.”

“And you are an asshole,” Trinity retorted. “Come on, give us something. You really can’t tell us that nothing-”

Her voice stopped abruptly and you watched her eyes widen at something behind you. You turned to look over your shoulder, where a shirtless Robby had appeared. 

“Hey, Dr. Robby!” Samira called out merrily. Meanwhile, Trinity’s jaw was hanging open.

Robby blinked, his hair still a tousled mess. “Good morning,” he said, stepping closer to peer at your phone. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is splendid,” Trinity answered. Even through your phone screen, you could see her eyes glinting with glee.

“Is that Dr. Robby?” Dana’s face appeared in frame and you sighed as you watched her expression react to seeing her senior attending standing in nothing but sweatpants behind you. “Well good morning to you both!” she mused with a knowing smile.

“Fuuuuuck,” Robby groaned from behind you. 

You glared daggers of annoyance at your friends. “We’re hanging up now,” you said.

“We’re hanging up?” Trinity mused. “You hear that? She’s already referring to them as ‘we.’” 

“Goodbye!” you sang as you ended the call. Behind you, Robby was rubbing his temples.

“Sorry,” he sighed. 

“It’s fine,” you said, more amused than annoyed. You’d known all along your secret would be short-lived. You crossed the kitchen to slide your arms around Robby’s torso, tilting your head backward to smirk up at him. 

“Guess you technically owe me $20, though.”

By the time you turned onto your parents’ street, your nerves had you anxiously drumming your hands on the steering wheel. You tried to play it cool, to keep Robby from worrying more, but the closer you came to your childhood home, the more the knot in your stomach tightened.

When you pulled into the driveway, you could see your mom peeking from the living room curtains.

“Ready?” you asked as you put the car in park.

“Ready,” Robby said with a surprising air of confidence. You couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at him. “Look,” he continued. “I want your parents to like me, obviously, but I’m also too old to think that their opinion of our relationship is going to make a difference. How they feel about us isn’t going to change how I feel about you. They love you, and so do I.”

You offered him a smile, your heart swelling over how fucking lucky you felt. 

“You’re right,” you agreed, reaching to the passenger’s seat to give his knee a gentle squeeze. “Regardless of what they think, it’s still you and me.”

The glance exchanged between your parents when you introduced Robby wasn’t lost on you. You knew what they were thinking — they were surprised you’d brought home an older man. But as the evening progressed, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, smiling to yourself at the warm conversation that unfolded. You felt silly for doubting your parents. Sure, they could be a bit conservative and too concerned with keeping up appearances, but by the time your mom was cutting the pumpkin pie for dessert, they had embraced Robby with fondness. 

“And you really doubted me,” Robby murmured into your hair as you cuddled up to him in bed that night. 

“I didn’t doubt you,” you pointed out, turning to peer at him through the lenses of his reading glasses. “I doubted them. And I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“That remark your mom made about grandkids was a bit alarming though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you sighed. “But at least she likes you enough to grant you permission to make her a grandparent.”

“She does know any child of mine will be raised a Steelers fan, right?”

You smacked him with a pillow. 

You woke up early the next morning and crept quietly into your parents’ kitchen, leaving Robby to sleep. Your mom was already up, drinking coffee in her favorite armchair by the front window. 

“Morning,” she chirped, motioning for you to sit on the sofa. When you obliged, she smiled at you. “Robby seems really nice, honey,” she said. “He seems like a hell of a doctor. And he really seems to care about you.”

“He’s brilliant,” you agreed. “And he’s a far better person than I could’ve asked for.”

“Do you think he’s the one?” 

“I hope so,” you answered. “Because even if there were two of him, he’s the only one I’d want.”

By the time Robby woke up and strode into the living room, you and your mom were watching the latest episode of 90 Day Fiance. Robby shook his head at you and headed toward the kitchen for coffee. 

“Sorry I don’t have any tea for you, honey,” your mom apologized. “I always forget that you don’t drink coffee.”

“I have tea.” Robby poked his head back into the living room. “I brought your matcha. It’s in my backpack.”

From across the living room, your mom smiled at you in approval.

[bartonomy]

A GLIMPSE BETWEEN THE VEIL

PAIRING James Potter x Whimsical!Reader

SYNOPSIS James Potter has never put much stock in divination, but when a peculiar classmate offers to read his future, he finds himself unable to resist.

CONTENT WARNING talk about the future, James freaking out, angsty but not too bad, not exactly romantic but the reader is implied to be interested

WORD COUNT 1.2k

library.

James Potter never fancied himself the superstitious sort. Sure, he had vague notions of grandeur- winning the Quidditch Cup, making his parents proud, marrying a cute girl with a laugh as sharp as her hexes- but actual predictions? No, thanks. That sort of thing was for people who saw shapes in tea leaves and claimed the wind is responsible for every little mishap.

Which was precisely why he was sitting crisscrossed apple sauce across from you, mildly bewildered, as you shuffled an old deck of tarot cards with an almost hypnotic grace.

“You’re taking an awful long time, darling,” James teased, propping his chin on his hand. “Are you searching for a particularly good future, or just one that doesn’t end with me embarrassing myself?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing thing that made his skin prickle.

“The cards take the time they need, James.” Your voice was soft, melodic, like you were speaking from somewhere just beyond reality. “patience, or you might spook them away, the nargles have been especially fussy these days”

“Wouldn’t want that, do we” he murmured, glancing down at the cards with skepticism.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting warm shadows across the walls. Most of the house was either out on the grounds or in Hogsmeade, but James had lingered behind, half out of laziness, half because he’d overheard Sirius mention your readings and got inexplicably curious.

Sirius, for all his bravado, had walked away from his session looking rattled. Which was interesting and absolutely hilarious.

You sighed contently, spreading the deck between your hands like a fan. The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows over the cards, their edges frayed from years of use. James had seen you doing readings before- sometimes for your friends, sometimes for curious younger students, and even once for Professor Whats-Her-Name in the Courtyard.

“Please pick three,” you instructed with the same soft tone you only used in class.

"Aye, aye grand Seer", James did as he was told, amused despite himself. “So, how does this work? You going to tell me I’m going to be rich and famous or that my soulmate, the love of my life is around here??” he snorted "please let it be the latter one"

"You are already rich" you pointed out, laying the three picked card neatly in front of you and discarding the unused deck in your satchel "and whether or not you will find love...well. That remains to be discovered, hm?"

With that he rolled his eyes playfully and you hummed, drawing the first card and laying it gently in front of you. The Fool.

James blinked.

“Oi, that’s just rude.”

You laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not at all. The Fool isn’t the fool we all know, James. He’s someone at the beginning of a great journey, standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a leap of faith.” You tapped the card. “He’s full of potential, but also reckless. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

James grinned. “Sounds about right so far.”

You drew the next card. The Lovers.

James coughed. “Oh, well—”

You tilted your head, studying it with quiet reverence. “This isn’t always about romance, you know. It can mean a choice, a connection, a relationship that defines a person. It’s about harmony and consequence. Something you can’t escape.”

James swallowed. His mind, without permission, conjured an image of Lily Evans—her oh so fierce green eyes, the way she scrunched her nose adorably when she was annoyed, how she never hesitated to call him out.

You watched him closely, as if seeing the thought pass across his face. He didn’t like how sharp your gaze was, like you were peeling him apart with nothing but intuition.

“Shall we?” you murmured, pulling the third card.

You turned over the third and last card.

James frowned at the image—a great tower, struck by lightning, people falling from its heights. The air around you both seemed to shift, the easy playfulness from before fading into something heavier.

“The Tower,” you murmured.

James swallowed. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

You traced the image with a careful finger. “Not bad. Just… necessary.”

James gave a dry laugh. “Destruction is necessary? On my buttocks, you are just like us, little troublemaker”

“Sometimes.” Your voice remained gentle, but the certainty in it made James shiver and his uneasy smile faded. “The Tower comes when the foundation isn’t steady. It doesn’t destroy for the sake of it—it forces change. When the dust settles, the world isn’t the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s worse.”

James stared at the card, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest. Something about it—it felt too close, like a whisper against the back of his mind.

“What kind of change?” he asked quietly.

You studied him for a long moment, then examined the fated cards in front of of you

James stared at them. The Fool. The Lovers. The Tower. A journey, a choice, a fall.

He let out a quiet breath. “You sure you didn’t stack the deck?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, you gathered the cards and shuffled them again, your fingers delicate against the worn edges.

James watched you, the tightness in his chest still there, lingering.

“Do you ever do readings for yourself?”

The question was simple, but it was enough to stop your fingers mid-motion. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. It was an unexpected question. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of reading for yourself felt like stepping into uncharted territory, where the gods will have full access of your being, your soul, and your mind.

“I... would rather not” you answered softly, your eyes now focused on your hands,“I mean, It is possible if I do, but it’s not something I like to do often.”

“Why not?” James asked, his curiosity piqued, though his tone was lined with the previous horror of his reading. “Scared the cards might tell you something you don’t want to hear?”

You chuckled, but it came out strained. “Something like that.”

James leaned in a bit closer, tilting his head. “Come on, you’re always so ominous with the cards for everyone else. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few little 'whackspurts' messing up your head.”

The mention of whackspurts—those silly, fuzzy little creatures from your gardens, made you stiffen slightly, but not in the way he intended. It was funny, yes, but also something you had come to associate with the fuzziness that clouded your mind whenever you thought too much about yourself. The confusion, the uncertainty, the inability to make sense of your own feelings. You’d often joked about whackspurts being responsible for any moments of mental fog, but in truth, it was far more than that. It was a kind of fear—the uneasiness of confronting the unknown parts of yourself, the parts that were tangled and elusive.

“I don’t think it’s whackspurts,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “not entirely at least, It’s more like… what if I look too closely and find things I’m not prepared to see? What if there’s something inside me that I’m not meant to understand?”

He only shrugged, " then you are forced to confront them no matter what. I mean, with the bullock of a reading you gave me, I can't entirely avoid it can I?" he gave you his signature smile, all teeth and stirring something foreign inside of you.

“You believe in fate, don't you?” you asked after a moment.

James shook his head. “I believe in making my own future.”

Your smile was soft. “Then do.”

The words settled into him, deep and warm, and he suddenly had the strangest feeling that one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—he would look back on this moment and realize just how much the universe had been trying to warn him.

[shitpostingsapphic]

The people complaining about the power imbalances and toxic situations in regards to the arc of caitvi in season 2, who also claim to be big season 1 caitvi fans.... where did you think this relationship was going?? Did you think that an excon with a terrorist sister and a privileged copper princess were going to never have these specific types of problems in their hard fought journey to being in love? Did you think caitlyn wouldn't temporarily fall back on her preconceived notions about Zaun when confronted with this level of grief and outside manipulation (ahem, an attack on her mother's memorial by a group is perceived by EVERYONE to be from Zaun? We the audience know the truth, that Ambessa set up the whole thing, but do the characters? No they do not.) Did you ever perceive Vi to be a character that doesn't live solely to love and be loved, and would do nearly anything in attempts to maintain that? Vi, who was loyal to her family before anything and hated people like silco and sevika because of their direct betrayals and the way they hurt her loved ones. Yes, passionate about the wellbeing of Zaun, but someone who loved before anything else. That is her priority. Just what sort of ship were you guys under the notion of stanning back in s1? Did you think their dynamic wouldn't hurt to watch on the road to their happy ending, even back when we weren't sure they would even get one? I for one think their relationship was splendidly done and really explored the star-crossed lovers dynamic, and what it would actually take for this type of couple to receive a happy ending. It's not a pretty road. It was never going to be.

[manytoonepoet]

Whenever I listen to a song, a few lines tend to stand out to me, and Hala CG's "Gambler" was no exception, with those lines being: "But they don't see the hand clutching on for dear life. They don't see the man as he tries, and he tries to stand tall." — with those lines being a brief yet concise summarization of how we view characters and the people around us.

Example, number one example, is the man of the song himself, Aventurine. I've already talked about this in detail in this post of mine, which I made a while back, and I highly recommend checking it out if you wish to know more, but I'll summarize it here: The way the majority of people view Aventurine is simply disgusting; they only ever care about who he is gay for or what is in his pants, and while shipping and having your own interpretations about a character is absolutely alright, oversimplifying and forcing one's headcannons compromises the true essence of the character — you might as well create a new character of your own with how many changes you've made to this one as you claim that they are this or that, and more often that not, these unnecessary and unwanted changes disrespect the original intent of the source material. A lot of these people forget, or simply choose to ignore, what Aventurine has gone through and mold him to their headcannons and push those headcannons down people's throats because they despise the fact that not everyone sees Aventurine as a submissive, masochistic, gae man for Dr. Ratio and instead enjoy and learn about a character instead of focusing on who's gae for whom and who's not. They despise the fact that people see and admire Aventurine for his resilience, his perseverance, his bravery, his intelligence, his thought process, and his strategy — they acknowledge and admire all that and more, and it is such a shame that too many people don't.

But Miss Poet, I hear you say, if you've already talked about this, then why bring it back again? Can't you just let it go? It's done! Well, Rat Urine is back just in a different outfit → Phaidei.

Again, I will restate it just in case you missed it: Shipping, having headcannons, and having your own interpretations about a character is absolutely alright so long as it doesn't compromise the true essence of a character.

But me, personally, I dislike the notion of shipping in HSR mainly because I believe romance could potentially kill or somewhat lessen the impact of their main story theme of trailblazing. This group of people is made up of the lost, the broken, and the hurt, yet even as they wander amongst the stars, they're never alone because they have the people that they have formed bonds with along the way, and more people to encounter in the future. HSR's journey is that—a journey, one that is symbolic of real life, funnily enough. Because in real life, we love (or at least are supposed to). We love and we uphold hope and we create relationships with that love and hope, relationships that aren't inherently romantic. In fact, I'm quite proud of Hoyo for giving Mydei and Phainon such a deep and emotional bond because what I personally see in media usually involves strong female friendships rather than male ones, and I believe we need more of this kind of friendship and brotherhood as well.

And I believe THAT is what's heartwarming about Amphoreus' story — this group of people is brought together by loss and pain and war and death, and all of that made them appreciate the bond and camaraderie present within their little group. They understand that they will reach their doom soon, sooner than they might think, even. But even then, they still took the time to bond and grow closer to each other instead of shutting everyone out because, at the end of the day, they only have each other, don't they? They only have each other to rely on, and they're the only hope Amphoreus has left. If they crumble and fall apart, what will be of Amphoreus? They are the soldiers sent to the frontlines to protect the innocent and secure even the slightest bit of hope that there will be a future for everyone else, even if they won't be there to see it. In fact, speaking of soldiers, they often form exceptionally close bonds due to the unique and intense circumstances they share. The combination of high-stakes missions, reliance on one another for survival, and extended time together in challenging environments fosters deep trust and camaraderie. Shared experiences—like training, combat, or long deployments—create a sense of brotherhood or sisterhood that can surpass typical friendships. However, the strength of these bonds varies based on individual personalities, unit dynamics, and the intensity of shared experiences. Some soldiers may not form close friendships due to personal differences or shorter service periods, but for many, these relationships become profound and enduring.

Take this post however you want to, call me names, slurs, throw insults my way, but I simply wish to provide another perspective and to bring something new to the table because when I see Mydei and Phainon together, I don't wonder about who is top or who is bottom, I don't wonder about what positions they prefer or what places they enjoy doing it. Because when I see Phainon and Mydei, I see the bond eloquently described by the lovely people in the pictures on top, I see the bond I wish to grow and nurture with my own best friend too.

And no, I'm not criticizing anyone for liking this ship, I'm not acting nor do I see myself as someone above the rest of you, but I simply wish the fandom wasn't so quick to label them as gay or have their entire character be oversimplified as someone's gae submissive malewife or someone's dominant daddy... HSR has such an emotional and nuanced storytelling, one that talks about these kinds of relationships so well, and I just wish the fandom could appreciate it as it is, rather than twist it into something that it is not.

Because, yes, a lot of people here don't see the hand clutching on for dear life. They don't see the man as he tries, and he tries to stand tall.

[redvexillum]

@peach-flavored-flambe I started this whole Flufftober/Kinktober journey as a way to challenge myself. Thank you for picking all the prompts for me this month. Thank you for always reminding me to write for ME and not for others. Thank you for being supportive of all of my writing since the day I entered this fandom. I know you are a fluff connoisseur so it's only right that I end this challenge with fluff - it is part Flufftober after all (and I wrote 24 smutty stories this month lol!)

TAGS: disgustingly fluffy, catastor, alastor is bad with feelings, alastor is in denial, touch starved alastor, ambiguously defined established relationship, alastor has a tail

✨️ This is a companion piece to Oblivious Love. A snapshot of a possible mini-series I may or may not write ✨️

In another world, in another time, Alastor would have scoffed at the very notion of competing for anyone’s attention—least of all yours. And yet here he was, locked in a contest of affections with the most revolting, misshapen, red… thing. His lip curled in distaste. 

Competing? 

What a joke. 

He, Alastor, the Radio Demon, competing with… this? This mangy, misbegotten creature that you somehow, with all your boundless compassion, deemed to be a cat. His left eye twitched as he watched you coo at it, tenderly brushing your hand over its head. Every stroke made its misshapen ears flicker back before they sprung up again like hideous, overgrown weeds. 

The beast grinned up at you��a lopsided, almost maniacal grin—and Alastor cringed at its wide, vacant eyes. Eyes that pointed in opposite directions, adding an extra layer of stupidity to its already horrific form. And to top it all off, it wore some ridiculous monocle over one eye, like some half-wit caricature. Alastor's gaze narrowed on the creature’s absurd antler-like protrusion. 

How… befittingly obnoxious.

And then there was the name. 

Catastor. 

Of all the wretched things to call this freakish beast, you—and the rest of the hotel—had somehow arrived at Catastor, no doubt inspired by some misguided notion that this abomination had any resemblance to him. He huffed. The very idea. 

Just as he was about to enjoy a nice, quiet coffee break with you—his sacred time with his favourite person in all of Hell, uninterrupted and undivided—Catastor once again waltzed in, unannounced and unbothered. One garish screech later, and Alastor watched in slow motion as your attention shifted from him to… it. Your cooing started, that soft, adoring voice, while you scratched its revolting back, its purring filling the air with an infuriating satisfaction. 

Alastor’s grin tightened, his claws tapping rhythmically against his coffee cup, every nerve on edge. He imagined roasting the little beast, maybe flambéing it for good measure. Or perhaps he’d skip the cooking and just… devour it raw. 

It wouldn’t respawn. Unlike the sinners here, this little beast wouldn’t come back... 

...Actually, he wasn't entirely sure. It probably wouldn't come back. 

“Are you enjoying that, Catastor?” you murmured sweetly, eyes soft and radiant as you stroked it gently, letting your fingers glide down its back. Catastor’s eyes slowly drooped with bliss, purring loudly, completely absorbed in the luxury of your touch. 

Alastor’s claws tapped harder. Perhaps he would spare the creature for a little longer, let it feel a few more sunrises. But only for now, until he deemed the time right. 

He wasn’t jealous, of course. He’d never lower himself to something so trivial. No, he already had your attention. Compete? He smirked inwardly. He would never. 

“Dear?” Alastor called, his pride swelling as you looked up, your lovely smile still intact, eyes gleaming with interest as they settled on him. His heart raced—it always did when you looked at him like that, so openly, so innocently, as if he were your whole world. Clearing his throat, he kept his tone cheerful, even as he threw a disdainful glance at Catastor. 

“Your drink is getting cold, my dear. All this fuss over that… thing,” he muttered, lingering on the word with disdain as he quirked a brow toward the vile intruder. 

“Oh! That’s true!” you exclaimed cheerfully, scooping up Catastor with all the ease of picking up a damp noodle. The creature seemed to melt in your arms, his gelatinous little body sagging like all his bones had been dissolved into mush. His spine curved absurdly, draped over your arm like a ragged old towel, all while his purring grew even louder. You giggled brightly, an infectious sound that made Alastor’s ears twitch, and his eye give the faintest, most involuntary spasm. 

How smug, how terribly smug that little beast looked, he thought, like he’d won something. Alastor was positively certain that he could draw even more radiant laughter from you if he just had you to himself. 

But this… not-competing for your attention carried on. 

The next day, he found himself strolling around town by your side, his back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, as he recounted the latest juicy bits of gossip from Cannibal Town. Your expression was relaxed, attentive, and that quiet comfort in your eyes swelled a surprising sort of pride in his chest. 

“Oh, and don’t get me started on ol’ Frank here,” Alastor chortled, gesturing with his staff at a dilapidated little shop across the street. “Croaked in the last Extermination, poor fool! And now some hapless soul bought the building!” He pointed with glee just in time to see a young woman struggle with the door before it promptly collapsed on her head. He stifled a delighted laugh. “No one’s managed to run a shop there for nearly five hundred years! Imagine such a waste of souls….” 

“Aww, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically, your amused smile softening. “Maybe you could help her out? Make her a deal?” you teased, a playful smirk lighting up your features, though your usual kindness still sparkled in your eyes. 

“Perhaps,” Alastor mused, softening his tone as the two of you strolled on. He did enjoy these quiet moments with you, wandering through the chaos of town. Ordinarily, he might have offered any other lady his arm with a bit of playful charm, but as his eyes drifted to your hand swinging casually by your side, he couldn’t help a ridiculous little thought from slipping into his mind. 

What would it be like to take your hand? To clasp his fingers over yours? He imagined the warmth, the softness of your skin and your hand would fit perfectly in his, as if made for him alone. 

The hum of Cannibal Town’s busy streets faded to a quiet buzz as Alastor fell into the silence. His gaze lingered on your hand for a moment longer, and then, in a rare, almost boyish impulse, he stretched out one gloved finger, brushing ever so lightly against the top of your hand. 

Immediately, his gaze darted to your face, but your expression remained calm, as placid as ever, lost in thought. The smallest curl of his grin softened as he looked ahead again, spine straighter than ever. 

A shuddering breath slipped past Alastor's lips. He had held other people’s hands countless times over the years—flirtations, deals, the occasional well-mannered escort—but this was… different. Strangely intimate. Vulnerable, even, which was absolutely absurd. He was over a century old, for heaven’s sake, not some fumbling schoolboy. It was just a hand, after all; he could chalk it up to nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture. 

So, after one fortifying breath, he steadied his gaze forward and reached out, his fingers inching toward yours. 

But… instead of your warm, delicate hand, his fingers closed around something smaller. And… hairier? 

Alastor’s eyes snapped down, and his lips clamped shut to suppress the hiss of static crackling in his throat. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep the shriek that wanted to escape from manifesting into the demonic roar his pride demanded. Because in his hand, instead of yours, was a limp, furry, noodle-like appendage. 

Catastor, somehow, had wriggled its way between the two of you and was now proudly extending its furry little paw into his hand. 

“Eugh!” Alastor recoiled, releasing the beast’s fuzzy limb with an audible cringe. 

You burst into peals of laughter, the sound bright and melodic as you greeted the cat with your usual warmth.

 “Catastor!” you cooed, scratching the creature’s head while it emitted a grating, delightfully hideous meow in response. Grinning up at Alastor, you said with a chuckle, “Look at us—a little family, walking around town like this!” 

Alastor’s grin tightened. “It looks nothing like me,” he muttered, only for the monocled beast to cast him a haughty, one-eyed glare. Under the hellish glow of the streetlights, its monocle gleamed almost smugly. 

“Oh, of course,” you replied simply, your laughter still dancing on your lips. 

His eye twitched as he entertained himself with the idea of cooking the cat into a jambalaya, rich and smoky. But no—that would be a small defeat, a concession that he was somehow competing with the fiendish little furball, which he wasn’t. 

Not at all. 

Yet, the relentless interference continued. Day after day, Alastor’s patience thinned. The little vermin seemed to have made it its life’s mission to sabotage every moment he tried to spend alone with you. He’d reach out naturally, aiming to rest a hand on your shoulder, only to feel the warm, slightly damp fur of the cat draped over your shoulder instead, as if it had some preternatural ability to stretch itself into his every gesture. 

Every time, he could imagine nothing less than punting the thing across the Petagram and sending it into the deepest layer of Hell. Yet, that urge would disappear the moment he heard your bright, amused laughter and saw your radiant smile. It was like you were some smile devil—any glimpse of your joy, and he lost all resolve to do anything that might bring you sadness. 

One afternoon, in the quiet shade of the bayou, Alastor stood by, his legs pulled primly together as he watched you lying in the grass. Your eyes were closed, a soft, contented hum escaping your lips as you lay there, bathed in the dappled light. The whole scene should have been picturesque: you, serene, the epitome of innocence and tranquility. 

But there was that hideous thing, sprawled over your chest like a satisfied pancake, purring loudly as if it had any right to bask in your affection. 

Alastor’s grin was wide, but his eyes were sharp, glaring daggers at the offending beast now lazing on top of you as if it belonged there. You, oblivious, kept humming, your hand stroking the cat’s fur in gentle, absent-minded sweeps. A perfectly peaceful scene, if not for the blob of red fluff ruining the picture by its very presence. 

One day, he mused darkly, one day that creature’s reign will end. But for now, he contented himself with standing by, watching the two of you in bemused, begrudging silence. 

The longer Alastor stared at that mangy little beast basking in your gentle touch, the more a unfamiliar itch settled in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, just in passing—strictly passing, of course—what it might feel like if your fingers drifted through his hair instead, tender and deliberate. 

Not that he’d ever ask, of course.

It was merely… curiosity. 

Still, the cat’s purring only seemed to grow louder, practically vibrating with pleasure. Alastor's ears flattened, lying flush against his head as his grin grew tighter, his shoulders hunching slightly as his neck tried to disappear into his collar. He wasn’t jealous, nor was he competing with a wretched creature for your attention. 

He most certainly was not. 

His fingers drummed against his knee, the gentle tap-tap-tap a cover for how long it had been since he’d had time alone with you, just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company without any interruptions. To touch your shoulder, perhaps even feel your hand… in a gesture of camaraderie, of course. 

Yes, that cat really did need to go. 

“What’s wrong?” Your soft voice broke through his reverie, and he blinked, letting the darker thoughts slip away like shadows at dawn. 

Forcing a laugh, he pitched it into that usual two-tone cadence, rolling his eyes with practised ease. “Nothing’s the matter, dear, just basking in the peace and quiet,” he flicked his wrist with a dismissive flair, avoiding your gaze. 

You hummed thoughtfully, then suddenly mused aloud, “I wonder… is your hair soft?” 

Alastor’s eyes widened, his head snapping back to you with an almost painful creak. His heart thundered, warmth radiating through his chest in a dizzying surge. “That’s a rather odd question, isn’t it?” he replied, wincing as he heard the slight waver in his voice. His tail thumped softly against the marshy grass in protest. 

“Well, your son—” 

“He’s not my son,” Alastor interrupted quickly, unable to hide the slight flush in his cheeks. 

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes, and Alastor found himself scooting just the tiniest bit closer. 

“Oh?” He let a wicked grin slip across his face. “So, you want to touch my hair, do you? It’ll cost you a steep price, my dear.” His eyes glowed with mock menace, and a low buzz of static crackled from his staff. “Perhaps… your soul,” he laughed darkly, the edge of humour softening his tone. 

You blinked at him before bursting into bright laughter. “What if I offer a massage instead?” You wiggled your fingers playfully. “Catastor seems to love it when I give him a little scratch behind the ears.” 

“Ugh.” Alastor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “That cat’s so starved for affection, you could probably kick it, and it’d still be purring like mad.” His grumble was almost swallowed up by his own embarrassment. 

There was a moment of silence as you watched him, a thoughtful look flickering in your eyes. Alastor stiffened under your gaze, nerves prickling as though you could see right through him. Then, with a bright smile, you reached out, your fingers splayed and wiggling in invitation. “You can be the judge then,” you offered with a grin, your hands open and waiting. 

Alastor’s gaze locked on your outstretched fingers, and as if guided by some irresistible, magnetic force, he found himself drifting closer, leaning in with a reverence that felt both foreign and sacred. He knelt just above your head, his eyes meeting yours in a soft, consuming stare, so near he could see the flecks of colour that danced within your gaze under the dim light. Slowly, carefully, he bowed, his face hovering just inches from yours, every breath mingling in the silence. 

His hair brushed against your cheek, and the contact brought a light laugh from you, your voice a murmur that warmed his every nerve. “That tickles.” 

He was entranced, utterly held captive by your closeness, by the way your lashes fluttered and your cheeks flushed. He’d never seen you this close before, and each tiny detail felt etched into his memory. “Well, go on,” he said softly, his tone dipped in a vulnerability he rarely allowed. “Show me if your massage is as grand as you claim.” 

A rush of warmth and satisfaction welled within him when he saw your own eyes flicker away shyly, your teeth worrying at your lip. You looked so endearingly flustered, as if realizing you and he were somehow alone in a bubble of time—just the two of you, no one else to intrude, no foolish cat.

Your fingers threaded delicately into his hair, and he surrendered, eyes slipping closed as he basked in the soft drag of your nails against his scalp. A shiver chased down his spine, and he released a soft, involuntary sigh, savouring every touch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him like this—no, no one had ever touched him like this. 

Your fingers travelled over his hair, deft and soothing, with your thumb tracing small circles at the base of his ear. He shuddered, his tail swaying in a steady, rhythmic beat beside him, betraying just how deeply he was affected. 

“Good?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. 

“Mmh.” His lips curled into a barely there smile, eyes still closed as he revelled in the feeling. “Passable,” he said, his tone rich with teasing. 

Your soft laughter flitted across his forehead, tickling his bangs and sending a delightful hum through his chest. He felt your breath, warm against his skin, each laugh another note of the melody he’d come to cherish. The gentle sweep of your thumb against his cartilage sparked waves of pleasure down his spine, and at some point, he’d eased himself down beside you, both of you lying on the cool grass, faces close as if drawn by an unspoken force. 

“You okay?” you murmured, your smile impossibly tender, amusement twinkling in your eyes. 

He met your gaze and found himself drinking in every detail. He liked your eyes, liked the way they softened as you looked at him. 

He liked your smile. 

But above all, he adored your laughter—the sound that seemed to strip away his defences and leave him feeling both exhilarated and exposed. 

A strange, quiet want flickered in his chest, something deep and hidden, something he hadn’t dared entertain. He wondered, just for a reckless, precious moment, what it would be like to move closer. Close enough that his breath mingled with yours, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, maybe even let his lips graze yours. 

Just close enough… to be with you. 

Would such closeness chase away that cherished smile, rob him of the laughter that had grown to mean so much? 

As his thoughts drifted, your fingers slipped down his hair, tracing the line of his cheek. He could feel your fingertips gliding over his skin, tender and curious. Then came that small, enchanting giggle, a sound so sweet it echoed within him, lingering as if it were a treasure he’d never forget. 

Alastor could feel his heart beating a little too quickly as he leaned closer, drawn by the soft warmth of your touch. His face was just a breath away from yours, his lips so near your forehead, he could already imagine the gentle brush of a kiss. A kiss there would be innocent enough, right? Perhaps pressing his lips to yours would be too bold... but a tender gesture to your forehead surely wouldn’t be unwelcome. 

After all, this was for friendship—of course.

Just then, you sat up, leaving Alastor frozen, a pang of disappointment dropping like cold lead in his chest. But the ache melted away, replaced by a flash of heat, as you leaned forward, hair falling around him in a private curtain that made his breath hitch. Your smile softened, your eyes warm and unwavering, and then they closed, lashes sweeping delicately against your cheeks. Slowly, achingly slowly, you moved closer, and Alastor felt his pulse roar, filling his ears with a rush of anticipation. 

He could feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his, your fingers grazing his cheek as if the touch itself could tether him in place. A thrill he hadn’t realized he was longing for stirred within him. He closed his eyes, waiting, a tension brimming in his chest. His fingers trembled as he raised his hand, longing to close the last bit of distance, to touch you, to be as close to you as he’d been daring to dream. 

But then—“KAOUGH, KAOUGH, KAAAOUGHGHGHH!” 

A horrid, hacking noise broke through the moment like a thunderclap, snapping his focus away and shattering the spell between you. Instantly, Alastor’s warmth turned to ice as you jerked back, your attention stolen by none other than that wretched, blasted cat. 

“Catastor!” you exclaimed, startled, pulling away as the cat began to retch with ferocity. Alastor turned his gaze, annoyance brewing in his eyes, and found himself staring at the feline menace who was now coughing up dark, soot-like balls. These abominable little things, complete with tiny pointed ears and two unsettling, beady eyes, tumbled out of Catastor one after another, writhing and blinking as if they’d just spawned from a nightmare. 

“What the—” Alastor’s voice dropped, a disgusted snarl creeping into his expression as he watched the horrid little creatures emerge. Each ball of shadow looked like a poorly crafted miniature imp, malformed and twitching, with pointed ears and flickering eyes that seemed to leer at him. 

You, however, looked anything but disturbed. Stroking Catastor’s back in gentle, soothing motions, you cooed, “Aww, Catastor, did you eat too much again?” Your voice was filled with a doting affection, and Alastor watched in utter disbelief as the monstrous cat leaned fully against you, sprawling across your torso and letting its chin settle on your shoulder. 

“Yeeeeooowww,” Catastor moaned, an ugly, grating yowl that grated on Alastor’s every nerve. 

He gritted his teeth, feeling the rage simmering beneath his strained grin. The cat’s smug, hideous expression seemed to taunt him as it claimed your attention and care. Alastor could practically hear the mockery in its yowl. In his mind, he imagined various methods of removing this furred menace from your life—and more importantly, from his. 

But as he looked back at you, watching the way your eyes softened with laughter and your voice became gentle for this thing, the thought of that precious smile disappearing stayed his hand. Instead, he forced a tight grin, one that masked the bitterness eating at him from the inside, knowing he would endure—even if he had to suffer through a hundred more of those retched “yeeeooowwws.” 

"Aw, there, there," you murmured, gently patting the cat’s back with slow, soothing strokes. You looked at it as if it were some fragile, innocent creature, while the vile shadowy minions it coughed up scattered in all directions like troublesome spirits unleashed from a curse. 

Alastor could feel his patience fraying. With a quiet, heavy sigh, he sent out his own shadows, ruthlessly ordering them to snatch and crush every last one of the creatures scuttling about his beloved bayou. They obeyed, darting after the minions with deadly precision, each shadow winking out in a puff as they met their end. He folded his hands with a dark, calculated grace, but his gaze—his burning, dagger-sharp gaze—never left that insufferable cat. 

Oh, he saw it, all right. 

Saw the smug curl of its eyes, narrowing like crescent moons, and that infernal tongue hanging out, like it had the audacity to taunt him. Him. Alastor, the feared overlord, the Radio Demon. He felt something ancient and fierce coil in his chest, as if the essence of his full demon form threatened to break through, to remind this creature who reigned supreme. 

But just as his head tilted, shadows thickening around him with a promise of retribution, you turned toward him, drawing his full attention like a magnet. Your eyes softened, and a faint blush crept over your cheeks, spilling a fragile warmth he hadn’t anticipated. “Sorry about that, Alastor,” you said, your voice laced with sincerity, and as your gaze flicked downward, his anger dissolved just slightly, easing in the tender lull of your voice. 

Your next words undid him further. “Maybe tonight, we could read together?” You glanced up, offering a small, gentle smile that seemed to light the space between you both. “Just the two of us?” 

With those words, that insatiable, molten rage that had been brewing in his chest dissipated instantly, snuffed out as though you’d whispered the calmest of spells. 

He was sure of it then—you had to be a Smile Demon. How else could you possibly hold such power over him, capable of soothing his very soul with a single look? 

He gazed at you, awe mingling with amusement. Yes, you must be a demon of terrifying strength indeed—one who held him, the Radio Demon, in the palm of your hand with nothing more than a smile. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Would you mind doing something on found family? Please and thank you!

Writing Notes: Found Family

The "Found Family" trope - Explores the heartfelt notion that family goes beyond blood, focusing on bonds formed by choice, circumstance, and shared experiences.

It explores how a family can be made up of individuals who are not biologically related but are instead bound by deep emotional connections, shared values, or common goals.

This theme is universally resonant in genres ranging from fantasy and science fiction to dramas, comedies, and cozies.

Born out of the understanding that kinship is not solely determined by birth, found family stories often portray characters who have been:

isolated,

rejected, or

disenfranchised finding solace, support, and strength in each other.

These stories highlight the characters' journeys from loneliness or adversity to belonging and acceptance within their newfound families.

The trope emphasizes that the act of choosing one's family is a profound expression of love and commitment.

It's a theme that also opens up discussions about the nature of family, community, and identity in contemporary society, making it a rich area for exploration.

Found family plots can act as a backdrop for character development, where individuals grow and change for the better through their interactions and relationships within their chosen kin.

"Family of Choice" Trope

Originally known in literary, cinema, and fandom circles as "Found Family".

Often in fiction, a character who starts out Conveniently an Orphan will pick up extremely loyal companions along the way.

Sometimes, these relationships are forged through the fire of conflict, but with Families of Choice (also called "Found Families"), it's a bit different.

Members of a Chosen Family mourn the lack of family in their lives and decide to build one of their own out of people they care for and who care for them in turn.

As in Real Life, this is most common when something has happened to these characters to isolate them from blood relatives—perhaps they have no family to return to.

Maybe they have a supernatural secret they can't share with their closest friends.

They might just have a bad home life in general and decide to leave.

Maybe they were, for whatever reason(s), disowned or rejected by their family members.

To fill the vacant roles in their lives, some characters build their own families with people they choose to care about.

Examples

Haymitch, Peeta & Katniss in The Hunger Games. Katniss still has her mother and sister until the third book where her sister dies and her mother moves away and Peeta's family is still around until the end of book two but all of Haymitch's loved ones were killed by the Capitol after the second Quarter Quell. The three of them become very close and at one point in the second book Katniss flat-out calls Haymitch a family member. For Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta seem to be the children he never had. By the end of the series Katniss and Peeta are married with two small children and Haymitch presumably fills the role of grandfather, since both Katniss and Peeta's fathers are dead.

Arya & The Hound in Game Of Thrones. Arya Stark and the Hound is one of the most unlikely friendships in Game of Thrones, but the two undoubtedly form a sweet bond. After Arya is separated from her family, the Hound is the one who picks her up to return her for a reward, much to her dismay. But as Arya's situation continues to darken, leaving continuously fewer options for him to return her to, the two begin to develop a complicated fondness for each other. Arya's hatred for the Hound falters over time, and the Hound develops a warm affection for Arya, who inspires his growth throughout the show.

A subtle, but important theme in Knives Out. Elderly millionaire Harlan Thrombey shocks everyone by cutting all his children and grandchildren out of the will, and instead choosing to leave it all to his personal nurse, Marta Cabrera. Despite the family's protests that, as his biological relations, everything Marta's inheriting is their birthright, and she should "do the right thing" and give it up, it gradually becomes clear that Harlan was fonder of her than he was of any of his relatives because she not only took care of him for a long time, but was a good and compassionate friend to him, who genuinely enjoyed his company and liked him as a person, not his wealth or fame. He returned her affection so much, he was willing to concoct a very elaborate scheme to protect her and keep her out of jail.

Poor Things. Bella, due to her rather unique upbringing, gradually forms a family unit where none of the members—her Mad Scientist adoptive father Dr. Baxter, her husband Max, her Replacement Goldfish and surrogate younger sister Felicity, her housekeeper Mrs. Prim, and her friend and (possibly former) lover Toinette—are related to her or each other by blood.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more information and examples for inspiration in the sources. Hope this helps with your writing!

[halfway-happyyy]

wasted on each other {frank castle}

synopsis: the one where frank teaches his girl a lesson on communication. minors DNI !

warnings: public sex, spanking, unprotected p-in-v, dirty talk, praise, frank is a little (consensually!) mean to his girl in this. fluff-filled ending because you can never go wrong with those.

Frank Castle has never prided himself on much, but if there's one thing he reckons he does well, it's being an attentive partner. Like how most times, all he has to do to see what she wants or needs is just to look at her. How he can tell just by the precise shade of her eyes, whether she needs a tight hug, or a plate of bolognese from Nello’s down the street, or a hard, thorough fucking. Tonight, it’s the latter. 

She’s been bratty for days now. Their schedules have been so up and down the last week that to him, they're like two ships passing in the night. Even he feels their recent lack of intimacy acutely; it's in the heavy ache of his balls and perhaps in his own shortness with her. 

He brings the frosty neck of the beer bottle to his lips and takes a sip. Savours the slightly bitter fizz on his tongue, before cocking his head to the side in question. 

“When’s the last time you ate somethin’ kid?” 

“Around noon, Frank,” She takes a long sip from her own bottle before shrugging. “Guess I must have forgotten to video chat you while I was doing it.” 

Irritation flares warm and raw just beneath the surface of his skin as he levels his gaze with hers. 

“This mouth you've been givin’ me for the last coupla days is getting real fuckin’ old, you know that?” 

He expects her to shy back now; it’s usually how these situations go down, but to his surprise, a smirk ghosts the edges of her lips. 

She's feelin' brave tonight.

“Yeah, is it getting on your nerves, Frank?” 

He nods. “Every last fuckin’ one ‘em, kid.” He leans toward her across the table and raises his voice slightly to be heard above the din of the dive bar. “You know the drill, baby. If you need somethin’ from me, all you gotta do is ask.” 

She elicits a laugh that bears no warmth. “I don’t need anything from you, Frank.” And yet, she can’t even look him in the eye when she says it.

“I think you're forgetting that I bite harder than that tone of yours ever could.” 

That does it. He watches the blush seep into the apples of her cheeks and sits back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. 

She opens her mouth to say something back, but then David and Sarah are there, and Frank watches satisfied, as the venom fizzles in her throat.

“Would you two excuse us for a second?” He asks. “She forgot something in the truck.” 

David waves it off. “Yeah but don't take too long, we still gotta agree on a karaoke song. I'm thinking something along the lines of Tarzan Boy or Hungry Heart…” 

The goosebumps that bloom in waves on Frank’s arms have less to do with the April evening chill and more to do with the anticipation of what the evening is about to hold. Wordlessly, he backs her up against the rough brick wall of the bar and takes her face in his hands. 

“Look at me, kid.” 

She hesitates a beat before meeting his gaze. 

“What’s gotten into you recently, huh?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but all Frank catches is a breathless whimper. 

“I find it interesting that all that mouth of yours has done the past couple of days is spew bullshit, but now that I have you out here, you're powerless to say anything of substance.” 

She swallows hard before murmuring, “I need you, Frank.” 

There it is. 

“No fuckin’ shit, kid. Open up for me,” He kicks at her ankles to widen her stance. They're in the mouth of the dank alleyway, entirely unshielded by anyone walking by, and the notion of it causes Frank’s dick to swell in the crotch of his jeans. He reaches beneath her dress, and as his fingertips make the familiar journey up her inner thigh, he curses to himself when he realizes she's forgone underwear for the evening. He leans forward so that his lips are mere inches away from the shell of her ear. 

“You don't need anything from me, though, right?” His fingers slide back and forth against the warm slick of her slit with ease. “You said that earlier. But you’re wearing a fuckin’ dress without underwear tonight, and I can feel how wet you are right now, so I know you're bluffing. Yeah, what I think you need from me is a goddamn attitude adjustment.” 

He presses a little harder so that the first couple inches of his fingers sink into her and smirks when he feels her squirm beneath him. 

“Think I should fuck you right here and now, baby. Give you exactly what you want. Make you walk back into that bar with my come drippin’ down your legs, so that every single person there knows what kind of a girl you've been lately, hm? How does that sound?” 

“Fuck, Frank.” she whines. 

He elicits a bark of a laugh and shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so, baby. Turn around.” 

While he waits patiently for her to do as she's told, he casts a quick glance around to be sure they’re still alone. His time serving in the military - the gift that truly kept on giving - had left him with a permanent nagging in the back of his mind that there were always a set of eyes on him somewhere. 

“Hike your dress up for me, please. Attagirl.” 

Again, she does as she’s told, one hand holding up the material, the other bracing herself against the jagged edges of the wall, and Frank makes a mental note to kiss away the bruises on the palms of her hands later on. He reaches down to rub a warm palm over the rounded curve of her ass cheek and marvels at the way she quivers beneath him despite not having been touched yet. He watches, mesmerized, as goosebumps mar the normally smooth planes of her skin and licks his lips.

“Stand still, and do your best to take this like a good girl, yeah?” He leans in to press a chaste kiss to the nape of her neck, and without warning, lifts his hand high and brings it down against her ass with a resounding thwack.

She jerks beneath him, and Frank surmises that she's got her bottom lip wedged between her teeth because the only sound she makes is a muffled whimper. And Jesus, he’s gotta get his erection in check before they head back into the bar. 

“You really gotta start communicatin’ better with me, baby,” He growls before letting fly a flurry of stinging smacks. He stops the barrage to tease a calloused fingertip down the stripe of her weeping cunt, earning him a desperate, high-pitched moan. “Shh, sh, it’s alright,” he coaxes hoarsely. “I’ve got you.” His forehead falls to the curve of her shoulder, and he takes a deep breath in, trying in vain to ignore the heaving ache in his balls. “God, I swear sometimes you test me just to get this kind of treatment.” Frank delivers a couple more unforgiving slaps, and rasps, “I really think you could come for me like this. I think that the pain is half the pleasure for you. I’m sure all I’d have to do is push a couple fingers back into this tight pussy of yours, and I could have you falling apart around them in seconds flat.” 

His words have a tremendous effect on her, and when she whispers, “please, Frankie…” he can hear how wrecked her voice is; how consumed with need she is for him, and the smile that pulls the corners of his lips upward borders maliciousness.

Frank clicks his tongue and gives his head a half-shake. “And there are those manners I’ve been missin’ all week. Funny, how that happens, huh?” He presses another quick kiss to the side of her neck, caressing a palm around the warm, raw skin of her ass cheek, and gently pulls her dress back down over her body. “Now. You and I are gonna head back into that bar, and if you’re good, you’ll get the rest later. Nod that pretty head of yours if you’re alright with that.” Even under the caliginous light provided by the street lamps, Frank can see that her pupils are blown wide with lust. 

She swallows hard and nods her head.

“Good.” He kisses her temple and flexes his fist a couple of times, willing the blood to flow to other parts of his body than just his dick. “After you, sweetheart.” 

~

The ride home is mostly silent, save for the muffled sound of the FM radio in the background. Frank’s trying his best to concentrate on the unusually heavy Friday evening traffic, but with the rock-hard erection he’s sporting, it’s certainly not the easiest task he’s ever accomplished. He steals a quick glance at his passenger; notices that despite the chill, her skin bears a subtle sheen of perspiration. Her eyes are closed, and her chest rises and falls in a measured manner, as if she’s trying her best to focus on something.

Frank averts his gaze back to the road and clears his throat. “How badly do you wanna touch yourself right now, baby? And so help me God, if you give me another bullshit smart-ass answer, I'll deny your orgasms for the next week.” 

She turns to look at him. “I want it so bad, Frank.” 

A smirk twitches on his lips. “Go ahead, then.” 

He watches from his periphery as she props a leg up against his dashboard and hikes her dress up past her thighs for the second time that evening. She sucks two fingers into her mouth, getting them slick with her spit, and then dances them down the front of her body to her clit. She goes easy on herself at first, pressing slow, firm circles into her swollen bundle of nerves, and Frank doesn't have to check to know she's likely already dripping down her legs, and onto the buttery leather beneath her.

“How does that feel, hm?” 

Her eyes close, and all she can manage is a low, desperate mewl, and at this point, Frank's starting to feel a little lightheaded from the lack of blood to his brain. 

“I know you can do better than that, sweetheart. Give yourself some more.” 

She does as she’s told and inserts a finger into her hot, wet core, and it’s all Frank can do to keep from groaning out loudly. 

“Like this, Frankie?” Her breathy voice is barely above a whisper, and he nods his head at her in approval.

“Exactly like that. Keep goin’.” 

“Wish it was your cock,” She whimpers. 

Her words send what feels like every ounce of blood left in his body back to his dick, and his knuckles whiten as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m sure you do, baby. But I'm still not convinced you've earned it yet.”

She pushes a second finger into herself and cries out at the sensation, her other hand still pressing roving circles into her clit. It’s quiet in the truck; the only audible noises between them now are the obscene sounds her fingers make as she fucks herself with them, and the wrecked moans that erupt from somewhere deep inside of her every couple of seconds. Frank can tell she’s close; can see it in the way her legs shake under the waves of pleasure that crash over her. Can actually just hear it.

“Stop,” he orders firmly.

She’s too wrapped up in what she’s doing, so close to the precipice she can’t turn back, but Frank isn’t having another second of it. He wraps a large hand around her wrist and squeezes tightly. “You don’t get to come yet. Stop.” 

With a frustrated sigh, her ministrations cease, and her head drops back against the leather rest behind her. She removes her legs from his dash and smoothes her dress back down. “Fuck, Frank, I was so close-

Irritation flares again, in tandem with the throbbing of his cock. “Is that damn mouth comin’ back again?” 

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head no.

“I didn’t think so.” 

When they finally roll to a halt in front of the apartment, he lets the truck idle a moment before speaking again.

“I need a minute here, kid. You go in without me.” He lifts the back of her hand to his lips and kisses it before setting it down. “Go on, I’ll be right behind ya. And don’t even think about touching yourself. Is that clear?” 

She nods once. “Crystal.” 

As Frank watches her disappear in the orange glow of the front foyer, he wonders briefly how he got so lucky with her. Taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths, he turns the ignition over and sits in the ticking silence. Yeah, part of this evening is about wanting her to know how important proper communication is to him. But mostly, he just wants her to know how utterly significant she is and how her thoughts, opinions, and feelings matter to him more than she could ever know. 

Their apartment is entirely void of any noise when he enters it, but the sliver of golden light from the lamp in their bedroom spills out onto the hardwood floor in front of it, and beckons him forth. He steps into their room wordlessly and drops down onto the edge of their bed with a sigh. She’s opposite him, against the far wall, her gaze sharp yet glassy, in equal measure. 

“C’mere, kid.” His hoarse voice never rises above a whisper.

She walks over to where he’s sat, stopping just shy of him completely.

“Come a little closer,” She does as she’s told, and she’s so close to him that he can feel the sheer heat radiating from her. “Will you take this off for me?” He’s got the hem of her dress in his grasp. 

She nods and steps back to shuck the material from her body for the final time. Her, entirely nude before him is a sight he reckons he’ll never truly tire of because every time it happens, it feels like the first time all over again. 

He holds her gaze for what feels like years before finally murmuring - “you really are breathtaking, y'know that?” 

Her sighs sharply before shrugging. “Only you think so, Frank.” 

He shakes his head. “No way, kid. Come back over here.” They regard each other with a rare intensity, and without breaking eye contact, he reaches for her hand and interlocks their fingers together. It never ceases to amaze him, just how perfectly they fit together and how sometimes it feels like they were supposed to meet from the very beginning of everything. 

She clears her throat before whispering, “I need you, Frank.”

And there it is. 

He stands from the bed to take her face in his hands and kisses her deeply. Though their push and pull is languid in every way imaginable, an underlying frenzy lingers just beneath the surface of it. Her taste on his tongue is so familiar, so intrinsically her, that it very nearly causes tears to prick behind his eyes. When he pulls away to study her, he can’t help noticing the way her lips glisten with their shared saliva. 

“You have me, kid. All of me.”

“Even when I’m being a brat?” She simpers.

Frank guffaws. “Yeah, even then.”  

Her fingers paw at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “May I?” 

He nods. “It’s all yours, sweetheart.” 

She makes quick work of unlooping the belt from his jeans and letting the denim pool on the floor around his feet. He shucks the cotton tee shirt from his torso, tossing it somewhere off to the side. He doesn’t miss the look in her eyes as she watches him shimmy the boxers from his legs, and the way his cock, finally freed from the confines of his boxers, slaps up against his abdomen. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and groans out as the cool bedroom air kisses his warm skin, and swiping a fingertip under his swollen head, he catches the string of pre-come dripping from it and brings it to her parted lips. She happily obliges him, sucking his finger into her mouth and groaning around it at the salty-sweet taste of him on her tongue. 

“Fuck,” Frank curses when he feels his dick jump at the sensation of her hot, wet mouth. “Get on the bed for me, will ya?” 

She doesn’t need any coaxing, leaving Frank’s side in a hurry to settle herself against the down pillows. 

He crawls onto the bed, spits into the palm of his hand, and takes his cock in his fist, knowing exactly how much she loves watching him touch himself. He feels a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face, but does nothing to wipe it away, instead focusing on stroking himself hard, and tight. “Jesus,” he growls, head falling back in ecstasy. 

“How does that feel, Frankie?” She asks, mirroring his own query from before. 

“It's nothin’ compared to you, sweetheart.” 

He stops his ministrations with a low groan, and shimmies closer to her, lining the head of his cock up against her. “Think you've earned it yet?” He rubs himself up and down the length of her slick slit, and slaps his cock thrice against her swollen clit, making her cry out into the still bedroom air before them. “Answer me, beautiful.”

“Probably not, Frankie.” 

That makes him laugh. “Yeah, you're right, baby. Probably not. But, I'm gonna give it to you anyway.” In one swift motion, he's buried to the hilt inside of her, her all-consuming warmth causing Frank's head to drop back unbridled pleasure. 

“Oh my god, Frank.” She whimpers, tensing involuntarily around him. 

He inhales deeply and traces a reassuring fingertip from her hip, up to her ribs. “Just take a deep breath, baby. I know it's a lot. I know I normally go slow with ya,” she inhales deeply, and slowly but surely, her walls loosen a little around him. “Ugh fuck, attagirl.”

Sheathing himself inside of her is one of those things he knows he'll never forget. It’s impossibly warm and so tight it’s almost painful- but it's also easily the most satisfied he's ever been. He goes slowly at first - he wants to make sure she can feel every inch of him as he splits her open. His head drops to her collarbone, and a long sigh pushes past his parted lips. 

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

He slams his hips home again, causing her to spasm around him at the dizzying sensation of it all. His lips have found that achingly delicate part of her neck again, where they lick and suck and nibble and leave miniscule bruises in their wake.

Mementos. 

He ruts into her shamelessly now; the aching push and pull of his cock inside of her has them both breathing heavily, ready, and awaiting the nearing end. Resting on the support of his elbows, his large, warm hands move to cradle her head, and he kisses her temple tenderly. He's close now; his steadied movements fall in and out of rhythm, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside of her with each powerful thrust. She arches into him, bettering the angle at which he’s driving into her, and purposely rakes her fingernails across the toned flesh of his back. He groans loudly at this particular sensation - his relationship with pain has always been a complicated one. Tilting his head back, his eyes close and his mouth falls slack with mounting pleasure. 

“Tell me, sweetheart. Talk to me.” his hiss is so low, it's almost lost beneath the explicit sounds of their fucking. 

There was no way he was going for a marathon tonight. Not with all of the build-up beforehand.

She drags a sharp fingernail down the front of his chest and squeezes him. “Let go for me, Frank. I want all of it.” 

His brows furrow, and his mouth twists up in a tight O. Tossing his head back, his hips still against hers, and he fills her to the brim with his warm release. He'll never get over the feeling of finishing inside of her. The warm, wet hug of her walls as they continue milking the orgasm from his softening cock. “Fuck, baby…” He whines.

Utterly spent and still riding the high of post-orgasm haze, his forehead drops to the crook of her neck where he allows himself a moment of respite before slipping from her heat and rolling back onto the space of bed beside her. It’s mostly silent in the room while they try to regulate their breathing; the only other noise being the slight pitter-patter of drizzle on glass window panes and the odd car horn in the distance. Frank turns on his side and gestures for her to turn over too so that he can curl up around her, and she happily obliges him. 

After a while, she excuses herself to use the washroom, and for some reason, Frank feels her absence immediately. When she doesn't come back right away, he leaves the comfort of their bed to investigate. He finds her in the shower, a guttering candle the only source of light in the room.

“May I join you?” He asks quietly.

She hesitates a moment before saying, “Course you can, Frank.” 

He steps into the shower behind her, taking note of the redness remaining on the rounded curve of her butt cheek. His brows furrow as he rubs a gentle palm over it and asks if she's alright. 

“I'm perfectly fine, Frank.” she smiles. 

He regards her for a while before sighing heavily. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Her eyes widen at his words. He doesn't allow himself to say it often, but he needs her to know he feels it for her with every fiber of his being. 

“Frank, I- 

He shakes his head. He has to get it out before he loses his nerve entirely. “You are the most important thing in my life, and I just need you to know that I value every single aspect of you,” he clears his throat, trying in vain to rid the emotion from it. “Your opinions, your thoughts on things, your feelings - all of it matters to me, kid. Its why I put such an emphasis on communication between us,” he closes the gap between them to brush the warm pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like it didn't.” 

A small smile blooms on her face that has the power to set his entire mind at ease.

“I love you too, Frank.”

[halfmoonaria]

superstar

pairing: jenna ortega & reader

summary: you're a singer, and jenna thinks you're a superstar

word count: 1.6k

Jenna had always been adamant in interviews and podcasts that she wasn't looking for a partner.

The notion of opening herself up to someone, of sharing her most intimate and vulnerable sides, was terrifying to her.

She'd often say that the industry was already a whirlwind, and adding a relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Her words resonated with a certain conviction, leaving fans and followers convinced that Jenna was dedicated solely to her career and personal growth.

Hence, when news broke that Jenna had met someone, the world was taken aback.

And her family, who had long accepted her stance on relationships, were particularly stunned.

What made it even more astonishing was that her partner was not just anyone but a singer. The very idea seemed to clash with everything Jenna had previously expressed.

If anyone had expected Jenna to find love, it would have been with someone far removed from the spotlight, someone who could offer a grounding presence amidst the chaos of fame.

Yet, there she was, completely enchanted by you, whose life was as much in the public eye as hers.

Your talent and passion had pierced through Jenna's carefully constructed walls, revealing a side of her that no one had ever seen.

It was an unexpected connection, but it was real, and it transformed Jenna in ways she had never imagined possible.

You were her age, having started singing at a tender age, your voice a gift that quickly became your solace.

From the early days of strumming a guitar in your bedroom to performing on small stages, your journey was one of both talent and resilience.

Your songs were deeply personal, often touching on themes of mental health, a reflection of your own struggles since your teenage years. The raw honesty in your lyrics resonated with many, turning your pain into a source of comfort for others.

Jenna admired you not just for your musical prowess but for your courage.

In a world where vulnerability was often masked, you stood as a beacon of authenticity. You spoke openly about your battles with anxiety and depression, both in your music and in interviews.

Your willingness to share your story in hopes of helping others, struck a chord with Jenna.

She saw in you a kindred spirit, someone who navigated the complexities of fame with a heart wide open, unafraid to show the scars that came with it.

The openness, the fearless confrontation of your inner demons, was what drew Jenna to you.

It was no surprise that the two of you had found each other, you were both well looking and had surprisingly more similarities than anybody would thought.

Your fame had skyrocketed over the years, just like hers had.

Sold-out arenas, chart-topping albums, and countless awards had become part of your daily reality.

You were recognized wherever you went, your face gracing the covers of magazines and your name trending on social media.

Just like Jenna; two of the biggest stars in the entertainment industry to end up together was something nobody had expected.

Despite your immense popularity, you remained grounded, always remembering the humble beginnings that shaped you.

The magnitude of your success was undeniable.

Fans across the globe found solace in your music, drawn to the sincerity of your lyrics and the powerful way you connected with your audience.

Your concerts were not just performances but communal experiences where people came together, united by the themes of your songs.

Interviews and talk shows frequently featured you, not only to discuss your latest projects but to delve into the deeper conversations about mental health that you championed.

Jenna couldn't help but be captivated by how you balanced the pressures of fame with an unwavering commitment.

It was this genuine openness, this ability to remain true to yourself amidst the chaos of fame, that drew Jenna to you like a magnet.

Despite your hectic schedules and the constant media attention, your relationship flourished in the quiet moments away from the spotlight.

There were times you often found yourself on set with her, quietly supporting her through long days of filming.

Whether it was bringing her coffee during early morning shoots or simply being there to listen during breaks, you made sure she knew you were always by her.

Likewise, Jenna joined you on tour, even if just few times. Those moments were rare but cherished, her presence bringing a sense of calm amidst the chaos of your busy life on the road.

She would watch from the wings as you performed, a proud smile on her face, supporting you in the way only she could.

At home, the connection between you two deepened in ways Jenna never had anticipated.

There were nights when she'd sit on the edge of the bed or curl up on the couch, watching you play your guitar and sing just for her.

The closeness of those moments, your voice soft and full of emotion, always sent a thrill through her.

More than once, she'd found herself unable to resist you, her desire building until she was straddling your lap, the vibrations of your music moving through her.

Which had ended up in her getting off on your thigh multiple times as you played, your voice serenading her into bliss.

Jenna loved you in a way she'd never loved anyone before. You were everything she didn't know she needed, the only person who truly understood her.

She often marveled at the thought that you were all hers, unable to fully grasp how someone as incredible as you had chosen her.

Whether you were strumming a guitar at home or belting out lyrics on stage, you captivated her completely.

You were the only one she wanted, the only one who made her feel this intensely.

When you performed was when all of those thoughts overflowed.

On stage, you were magnetic, your voice powerful and sultry, sending shivers down her spine. And when you danced, it was as if the music lived in your body, every movement fluid and mesmerizing.

Jenna couldn't take her eyes off you.

She adored the outfits you wore—revealing pieces that clung to your body, accentuating every curve.

She understood why you chose them; the heat from the lights and the crowd demanded something breathable, but there was no denying the allure they added to your presence.

She found your voice captivating, sexy almost, whether it was the soft croon she heard at home or the commanding, electrifying sound that filled arenas.

Each note you sang and every step you took drew her in deeper, reminding her that despite all the eyes on you, you were hers alone.

Jenna admired you fiercely. Every time she watched you perform, she fell a little more in love, unable to understand how she was lucky enough to have you.

The way you owned the stage, the way your voice and dancing wrapped around her heart, left her breathless.

She loved watching you perform. For reasons that went beyond the obvious.

It wasn't just for the music or the energy of the crowd. There was something deeper, more personal, in the way she observed you on stage.

How deeply you connected with your audience, but even more so by how much of yourself you gave in each performance.

She knew every movement, every note came from a place that only understood. And that knowledge made it all more thrilling.

But what really drove her wild was what came after.

The sex afterwards was incredible.

You'd come of stage, still pulsing with the energy of the performance, and she could feel the heat radiating off you.

The way you'd pull her close, your hands exploring as if you couldn't wait another second. Your touch demanding and urgent, made her knees weak.

Those nights, when you were still on fire from the adrenaline, were her favorite.

If something hadn't gone the way you wanted; a missed note, a technical glitch, or someone who'd pissed you off backstage — Jenna knew she was in for it.

You'd take that frustration and channel it directly into her, the way you'd push her against the wall, not wasting a second, your intensity making her shiver with anticipation.

She craved those moments, the way your hands would be rougher, your kisses hungrier. The way you'd take control, leaving her breathless and utterly consumed by you.

Jenna loved every second of it, the raw unapologetic need that you unleashed after a show.

It was the side of you that only she got to experience, and it was addictive.

After every show, after the adrenaline had faded and the passion between you two had cooled to a gentle warmth, it was the quiet moments that Jenna cherished the most.

Lying in bed together, your bodies tangled in the sheets, she would trace the lines of your face, marveling at how someone so fierce on stage could be so tender with her.

It was in those moments that she realized just how much she loved you—not just for the superstar the world saw, but for the person you were when it was just the two of you.

No matter how hectic your lives became, no matter the miles between sets and stages, the connection you shared remained unshakeable.

You both had your own worlds, your own battles to fight, but in each other, you found a refuge, a place where you could be completely yourselves.

And as she drifted off to sleep beside you, Jenna knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, nothing could change the way she felt.

You were a star, but more importantly, you were her star, and she wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

[kumkaniudaku]

Oral Assessment

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST

When Asia set out on a journey of sexual discovery, the details of the how got lost in the time spent with the who. 

Being with Kelvin was the easy part. He was patient and kind, with a sense of humor that could trick the Pope into following him into a bar for a drink and conversation. Asia had no problem listening to him rant when he called to confirm plans or just to pick with her in his spare time. Of all her rash decisions, allowing him to usher her into a new phase of life felt the most natural. 

The most daunting task was standing in front of Kelvin while she debated whether to disrobe with another human in the room. She felt frozen as she stared into the full-length mirror opposite her bed. The reflection caught Kelvin's undivided attention, bathing her with an intense yet playful curiosity in anticipation of clothes hitting the floor piece by piece. 

He lay with one leg propped and the other stretched long, showcasing lean limbs under the outside clothes Asia complained about the moment he plopped his body on her bedsheets. He told her to calm down, not knowing that no amount of alcohol or centering breaths could break the stronghold fear had on her throat and lungs. She'd tried them both, only to be let down the second she opened her front door to hurriedly usher him inside.

Loosening up felt all but impossible. Asia could smell the woody mix of something she probably couldn't afford wafting off Kelvin's clean skin. At least it was a pleasant consolation prize for his insistence on committing her biggest pet peeve in only his second visit to her home. Asia knew she'd be smelling his lingering aroma long after he vanished into the city streets like an imaginary friend that she always talked about but could never prove really existed. A fresh haircut and groomed facial hair highlighted near-perfect features on a blemish-free face. Though he'd mentioned he had plans when they were done, she couldn't help but feed into the delusion that him being so gussied up was just for her. 

She chewed the side of her cheek in a desperate attempt to squash the nerves, tingling every nerve ending from her head to her toes.

"You act like you're afraid of your own body." Kelvin's accusatory observation cut through the tense air, making Asia jump from the sudden noise. He chuckled with a boyish grin, turning the corners of his lips upward and lifting his hand in faux surrender. "My bad. Just tryin' to break the ice since you been standing there for, like, five minutes doing nothing. We can always skip this one and go get drinks or something. It's cool." 

Asia rushed to clean up the mess she'd made in the thick of awkward contemplation." No," she blurted, trying to save face. "I'm gonna do it. I promise." 

She was going to get undressed eventually. She'd practiced on Facetime with Sabrina the moment Kelvin texted his plan for the weekend. She skipped over every line about wanting her to practice confidence in the bedroom to hyper-focus on the word 'naked,' then typed a wordy mini novel to her designated hoe friend, searching for a pre-game opportunity to work out the jitters. What she accomplished with Sabrina was long out of the window and somewhere inside, a girl who knew exactly what she wanted when a fine man was in the room. 

"I'm not afraid of seeing myself naked," she answered in a rush of air. "I love my body. It's other people seeing it that I'm afraid of."

A too honest truth. From the moment a boy in her third-grade class made her aware of her budding breasts that stuck out as odd in a sea of pre-pubescent girls, Asia became forced to reckon with the notion that other people had opinions about the way she looked and weren't shy about sharing them despite her discomfort. Her mother did her best to encourage her rapidly developing only child, but kids were brutal. And when they stopped being brutal during her freshman year of high school, they moved on to being too handsy and downright disgusting. 

The last time she undressed in front of a man, he spent the immediate seconds after she pulled off her beat-up Boycott Beyoncé t-shirt, pointing out how the abs she had when they met at a spring break pool party had disappeared after dinner. If she could've evaporated into a plum of smoke and made her escape through his hotel room's air vents, she would've done so without a second thought.

Kelvin took in her earnest admission with an understanding head nod. "I feel you. I took off my shirt at a bar in undergrad on some drunk shit, and the DJ yelled, 'Aye, who let the nigga with the concave chest get lit!' Kept my clothes on for two semesters after that." 

"I want you to know I'm laughing with you right now. Just a small chuckle. Barely a giggle, really."

"Yeah, alright," he volleyed back at her, all of his teeth on display in an alluring smile before joining her in the laugh she couldn't contain. "Look, if you're not ready, I mean it when I say we can do something else. But, you're gonna have to get undressed eventually. It's kinda the whole basis of sex." 

Asia scoffed. "You tellin' me you get naked every time you have sex. You're lying!"

"Socks off, girl. I'm not fuckin' around. You can't half-ass nothing. Gotta do it with your whole ass!" Kelvin's ability to joke in the face of serious matters infused the levity Asia had been trying to drum up since he stepped into her apartment. He watched her perm-rodded coils swing as she turned back to the mirror to examine her body again. Despite the sweet laughter that made her light up like a Christmas tree, trepidation had her tugging at the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Kelvin carefully slid to the edge of the bed and reached for Asia's hand. "Would it help if I did it with you?"

She looked at him through the mirror, studying his expression for signs of deceit before tilting her head as if asking her question before she could get it out. "Would you do that for real?" 

"If it made you feel more comfortable. Plus, I had a crazy chest session, and somebody has to see these gains." 

"That bar situation really stuck with you, huh?" 

"I'll never get caught lackin' again." They shared another laugh that soon tapered off into comfortable silence. Kelvin pulled Asia's fingers to his lips for a quick kiss that turned up the heat in the room more than any thermostat ever could. He looked up at her with deep pools of decadent dark chocolate he called irises. "You start, I follow," he spoke against her knuckles. "We go at your pace." 

Asia didn't give herself much time to weasel her way out of facing her discomfort head-on. She silently slipped her hand from his loose grip to grab her top from the bottom and pull over her head.

She felt lucky to be wearing a bra that hid the immediate hardening of her nipples once Kelvin stood up to mirror her fluid motion and remove his own shirt. Chest day had done him a world of good and then added more for good measure. Who knew he had all of that working for him underneath unseasonably thick hoodies and band t-shirts?  

Her ogling didn't go unnoticed, earning a smile from Kelvin with his bottom lip tucked beneath a row of pearly whites. A short glance at her bottom half convinced Asia to slowly step out of her leggings and leave space for him to peel off dark denim, never breaking eye contact with the woman dominating his thoughts for the better part of seven days. 

She shimmied out of her bra with his help to undo the tricky metal clasp, and he pantomimed doing the same to pull a laugh out of her before he took a seat at the edge of the bed. Kelvin pointed at the black boyshorts barely covering her behind and searched her eyes for permission. "Can I take these off for you?" 

Asia didn't answer with the words she was convinced sounded sexy as she rehearsed them in her mind. Instead, she gave him the green light with a whispered "yes" on her lips. 

Kelvin hooked his fingers at the waistband of her panties and gave them a sure pull to slide them down thick thighs and muscular calves until they pooled at her feet for her to kick into the pile with all of their discarded apparel. 

"You don't wanna finish," Asia questioned, the coiling of doubt in her belly convincing her that something about her caused him to stop short. 

He shook his head and dragged his fingertips along her hips, transfixed by the seemingly neverending expanse of beautifully dark skin. "Tonight is about you. I'll have opportunities." Soft, deliberate touches preceding butterfly kisses across her stomach sent goosebumps to crowd each spot lucky enough to receive his affection. He paused his exploration to look up at her with his lips hovering above her navel. "Not so bad, huh?" 

"Mm-mm," she forced out, too focused on soft lips kissing hot skin. Anticipation made her breathing shallow and her thoughts cloudy. Kelvin and every intentional squeeze, kiss, and nibble slowly chipped away at residual apprehension.

"Your body is beautiful." His compliments sounded like poems in flowery Shakespearean language written for her ears alone. He continued his praise after a kiss on her hip. "It's not enough for you to hear it, though. You gotta know how beautiful you are. Know it like you know your name."

Shit. What is my name? Asia thought to herself as Kelvin looked up at her expectantly. "Asia," she spoke as if he'd asked her to confirm what her mother named her 30 years ago. She blinked and shook her head from side to side to clear up unprecedented brain fog. "That's my name. And my body is beautiful."

He smirked up at her just as his slender fingers made acquaintance with the cuff of her ass. "What makes your body feel beautiful?" 

Squatting her body weight for the first time initially came to mind. Then the fleeting thought of her favorite pair of jeans that made her rear sit up like Tracee Ellis Ross's ass when she was Joan in Girlfriends. Asia took a meandering stroll through a collection of memories and scenarios until she landed on the one constant that could get her closer to the promised land. 

"Touching…myself." The admission induced a glimmer of bubbling interest in Kelvin's eyes, silently urging Asia to say more. "When I was in high school, an issue of Cosmo that I read at the hair salon when my mom wasn't looking said to try doing it in the mirror to feel sexy. So, I waited until she went to work one Saturday, and I tried it…" 

Her words trailed, leaving room for Kelvin to nudge her toward filling the gaps. "Did it work?" 

"When I finally got the courage to do it in college, yeah," she shared after a small huff of a laugh. "It's the first time I felt like I had power over my pleasure. If no one else was gonna make me feel good, I knew I could."

"Would that make you feel beautiful right now?" 

It'd certainly make her feel something. Beautiful. Electrified. Satiated. Nasty in all the right ways. All of those things wrapped up into a ball of inescapable pleasure that she was almost too afraid to touch with a ten-foot poll.

Almost.

Kelvin waited for Asia to answer with bated breath, hoping he hadn't overstepped or pushed her too far out of her comfort zone. The last thing he wanted was to squander the trust he worked to build because he couldn't keep his carnal nature in check.

His I'm sorry ran headfirst into her, I think it would, creating a harsh cacophony of overlapping sentiments that made them both giggle like school kids flirting in the back of the classroom. 

Flattening his palms on her back to inch her just a little closer, Kelvin's short chuckle came through as a low rumble. Asia noticed how his face softened when he gazed up at her with his chin pressed into her abdomen. Care? Admiration? Mutual desire? Likely none of those, but she allowed herself to dream while Kelvin attempted to get to the bottom of her desires. "What do you want?" An open-mouth kiss felt like a livewire across Asia's skin, stealing the ability to think and robbing her of words to answer such a simple question. 

Arousal, the full range of throbbing, aching, and craving, blossomed in her belly with every peck above the freshly shaved skin covering her pubic bone. She anchored her hands on his shoulders and gripped just enough to keep her upright when her knees tried to betray her and turn into jelly.

"I want to…try," she finally breathed out, the words almost a whisper that she felt compelled to repeat. "I want to try with you. Right now." 

When Asia decided to embark on a journey of sexual discovery, he hadn't envisioned a world where she'd be under the unwavering supervision of her goofy coworker while she slowly coaxed herself to completion. 

This was too taboo, too private, and dirty to share with another person. She wasn't supposed to be gathering slick arousal on the tips of her fingers and using it to lubricate languid revolutions around her pearl and letting Kelvin kiss a trail from her shoulder to her ear and back. Under no circumstances was she supposed to grind her hips with her eyes slammed shut to focus on the task she'd done alone so many times before. And she damn sure wasn't supposed to be suppressing airy gasps and quiet curses as the rewards of self-pleasure slowly approached. 

"Why you hidin' that pretty voice from me?" Kelvin's question came in a low rumble from lips freshly moistened by an eager tongue looking for a job to do. He pressed his chest against her arm while she worked her wrist and fingers against the spot where all her nerve endings seemed to converge for an orgasm festival she didn't know would overflowing with partygoers. 

He walked his fingers up Asia's inner thigh and smirked against her neck. "Let me hear something." 

A shallow breath helped her force out a quiet expletive. "Fuuuuck."

"You can do better than that," he teased, a slow grin crinkling the thin skin at the corners of his bright eyes. "Try again." The insistent nudge of his nose against her jaw urged her to take another crack at adding audio to the graphic mixture of senses. 

He could see her lower lips and pearl glistening with beautiful arousal, feel her skin growing warmer beneath his hands, and could almost smell the mouth-watering aroma of her pussy if he focused hard enough. But he wanted to hear her. He needed to get an earful of her crying out in ecstasy for her sake and his. Having the memory stored deep in the grooves of his constantly racing mind to use when he had a moment alone was almost as important as helping her find the courage to embrace the sexiness she already possessed. 

Asia's body buzzed in a shudder just as her mouth dropped open and her lower back arched off the bed. "Oh…fuck!" Another outburst came forth before she could stop it. "Shit." Abandoning its job to keep her lower lips parted for easier access, Asia's left hand crept up her body to pull and pinch at her nipple. But it wasn't enough. For the first time, she needed the touch of another to get the job done. What a colossal mismanagement of resources would it be if she didn't put her instructor to work? "Can you touch me? Please?" 

Kelvin hoped he didn't appear too eager when he jumped at the chance to cup his hand beneath the curve of her breast, squeezing slightly as his thumb rubbed against the hardened brown tips standing straight for his attention, leaving her left hand to busy itself with clinging to his bicep. 

She moaned from the sensation, and he hummed back in satisfaction before dipping his head to kiss a spot above his thumb. That voice. He'd miss it long after they were done with their little experiment. And after he was done missing the way filthy profanities cascaded from her lips like love songs, he'd move on to missing the vision of her legs spreading to offer him a better viewing angle. 

He spoke into her ear like he was sharing a secret in a room full of people. "I'm givin' you what you need? Check in with me." 

The absence of a coherent answer gave an idle mind time to roam – time to play with things it had only imagined in private up to this point.

Kelvin waited for her to catch a breath while he focused on the slow descent of clear saliva on its way to her areola. He watched it leave a wet trail down the swell of her tit, acting as a way finder to her nipples and found a disgusting joy in seeing a part of him coating her body. 

They groaned in tandem when he went to clean up his mess with a swirl and flick of his tongue. For a moment, Asia took a break from her self-exploration to palm the back of Kelvin's head and keep him latched for a few moments longer. 

"Damn, baby," she moaned, unaware of the slip of her tongue and the fire she'd lit inside of him. 

Her praises came in the kind of hazy, nearly incomprehensible slurry reserved for folks known to drown the troubles of yesterday, today, and tomorrow in a bottle of their preferred liver-wilting potion. To anyone listening, she sounded like she could use an Advil and a water bottle for hydration. But to Kelvin, her repetitive calls for him to suckle harder were nothing short of a concert crowd begging for an encore.

A covert shift in his position allowed him to pin her thigh beneath his before his hands took a deep sea dive between her thighs with only one mission in mind. Feeling her writhing beneath him while a guttural moan ripped through her throat from his digits taking the lead between her lower lips made him grin with her nipple still in his mouth.

Her body felt set ablaze, dipped in a fiery lake of passion and wanton desire that couldn't fully be quenched with hands-on contact. Asia needed to be touched from the inside and rutted into until her toes touched the soles of her feet. This moment of moderate pressure and intentional rubbing would have to do. 

Kelvin found himself so lost in feeling Asia being worked to the edge and pulled back over and over that he didn't catch her free hand sneaking toward his crotch to tend to what she knew had to be a painful strain against black cotton. 

His eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition, sparking uneven breathing, and his muscles seized from the unexpected touch. "You know what you doing?" he asked, half hoping Asia would abandon his lesson in confidence and take a step back.  

"I'll learn." 

Kelvin reluctantly peeled his eyes away from the show between her legs in time to catch her looking back at him like he was fresh water in a vast desert. Hungry. Like a lioness scouting the vast Savannah for the pride's next meal. 

Part of him wanted to tell her they'd work on those skills during their next time together. That part stayed quiet as she dipped her hand past the Calvin Klein etched into his waistband, past the thick hair curling at his pubic area, and, finally, to the appendage standing proud to greet its new best friend. 

His body grew rigid, then relaxed under her careful, exploratory touch. Handjobs, in his opinion, were childish relics from high school movie dates meant to remain nostalgic in the way that he would never return to the skinny jeans of his youth. Cool for the moment, but he'd evolved as one does when the age. This was something else entirely. Or maybe it wasn't, and the deed that he thought he was too old to desire and enjoy only needed the introduction of someone who didn't carry the baggage of how sex was supposed to go. 

Together, they worked each other into a frenzy with arms crossing invisible borders and residing down south with intentions of a photo finish. When Kelvin moaned a hoarse indicator that she knew what she was doing, Asia met him with a sound that matched his in perfect harmony. Her hands worked his shaft with little instruction while he pumped two fingers in and out of her dripping heat.

Every once in a while, he'd groan a directive like, "Slow down. Yeah, like that. Just like that." she'd mumble that she understood before following instructions like his star pupil.

Soon, Kelvin found himself more exposed than he had planned, and at the brink of a release he was saving for the quiet sanctuary of his shower. He had to stop her before he introduced her to more than she was ready to handle. 

His fingers slowed to a creep, drawing a whimper and involuntary clench from Asia as she focused on gliding her hands slowly up and down his member. "I wanna taste you. Can I?"

"What?" she questioned, not sure she heard him correctly. "I mean, yes, but I've never really…done that before." 

He kissed her cheek and lips to quell bubbling fear. "That's okay. Let me show you." Trepidation in her eyes prompted a slow, searching kiss to further calm surging nerves. Kelvin reaffirmed his commitment to her safety against her lips. "I got it. Enjoy this." 

"Can I kiss you here?" was Kelvin's first question, mumbled against Asia's inner thigh while he positioned his head between her legs. Every peck, lick, and graze of his teeth across supple skin made her claw at the sheets beneath them, then at the nape of his neck when the high thread count became insufficient. 

Somewhere in the ether, Asia heard the advice to brace herself. Still, she let it pass until the shock of his tongue across her clit jolted her head off the pillow to look down at Kelvin. 

This was what Sabrina, Sabrina’s sister, and all the women she admired via her secret subreddit interactions meant when they talked about seeing stars from their partner's tongue alone. She'd seen enough videos and worn her vibrator out to the thought of having a man dedicate his time to kissing her most intimate parts like he would the lips on her face, but every passing birthday had her thinking the day would never come. Now here she was, about to cum and so afraid of the overlapping sensations that she felt like she had to get away, but the firm grip of her thighs against Kelvin's fingers simultaneously kneading at her flesh kept her locked into place.

Undeterred by her squirming, Kelvin resolved to put on a show with bursting, colorful fireworks and end like it was Independence Day for them and them alone. Lapping at her like a man possessed, he coaxed her to the brink of release quicker than expected. She called for him under the haze of lover's bliss, trying but failing to get him to stave off what she knew was more explosive than any time before. 

She'd gone quiet again, stifling her moans behind the arm covering her mouth while the other extended to push at the sage green upholstered headboard occasionally knocking against the wall. "Louder." His demand came in muffled against her pussy, gruff and impatient like he'd been waiting all day for her to give him what he wanted. When she didn't respond in the way he'd hoped, his palm harshly collided with her outer thigh before soothing the spot, making her finally cry out to his partial delight. "C'mon. Louder!" 

"Ohmygoooood," she slurred, finally popping the lid on her voice, unable to stuff the near screams back into a container. "Th-they'll hear m-me!" 

"Fuck 'em. Let 'em hear." 

She only knew her next-door neighbor to the right, Alister, as a quiet redhead with two cats and a penchant for making foul-smelling fish dishes on Saturday evening when she had a small collection of women file into her apartment for what Asia assumed was some sort of book club meeting. On the other side, Marie and Carson were a nice lesbian couple who would say good morning and bring in Asia's packages if she wasn't around for more than a day. Asia didn't know these people beyond their infrequent passing encounters. She hoped that the noises she was making, the squealing and thick, husky moans hitting the ceiling and raining down on her, wouldn't alter their hopefully positive perception of her. 

She'd never heard them, but they were damn sure about to hear her and what her voice could sound like when she was in tears at the height of a shaking orgasm with her hands smushed against her gentleman caller's head.

If he remembered nothing else from the first time Asia Scott made his face shine in her bed, Kelvin would remember almost cumming himself from her taste. He'd call it sweet if someone pried for the details long enough, but the adjective wasn't enough to describe something he considered totally and indescribably unique. Something that he had to coach himself into pulling away from to watch her chest heave in the afterglow of his best attempt to date. 

While she let her eyes roll behind closed lids to come down from her high, he kissed his way past the meeting at her thighs, up her stomach glistening in a light sheen of sweat, on both breasts, then her stomach, on her chin, and finally her lips as his hands traced a path up the sheets to clasp their fingers above her pillow. 

They got lost in each other for an amount of time neither of them wanted to keep track of, tongues meeting and retreating while Asia got used to the taste of her body in his mouth. Kelvin couldn't help grinding his clothed erection against her naked core to judge her reaction. Asia rewarded him with a final moan that he swallowed with pride. 

He pressed their foreheads together and pulled away to ask, "How you feel?" 

"Incredible." Kelvin watched her smile in the kind of post-release euphoria that came with a goofy grin and the sheen of a job well done, confirming without words that lesson two was a resounding success. He dipped his head to kiss her nose, then each corner of her mouth, too drunk off of her body beneath his to realize that business was starting to blur into the performance of romance. "What's next?" Asia asked, internally hoping he had a few more moments to spare. 

A thought crossed his mind as he kissed his way to a spot underneath her ear. Though he tried to will it away and bid her good night in enough time to slink out into the night with no emotional strings attached, he couldn't keep his idea to himself. 

"Ride with me tonight." He pulled back to look into Asia's eyes and scan for any signs of pushback. She stared back at him, questions furrowing her brow and her teeth nervously grating her bottom lip. He gently smoothed a wayward coil back into place and softened his gaze, pleading for her yes.

Leaning up to kiss his bottom lip, she finally answered. "Okay, but you gotta have me home before midnight." 

---------

The clamor of voices filling a small warehouse space teeming with eclectic art types dressed like they were supposed to be on the cover of a special issue of Essence Magazine and not perusing an art installation on a Saturday night. 

"The Art of Storytellin'" was an immersive experience chronicling Black stories through a mix of mediums from a collection of Black artists dedicated to representing the full gamut of Black life across the diaspora. At least that's what Asia read in the brochure slapped into her hand as she followed Kelvin through the tinted glass doors into a space she would never in a million years venture into alone. 

He led her through a winding maze of canvases, framed photography collections, and strategically placed bar carts to take a gander at piece after piece of awe-inspiring work. At points, he would stop and point out artists he knew by name and some he only knew by their signature brush strokes and expression style. She listened intently while he explained subtle nuances that didn't immediately jump out to the untrained eye, relishing the opportunity to step deeper into his world. In a few weeks, he'd be back to his life, and she'd be back to spending her weekends curled up with a glass of Merlot and another Sex and the City rewatch. Tonight, she chose to give in to the whimsy of his spirited explanation and his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the crowd. 

In a corner partitioned with elegant white drapery to create a room, a single canvas called "Candy Lady" sat underneath a spotlight, shrouding it in diffused light. Kelvin stood back as Asia read the placard of information beside it, occasionally cross-referencing the words with what she could see with her naked eye. 

An angelic glow backlit her, and, not willing to miss the way she looked like art all by herself, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket to snap a picture for posterity. He stared at the photo with stars in his eyes, totally lost in what God had made.

"Rosé, sir?" The innocent question cut through his only thought, making him scramble to return to his home screen and save himself from embarrassment. The server waited for him to return her eye contact before pushing the tray in his direction and asking again. "Champagne? For you and your girlfriend?" 

Kelvin knew he should've corrected her but ignored better decision-making to hurry the interaction along. "Uh, yeah," he chuckled to relieve the heat rising in his cheeks. "I'll take two. Thanks." 

Balancing two plastic flutes of bubbling blush pink liquid, Kelvin slowly crept forward to join Asia's side. She stood still with her chin slightly tilted, still examining what was slowly shaping up to be her favorite piece of art in the building. 

He smiled at her profile for a moment before speaking. "You like this one, huh?" 

"Don't you," she gushed, looking up at an impressionist acrylic painting of a woman handing out bags of assorted candy,  multicolored freeze cups, and two-for-a-dollar pickles. Varying hues of brown hands fisting dollar bills covered the lower third. A stack of past-due envelopes sat near her merchandise, underscoring the slight frown in her determined facial expression. "My auntie was the candy lady, so I used to help her count money when it got busy over the summers. I guess it reminds me of being a kid and how fun that was." She finally turned to him to pull her back to the present and pointed at the drinks in his hands. "One of those for me?" 

Kelvin rushed to hand over one of the two beverages, accepting her silly toast before putting the plastic cup to his lips. He grimaced his way through the first taste of dry alcohol while Asia drank like a pro, making her laugh. "That shit is gross! You like that?" 

"Sometimes," she giggled. "Don't worry about it. I'll finish yours, too. Hold on to it for now." 

He tilted his head and smirked. "But I drank off this one." 

"I don't know if you know this, but you just had your mouth on my coochie, and you've been finding reasons to kiss me like I wouldn't notice," she laughed before switching their glasses and taking a long sip to Kelvin's surprise. "We're past the whole cooties thing." 

Noted. Kelvin chuckled, choosing not to add a rebuttal and return his attention to the conversation piece in front of them. "I know the artist." 

Asia looked at him and nodded. "Tell them this is amazing work. It's simple yet familiar. I'm so in love that I might have to come out of my home decor budget for this one." 

"I'll let him know. Him being…me." Kelvin watched Asia's face shift from confusion to realization to shock before she pushed his shoulder to punctuate the tinge of disbelief in her high-pitched request for him to tell the truth. "For real. It's old, though. It was a last-minute entry to help him fill out the exhibit. It's under a different name because I don't show my stuff all that often." 

"Scared people are gonna like it too much?" 

He chucked. "Yeah. Something like that."

The warm flutter of butterflies in his chest made Kelvin look away from his audience of one to pretend the ceiling needed his careful inspection. Anything to take the attention away from being complimented by the only woman to make him nervous since his first long-term girlfriend in portfolio school. She'd unknowingly sent him into a tailspin of self-consciousness and giddiness all at once, the unlikely mishmash churning his stomach full of hors d'oeuvres and awful wine.

Asia eyed him suspiciously until she felt satisfied that he was being honest and not the version of himself that couldn't help but prank her in the office. Then, she reached forward to scan the QR code for immediate purchase. She tapped at her screen, keeping her attention there as she spoke. "Well. Guess your fear just came true." Her eyes flickered up briefly to find Kelvin already staring back with both lips tucked into his mouth to keep his smile from growing wider than his face could accommodate. She used her head to gesture toward the R&B artist performing in the next session before depositing her phone back into her bag. "Let's go over here. Think we might've found some talent for Black At Work mixer next month."

Kelvin watched Asia's backside sway in time with each long stride while she weaved her way through the crowd in a beeline to the makeshift stage, leaving him to beg his feet to move behind her. 

Stuck. She had him glued in place and wearing a stupid, unexplainable grin in the presence of 200 strangers wondering what the hell had short-circuited in his brain. And the craziest part? All he could say was her name in response. No context, no explanation, not even a hint to give a black and white picture neccessary color. Only the two proper nouns that made her identifiable on paper.

Asia Scott was going to be the death of him.

--------

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[glitteryinknotes]

There is a level of deep, bitterly poetic and cruel irony in Astarion's death and his eventual fate as a vampire spawn. Laughable, even. Lamentable.

Where do I even begin. I once posted here my thoughts on who Astarion was before Cazador took him; and all my thoughts were based on what we can assume to be canon from scraps on information in - game and interviews with Neil. That Astarion Ancunin who was laid into the ground at Baldur's Gate cementary was a corrupt magistrate, a shining example of power abuse, indulgence, hedony, existence in privilege without any service to the world around.

We also know for a fact that Astarion is not a good person in a moral sense. Again, Neil Newbon himself talked about it. He has capability to grow, mature, open himself up, soak in the positive influence and feel for others, but he never will be the default upstanding type. That is simply not at his core.

This is why (I am aware we're talking a fictional character, headcanon is free to all in whichever way they think it suits and pleases them) I cannot for the world believe in all the fanfiction based on the notion of the tragic, tortured soul unjustly attacked and turned into a vampire, because to me - it misses the entire depth and essence of Astarion's personality and arc. He was not a "worthy" persona before Cazador; in fact, the beating he got from the Gur was well - deserved and the near - death experience... Probably so as well. Maybe if anything, this would open his eyes and force him to reflect at least a bit on his choices in the position he was occupying. (But given that he mentions begging Cazador to turn him to be able to take revenge, I highly doubt that.) So yeah... The man got what was coming to him. He deserved it.

But what he got in the end once Cazador allowed him to drink his blood and had him in his hold? Two hundred years of misery and abuse beyond description, being completely stripped of any identity and personhood? No one deserves that. Such fate should not be thrust upon anyone. Ever.

It is the cruellest, most wicked twist of fate that it took that kind of ordeal to change a corrupt little elf's view of the world and force him to even acknowledge the existence of evil deeds and abuse of power - something I am quite sure he never gave any thought to before. It took being transformed into an utterly helpless victim to make him truly see that there is good and bad and perpetuating the bad leads to pain and misery for the innocents (and you can never be sure if not for you as well), and only then, at his most pathetic, most vulnerable, after centuries of torment, it took meeting, trusting, admiring, being grateful to, befriending / loving and being influenced by a genuinely good and kind person (probably the exact opposite of who he was before) to shake and cause some shift in his inner moral compass, or rather the way he was choosing to use it. The full circle, a poignant, unwilling journey from the one abusing power, to the enslaved puppet of someone with considerably more power abusing it in the most inhuman ways possible, and this time to his own woe, to the one person able to break the abusive cycle given the right influence.

Isn't that simply poetic in the most sickly sense? A tragicomedy, if you will.

Forget about Astarion Ancunin. The grave was good for lovemaking and sharing an important moment, but whoever was laid there was not anyone worthy of your time (just like "Ascended Astarion" )The one who stands by your side now is. Your Astarion. The new Astarion, the same "lovable rogue" with a taste for theatrics, drama, debauchery, beauty, murder mayhem and loose morality, but - a better person all the same.

[follow up post here

https://www.tumblr.com/glitteryinknotes/733162725841289216/a-little-follow-up-to-my-previous-post?source=share]

[fanaticsnail]

Will You Let Me?

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here

Word count: 4,500+

Synopsis: Your crew was docked at a port, exploring a new land while you requested to remain behind. Enjoying being without the unruly bunch, your momentary calm was disrupted by the staggering step of your superior. Coughs, grunts and stuttering over his words: your concern grew more severe as you offered to help him through it.

Themes: pollen!killer x gn!reader, NSFW, mdni, 18+, smut, penetration reader!receiving, swearing, dubcon, begging, pleading, apologising, bruising, crying, rough, do not read if you do not enjoy the trope, fluff at the end, semi-ooc.

Notes: first time writing gn!reader smut! I enjoyed the challenge, but forgive me if there's a word that is used incorrectly! I am still learning inclusive language.

Pollen is a fun trope to play with, but please do not read if you don't enjoy.

Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings @remisloves @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @icy-spicy

The hot sun shone over the wooden deck of the Victoria Punk. The soft waves gently rocked the boat with a subtle lull, the screech of gulls only aiding your heart to swell in merry solitude.

It was a rare occasion that you were tasked to remain behind while the crew explored a foreign area. Your skills as a linguistics specialist usually meant your silver tongue was called for to coax a good deal, or to decipher scratchings on cave walls. Considering this area was only a port meant for resupply, Captain Kid deemed your skills unnecessary for the journey in land.

Never one to complain, and genuinely giddy at the notion of being secluded and alone for a change, you jumped at the opportunity to stay with the Victoria Punk. You adored your ship, and decided to utilise the opportunity to check over her planks, ropes, and panels that may be in need for repair.

As the day went on, you did not expect a member of your crew to return so suddenly: especially the hulking masked figure of Massacre Soldier Killer. Being the first-mate, he was usually by Kid's side, no matter the circumstances.

Coughing, sneezing and sputtering: Killer’s right hand shot out to grasp your left shoulder. The firmness of his grip was bordering on painful, prompting you to wince in response to the hard strangulation of flesh.

“Something gross hit me in the face,” he strained from behind the teal and ivory mask, “Stuck in my chest and my throat. Not feeling good. Gotta-... fuck-... I gotta lie down or something.”

Concern and worry knit itself over your face, examining the staggering movement of Killer’s body as he retreated below deck. He stuttered and gripped onto the wooden beams, walls and ceiling to stabilize his movement: his body almost giving way beneath the pressure.

“Kil, do you need-,” you began, halting as his voice raised over the top of yours.

“-‘M fine. D-Don’t worry, ‘kay?” he called over his shoulder before disappearing below deck. His large figure seemed to both be inflated and deflated with a foreign paralysis in his choppy, staggered steps. The waves did nothing to sooth him in his glide throughout the halls.

As soon as he reached crew-quarters, he all but shredded his clothes and cast them away from his body. His skin was alite with violent lust, his hands moving against his will to fist, claw and paw at the erogenous zones of his torso, stomach, legs, and his puckered nipples.

He arched his back as his hands gripped the base of his already steel-like cock, immediately pumping it in his right fist. His left hand clawed at the flesh of his chest and lay flat over his heart as he felt the rise in fluttered rapidity.

Scraping and gripping downwards with his left hand, he pushed hard on the base of his stomach, feeling how tightly wound the banded coil was wound in the pit of his stomach: bound hard enough to snap. Every muscle was tense, firm and aching for relief. He began sniffling and sobbing behind his mask, never truly experiencing the shame in the desperation his body was craving before.

He was the only one who managed to not avoid the hessian bag of powdered flowers falling from the rooftop of the naturopathic remedy building. Apologetic calls echoed down from the roof before panic began to rise in the workers. Killer could scarcely process voices above the throbbing ache in his lower abdomen.

Barely hearing several repetitions of Kid’s voice calling: “Killer, are you alright? Kil, are you alright?” All Killer could do was splutter and cough through the burning in his chest.

Golden flecks danced over his eyes beneath the mask, the pollen sucked immediately through the holes and embedded several clusters within the circular orifices. No matter how many times he wiped at the mask with his hands, he continued to inhale the sticky-sweet smell of herbal flowers within deep gulps of his lungs.

“Get him back home!” a hushed voice hurriedly spat at Captain Kid, “He needs a companion, someone to take care of him while he's going through this. Someone caring and kind enough to-.”

“-Don't tell me what to do! Kil, you know the way back to the ship from here?” Kid’s voice barked at Killer, prompting the blonde to spark a moment of clarity in his progressingly foggy mind, “The linguist is back there. They'll take care of ya’ if ya’ need it, okay?”

“Okay,” Killer managed to stutter out, his body scorching hot and violently in need.

“Okay!” Kid parrotted back, looking at the shopkeeper, “Okay, great. Now that's settled, we need a couple things from you. Let's get that sorted before-."

As Killer continued fisting at his cock, he felt release on the tip of his tongue. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut and his lips were parted wide. Unbeknownst to him, each time he panted through his heavy inhales and exhales; more of the toxic pollen punctured his lungs and poisoned his bloodstream with arousal.

He was consumed with lust, a beast untamed and unbridled. There was no release for him, no relief that came thereafter. He was isolated, confused, scared and manic. He needed something, someone, anyone-.

“-No,” Killer spoke aloud in a strangled whisper, “Not anyone. I need the linguist. I n-need-... fuck-... I need my linguist. Where i-is my linguist?”

Continuing about your task of ensuring all of the ropes were properly coiled and laid, your heart began to pang with guilt. You decided to cast aside all further self-induced tasks and seek out the first-mate you serve beside, attempting to offer him comfort through his illness. He seemed so adamant about isolation, but you felt called to be by his side.

Venturing below deck, his painful strain of wanton moans called to you. Muffled groans of pain exhumed from the room, cries of anguish falling through the door. Your deepest sympathies clawed at you to push through the door. Your hand hesitated it's rise against the wooden panel, your body almost walking away before you heard a gentle and heartfelt cry of your name falling from Killers lips.

“I-If you're there,” Killer’s voice again called for you, “Please come in. Please,” he chanted your name with a soft, strangled moan, “Please. I need you.”

Immediately, your body moved against your will. Twisting the knob to crew quarters, you swung the door wide and was immediately met with the sight of your first mate: glistening in beads of sweat and shed of all but his teal and ivory face covering, and viciously pulling at his cock.

“Killer! Why did you tell me to come in if you were doing that?” you shouted in a harsh whisper, immediately slamming the door shut behind you and scrunching your eyes tightly shut, “I don't want to watch that!”

Thick silence aside from the cruel pistoning of his firm hand slapping against his lower stimach engulfed the air. Soft huffs of muffled pants escaped gritted teeth, Killer's mask doing the heavy lifting in silencing his cries for you.

“I don't want you to watch,” Killer confessed in a soft, breathy whine, “Please don't watch,” he keened for you, “Participate.”

“Killer!” you shot over your shoulder at him with a warning tone, “What are you-?”

“-I would never a-ask if I didn't-...” He trained off in a strangled whimper, desperately clenching down on his tongue with his teeth and biting back his needy sobs, “...I-I need you. I need you. Only you.”

“Kil,” you sighed at him, your concern written over you'd face, “Have you taken something? Was it the gross thing from earlier? Did that have an effect on you? Like a drug-?”

“-Look at me,” a barked command exited the holes in the mask, “Please, look at me,” he pleaded, gasping as he grasped at his cock, fisting the flesh and whimpering as he was brought to the brink of ecstacy once again, “Just look at me, please. I just need your eyes on me. Eyes on me.”

“Killer,” you whimpered, finally turning to face him. As soon as your eyes met with the icy stare beneath his mask, you were entranced. Your body propelled you against forward, called to serve the needs of the first mate in a hypnotic trance.

“I need you,” he sobbed, reaching for you with his left hand as his right continued beating his weeping cock, “Only you. Please, let me have you?”

Your body continued reacting against your will, your brain becoming foggy as Killer’s lust thickened the air with all-consuming need. Shame coursed just as heavily throughout your body as the arousal at just the thought of taking Killer’s cock into you began coursing through your veins.

“Please,” he whined, his eyes holding your own as you stripped yourself of your clothes, “Please,” his lips spilt as you straddled his lap, “Please,” as you immediately began sinking yourself down over the tip of his knob.

His precum did little to prepare you your your descent, focussing on your wanton need to have him within you to open your body up to receive him. Killer moaned your name, crying out with baited breath as you slowly consumed all of his length with the grip of your tight hole.

As soon as he felt your heat take his entire length, he was already a babbling mess. There was no strings of cohesive thought as his length became strangled within your tight center. He immediately began shooting your body full of ropes of thick release, ribbon after ribbon of his pale translucent ecstasy.

He cried out for you in warning before painting your walls white with his sticky cum. The pearly beads of his lust coated your tight hole immediately, strings of praise falling from his lips as he rode through his high with you fully impaled on his thick cock.

But he remained firm, hard and desperate for more.

“Wha-...” he began, his understanding of his own arousal and relief not aiding him in the slightest as he thrust up into you. He moaned as he sheathed his lengthy shaft deep within you again, your own arousal now taking over as you started to roll your hips against him while sat fully engulfed by him.

“Killer, what's going on?” you questioned him, your confusion and worry knit on your face, “You're s-still hard.”

“I-I am,” he confirmed, a soft mewl of bliss echoed beneath his mask as he rolled his hips up into you, “What’s happening to me?”

His hands found your hips, rocking you above him as he began feeling another wave of need course through his veins. As his hands embedded into your hips, you winced at the sting. His strength depicted in his grasp, gripping you like a lifeline anchoring himself to the world surrounding him.

He tried.

He tried so hard to be gentle.

He wanted to be gentle for you. Needed to be gentle for you.

But his grip turned sinister, turned brutal and unforgiving as he thrust up into you. His end was coming to a close as he chased it with you writhing and pleading on his lap. His desperation enticed him to continue bullying your tight center with vicious snaps of his bruising slaps.

“Kil,” you called for him, feeling his cock touch a depth within you that had your back arching and mewling for him, “Oh, Kil. I'm close.”

“Please,” he begged, desperately thrusting up into your lap as his end stampeded before his eyes, “Please cum. Please. N-Need it.”

“Killer,” you called for him, feeling the band weave ever tighter within your abdomen, spiraling and coiling within the pit of your stomach, “Kil I'm gonna-.”

“-Oh, fuck!” he roared, his body immediately betraying him as he coated your insides with ropes of hot, sticky, and heavy cum for the second time. His balls sucked up inside his body, his entire being screaming in relief as his release was once again began satisfying his unbridled lust for you.

But his cock still remained firm.

Your eyes clenched firmly shut, the corners wincing at the slight pinch as the coil snapped deep within you. White-hot ecstacy coursed through your veins, your body releasing your bliss over yours, and Killers, bodies as you rode through your high seated on his lap.

His hands were firm, rocking you atop him with a guiding, harsh rhythm as you called his name. Your whole being was alight with passion, your eyes now opening and looking down at the man beneath you.

Killer didn't realize it until he felt his eyes roll back in his skull, his body immediately ushered into a third orgasm as your body milked him with the rhythmic thumps of your warm orgasm. But he still remained firm, hard and needy. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath: particles of pollen immediately spiraling in a cylindrical vacuum deep into his lungs.

“I c-can’t,” Killer called for you, immediately grappling you in his arms. He threw you beneath him, his vice-grip clawing at your hips as he pummeled down into your body, “I can't stop, I can't stop, I can't stop.”

You bit back a whimper, your body barely recovering from the prior spend of your hot release. Overstimulated, ill-prepared and encumbered with your new task at hand: Massacre Soldier Killer never let up. Not even for a moment.

In fact, he only got more intense, ferocious and brutal the moment your body began to milk his cock.

“P-Please know I'm sorry,” he choked out a strangled whimper. His fingers ached with the intensity he was gripping onto you with, leaving punctures of purple intents over your hip bones due to the butality he was burrowing into you.

“O-Oh fuck,” you sucked in your bottom lip, biting down hard as the corners of your eyes began pricking with tears, “It's okay, it's okay. I know. I can t-take it.”

You spoke through those words of confirmation, truly attempting to convince yourself of the ability to endure this rough treatment for as long as Killer needed to use your body for. Rough slaps of his hips smacked against your body, his veiny cock scraping itself through your body as his knob hit angles you didn't realize you could experience. It would equate to bliss if his grip wasn't so intense.

Excruciating agony and white-hot ecstacy were in a perfect marriage within your body beneath the hulking form of Massacre Soldier Killer. The harmonious entanglement driven further by the grunts, growls, roars from the man above you, only for them to turn into begging whimpers and pleas for you to endure just a moment longer.

“I kn-know this isn't-... f-fucking nnghm-... this isn't g-good for you,” his breathy whisper cut through his growls like a pick through ice, “I can't stop. I can't fucking stop.”

“It's okay, Kil. I p-promise it's okay,” you grit your teeth as his grip intensified on your hips, "You're good. You're b-being so good." His rhythm was unforgiving, the pace and rate his body rut into you was tormenting, brutal and punishing.

This was not the first-mate you knew. The beast in his stead was as violent as Killer was in battle, ripping bones and slashing through flesh. This was not at all what you anticipated from aiding Killer through this feat of lust.

His desperation was abhorrent, something he was repulsed by. He never dreamed of joining his body with yours in this strenuous and savage manner. He wanted to be kind, always kind, only ever kind, should you grant him the access to you he so desperately longed for from afar.

Softly spoken, dutiful and almost loving. That's who you knew him to be, and that's who he wanted to be for you. Your friend, your comrade in arms, your senior serving crewmate who you trusted to have your back.

How would you ever trust him again after this? How could he ever trust himself? That push and pull of chasing his relief with you caged beneath him coincided with the tug of his heart and the fog of his mind. He wants you to trust him after this. He wants you to look him in the eye and tell him you still want him. He needed that from you; the confirmation this was not only simply for now, but something he could have once again.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he sobbed into your neck, the cool surface of his mask grounded you. Huffs of his breath poked through the holes in his mask, his icy-blue eyes were scrunched tightly shut while his body remained alight like a beacon in darkness.

He had already reached his climax three times, shooting burst after burst of his sticky cum deep within you. Although relief was found immediately afterwards, his cock continued to remain stiff as the steel of a blade in a snow storm.

He just couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop?

“Kil, I-I think you n-need-... ahh,” you mewled as he moved his hands up to your waist, his broad fingers splayed out to perch like a bird of prey against your skin. He rammed his full length in and out, your stomach beginning to ache with the bulge protruding deep within your abdomen.

“N-Need you,” he groaned in your ear, his hips stapling you against the floor with each cruel slap, “Need to keep going. Almost th-there again.”

“I know, Kil. I know,” you soothed his hair in your hands, trails of wet tears streaked your cheeks with how much sensations your body was taking, “Take what you need, I'm here.”

“I’m gonna-... I'm gonna- f-fuck. I'm gonna cum again,” he groaned deep within his mask, his voice picking up at the end in a small shuddery whimper, “Oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm cumming.”

Your head rolled back, eyes wide as you felt him empty himself within you for a fourth time. The sticky splashback of his hot cum trickled out of your needy hole, his cock buried up to the hilt with his spend leaking over his pubic hair and thighs. He huffed against your shoulder, his mask almost becoming loose over his face as he recovered.

“Good boy,” you cooed at him, pressing a soft kiss onto his bare shoulder as he shuddered and shook through his fourth spurt of ecstacy, “Good boy, Kil. Get it all out.” His cock twitched at your title bestowment, the hardness of his steely cock refusing to deflate no matter the amount of release he pumped into you.

“I-It’s not going down,” he whimpered into you, his hips beginning to roll against yours once more, “It's not going down. I don't know what to do,” his sobs began to shake at his shoulders.

“It's okay,” you winced out, feeling the heat of release exiting from your overspent body with ooze of fluid, “I-I think you need to take your mask off.”

“Wh-What?” he gasped at you, his hands continuing to hold you firmly against the mattress of his bed, “The mask off?”

“Some-... fuck, Kil-... something hit you in the face, ri-right?” your voice was several notes higher than your usual cadence, crying beneath him as he pummeled into you, “Might be still in your mask. Take it off. I'll close my eyes, I'll not tell a soul,” you winced, clamping your eyes tightly shut, “I'll be good. I'll tell no-one.”

Killer immediately halted his thrusting, his body in momentary stasis as your words reached him. His body screamed at him to keep going, to keep pummeling into you, to keep chasing his high that was just within reach. But he stopped, his cock sheathed deep within you.

“Look at me,” he purred down at you, his hands still firm on your waist. His grip grasped you tighter, misbehaving beneath Killer's pleading to hold you more gently.

Unclenching your scrunched eyes, you gazed up at him as his hands left your body and unclasped the mask from shrouding his face. Icy blue eyes, as pale as the sky and as deep as the ocean pierced you as his gaze met with yours. Your breath was stolen from within your lungs, choking back on your surprise at his appearance.

Massacre Soldier Killer was beautiful.

“Look up at m-me,” he stammered, his hips rolling against yours as his cock burrowed deep within your body, “Look at me. I n-need you to see me. I need you to see how desperately I need you.”

His eyelashes fluttered, his eyelids growing heavy as his rhythmic thrusts began to pick up their intensity. Your eyes never left his for a moment: not to look at his lips, not his beard, nor his angular cheekbones, nor his nose. His eyes were what captivated you most, holding you hostage as their glassy hue glazed over to chase his high within you.

“Y-You were right,” he huffed between thrusts, “My lungs aren't burning, and I-I think this is it. Th-This one is it.” His pace was excruciating, but the satisfaction you were beginning to feel build itself within you screamed at you to let him continue using you.

“You can do it, Kil,” you rolled your hips to match his pace, staring up through half-hooded lashes into his eyes, “Use me. Take me, I'm yours.”

“You're mine,” he moaned his growling voice down at you, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against your neck, “Perfect for me. Made for me.” His cock twitched deep within you, your body reacting to his needy chase and toppling over with his final release.

“F-Fuck, Kil!” you cried, your body beginning to throb, your thumps of bliss coaxing Killers balls to empty deep within, “I-I’m-... I’m cumming. Killer, I'm cumming!”

“Cum with me, cum with m-me,” he begged, his pace picking up as his cock finally began weeping it's spend for the fifth time deep within you, “With me. F-Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Pants of breath, fluttering of elevated heartbeats and joint cries of bliss ricocheted off the wooden walls of the crew-quarters of the Victoria Punk. Killer's mask lay discarded beside the door, lulling in the subtle rock of the waves over the floorboards as you both fell away from your mutual highs.

Killer moved his head away from your shoulder, gazing down to where your bodies remained joined together in awe. His lips were agape, his eyelashes fluttering as he pulled himself away from you. Watching the floodgates open from your abused entrance, your mutual juices coating both of your stomachs, thighs and soaking the mattress beneath you.

Killer looked to your hips, his lips parting and eyes becoming teary as he noticed the damage showcased on your body.

Marks littered your skin, deep hues of purple branded your flesh, depicting Killer's unrestrained lust and need for you. His bliss was eclipsed by deep sorrow as his fingers gently caressed the elevated indents in your skin. Sensing his unease, you immediately flung your hands up and collected his cheeks in your palms.

“I can handle it,” your eyes searched his, looking between his deep, blue orbs with your eyes only depicting support and affection, “I wouldn't have let you do it if I couldn't handle it.”

Killer turned his head, his lips meeting your palm with his whiskered chin tickling your flesh. This small moment of affection felt more sacred, more secret, and more intimate than the emassment of bodily fluids you shared moments prior.

“I shouldn't have been so rough with you,” he scolded himself, “I will never be rough with you again.” His fingertips caressed your hips, soothing over your aching flesh and wordlessly apologizing with deep, intentional touches.

“Are you feeling okay, Kil?” you asked him, lazily cocking your head to the side, “Don't need to go again?”

“Fuck, no,” he huffed through a small, squeak of laughter, “Not right now, at least.”

Smiling up at him, you propped yourself up on your elbows and gazed deeply into his eyes. You couldn't get enough of the luxury it was to gawk at the handsome man who just spent himself within you five times in consecutive succession.

He truly was beautiful.

“Does that mean you want to do this again?” you asked him while attempting to not show how eager you were. You began taking your time to examine his muscular physique before snapping your eyes back up to his blue orbs. A red hue tinted his cheeks, his eyes darting around the room before rejoining your own.

“I would like to, yes,” Killer admitted at last, sucking in a breath as he anticipated your refusal. Your smile spread up your face, prompting you to immediately spring yourself up to meet his body with your own.

“Crew’s still out for a while,” you shrugged, looking around the crew-quarters you had both tainted with the stains of your aroused fluids, “We should clean this up,” you drew your eyes up to meet his, coy and bashful, “And maybe we could have a bath together-?”

“-Please,” he spoke over you, far too quickly for his liking but too lost to hold back the floodgates of emotional excitement, “Let me bathe with you. I'll wash your hair, massage your body. I'll make sure you're so, so spoiled after all this, if you'll let me?”

A small squeal of joy found its way to your lips, buzzing at the notion that he not only wants to be with you again physically, but he desired to treat you to the luxury of continuing to gawk at his uncovered face further by bathing with you.

“Will you let me?” Killer asked, his voice still holding that eager anticipation that caused you to both melt and soar in unison. You eagerly nodded, prompting Killer to hook his arms beneath you and elevate you into his chest.

Your fingers quickly drew themselves up to his lengthy blonde hair, detangling the sweat-damp strands and toying with the soft curls framing his face. You hummed in contentment as his smile freed itself on his face, glancing at you as you continued enjoying his luscious, thick locks.

“Let's go then,” he cooed down at you, his lips finding your forehead as he cradled you against him, “Let me spoil you for being so good to me. I need to treat you right.”

“Don't forget your mask!” you quickly uttered, causing him to pause and search your face for clarification. You smiled at him, gently reaching your lips up to press against his cheek, “Gotta clean the damn thing, unless you want to experience all that again?”

“Good point,” he huffed, using his feet to kick along his mask to the bathroom as he chaperoned you within his arms, “I prefer my own desire to come from me,” he confessed as soon as he reached the door, “And I want to show you how much I truly do desire you.”

“I can't wait,” you smiled in return, wincing as your body’s adrenaline seeped out of your body and the pain caught up to you.

“I promise I'll be gentle with you,” he confessed, his eyes innocent and brows triangulating in a peak in the center of his forehead, “I won't be rough.”

“I can take a bit of rough treatment,” you challenged him in return, smiling into his bare chest as he began to run the bath.

“I know you can,” he smiled down at you, pressing a small kiss against your temple, “But you don't have to, unless you really want to.”

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

When I watched OFMD this year, I literally knew three things:

It was called Our Flag Means Death

It was a pirate comedy

It had been cancelled

I didn’t know Rhys Darby (‘that Murray bloke from Conchords’) or Con O’Neill (‘the weird guy from Chernobyl’) were in it until they came on screen. And please don’t stab in me in the face, but I had never heard of Taika Waititi. I’m very much not the target market for this show. Although I will say I think it’s universal in its exploration of the human condition. So if you’re human, the show is for you.

I knew nothing about budget cuts, editing decisions, or even at this point any circumstances around why it had been cancelled. I had not an inkling it was a romance. I had no notion it was going to overtake my life to such an extent.

I watched one episode a night for 18 nights (I know, I know… I binge-watched it immediately afterwards over two days, and haven’t stopped since). I also had no-one to talk to about the show as I watched the 18 episodes. No-one I knew had ever heard of it. I really was a blank canvas.

And this is what I thought. Other than finding Calypso’s Birthday a little uncomfortable on first watch (and that’s largely because I find torture, even the OFMD variety, difficult to engage with - I always skip the opening of 206 now), I saw no difference between the seasons in terms of artistic merit. It’s possible that because I didn’t experience an 18-month hiatus, and build up my own version of what season 2 should be in my head, I didn’t have any expectations to be knocked down. I just engaged with what they asked me to watch.

I fell in love with this show at ‘My name’s Stede. I’ll be your robber here today.’ I fell in love with Stede Bonnet when he did his little Scrappy Doo air-punch in episode two.

With regard to season two, The Innkeeper affected me so much I honestly think it altered my brain at a structural level. More so than The Chain sequence which is when I think this show started affecting my brain chemistry.

I also loved the development of Stede and Ed outside of their personas. The couch scene in Fun and Games made me believe in them as a couple in ways I hadn’t quite in season one because they were growing and being real with each other. I thought their arguments were so well-written. Man on Fire has one of the most authentic representations of couple miscommunication I have ever seen on tv. And I think Mermen is really good in doing what it needed to do, and did it well. How do you end a tv series that gives a satisfactorily emotional ending, but doesn’t give away everything in case there’s another season?

Ed’s journey in particular just ripped my heart out and then glued it back together. And seeing Stede continue to develop his very nonlinear understanding of the power of his earnestness and gnc self, whilst still sometimes wrestling with notions of traditional masculinity… I needed to grow a second heart.

When I learned of the financial and time constraints later on, I was shocked they had achieved such a high standard of tv.

Imagine my shock when I discovered the Canyon…

It’s fine if you don’t like season 2, or season 1, or OFMD at all for that matter. But if you want me to say season 2 isn’t any good, or as good as season 1, then you want me to say something that I have never felt to be true. When you experience it holistically like I did, it all hangs together beautifully.

[chiming-bluebells]

SHIFTERS BURN BOOK.

LEXI aka chiming-bluebells !!

NOTES IN THE MARGINS this page in the burn book is dedicated to the girl with charcoal smudged fingers and half-a-broken sketchbook. the one who goes by lexi. i’ve followed her for about a week. here are my observations:

MONDAY: today i saw her absolutely transfixed flipping through a picture book of john bauer’s artwork. and she keeps smiling whenever she spots a dragonfly, what’s up with that ????

WEDNESDAY: she either writes too much or nothing at all. once she does start writing however, she won’t stop until she’s finished. obsessive. crazy. has she ever heard of taking breaks?

THURSDAY: she yawns alot.

SUNDAY: she keeps going on and on about her realities. one look at her account, and it’s not hard to figure out which ones are her favourites. here is what i’ve gathered so far:

THE MAZE RUNNER once upon a time — believe it or not — lexi didn’t share much about her life in her maze runner dr. it was all locked up in notion scripts and curated pinterest boards, spotify playlists and car-ride daydreams. but then, one fateful day, a curious soul on tumblr sent lexi an ask regarding her maze runner reality…. and the floodgates to hell opened all at once. she has now, if i were to guess, gained the reputation as ”that one crazy maze runner lady” on shiftblr. i mean, c’mon… she even has a masterlist.

legend has it that she was obsessed with the franchise as a freshly-turned 15 year old (this, as i’m now about to explain to you, was in her pre-shifting era,, and also deep into her wattpad phase. canon event, i fear). surprisingly, her craze for the trilogy waned right before finding out about shifting at age 16. she had another dr (now archived and covered in dust) for most of her initial shifting journey. but, years later, after she had almost given up on shifting for good: she suddenly remembered, re-watched, fell in love all over again…….and found her way back home, not only to the maze runner, but also to shifting.

when it comes to her tmr dr, lexi is soul-bonded to the crying girl from mean girls (2004); she just wants a cake made out of rainbows and smiles. the emotional attachment she has for her people has made her unable to even hear the word ”canon” being uttered. she is allergic to that word. canon doesn’t exist. it’s not real. it never happened. there’s no proof. shut up huh, what was that? must’ve been the wind……

FANTASY / TERABITIA when she was a little sprout, lexi was emotionally and spiritually destroyed one humid summers day. she had just watched ”bridge to terabithia”, and she was never the same after that. desiring a better ending, and already in love with the chronicles of narnia and the fables told in her childhood, she wanted her own fairytale kingdom… so, she created one. together with her friends she spent her time outside of school in magical play-pretend (was it pretend? or was it a prelude?). but, time goes on and people grow up. she was no longer princess of terabitia anymore. at least not consciously.

now then, she finally found her own wardrobe (reality shifting) to her fantasy kingdom. and this time she won’t grow out of it. seems like the childhood play-pretend truly was a prelude, after all.

MOUNTAIN GETWAY no matter how much she tries, lexi will never be a city girl — her heart forever belongs to nature; far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, the towering buildings blocking out the sun, and the crowds of stressed-out people. her mountain getaway dr includes everything she loves most: her favourite people, solitude and silence, cozy cabins, mountains, pine tree forests, nearby lakes and rivers, road trips, hiking, and a soft, pressure-free life.

FISHERMAN’S DAUGHTER remember how i said her heart belongs to nature? that includes the ocean. if she could live by the seashore she would (and she will). her fisherman’s daughter dr is an ode to fjords and fishing villages, to the sea and the salt in humid, ocean air. she is, as the name of this dr suggests, the daughter to a fisherman.

MARAUDERS / HOGWARTS when she turned 11, lexi anxiously awaited her hogwarts acceptance letter. it never came, at least not in this reality, and she was horribly disappointed. at 14 she was knees-deep in the marauders trench: tumblr headcanons, fanfiction, you know the deal. now, she would be lying if she said that she had a script for this dr. she doesn’t. not even a pinterest board. that doesn’t stop her from having ideas, however:

she always knew she’d be sorted into ravenclaw. she wants to be an animagus, specifically a parrot/budgie one (she relates perhaps a bit too well to them) nicknamed chatty or pompon. and she definitely wants to create mischief with the marauders. perhaps it’s finally time for her to create a script, or at the very least a pin board.

[ previous page <- page ix. -> next page ]

thank you @rrezshifts for the tag!! <33 here are my (no pressure!!) tags for the shifters burn book event: @lolashifts , @salemisha & @lyraxnova !!! (and anyone else who wants to participate !!!!!!)

follow the GUIDE BOOK for help!

[scoobydoodean]

sorry if you already answered this before but is your issue with dean’s ending the fact that he died or just the way that he died?

I mean... both? And even more than that?

The way that he died is ridiculous. He died in a freak accident on a rusty nail, taken out by vampire #3. The manner of his death is sorely lacking in dignity and respect that a character like Dean deserves after 15 years of fighting. It's like killing Tony Stark at the end of Avengers by having him slip on a banana peel during a fight and crack his head open. Jensen actually had to fight to have Dean die on his feet instead of laying on the ground. They tried to deny him even that. Dean says outright that he doesn't want to die. He doesn't die sacrificially, or for any reason other than a small, unfortunate accident, and I think that's genuinely sick, and I think there's absolutely nothing to appreciate about it in any way, and every single person who pretends it was somehow profound or touching? I still want to punch them in the face, and it's been four years. It was ridiculous and meaningless and stupid and I genuinely could not stand to watch Supernatural for two years straight after seeing it.

Aside from how he died, there's the fact that Dean didn't want to die, and that he was finally (allegedly) free from the author of the story and that freedom was instantly taken from him. When you write an insufferable meta season where you reveal that an evil god has been authoring the characters lives all along, then have him defeat the author... you end that story by placing the rest of that character's journey back into his hands and refusing to write the rest of it. You don't kill him young and bloody and use his brother's mourning as a backdrop to show the rest of his days have been written out for him by you into eternity, locking him into your vision of his future as the author of his life. The fact that the series ended that way points to the notion that the Winchesters didn't actually beat Chuck in the end—that he was still writing their lives—that he killed Dean and punished Sam. Nothing about that makes me clap my hands in giddy enjoyment at a dark and twisted ending. It's like... pretty much the number one illustration of all the things I despise most about Andrew Dabb's particular brand of sloppy, hair-brained meta drivel plots grounded in nothing but his own boredom, mean-spiritedness, and ego.

Add that they killed a character who suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts for most of the series that way, while he cried and said he didn't want to die and begged his brother not to leave him to die alone. Add that Dean's death sucks the meaning out of Cas's sacrifice, because Dean didn't even make it six months, and his presence at the final battle with Chuck wasn't even important since he was just there to be beaten bloody along with Sam as a distraction. Add that they suck the found family (a very Dean specific theme) out of the finale. Add that Dean's death in this context means that Sam is a failure—that he failed at the number one thing he wanted most. Add that it causes Sam so much grief that he never recovers, and can't stomach doing the job he grew to love doing most—being a hunter and a man of letters. That after setting Sam up to become a leader, they have him abandon everything and mourn in a bad wig for the next 50 years or whatever.

Dean's death isn't just ruinous in of itself. It poisons everyone else's ending.

And that's all I really care to say about it. It's not a topic I enjoy thinking about or writing about actually. I'm not interested in arguing or hearing from anyone who pretends it was good or profound or meaningful. It genuinely ruined the entire series for me. I only came back here because The Winchesters undid some of the things it tried to do. If not for that, this blog and all the meta on it would not exist today.