#you don't have to put one character down to put one up

[bluzebub19]

I have a request for how the Arcane characters (Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Heimerdinger, Ekko) look so that the reader can access their cuteness. Maybe they are doing or saying something to the reader and the reader suddenly starts hugging and petting them, calling them cute. How would they react to this?

Note: So... I'm the only one who thinks Heimerdinger is really cute. Why aren't there fanfics with him? Mysteries of life..

Arcane characters being called cute by their s/o while they're working

Writer's note: Thanks for requesting! It took longer than I expected because I kept deleting some of the dialogue from how cheesy and cringe it sounded lmao. Heimerdinger is not on my list of characters I write for, but I figured I'll write him this one time. I hope you don't mind that I also added Mylo, cuz why not?

Request/s: Open!

Warning/s: Get a dentist. This is some tooth-rotting fluff. Not proofread and english isn't my native language.

Character/s: Viktor, Jayce, Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Mylo

● Viktor tends to get lost in his work, mumbling equations or sketching out blueprints for his projects. You find this incredibly endearing, but not when he gets so absorbed that he forgets to eat or sleep.

● If you suddenly hug him or call him cute, he’ll freeze in shock at first. He blinks up at you as if you just said something in a language he doesn’t understand. Then, his cheeks will flush a light pink, and he’ll chuckles softly. “Cute is... not a term I hear often. But thank you."

● Over time, he grows more comfortable and secretly enjoys the affection. He may even lean into it, but he’ll never outright admit it. Instead, he might deflect with a shy smile and, “You should focus on more important matters."

● Yeah no, that's a sign for you to keep doing it.

● Jayce is the golden boy—confident, charming, and ridiculously handsome. He likes to appear professional and put-together, but you know him well enough to see through that exterior to the dorky, hardworking man beneath.

● When you hug him out of nowhere while he cooks and call him cute, he blinks for a second but chuckles as he turns to look at you. “Cute? Babe, I’m going for ruggedly handsome and sweet here. But I'll take it."

● Still, he's flattered and loves the affection you give him. And unlike Viktor, he's not afraid or shy to show you he wants more of it. He might pull you closer and say, "You're one to talk." He's a romantic and albeit cheesy guy.

● Now, you probably might be thinking about why and how is he cooking, but that's for another headcanon! (I just realized how I'm not even sure whose side am I on. Can he cook?? Cuz I feel like he can. But I also see him burning food-)

● Jinx, as we all know, is pure chaos, always working on something explosive or messing around. She has a habit of humming and singing off-key to herself while she works, which makes you think she’s oddly cute in her own... quirky way. To be honest, it’s hard not to find her enthusiasm contagious, even if it’s a little dangerous.

● One day, you catch her doing exactly that while painting her trademark designs on one of her grenades. The sight just makes you smile as you walk up and wrap your arms around her, telling her, “You’re so cute when you’re focused like this,” or something of the sort.

● She’ll throw her hands up and turn to look at you, trying to play off your compliment as a joke. “Woah, you might be crazier than me!" She grins and laughs softly, before making her voice sound more gruff, "Ya buttering up the author nightmares with your mooshy stuff!”

● But after her initial over-the-top reaction, she’ll soften. “Fine, soak it all in.” She shrugs and continues working. But deep down, she really loves the affection and she's getting more and more attached to you. You're giving her the kind of love that she thinks she never deserved in her life, so she really appreciates these little things you do. She might even snuggle up to you later, claiming it’s to “soak in all this ‘cute’ energy.”

● Oh, by the way, she'll make this happen a lot more often. By how, you ask? Well, by doing the same thing to you, of course! It becomes a little challenge betweem the two of you who calls the other one cute first and catching them off guard with it.

● Vi is all tough love and sass, but there’s a soft side she shows only to the people she really cares about. You notice this when she’s being protective or just in those peaceful moments when you're both alone together.

● If you call her cute, she’ll raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Cute? Babe, I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

● Later, she’ll definitely tease you about it, saying something like, “So, how’s it feel dating the cutest person in Zaun?” or "Am I still cute?" with a playful grin. She'll be teasing you and making you smile with that while she's half naked and flexing her biceps (she knows you love them), or when she just got done with a fight and is still holding her gauntlets.

● She loves it, don't let that teasing fool you.

● Heimerdinger is an adorable bundle of wisdom and fluff. You often catch him rambling about science with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile. Look at him! He's just adorable!

● One day, as he’s showing you a tiny contraption he just finished, you can’t help but reach out and pet his fluffy head, saying, “You’re the most cutest genius ever.”

● Heimerdinger chuckles, his mustache twitching with amusement. “Ah, well, I suppose I do have a certain charm about me, don’t I?”

● He pretends to be unaffected, but you notice the way his tail swishes slightly when you hug him. “I must say, your affection is quite... energizing! Perhaps I should study its effects further.”

● From then on, he might start subtly seeking out your affection—like casually leaning into your hand when you pet him or “accidentally” bumping into you while working.

● Ekko is talking to you about his plans for the Firelights while sketching upgrades for their hoverboards.

● You were quietly admiring him, the way his eyes light up and the focused furrow of his brows, when you suddenly blurt out, “You’re so cute when you’re focused.”

● He freezes for a second, then looks at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Cute? Me?” He grins, a soft laugh escaping. “You sure you’re not talking about yourself there?”

● He rubs the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant, but the smile gives him away.

● “You’re not getting away with saying that,” he teases, leaning in to nudge you lightly with his shoulder. He goes back to doing his work before playfully adding, “But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just start believing it.”

● It's these little things that matters. These moments, even if simple, it gives him hope and motivation to make the world a better place. The way his eyes soften when you look at him in that moment, and how he lets his guard down just enough to show you he cares — it’s clear that, while he teases, he loves the attention, and he loves you even more for it.

● Dude's got lines fr fr

● Mylo has always been the type of guy who had a sarcastic, sassy remark ready. We all know that from how he treated Powder.

● When you suddenly hug him and call him cute, he freezes for a second, unsure of how to react. “Cute? Me?” He scoffs, trying to play it cool, but it's very obvious he's a bit flustered by it. “Out of all the compliments you could’ve picked, you went with cute? I’m more like... cool, and handsome.” He throws a dramatic, exaggerated pose, trying to hide his nervousness.

● Despite his teasing, there's a small, pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tries to act nonchalant, but the way he keeps glancing at you shows how much he’s secretly enjoying it.

● “Seriously, though. I’m cool, alright?” he continues, trying to regain his confidence. “I don’t do cute. But, uh... thanks. I guess.” He says softly as he shrugs, clearing his throat.

● Later on, when no one’s watching, you might catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a small smile on his face, clearly still flattered.

Can you guys guess which is my favorite based on how long their headcanons are

[everythingspokenfor]

Casually thinking about older!Bakugou . As usual, all characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Older!Bakugou who is still in his early 30s, being pestered by his mother to at least get a girlfriend (and eventually settle down). She is afraid she'll never be able to meet her grandkids if this continues.

Older!Bakugou who has attended weddings of his friends, co-workers and even few of the people he had rescued. Although, had no intention of settling down anytime soon, wanting to focus on hero work because it gave him a drive, something to look forward too.

Older!Bakugou who was never really interested in any women that threw themselves at him, always keeping to himself, mellowed out with age. His friends no longer setting him up on blind dates because it was all in vain.

Older!Bakugou who hires a new support tech, because he was impressed by the work. Who meets the newbie in the hallway of the building, screaming at a rookie prohero.

"this is my resume", you shoved an open file into the rookie's face,"on page 12 it list all the things I was hired for", you pause pulling the folder, skimming through the pages to open page 12, he assumes. "Here, now read carefully, does it say 'write reports for rookies because they are apparently incapable of writing it' huh?", you slam the folder shut on the table. " Don't ever expect to do your work, rookie."

You turned around and left the hallway, not really noticing that you almost ran into Pro-hero: Dynamight.

Older!Bakugou who observes you working around the lab, fierce support tech that minds her business and prefers talking to her projects over actual people. Diligent with her work, getting her job done.

Older!Bakugou who enters the lab one day because his gauntlet need to repaired.

"they are too chunky." You don't really have a filter, already working on dismantling the whole thing, not sparing Bakugou a glance.

"You should focus on your work, kid." He was already staring at you.

"What do you think I am doing, Dynamight? This chunk isn't going to fix itself."

He is glad that your words remains same, irrespective of who you are talking to. Always stating the obvious.

"watch it, kid." He walked out of the lab.

Older!Bakugou who is surprised when the new tech remodels his gauntlets but also repairs the old ones, showing him the perks of new ones while still repairing the old ones just in case he doesn't like the new ones.

Older!Bakugou who, at 32, finds himself horrified by the idea that he might be interested, in someone, someone who is younger than him. You are 24, barely am adult in his eyes. You are smart, snarky and considerate.

You explain things to people, help around the lab, yet you are still sharp can take a joke, can make a joke.

Older!Bakugou that is nervous, prospect of asking out a girl making him sweat. He stands at the entrance of your lab, clear door doing nothing to hide his hulking frame, you are still working on something, hunched over a table with a chunky metal in hand.

"you know, I can see you, right?"

He lets out a breath, a small smile breaking onto his face, he moves into the lab. You notice he is wearing casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, carrying take-out boxes in his hand.

"I was getting dinner, thought I'd get you some too." He is already setting up on the 'not work table' in the room, already aware of what would happen if he put food on your 'work table'.

"What did you do, boss?" You voiced suspiciously, already moving to wash your hands.

"Can't even get people dinner in this economy"

"People", faux disbelief evident in your voice,"I wouldn't call me people, boss" you pulled the chair out and sat in front of him.

"Why not, tech?" He teased, handing you pair of chopsticks.

You look at him with mischief in your eyes, you lean over and play your hand around you mouth, almost as if sharing a secret,"Because you don't practice asking 'people' out, Suki."

His eyes widened,"You heard that? I thought the glass door was fucking sound proof." He let out a sigh, hours of practising and he doesn't even get a chance to say it.

"They are soundproof. From the inside tho." You looked over to him, before placing your hand over his," And I'll go on that date, also we should totally check the sound proofing of the lab tonight."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

[just-sg]

And if "just ignore them and write it anyway" doesn't overcome the anxiety, here's alternate advice:

Remember that these are opinions, and it is perfectly reasonable to consider others' opinions, but if you ask enough people, there WILL be mutually exclusive opinions out there. You CANNOT please everyone, as in it is literally physically not possible, you have slightly higher odds of your molecules lining up exactly the right way to jump through a solid wall. There is not a single decision you can ever make that will avoid the chance of someone not liking it; if enough people see your work, someone WILL have an issue with something, which means you don't have to worry about "what if". Might someone misunderstand? Might someone find it annoying or boring or upsetting? Immutably, yes; if the answer is ever no it just means not enough people have seen it yet. So stop trying to do the impossible!

And once you've got that part, think about what you can control. Look at the opinions you're worried about and actually break them down. Why does dirtysocks574774757 hate that trope?

If it's "overdone", is that actually a problem? Is it popular because many people enjoy it? Is it a little cliche, but something you personally enjoy seeing in other words even knowing that it is? Or if the problem with "overdone" is that it's overshadowing other good options, does anything else appeal to you? Is there a way you can add a unique twist to the trope, keeping what you like while also making it stand out and having all the more fun with it?

If it's "unrealistic", are you trying to be realistic? Is this an escapist fantasy or personal venting where making things better/cooler/gritter/edgier/whatever than real life is part of the point? Is pushing this idea harmful, and if so, what about it is the problem? Is there a way to address that part without avoiding everything even slightly adjacent to the trope with a 40 foot pole?

Remember that no one's opinion is objective law. Even if something is overdone to a point of becoming a stereotype, as long as that stereotype isn't spreading harmful misinformation or actively shitting on people, it doesn't mean you have to avoid anything that even might look close as much as possible at all costs, it means be careful.

Ex: Your gay character can be flamboyant, I promise; the problem isn't camp gays existing, it's when the one (1) gay character or couple in a series is always Like That and little if anything else. So just don't do that part! Remember context, too. It's very different having a whole group who all act a certain way vs a group where only one/some do, ya know? I know this post was more about pet peeves and stuff but I'm saying, if even stuff that can be genuinely bad doesn't have to always be, then you also definitely shouldn't be stressing harmless fun tropes.

Above all else: remember it's better to do something right than to do nothing wrong. There is no amount of effort you could put in to make your work appeal to everyone, but the closer you get to making it tolerable to everyone (still impossible to achieve fully), the less likely you are to appeal to much of anyone. So don't worry yourself to death (or worse, to a point of never making anything) avoiding everything that might be offputting. Instead, when you find yourself worried about a potential issue, examine it, weigh your options, and make a conscious choice about if you want to keep, alter, or scrap it. As long as you're being mindful about your decisions rather than just throwing things in with no regard, you should be FINE.

People relate to messy complex characters, and what one person finds "unrealistic" could just be a thing they don't get, but that makes someone else feel incredibly seen and validated. People like stupid indulgent fantasies! And if you need proof people will actively seek out and enjoy reading the same shit over and over, look no farther than "Coffee Shop AU" or "Only One Bed".

In the end, there's little more powerful than passion from a creator. Write what you like, write what you'd want to read, make the points you want to make. There will always be people who just don't like the things you like, and no amount of trying to water yourself down for them will make them anything more than tolerant. So write for you and the people who do like what you like, and put your whole body into it. Someone will always hate it and someone will always enjoy it, and the more you write something you enjoy, the more likely it is that the people who do like it will really, really like it. Don't hold yourself back!

hey, writers. especially neurodivergent writers with anxiety or OCD.

if you see one of those writing advice posts that is literally just, ‘these tropes suck’, ‘this story idea sucks’, ‘this sucks’, ‘that sucks’, ‘all of this is horrible’.. don’t dwell on it.

these are just random people on the internet, okay? they’re just acting like they know everything and that their personal preferences are universal.

you don’t have to listen to them, write whatever you want, regardless of if dirtysocks574774757 on Tumblr/Pinterest doesn’t like it.

(ahem, if a user by the name of dirtysocks574774757 from Tumblr or Pinterest actually does see this.. sorry 😅 i’m sure you understand)

[ifonlyyuweremine]

Call of Christmas

Aka the holiday season with 141

COD characters x F reader (One shots!) + smut

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Captain John Price smut

You hurriedly raced through chores, much like being put on a continuous autopilot. Throw the tabs of detergent into the laundry while making sure to separate the light and dark clothes. Put the leftover dishes from the sink inside the dishwasher, vacuum up the collecting fuzz that started to gather on the carpet, and so on.

However, the most important task was yet to be done. Pushed to the edge of your to-due list and collect dust.

Wrapping the presents.

Dear lord. Where would you even start, not only was gift wrapping the most tedious task on earth but most of the time it had a 98% chance of going wrong.

How could such a jolly and festive activity as simply wrapping a gift turn into the worst part of the holiday season? In your case, surprisingly easily.

It was a guessing game on your part, to figure out which wrapping paper to adorn a present in (different wrapping paper for different people of course). Cut the perfect measurements for said gift, and wrap it in some way that would look presentable.

Almost every time you would screw up the last two steps, the cutting and wrapping. You would either cut way too much paper or not enough to cover the gift. And when you finally did get an acceptable length the paper would fold every which way and the tape wouldn't hold it down.

Now, why not go with the simple fix of putting it inside of a gift bag? The short answer was that it was the lazy man's way out.

And this year you were determined to make it work. Your husband John always teased you about your passion for the holidays, but what could you say? You were a driven woman.

So you found yourself near the end of the day sitting inside the living room of your house. A diverse spread of gifts scattered around you beside poles of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and rulers.

The soft thrum of Christmas music playing in the background for motivation. You were especially proud of the gifts you had gotten this year. One for each of your friends, close family, and John. Having a good gift for him was something to behold on its own. Gift shopping for the man was like pulling out teeth.

“Why would I want anything? I pretty much have everything I need…”

“I’m okay love, don't bother with me…”

“I don't want anything, maybe some socks or something…”

John's words echoed in your ear, but you weren't giving up that easily. This year, you landed on a nice silver watch with a leather band. The one he wore was…distressed to say the least.

So, this seemed like a great choice. You smiled down at the small box that held his new watch. John would love anything you got him, even if it was a scrap of metal he would give you his teddy bear smile and shower you with praise.

But this year you were particularly proud of your choice.

And with the newfound motivation you started on wrapping. You did your best to cut accurate ratios of paper to present, fold it as crisply as you could, and tape it down so it stuck. Somehow, by the grace of God, you found yourself getting into a sort of rhythm.

You looked at work after an hour in, in awe of the fact that it wasn't that bad. Actually, it was nearly perfect! These looked like real gifts, like the ones you'd see in those Christmas catalogs sitting under an 11-foot-tall tree.

You smiled, only one gift left to go. Lo and behold it was John’s gift. The small blue box that hid his watch, looked so menial. You sighed and stretched, easy peasy.

Or so you thought.

That little blue box might as well have been possessed by a Christmas-hating demon.

You huffed, silently cursing at yourself as you accidentally ripped the wrapping paper while you were trying to tape it down. This had been your fifth attempt at wrapping his gift, and every time something had gone wrong.

You stared down at it in disbelief, nearly in tears of frustration. There the box sat, laughing at your feeble attempts at wrapping it.

Just as you were about to go for attempt number six, you heard the chime of the front door opening. It was John.

Like a flash, you pushed the box under the couch until it was out of sight. It was a surprise after all. Just as you turned back around John appeared in all his glory. Slack jeans with his cotton t-shirt and his ruggedly handsome face. His eyebrows raised at the scene before him.

“Love, I think you're supposed to wrap the gifts, not get into a fight with them.” He said, bemused.

You felt your already hot cheeks redden, looking at the mess of wrapping paper around you. It did kind of look like a war scene with the addition of glitter and ribbon. Letting out an exasperated sigh you looked back up at him. “Would you believe me if I told you they started it?”

John's lips curved up into a soft smile that raised his mutton chops. And you couldn't help your heart from swooning at the way his mustache smiled with him. He chuckled and stepped into the room, crouching in front of you to slide a hand across your cheek. Pulling you in for a warm, chaste kiss. Your frustration slightly ebbed away, yet the lingering annoyance remained. John seemed to notice it and gave you a funny look as he pulled away.

“What's wrong?” He said knowing.

Curse him, he knew you too well. You knew giving him a bad lie wouldn't do much so you sighed. “It’s the gifts, I was doing so well wrapping everything but I got to yours and it didn't seem to want to cooperate with me. And well, you can see how it played out.” You breathed, nodding to the mess around you.

John raised an eyebrow, “why not just give it to me as is?” He asked, confused. To which you rolled your eyes as his practicality, typical.

“That’s not the point. Making presents look nice is a labor of love, it shows I care to make it look presentable.” You defended your point, making him shake his head and smile warmly. A fondness in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Baby, you know I know that you care about me. I don't need wrapping paper to prove that.” He said, his other hand guiding yours to his mouth to press his lips over your ring.

You pursed your lips in a tight line, trying not to let him melt your resolve into a sappy puddle. “Yeah, but it's still a nice gesture.” You grumbled, eyes darting away from his gaze.

You heard the familiar thrum of his laugh echo in your ears. You turned your eyes back to look at him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, “Thank you for trying love. You know I’d like anything you’d give me. But having you is all I need.” You couldn't help the smile that crept up on your cheeks.

For being such an intimidating person and having the reputation he did, he could really be a sap sometimes. Not that you'd have it any other way. His loving nature was a gift in itself.

You hummed and leaned in to kiss him again, his lips meeting yours in a soft embrace. Slowly you pulled him in, hands snaking around his neck to cup the back of his head. He tasted of tobacco and whiskey, not the bitter kind, but the warm fragrant kind. Almost like a spicy cocktail, one that burned at first sip but settled in your stomach.

It was almost second nature when you kissed him. Like your body craved the feeling of being fitted against his larger form. And when his tongue slid over your bottom lip, practically begging for entrance, you had no choice but to oblige.

The soft hum of Christmas jazz still lulled in the background, dulling your senses like sweet syrup. John’s tongue delved into your mouth, the slow rhythmic motion of his lips turning the thoughts in your head to static. His large hands slowly traveled down to your waist, his thumb pressing against the bone of your hip. Without warning his hands suddenly airlifted you up and onto the couch. You gave a small squeak of surprise, breaking the kiss.

“John wha-” You were cut off by another steaming kiss.

After a minute he pulled away, hot breath fanning against your lips. “You were working so hard, figured I'd give you a thank you.” His sly smile told you everything you needed to know. And if they didn’t, the way his hands slid down to grope on your ass did.

Your cheeks burned, and another type of heat bellowed in your stomach. Sending small sparks across your spine. “It's just wrapping a gift, and I didn't even finish yours.” You said sheepishly.

John rolled his eyes, his head dipping down to trail kisses over your neck. “What was it you said before? That it’s about the gesture or principle of it all?” He murmured, large hands kneading your behind. His words made your lips turn up into a smile. To be honest…you could use a break, and this opportunity was one you’d never turn down.

A small giggle escaped you, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “I guess I’ll take that ‘thank you’ then.”

Turning his head back up, he gave you a wolfish grin. The large hands that previously held your behind slid up to hook the hem of your top. With one fluid movement, he coaxed your arms above your head and slipped your blouse off. Then with just as much sneakiness, he undid the clasp of your bra. Tossing the offending garment somewhere else in the room.

Without a moment to lose, his mouth was on your breasts. You shuddered at his warm wet tongue and the way it danced around your nipple. The scruff of his facial hair tickles Your chest.

Your hands threaded into his hair, pulling and guiding him where you wanted. With every small tug or grasp he groaned, enthralled by the way you led him. From where you were sitting, John knelt at the edge of the couch between your spread legs. Hands gripping at your hips as he suckled at your peaks. “So beautiful baby-” He rasped, “-fucking love this gorgeous body.”

Your lips pushed into a tight line, exhaling through your nose. John’s hands migrated down to grab onto your pants, tugging them down slowly. You helped him slip them off until the only thing covering you was your cotton panties. An embarrassingly obvious wet patch now soaking through its fabric.

John’s thumb gently grazed over your clothed center. Earning a soft moan on your part, the pad of his finger sending a jolt of heat through you. His navy eyes flickered up to you as his thumb slowly circled your covered clit. “Tell me what you want sweetness.” He murmured.

You had trouble processing his words for a moment. “I want your fingers, John.” You breathed, looking down at the man on his knees for you.

The corner of his lip turned up, “Yes mam.” Slowly he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening core. You saw his adams apple bob as he stared at you, like he wanted to devour you alive.

With his middle and ring finger, he dragged them through your lips. Coating the skin in a layer of slick, the lewd sound of it makes your ears turn red. “Look at this wet pussy, so needy.” John gruffed. With no warning, he gently pushed his middle inside you. Your walls constricted around him like a hungry snake.

Your lips fell open in an ‘oh shape, whimpering at the burning goodness of his finger. “Fuckfuckfuck-” You panted, the muscles in your legs flexing as you tensed.

With ease, he pushed his ring finger into you as well. Falling into a slow rhythm of pumping his fingers in and out of you coupled with his thumb brushing over your clit. Your brain felt foggy, like how a bathroom mirror fogs up when you take a hot shower. John watched you like a hawk, studying your every movement to see if you were enjoying it.

“John, need your cock now.” You panted breathlessly, impatient for your husband. He gave you an amused look, keeping his fingers at a steady pace.

“You sure?” He asked, bemused. “-I can wait sweetheart.” But you shook your head, desperate for the stretch of his dick.

You blinked and gave him a look, “I'm not asking.” You replied. Making him chuckle, his fingers sliding out of you and leaving an empty feeling in their wake. He stood up, tugging off his shirt and unzipping his trousers. All the while, you watched like it was your favorite TV show. Your eyes drank in his muscles, he was built for fighting, that was for sure.

His pants shrugged down as he pulled his briefs away with it. His large bulbous cock sprang free, the sight almost making you drool. John smiled at you as he wrapped a calloused hand around it, stroking. “Makin’ me feel special when you look at me like that.” He said, giving his dick a few more pumps of his hand.

He nodded at you, “Go ahead and lay back, I want to look at your face when I make you cum.” He said, the words ringing in your ears. You tried not the let the giddy smile show on your face as you nodded and fell back against the cushions. Hastily, he climbed up on the couch, caging you in with his body. Hands planted on either side of your head.

He gave you a knowing smile before using one hand to guide his cock against your slit. Slowly dragging it up and down, making your breath hitch. Fireworks already going off inside your brain.

He leaned back a tad, using his other free hand to stroke your thigh, patting it lightly. “Come on, raise these for me love, want them on my shoulders.” You did as you were told, hiking your legs up on his shoulders. His head was encased by the meat of your thighs and the tip of his cock pushed against your aching hole.

With John’s guidance, he slowly pushed into you. The entrance of his thick cock fills up every crevice in your walls, making you moan. He was right there with you, “bloody hell-” he grit out. His voice was strained and thick like syrup.

“Tell me-” He panted, “-Tell me I can move. Please.” He breathed, voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed, your body burned and ached, yet it felt so good at the same time. And you craved more of it. So much more.

You nodded, “Yes, please.” Per your request, John slowly started to move his hips. His hands are placed on either side of your head and your thighs are locked around his head. The further he pushed into you the more you felt like being folded in half.

Slowly, his cock dragged in and out of your walls only to plunge back in. You moaned and threw your head back into the cushions, a shivering running through you. Every time his thick tip pressed against the spongy bundle of nerves deep inside you, your walls tightened as if to hold him in.

“Fuck, that's it- so tight and wet, like this pussy was made for me.” John groaned, steadily increasing the speed and force of his thrusts. Every time he pushed himself back in you felt like seeing stars. The delicious pleasure of feeling his girthy dick drag against your walls and stuff you full was something you could never get used to. Every time it felt a new shade of amazing.

Soon, his thrusts had gone from slow and drawn out to fast-paced slaps of skin against skin. Your hands dragged against his back, leaving trails of red lines in their wake.

A familiar coil began to burn in your stomach, tightening by the minute. Your head was swimming as you let him mold you to the shape of his cock. “John- can’t hold it, I'm gonna cum soon.” You sputtered.

His response was to only increase the force of his thrusts. Snaking a hand down to your clit and rubbing his thumb in circles around the sensitive bud. You jolted, clamping down around him which in turn caused him to twitch and pulse. “S’okay love I know, I'm right there with you. Let me make you cum, cum on my cock.” He moaned.

The white-hot pleasure turned to burning magma as he played with your clit. Waves of euphoria crashing down on you like a violent tide. Your pussy spasmed and your body went taunt like a bow. John fucked you through it until his orgasm took hold of him. His cock twitched and his hips stuttered, flooding your walls with thick ropes of cum. After a few more forceful thrusts he let up, holding you still as you both came down from the high.

A few seconds later he slid out of you, carefully lowering your legs off his shoulders. “Merry Christmas love.” He breathed with a wolfish smile, a hint of humor in his voice. You hummed, blinking your eyes open just as he pressed a warm kiss to your temple.

A soft chuckle escaped you, still caught in the afterglow. Your hands gently carded through his slightly tousled hair, “Merry Christmas John.”

He smiled, raising his head to look around. Unsurprisingly the room was still a mess of wrapping paper and ribbon. “Guess it falls on me to clean this up eh?” He said knowingly.

You smiled back, “Yep.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Simon Ghost Riley Hurt-comfort

For most, Christmas time was a season of giving. It meant spending time with the ones you loved and putting the cheer back into the more depressing months of winter. It also meant engaging in bonding activities like ice skating or decorating the tree for Christmas, maybe even baking cookies.

For others, including Simon Riley, Christmas was a bitter reminder of what they lacked. It wasn't a cookie-cutter checklist for everyone, but the brunt of it was a lack of Christmas cheer, connection, or lack of loved ones to spend the holidays with. And for Simon, it was all three.

Out of every holiday, Christmas was a loathsome one. It felt as if everyone in the world was brimming with happiness while he was cast out into the dark. Like dangling a shiny new toy in a dog's face knowing that said toy would never be given to it.

So what did he do? What he does best. He closed himself off from the world. During the holiday season, Simon often felt more Ghost than he felt like Simon. After all, it was easier to disassociate and pretend he was Ghost again than to face the bitter memories that Simon went through.

But this year was different, why? Because this year he was spending Christmas with you.

It took a lot of convincing on your end, but he eventually settled for spending the week through Christmas at your flat. Which for him, was a big step. He had stayed over multiple times and vice versa, but considering he never spent Christmas with anyone was saying a lot.

It wasn't even until a year ago that Simon told you the whole story of why he disliked Christmas. By that time both of you had mutually understood that your relationship had shifted from casual dating to a more long-term and serious one.

So now you were determined to make this Christmas a good experience for him. Which turned out to be no easy task. But for your boyfriend, there wasn't anything you weren't willing to do.

It started with small festive activities like taking him to a park to see the Christmas lights. Or letting him pick out the shirt that he had been eyeing as an early gift. Your personal favorite had been getting him to help set up and decorate the small Christmas tree you kept in the living room.

Slowly but surely, he was beginning to assimilate with the Christmas spirit. You had even managed to get him to sit down and watch Home Alone!

Things were finally starting to look up…until now. Christmas Eve.

It was as if all the progress you had made vanished in an instant. Almost like he turned into a Ghost. He had barely said a word to you, didn't want to go out, wasn't eating, and was avoiding you. Simon was hauled up in your room and had been there for most of the day. The only time he had gone out was to smoke from your doorstep. Despite your comments about not liking his smoking or coming inside and eating he brushed it off with a grunt.

He had effectively barricaded himself in his mind. And you were sick of it, sick of the secrets, the going non-verbal with little to no explanation, and sick of the fact that he didn't trust you enough to tell you what was going on in his head.

Enough was enough, so you walked up to your bedroom door and knocked a few times. As expected there was no answer, so you pushed it open. Greeting you was Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, looking down at his skull mask. You had only seen it a few times, not wanting to invade his privacy. Simon was a large proponent of keeping his work and personal life separate.

And why wouldn't he? His work was violent, it was the worst of what humanity had to offer. And you were none of those things. He mentioned to you once that his mask allowed him to be someone else, so that way when he did come back from deployments Simon wasn't the one with blood on his hands.

In other words, to your understanding, the mask was a mentality. A place holder that could do things that the Simon you knew couldn't.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, carefully making your way over. You climbed up on the bed behind him, till you were knelt facing his large back. Gently you slid your hands around his waist, pressing the side of your face to his spine in a soft hug. You swallowed, an underlying nervousness boiling deep inside you.

“Please talk to me, I can't know how to help if you don't tell me.” You whispered into him, a soft plead.

He didn't respond for a good minute, and a part of you feared that he was just going to brush you off like before. Eventually, he did respond, except it wasn't the response you wanted. “I think I should go back to my place in Manchester. Just for a few days.”

You frowned, this wasn't what you wanted. Not at all. You had been making such good progress too, you didn't understand how it could all reverse in a second. “Simon that's not fair, you at least need to tell me why. You've been silent all day and now you want to leave? You promised you'd stay until Christmas was over.”

Simon turned a bit to look at you, shrugging your hands off of him. The warm look he always had when he looked at you now long gone. “I know what I said. But I told you that I don't spend the holidays with anyone, you knew that.”

Your hands bawled on your thighs, “But- just yesterday you were fine. I don't understand what changed.” You said eyebrows knitting together.

His eyes narrowed, “Then have you considered maybe I just don't want to be around you?” He said, his tone harsh and unforgiving. A knife to your heart. You stared at him in silence, shocked that he would say something like that so brazenly.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, trying to regain your composure. “If you don't want to be around me then tell me, don't ignore me for half the day like a child.” The hands that held his skull mask tightened, bunching up the fabric in his grip.

“Alright, I'm sorry. Happy now?” Simon couldn't have been less sincere even if he tried. Yet another stab to your chest.

You shook your head no, “Of course I'm not happy. You're not telling me anything, I’m trying to listen and understand you but you're just shutting me out. It's like you barely trust me at all.” You said sternly.

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. You watched how his face scrunched in irritation, the bags under his eyes sticking out like a sore thumb. “I do trust you, but…I’m just not ready.” He said irritably.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Not ready? Not ready for what?”

“For you, for this-” Simon snapped, gesturing to the air around him. “-fucking caring about somebody. Because every time I have it’s ended up like shite, I don't even know if I can. Or if I ever will.” He said, his voice brimming with a flurry of emotions. Ones you couldn't decipher, but you were still hung up on the meaning of his words. You knelt there, a cold wave washing over you that felt like ice.

He went on, “You shouldn't even want what I am [Name]. I know you think you do but you don't.”

You shook your head, a lump developing in your throat. “Yes, I do-” You tried weakly, your limbs starting to numb up and grow cold.

Simon stood up, turning his back to you. Walking over to the large overnight bag he had packed, kneeling, and started to take clothes that were scattered near it and shove them inside. You felt your stomach drop, clambering off the bed to stop him. Grabbing onto his suitcase and ripping it away to keep it behind your back.

“Simon tell me what’s going on.” You demanded, your voice suddenly raw.

Simon's eyes were wide, the brown pools of warmth replaced by a dark abyss. Looking up at you with surprise and anger. He stood up, towering over you with his massive frame. Almost like an intimidation tactic. He looked scary.

Slowly he outstretched an open palm, deadly silent. “I'm not going to ask you again, give me my things.”

You shook your head, taking a few steps back until you were pressed against your closet door. Blinking away tears into the back of your head, “No. Tell me what’s going on.” Your hands holding his suitcase with an iron grip behind your back.

His eyebrows furrowed, jaw working in frustration. The veins in his neck tensed for a moment. Almost without thinking his outstretched hand seized forward to grasp your arm, yanking you away from the wall with an alarming force. The suitcase dropped on the floor as he tore you away and you stumbled forward.

You made a noise, one akin to the sound a small animal would make before it was eaten. His grip on your arm was hard by any means, but the minute you made eye contact with him again he broke off. His hand released you like he had been burned by a hot iron, terror written across his face.

He looked more horrified than you did, looking between you and his hand like it was somebody else’s. The silence between you was so loud it rang in your ears.

You felt something wet trail down your cheeks. When did you start crying? You didn't know. You looked back at your boyfriend, he had looked so big before but now he only looked scared. You raised your hands as if you were approaching a wild animal. “Simon-” You breathed, “-It’s okay. I'm okay, you didn't hurt me.”

He didn't say anything, basically frozen in time. You walked up to him, praying he didn't walk back. Thankfully, he didn't. Gently, you cupped his face, forcing him to look down at you. “Please.” You pleaded, “-Tell me whats going on. That's all I ask, if you still want to go after, you can.” You breathed hoarsely.

You watched his face, how it was so full of uncertainty and fear. His bottom lip quivered lightly, “I’m so sorry.” He said, “-I didn't mean…I wasn't thinking.”

You gently rubbed a thumb over his cheek, trying to soothe him to the best of your ability. “I know you didn't mean to, you're not your dad Simon. I'm not worried about that, what I am worried about is you just getting up and leaving because you decided that I don't matter to you anymore.” You said, trying to remain firm to the best of your ability. Even when your voice was quivering and you felt like sobbing.

Simon shook his head, “What? Of course, you matter to me.” He breathed, shaky hands still at his side.

“Well, that's not what it looks like from my perspective. You just said you wanted to leave, you said you didn't think you could ever fully care about me.” You said, looking up at him.

His eyes scanned your face, “I know I'm sorry- I'm… fuck love, I'm scared. I'm scared of caring about you as much as I do, whenever I do it just…” He swallowed, “My mom, and Tommy…they're gone and I can't get them back, and if you leave I have nothing. Because you took everything,” He breathed.

“-You already have me, every part of me that I wanted you to see and every part of me that I don't. And that scares the shite out of me, and I try to keep pushing and pushing but you keep coming back to me.” You felt his hands on your face, large calloused palms warm against your cheeks. “Because that's just how you are, you're good. And I thought by creating more distance you'd see that.”

You opened your mouth but he cut you off, “-And this week you worked so hard, just for me. To give me a good experience,” Simon laughed bitterly. “And here I am, barely keeping my shite together.”

You frowned, “Simon.” You cut him off, your voice stern. He stopped, looking at you. “You don't tell me what I can and can't do, nobody does but me. So if you think you have any chance of convincing me to leave you're mad. I want this, I want you. No matter what baggage you come with.”

There was a moment of silence, filled with a thick tension that you could cut with a knife before he pulled you in. Pressing your face against his chest, cradling your head against him. Holding you tight as if you'd disappear if he let go. Your hands wrapped around his back, digging into the cotton of his shirt and inhaling his scent. One of cigarette smoke and pine. His face pressed into the top of your head.

It was intimate, emotions running high, and the force of his embrace. For a while, you stayed that way, grounded by the large arms that held you to his chest. “I’m so sorry, I should've told you from the beginning.” He whispered into the top of your head, his voice that of genuine remorse.

You knew that this wasn't the end all be all of his problems. Just because he addressed things did not mean everything was magically solved. But it was a big step in the right direction. You maneuvered your head up to look at him, chin pressed against his chest.

“I told you that I wanted to make this a good Christmas, for both of us.” You said, “-If you'll let me, I think we can still make the most of it.”

Simon stared at you, his lips settling in a relieved smile. “Yeah.” He breathed, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Kyle Gaz Garrick Fluff

Your room was a complete mess. Clothes were thrown about like a tornado had taken your closet and dispensed its content for everyone to see. But the state of your room was the last thing you could focus on. Because you had thirty minutes until your neighbor two doors down would pick you up for a date.

You felt your cheeks just redden at the thought. A date! Especially with your very hot and very out-of-your-league neighbor Kyle.

You groaned, tossing yet another shirt on your bed. Nothing seemed to fit as it should've, what was one even supposed to wear on a date? It was December so obviously crop tops and shorts were off-limits. You nervously chewed on your nails, cursing at yourself immediately after for forgetting they were painted.

As you slipped on something acceptable (a nice pair of jeans and a coat), you made a beeline for your bathroom. You looked in the mirror, taking a few minutes to look over your makeup for the umpteenth time. Then moving over to fix your hair, tweaking it here and there, and maybe smoothing out the few strays.

You didn't even understand how you got into this predicament, it was all a blur. Kyle had just gotten back from deployment, a normal occurrence, and being the good neighbor you were, you brought him food. (Who wants to cook after they just get home from a long trip anyway?) And being the gentleman he was, he invited you inside. However, due to your inability to act normally around hot men, you panicked and refused.

Swearing up and down that he was probably exhausted and didn't need you to disturb his peace and quiet. You cringed just imaging how red your face must've been.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person, he doubled down.

“Oh, okay then, why don't you let me take you out sometime as a thank you?”

After that, you were too stunned to say anything so you just shut up and nodded your head. And now you're here, standing in front of the mirror fretting over your appearance like a teenage girl.

You had zero idea where he was taking you. Which, in theory, was cute. But you were so anxiety-ridden that you couldn't find the time to look into it. And just as you were clumsily slipping on your shoes you heard the dreaded knock on your front door. You whirled through your apartment, opening the door with a little (a lot) too much force.

Standing there like a male supermodel was Kyle. Clad in worn-out jeans that he somehow pulled off, a flannel, and a jacket. He smiled, his perfect teeth adding to his handsome charm. “Hey,” He said, looking at you up and down. “-You look great as always.”

You wanted to die, just looking at him was like staring at a beacon of light. But for the sake of your social skills, you forced yourself to respond. “Thanks-” You breathed, trying to smile as normally as you could. “-Uhm you look great too.”

Kyle smiled, the dimples in his cheeks growing more prominent. “Thanks, I appreciate it, love.” He said, looking behind you and then back to you. “-I’m ready when you are, but take your time. We’re not in a rush.” He said casually, hands in his jean pockets.

You nodded, “Oh right- let me just grab my purse.” You breathed, doing a 360 to run back to your kitchen counter and swipe your bag from off the surface. Quickly making a run back towards him, stepping outside “Ready!” You said, trying to work up as much confidence as you could. To which Kyle chuckled, reaching behind you to close the door.

After the initial stress of stepping out the door, Kyle led you out of the complex. To which the subtle awkwardness faded into a comfortable conversation. It was easier with him than with most, it had always been. You'd always had an underlying crush on him but you never actually thought it'd go anywhere. You were more comfortable just looking and making friendly small talk than actively perusing.

After a few minutes of conversation and walking about the town he stopped a few feet away from a large tent. Christmas lights strone about and small lines of people waiting to get inside. And it instantly clicked what he was taking you to do.

“Ice skating?” You asked.

Kyle gave you a boyish grin back, “Yep.” He said confidently, “-thought it matched the Christmas spirit.”

You laughed, to be honest, you hadn't stepped onto an ice rink in a while. You'd never been terrible at it but you weren't exactly a pro either. He gently nudged you with his shoulder, “Scared?” He asked you.

Shaking your head, you smiled back. “You wish Garrick. I think I can hold my own on an ice rink.” You bantered.

Kyle’s shoulders hiccuped as he chuckled, “Alright then. Let’s get in line.” He said leading you over to one of the lines of people. It wasn't a terribly long wait, maybe twenty or fifteen minutes before you made it to the front. And of course, he insisted on paying for your skates even though he had been the one to buy the tickets.

You continued to talk as the both of you laced up your skates. But when it came time to actually get on the ice you found yourself apprehensive. Kyle had already gotten on with ease and was now waiting for you at the small gate entrance.

“Need any help there?” He asked, amused. To which you shook your head, determined to prove to him that you could do it on your own.

“All good.” You breathed, holding onto the gate as you stepped on the ice. “-just uhm, getting my footing.” For some reason, under his gaze, you felt your whole body begin to malfunction. Like you were getting performance anxiety.

You sheepishly let go of the gate, standing statue still. And Kyle simply stood there, an amused smile played across his lips. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest. You swallowed, taking a shaky step forward. And because your life seemed to be one large cosmic joke, you felt your skate slide out and you fell forward.

You tried to put your arms out to catch yourself, shutting your eyes tight with a small squeak before you felt something take hold of you. You blinked as you realized that your face didn't collide with the hard surface of ice but with something else.

Kyle’s arms had caught you just in time, your face pressed up against his warm chest. Large arms encircling your waist, you heard him whistle. A red blush crosses your cheeks from embarrassment. “Careful there, thought you said you could hold your own?”

You were mortified, you had practically thrown yourself at him! (not intentionally of course, but still)

He helped you stand back straight as well as fix your coat. You swore you could almost feel steam coming out from your ears. “I’m sorry, that was an accident I swear.” You babbled. He didn't seem to mind, however, simply holding his hands up and giving you a soft look.

“Hey, it's okay love, I know. Happens to the best of us.” He reassured. Once again you tried to brush off the pet name so as not to implode. Kyle held his arm out to you, “-Why don't you hang on to me for the first couple of laps yeah? Just to be safe.”

You looked between him and his outstretched arm. “I-uh yeah. Sure, sounds good.” You said, taking hold of his arm for more support. He flashed you a smile before slowly skating forward. You tried your best to keep up, and with his support you did.

The two of you did loops around the skating rink, people-watching, talking, and laughing. The thing was, your arm still held his, even after the first couple of loops, he made no effort to detach from you. And neither did you, but that was neither here nor there. You actually learned a lot about him, about his family, his interests, and even a little about his work. Which in his words was “Nothing that you should ever have to hear about.”

You managed to open up to him as well, sharing more of your life with him. Eventually, your time at the rink ran out. But the conversations between you and Kyle still kept up. By the time you were walking back to your complex with him, his hand had managed to sneak its way into yours. Some part of you was still in disbelief that it was even happening, however.

You swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with you. “Thanks, by the way. It was really nice of you to take me out like this. But you really didn't need to, it was just a meal. A thank you would've sufficed.” You commented.

Kyle glanced back at you, raising and eyebrow. “You think I asked you out just cause you cooked me dinner?” He said, making you stop.

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “…yes? What other reason would there be?” You asked, utterly lost.

At that, Kyle fully turned to face you. Staring at you for a few seconds, his face trying to deduce if you were joking or not. When he realized you weren't kidding, his face broke into a smile. “[Name], I've been trying to ask you out for weeks.”

You blinked, his words only confusing you more. “What? No, I would've picked up on it.” You said.

He chuckled and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes actually, multiple times,” Kyle said. Looking at you with an expectant gaze.

You tried to dive back into all of your memories with him, searching for a time that would've counted as him asking you out. But, you came out empty-handed. “Give me an example then.” You said, brow furrowed.

Kyle raised his eyebrows, “What about the other day when I invited you inside to eat dinner with me after you brought me food?”

“Well, that doesn't really count. That's just something people say to be polite. How was I supposed to know?” You challenged.

He continued, “…Or about that time I told you I had an extra ticket to a football game if you wanted to go?”

You felt your cheeks get a bit rosy. That one did sound a bit more like asking you out when you thought about it. “I- I was under the impression that you were just giving me a ticket. I didn't realize you meant together,” You flushed.

Kyle kept going. “And that time I caught you coming back from a bad date and I said I could show you a better one?”

Okay yeah, you were seeing it now. You bit down on your cheek, trying to stop yourself from melting into a puddle. “I thought you were just being nice.” You said lamely. You saw his mouth open to respond, but you held your hands in front of his face. “Okay, but yes, I get it! I realize now that there might have been some signs.”

You heard him chuckle, he gently lowered your hands. You sighed, feeling your cheeks burn red from embarrassment. How could you be so clueless!? “I'm sorry for not noticing that you were trying to ask me out.” You murmured, trying your best to avoid his eyes.

You then felt his warm hand slide over your jaw, cupping the side of your face to raise it. Your eyes met his, mirth swimming inside his dark brown irises. “It's okay love, you're worth the wait.”

You felt your face burn, realizing the significance of what was happening. His eyes darting between your lips, the way he held your face, the utter cheesiness of it all. And God you were eating it up like your own personal rom-com. But to your dismay, nothing was happening! Like you two were frozen in time. Kyle had been the one to ask you out, to make the first moves, so maybe it was only fair you did this small thing.

Throwing your timidness out the window, you leaned forward. Shutting your eyes and locking lips with him. It only took a moment for Kyle to press back against you, tilting his head and sliding his hand over your cheek to cup the back of your head. It was pure bliss.

You stayed like that for as long as you could, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his lips. Yet all good things end as you still need oxygen, so you did eventually have to pull away.

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, face flushed. He looked a little better, but it was cute the way he looked post-kiss. Kyle’s lip turned into a boyish grin, “Does this mean I get another date?”

You couldn't help but laugh, “I guess so.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Jhonny Soap McTavish Smut

Curse your boss for putting you on the late-night Christmas shift. What kind of fucker does that? A greedy one, you supposed. It wasn't like you didn't have plans, not with family, no, but with friends.

But no. He just had to schedule you for Christmas night.

Bartending for a group of sad, lonely, old men wasn't what you had in mind when you thought of Christmas. And even though you tried to get out of it, (bribing every co-worker and staff member you could and asking them if they would cover your shift) you still ended up behind the counter.

You grimaced, dish rag in hand as you cleaned the sticky countertop. It was pretty dead, but not enough that you were free for time. A few regulars sitting at the bar, and others were scattered about the place. Some talking or watching the different channels projected on the TV. Overall, it was a quiet evening. Though some part of you felt a little bad for wanting everyone to leave, after all, some people here didn't have families or friends to go home to.

You heard the doorbell chime as somebody walked inside. You didn't bother looking up, more concerned about the patch of mystery substance that wasn't going away. You furrowed a brow, working your muscles to press into the surface and scrub.

Heavy boots creaked across the wood, getting closer with each moment. Yet you still hadn't made any progress on the counter. With a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and looked up. A frown that could scare off any customer played across your lips.

“Jesus, Bonnie, Christmas shift that bad aye? Y’look like you're about to kill me right where I stand.”

You halted. Standing before you was Johnny McTavish, or Soap, as his other friends christened him. (don't ask, you didn't know why either) He was a part of the semi-regular military group that came in a few times a month. There was a large base a few miles away, so it wasn't abnormal to get your fair share of soldiers now and again. However, what was abnormal was the fact that he was here alone.

Normally, Johnny came in with three other guys. Gaz, another more gruff man who they referred to as ‘Cap,’ and a big scary-looking bloke who always wore a balaclava.

You stared at him for a good few seconds.“I uh, sorry you caught me off guard there.” You breathed. “-And no, it’s not bad in here, just prefer not to be working on Christmas night.”

Johnny hummed, walking up the the counter and pulling out a stool right in front of you. His large arms settled against the wood, “Too bad. Bossman put you on the shift, did he?” He asked, apparently very amused by your grim attitude.

You rolled your eyes, throwing the rag under the counter. “Yeah, I even tried to bribe everyone to cover my shift but nobody would take it.”

He smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well then maybe this was fate.” He joked, “-Anyway, since it is Christmas, would you mind pouring me a glass? Y’know, as a present?” He said, grinning at you.

You felt your heart stutter a little.

Oh yeah, the other thing about Johnny was that you may or may not have the biggest crush known to man on him. It wasn't even your fault, he charmed his stupid way into your heart. With his ridiculous mohawk, (which wasn't even really a mohawk) pretty blue eyes, and his huge biceps. Very annoying. Not even to mention his rough voice with that thick Scottish accent.

To say you had the hots for him was a giant understatement.

You breathed out a laugh, “Alright, coming up.” You turned around to grab the bottle of vodka, fixing together a Cape Codder. Then sliding the glass over to him. He gave you a funny look, concussion written across his face.

“This isn't my usual.” He pointed out, still taking the drink nonetheless.

You flashed him a smile, winking. “Merry Christmas doll face.” You said sarcastically. To which he simply took a sip. You eyed him as he did, “Where are the rest of the guys?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Johnny cleared his throat, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Gaz and Price are back at base, everyone had drinks earlier and they wouldn't make it. Ghost’s not the biggest fan of Christmas so he didn't want to go out either.” He said casually.

You nodded, “If you had drinks earlier than why are you back here?” You asked.

Soap smiled, his jaw working in a way that made you swallow. “Never said I did, the others drank, but I held off until now. Thought I'd be better if I got shit-faced here where you could see it.”

You laughed, leaning against the back counter. Your arms crossed over your chest. “And you were just betting on me working tonight?”

Jhonny shrugged, taking another sip. “I had an inkling.”

You breathed out another small chuckle, walking back over to grab the towel you'd thrown before. “Y’know, I'm only giving you a free drink because it’s Christmas. Can't pull that trick on anybody else, so be grateful you got me.”

He nodded, licking his lips. His eyes followed you as you walked around. “Trust me Bonnie I am, not every day I get you all to myself.”

Your train of thought stuttered a bit, Jhonny was a flirt, yes. But for some reason, it felt different. His tone had changed, and the way his eyes were tracking your every move felt more real. You glanced back at him as you scrubbed the countertop. “Who says that all my attention is on you?” You quipped with a smile.

Jhonny grinned, shaking the ice in his glass. “You know what I mean.” He set in drink back down on the table. “But for the record, I don't see you givin’ any attention to the other blokes here.”

You shot him a look, trying to hold in your laugh. “Unfortunately, half of the people here are either probably married or well above the appropriate age bracket.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Too bad, here I was thinking I’m getting special treatment. Better think of a way to get on your good side, I suppose.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him, intrigued at the sentiment. “Yeah? What did you have in mind?” You asked.

“Depends.” He said, staring at you with way more intensity than you were prepared for. “-What do ya’ want Bonnie?”

You stared back, at a loss for words. There were many things you wanted, or more specifically, things you wanted him to do to you. Your throat suddenly went dry, your train of thought ruined by a barrage of filthy images flashing in your mind. It wasn't until another minute went by that you remembered you were supposed to be responding to his question.

You cleared your throat, “I uh- a solid cash tip would be nice. Or maybe you could cover my shift.” You joked, trying to play the silence off.

“S’not what it looks like to me.” He stated, throwing his head back as he downed the last of his drink.

You halted again, caught off guard. Furrowing your brow in confusion, “Excuse me?” You asked.

He put the drink back down on the table, leaning forward on his arms. His signature impish smile on his stupidly pretty lips. “That's not what it looks like to me.” He repeated, enunciating each word. “Nobody looks at somebody like you just did to me, then makes a joke about covering a shift.”

You felt your heart speed up, so he had noticed your stare? You forced a frown, keeping a skeptical face. Placing a hand on your hip, “I wasn't looking at you like anything.”

“Oh yes, you most definitely were Bonnie.” Fuck that stupid nickname he always called you. It only weakened your resolve.

You rolled your eyes, “And how exactly was I looking at you?” You said, frowning at him.

Johnny’s smile twitched up a little, something akin to hunger flashing in his eyes. “Like you wanted to shag me.” He spoke casually. “-Can’t say I'm not guilty of’tha either though. The drinks here aren't the only reason I'm always stoppin’ by.”

If your face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. You looked around as if somebody was listening in on the conversation. You looked back at him, wide-eyed and flushed. “I-what? I wasn't-” You cut yourself off from stumbling over another word. “You…want to fuck me?” You said slowly, skepticism leaking through your tone.

Without a beat, he nodded. “Yes.”

You stood statue still, absolutely floored by his lack of filter. For a few moments, you didn't know what to say. What could you say? ‘Yeah, I do too now let's have sex right now.’ Yeah right.

…

Well maybe.

You looked around again, there was barely anyone in the bar. They probably wouldn't notice if you disappeared for twenty minutes, right?

You looked back at Johnny, “Meet me behind that door one minute after I go inside.” Without another word, you turned on your heel and marched your ass into the back room behind the drink display. The heavy door shutting with a thump behind you.

You blinked, holy shit. You had just told Johnny to meet you in the back room. What the hell were you doing?!

Just before you started panicking, the door swung open and Johnny marched straight in. “What the hell? I thought I told you a minute later.” You whisper shouted at him.

He chuckled, “Sorry, but I don't think waltzing in here a minute after you would make what we're about to do any less obvious. It was a nice thought, though.” He said, almost patronizingly.

Suddenly, his strides had backed you against one of the back walls that were lined with cardboard boxes. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, “You're such a-” You cut yourself off, sighing heavily. “For the record, I'm only doing this because I'm pissed off about working and I need something to fill the time.” a lie.

Johnny’s large hands slid against your waist, holding you there. “Sure, Bonnie, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Just as you opened your mouth to argue back his head dipped down to capture your lips. You let out a surprised noise but quickly adapted, your hands snaking around his head and pulling him closer. He groaned into you, pushing his hips against yours as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

The kiss was needy, desperate even. Like he wanted to consume you whole. Every moment seemed to heat the tension between you as he slowly ground himself into you, letting you feel the hardening tent between his legs.

He gently nipped at your lip, causing you to gasp. His large hands made quick work of your top by sliding it over your head. As soon as he saw you in your bra, he groaned, “Fuck, this is what I've been thinkin’ bout’ for the past few months.” Without another word, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Groping and pawing at your chest like a cat.

You tried your best to keep your sighs and moans down. “You've been thinking about me?” You breathed.

“Every day Bonnie.” He said, kissing a trail up your neck. Red hickeys blossoming in his wake that would undoubtedly remain for the next few hours. But you couldn't find it in you to care, at least not in this moment.

Without warning his kisses began to drop until he slid down between your legs. Kneeling before you like he was ready to worship the ground you stood on. You looked down at him, surprise in your gaze. However, he paid you no mind as he undid your pants. Pulling them down your legs until they pooled at your ankles.

You swallowed, “Johnny you don't have to-”

“I want to.” He cut you off. His breath fanning against the material of your panties, blue eyes staring up at you with haze. His hands gently pulled down the elastic of your underwear until you stood bared to him. “-Fuck, you gorgeous thing.” He breathed, in awe of you.

His mouth was on you at a moment's notice. His hot tongue licking circles around your clit. Your hands immediately went to grab at his hair. Curling around the short locks of brown hair, your other hand slapped over your mouth. Muffling the puffs of air and moans falling from your lips.

It was almost like he was enjoying it more than you were because the way he ate you out was akin to a starving man desperate for water. Johnny moaned into you as he sucked and licked at you, hands holding your hips, keeping you in place.

You panted, absolutely lost for words as he delved into you. You'd never had any man desperate to taste you, so this took the cake. And the way his stubble scratched into your skin made you dizzy. This man had ruined you for anybody else in a few short minutes with his tongue alone.

“Jeez, Johnny- you're gonna make me cum if you keep going like that.” You panted out through your moans.

He detached for a second, looking at you. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes glazed over, and his mouth slick with your juices. “Good,” He panted. “Means I'm doing my job right.”

Before you could say any more he went right back at it, flicking his tongue over your clit. Your hands squeezed his hair tighter, pushing him further. Johnny moaned, letting you guide his face for your pleasure. One of his hands slid away from your thigh to your pussy, pressing a finger into your hole.

You let another moan slip, not being able to hide it as his thick digit pushed into your walls. It was too much, the pressure of his finger curling inside you as his tongue worked against your clit.

“Holy shit- m’gonna cum. M’gonna cum.” You panted, voice going up an octave as your body tightened. A burning heat sending shocks through your spine.

Johnny groaned in response, working his finger faster inside you. You threw your head back with a silent cry, legs shaking as you came. Heat burning down your body and lighting fireworks inside your stomach.

After a few more seconds, he slid his finger out of you, leaning back on his knees. His breath was almost as heavy as yours. Your mind was still hazy but somehow you found it in you to look down at him, gently carding a hand through his hair. “Fuck, McTavish, you surprised me.”

He grinned back at you, practically pussy drunk. “Yeah? Does that mean I get another free drink?” He asked, amused.

You smiled, helping him to his feet. “I’ll do you one better.” You murmured, feeling the fog of your orgasm slowly fade a little.

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth opening in question as you switched your position. Now in front of him and sliding down to your knees, eye to eye with his bulge. Your hands palmed over him, making his head tilt back with a soft groan. “Fuck- [Name], eating you out like that already did a number on me.” He panted, “M’not gonna last long if you do anything to me.”

You smiled, gently unzipping his pants and pulling apart the fabric. Jeez, he was practically tearing a hole straight through his boxers. “I can live with that.” You said teasingly, sliding down his briefs to let his dick spring free.

Your eyes drank him in, pleasantly surprised to find out, yes, he was big. You gently took hold of him, his cock sticky and beading with milky precum. His head fell back against the wall. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?” He half laughed, half moaned.

You hummed in acknowledgment, licking a stripe up his cock. Then swirl your tongue over the reddish tip, lapping up the fluid like syrup. His dick twitched, making you smile. Slowly, you took the head of him into your mouth, inching your way down.

Johnny cursed, his hand reaching down to grab your hair. Holding you as you slid down his dick, your throat wrapped around him. “Bonnie, I told you I wasn't gonna last long.” He moaned, his breath heavy and hard.

You moaned in response, bobbing your head up and down his cock. Letting the tip hit the back of your throat. Your eyes locked on his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sucked him off.

Soon, he was practically whimpering at nothing. His hands held your hair with a vice grip as you bobbed up and down on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck- that's it, keep going. You're so gorgeous, just taking my cock like that.”

You moaned, feeling his cock twitch again in your mouth. With another curse, he came down your throat, painting your mouth a milky white.

Slowly, you detached from his softening dick. Swallowing the fluid, it was salty, kind of earthy too. Not bad though, thank goodness. Johnny stared at you, looking wrecked. You probably didn't fair that much better.

“Was that better than a free drink?” You chuckled, wobbly standing up.

Johnny laughed, nodding. “Way better than a free drink.”

There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“…so, you free after your shift?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

Merry Christmas or Happy holidays!

Or if it is the day after Christmas then happy late Christmas. Anyway, just a collection of a few one-shots for the festive season :)

This isn't my usual content, it’s normally more long-form stories but I hope it was okay!

Not too much to say other than thank you for reading and all your support, I love each and every one of you.

And don't forget to like or repost, maybe even leave a comment if you so choose. Toodles!

( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧

[the-odd-shu]

Fluffy scenarios for clear skin

Another Lab Illustrator Reader installation!

Masterlist

Previous:

Characters: Jayce, Viktor, Gender Neutral Reader (Reader uses they/them pronouns)

Established: Jayce/Viktor/Reader (POLYCULLLEEE)

Reader to Jayce: Do you ever look at Viktor when he's thinking and want to kiss every inch of his face?

Jayce taking a slow sip from his hot drink: No. I think he would bite me if I tried.

Reader: Maybe. But whenever he pouts, his eyes go all thoughtful and distant, and I can hardly control myself.

Jayce: Please continue to control yourself. I don't want to have to write an accident report because you lost a nose.

Reader sighs again: Would you bite my nose off if I kissed every inch of your face instead?

Jayce no-rizz Talis then proceeds to choke and nearly perish on his drink.

In summary, Reader's partners sometimes give them cuteness aggression.

Just the image of Viktor doing that adorable pouting face, and Reader calmly setting down their pen, getting up, crossing over to Jayce's desk to get rid of their cuteness aggression via kisses on poor Jayce instead.

I kind of like the idea of them doing this instead of crowding Viktor when he's clearly trying to think. Whereas Jayce is just constantly on the look out for touch and validation, so it works out great for him. He melts under the attention, more than happy to put his notes aside for a moment in favour of a rather lovely excuse for a break.

They're quiet about it, but sometimes the movement will pull Viktor out of his musings regardless, and he'll just frown at the pair of them acting like idiots.

And if he insinuates he's feeling a little left out, you bet Reader is going to calmly drag him close and touch temples with him - a deeply personal Zaunite display of affection - which would have a whole new adorable expression appearing on Viktor's face and would send Reader IMMEDIATELY into going back to attack Jayce instead of smothering to poor, overwhelmed man.

In a similar vein of thinking, it would definitely be manadatory for Reader to give into it, just once.

Maybe Jayce is conveniently out of the room, and maybe Viktor is just RIGHT THERE, PLAINLY in sight. And maybe, just this once they SIMPLY CANNOT contain themselves. Viktor is right there and they're not getting any work done because they can't tear their eyes off him.

So they give in, and pepper Viktor's adorable pout with kisses. And the man is just BAFFLED! It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and then he's letting out flustered strings of words in both his mother's tongue and Piltovern Common, and he's shoving them away by their cheeks.

Reader of course isn't deterred, and just ends up grabbing the hand to kiss his knuckles. Viktor glares down at them with a look of resignation and burning red ears.

Jayce comes in like: what did I miss.

Reader: Turns out he doesn't bite.

Viktor: Not yet. Don't tempt me.

Jayce is rewarded with a forehead touch for simply existing that time round - the significance is not lost on him and he feels touched.

Viktor's that choatic boyfriend that hears you complaining about a colleague one too many times, and then proceeds to inconvenience them in the most subtle and irritating way known to man, all whilst giving you a shit-eating little smirk as he sits back and watches the world burn.

"That fucker giving you trouble Darling? No worries, I stole all of his left socks and buried them in the staff room plant pot after hours."

"They said what about Jayce?" A beat of silence.

"Viktor?! Where are you going with that washing up liquid."

"Nowhere." Very obviously makes his way to the kitchen.

Said co-worker that was talking shit then begins complaining that every cup of coffee they make tastes like soap!

Someone talks shit about their partners:

Jayce 'can we talk about this' Talis: "here is a thirty page essay as to why you're wrong, and I have a PowerPoint slide prepared with additional evidence if you will please take a seat and allow me to reeducate you."

Viktor who will resort to psychological warfare to get his point across correcting them, whilst also blatantly gaslighting them into believing that Jayce and Reader can do no wrong, and they were in fact crazy for insinuating such cruel things about either of them to begin with.

Reader who stabs first with their artist-grade scalpel, and asks questions when they're incapacitated and bleeding out on their floor: "Say that again, to my face this time. Go on, I dare you."

(There is a reason why Jayce and Viktor ((the pacifists)) do not teach Reader how to use any of the hextech devices. They will commit murder and refuse to regret it whilst Jayce sweats bullets and Viktor stares on, mouth aghast by the sheer brutality of said murder).

"He deserved it," Reader will explain simply.

And Viktor will go, "perhaps, BUT YOU COULD HAVE LEFT HIS HEAD ATTACHED!"

Jayce who's trauma raises its head when his partners are cold. Blankets. Warm drinks. Heating on full blast. That snow storm did a number on him and he HATES the winter because of it.

Are you shivering? Is Viktor? No stress, he shall simply have to BECOME the blanket to keep you both alive and well. It is as sweet as it is heartbreaking.

Viktor who's upbringing in Zaun sometimes makes him precious with food. Not because he was starving, but because sometimes he couldn't have as much food as he wanted, simply because money was tight growing up.

Maybe he has a sweet treat, and ends up breaking it into threes to share with you and Jayce.

Maybe there's only one tea bag left, so he settles for water, despite having REALLY wanted that cup of warm tea.

Maybe he's waiting for seconds for dinner, but there's only enough left for two more portions, so he says he's not hungry anymore.

Viktor who will sometimes feel the gnaw of hunger but make a hot drink to soothe his stomach instead of actually eating something, because its only so far into the day, and if he doesn't eat now, then he won't be as hungry later-

Safe to say, his partners notice. And Jayce keeps the kitchenette well stocked with drinks and snacks alike, whilst Reader will stop by a bakery or cafe in the morning to bring him a proper breakfast, as well as breakfast for themselves and Jayce so he doesn't feel like he HAS to share.

[bubblegumgothglados]

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

[waynes-multiverse]

*runs to refill tea (and rum)* I'm back, baby! 😎

(Also, before I come across as some drunk, I'd like to clarify I haven't had a drop of alcohol before pregnancy, so Christmas 2022, whoa... 👀🙈😂)

Clearly having a blast and couldn't imagine a better Christmas than reading one of your amazing stories, friend ❤️

Russell happened to spot the cozy little scene from the doorway. He couldn’t help staring, and trying not to frown. When Colter caught sight of his brother loitering (and that look on his face), Colter tried to hide most of his smile.

Loved that little moment of jealousy there. How do you like tasting your own medicine, Russ? 😂

I absolutely loved their pizza and movie date at home. And they already shared so much with each other 🥹 The fact he felt secure enough to open up to her after this short amount of time says a lot, considering Dory hasn't even told her the story yet. I love them 😭🤍

She did offer, he thought, remembering what you’d said at the hospital. And yet, he hesitated.

Honestly, in this day and age, it's always best to wait for renewed consent (even though I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have minded in the least lol). Loved that he recognized that and hesitated!

You watched him go when he headed across the hall back to Charlie’s room. You sighed and beat your hand against your own forehead in frustration. What the hell am I doing?

Poor girl 😂💕 The morning after is always a tad awkward – especially if everything is still in the balance of will they/won't they and nothing *sexual* has happened yet 😅

“Well hey there, cowboy,” you said, adopting a more sensuous tone. “I had a feeling you’d be packing. What’s that, a .45, or a 38 Special?” Russell’s eyes blinked wide. Then he erupted with deep laughter that made his shoulders shake. Aside from throwing a punch, your brother must’ve taught you something about guns too.  “Well thank you, kindly,” Russell said, putting on a bit of a southern drawl, just to tease you. “But you’re about to find out, naughty girl.”

Absolutely adored this exchange! ❤️

Oooof, and that smut may have been my undoing for tonight! Holy hell!!! 😮‍💨🔥🌶️

“You know, drug dealers aside, Laramie isn’t such a bad place to live,” you pointed out. “We’ve got a movie theater, a couple good outlet malls, a new Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened down the street. I’m gonna have to find a new bar though.”

Again, she's so cute 😆🤍

I do hope they work something out. I don't think Russell would've necessarily taken the "big" step, knowing her feelings on this, if he hadn't planned to try and make it work somehow ❤️

He’d found where he wanted to be.

Perfect ending, friend 🥹💚 (You know I love a bit of drama and angst in an ending lol)

I loved this series so goddamn much! It fit so well with every character and gave so much that the show didn't (like that awesome family reunion of the three Shaws). Can't wait to get into the one-shots over the holidays 😍

Again, the merriest of Christmases to you and your family, Alex! Thank you for always being a wonderful friend 🤍🎄

Every Second Counts - Part 5

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I thought about breaking up this chapter into two parts, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. I hope you enjoy the finale! I think this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, ‘90s movie reference, mutual pining and tension, and a strong dose of smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 5: “Damn Worth It”

You borrowed Russell’s cell to call Dory from the hospital. You let her know that Charlie was stable and resting, and that Russell was bringing you home.

You should’ve known that when you two got there, you wouldn’t have the kind of privacy you craved. Colter and Dory were waiting in his car, parked in your driveway. They met you in front of your house, where Dory pulled you into a big, swaying hug. She cried, you cried, and her brothers hung back to watch the warm scene.

Dory pulled back to get a better look at you. She hesitated to touch the bandage above your brow.

“God. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you sniffed, wiping at your face. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Dory actually had your keys. After she handed them to you, you took in a steadying breath, and you unlocked your front door without incident this time. You invited everyone in.

Even though you told her not to, Dory began straightening up a bit for you. She had Russell take out the trash while she washed the dishes.

Meanwhile, you pulled Colter aside in the living room. You led him to sit with you on the couch.

“Can I at least give you $1,000?” you asked. It was all you had left in your savings, but the man had literally saved your brother's life, and yours as well. “I know it’s not much, compared to what your jobs usually get you—”

“Please,” Colter said. He touched your arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you and Charlie are safe.”

You teared up all over again, but you gave him a smile and held his hand with both of yours.

“Thank you,” you said.

Russell happened to spot the cozy little scene from the doorway. He couldn’t help staring, and trying not to frown.

When Colter caught sight of his brother loitering (and that look on his face), Colter tried to hide most of his smile. He let go of your hand, patted your shoulder and stood. You followed him to the kitchen, where he went to check on Dory. Russell filtered in behind you both.

“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?” Colter asked his sister.

She gave him a raised brow. “Wow, my brother actually wants to hang out with me instead of rushing off to the next job?”

He gave her an amused look. “I’ve got some time.”

Dory was happy to hear that, but her expression dimmed when she turned to you.

“Would you want to go? Or do you need to rest?” she asked.

“Oh, I need to get cleaned up, and then sleep for about ten years,” you said. “But you go, D. Have fun.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Well, she won’t be,” Russell chimed in. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, clean up and take little power nap myself.”

At that, Dory slowly smiled, both amused and suspicious. Her gaze slid back to you.

“Are you sure?” she asked. You read the double meaning laced in her tone.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said with a smile, and the beginnings of a warm blush. “You guys go ahead.”

There was a knowing gleam to her own smile, but Dory shrugged and gave you one last hug. She and Colter said their goodbyes to their older brother before they headed out. It left you alone in the house with Russell for the first time since this all began.

“Um, you can use the guest bathroom if you want to shower,” you told him. “Towels are under the sink, and feel free to borrow any of Charlie’s clothes if you need.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got a bag in the car with some stuff,” Russell said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I take one wherever I go.”

“Smart,” you nodded. “Very prepared.”

A strange silence stretched between you two, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just…gonna go clean up,” you said. “We can order some food after?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. He was amused as he watched you scurry off, after giving him another smile over your shoulder.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small trill of nerves himself. It brought him a little bounce in his step as he headed out to his car to grab his stuff.

By the time you were done showering and drying your hair, Russell had ordered a pizza (and a side of fries). You padded out into the living room in an old college shirt and pajama shorts. He tried not to linger his gaze on your smooth, bare legs. 

“Sorry, forgot to ask if you’d want something else to eat,” he said. 

“Pizza is perfect,” you said. At this point, after almost a full day without food, you’d eat sliced bread out of the bag. You gave him a teasing look. “I’d ask you if you wanted a beer, but I’m afraid it’s not up to your standard.”

“Well, that’s okay. I happen to have brought a sample for you, just like I promised,” he said, with that grin of his you’d come to expect.

He retrieved a case of homebrew from his car, but you had to add some ice cubes into a tall glass before you joined him back on the couch. You poured the contents of a bottle into the glass.

“Sorry, I know this is sacrilege, but I can’t drink warm beer,” you said.

“I can’t fault you, though I didn’t really peg you for a pizza and beer kind of girl,” he said. He tipped a swig of beer into his mouth, right from a lukewarm bottle. He was a purist.

You quirked a brow at him and took another bite of your pizza slice. 

“Why not?” you asked, after swallowing a mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom.

Russell shrugged. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no. I want to hear this,” you said. “What, because I teach college students?”

Russell looked over at you and leaned on his elbow, resting above his knee. 

“You’re a college professor with a handful of degrees,” he said. “I’ve got a GED and a give ‘em hell outlook on life.”

You shook your head at that. 

“We’re different. That’s not a bad thing,” you said. “And like my brother, you’ve fought for this country. You’ve saved lives, including mine. I’d say that’s pretty damn special.”

His head tilted at that. He didn’t want to remind you that, just like you saw today, he’d taken lives too. Perhaps just as many as he’d saved. You could debate the quality of those lives, but in the grand scheme of things, he knew what he was. A trained killer.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling a familiar weight.

You didn’t like the pensive look on his face, so you aimed to distract him.

“Want to watch a movie?” you suggested.

Russell inclined his head. “Sure. What you got?”

That was how the two of you ended up finishing the box of pizza and a case of beer while laughing at Tommy Boy, of all things—one of the best '90s buddy road trip comedies of all time. Apparently Russell had never seen it before, but you enjoyed watching him experience it for the first time. He had a deep, infectious laugh that made you laugh just by proximity. 

Later in the movie, the reluctant, unlikely duo of Tommy and Richard hit a deer, and tried to transport it in the car. Russell both laughed and cringed when the animal woke up and thoroughly wrecked the car from the inside. You noticed his reaction and nudged him in the arm. 

Russell held in a grunt of pain when you unintentionally hit his injured shoulder, bandaged underneath his gray henley. 

“What if that was the Chevelle,” you teased. 

He cast you a playfully chiding look. “Woman, don’t even joke.”

You laughed and squeezed his forearm in a friendly gesture. But he thought there was more than just friendliness when you shot him that little smile. He decided to take a chance. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said. He slid a hand around your waist and guided you closer until you came to lay against his side. You allowed yourself to rest against him, splaying your hand flat against the firm wall of his chest. Your heart tripped up faster, but you also relaxed more fully for the first time since you got home. You let out a long breath, and you used the remote to lower the volume on the movie a little.

“Do you think Charlie will be able to get past this?” you asked quietly. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Russell hummed as he thought back to his conversation with your brother in the hospital. Charlie was still young, but he seemed to realize what he’d done, and what he needed to change. He wouldn’t have volunteered himself for rehab if he hadn’t.

Russell brushed your arm with his thumb. “Well, I think he knows what he needs to do. If he’s anything like you, then he’ll be all right.”

Your mouth tugged upward, though you considered his words with a sigh.

“He hasn’t had it easy,” you said. “He was barely eighteen when our parents died. Suddenly he had to be an adult. In fact, he almost didn’t finish high school. Had to take care of the funeral, had to get a job, had to take care of me…and I didn’t always make it easy on him.”

Russell’s lips curved in light of your faint smile. Then, your expression dimmed.

“He pulled me out of the car,” you admitted. Russell looked down at you.

“You all were there?” he asked. 

“My dad was driving. We’d just gone out to dinner as a family,” you said.

You hesitated as the scenes once again filtered through your mind. Some things were hazy. Others, you could see with perfect clarity. You remembered how your parents argued about the best way to get home while the pouring rain beat down overhead, half-drowning out their voices.

You remembered what the flash of a red stoplight looked like through the car window, with streams of water coming down, and a dead leaf stuck to the glass.

You remembered the sound of horns blaring in your ears, the crunch of metal on metal. Your mother’s scream. The feeling of being suspended, and then ricocheted painfully through time and space.

Then the smell of exhaust, and the metallic tang of blood.

“We were heading through a terrible storm,” you said, after letting out a long breath through your nose. “By the end of the night, it was just me and Charlie in the hospital.”

He’d broken his arm, but thanks to him, the only thing you really walked away with were a few cuts and bruises, and the memories of that day. They were like old scars, painful and tender at the touch.

Russell shook his head, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “And I’m sorry too. I know you understand what it’s like to lose a parent.”

The movie played on as that new weight settled between you. Russell fell into his own thoughts as he continued to rub your arm in comfort. His own past wasn’t like yours, but he did understand some of your pain.

“How much did Dory tell you about how we grew up?” he asked.

You shifted a bit, so you could see his face too.

“I know your dad took you all to a cabin in some sort of compound in the woods, when you all were still pretty young.”

“He taught us to live off the land. Drilled us, really,” Russell explained, noting your raised brows. “Yeah, he was…well, a paranoid bastard, to be frank. We still don’t know all of why, and what drove him to move us out there.”

“Dory said he was…eccentric,” you said. Russell snorted.

“He was a piece of fucking work,” he said. “Half the time I hated him, if I’m honest.”

That part was hard to admit, even if it was true. Your hand soothed across his chest, more comforting as you listened. Russell’s lips quirked. He liked that about you, that you were willing to listen without judging him, or his family. Maybe that was another reason Dory seemed to love you so much.

“But one night, it was like he snapped,” he said.

For a moment, he was lost in the memory. His father’s anger, and the damn crazy look in his eyes. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly.

Russell glanced at you again. “I don’t think you wanna hear this right now.”

You shook your head. “No, I do.”

He hesitated, but that earnest look in your eyes got him. Still, he surprised himself when he actually told you. He explained it the best he could, the way he saw it in his mind’s eye.

Their mom had been missing, hadn’t come home yet. Then his dad had torn around the house like a man possessed, until he told them it was time to leave for their own safety. Dory had been scared, especially when he grabbed her, yelled at her.

That was the one thing Russell couldn’t tolerate. So he snapped, yanking the older man back and shoving him away. It was one of the first times Russell had ever defied his father.

Ashton Shaw left them then, heading out into the night and the rain. Maybe he’d realized what he was doing to his own kids, his own family.

Colter wanted to follow after him, but Russell stopped him. Being the eldest, he took on the responsibility, even if he’d been reluctant. We’re better off without him…

He was barely sixteen at the time, but Russell knew he’d seen his father arguing with someone—a man he’d seen before, talking with his mother. And then…

“I watched him die that night,” Russell said.

Your hand clenched in his shirt, reminding him that you were still in his arms, still listening. He remembered that scene, looking over the cliff to find his father’s broken body down below. 

“He fell, and I couldn’t stop it,” he said. “And to this day, I still don’t know what all that was about.”

He’d been reluctant to tell even Colter that it still haunted him sometimes; that night, and the not knowing.

You pulled yourself up further so you could meet Russell’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

The movie had long faded into the background, but at least it gave some white noise for the next heavy beat that passed between you two. His eyes eventually fell away from yours.

“It’s old history,” Russell said at last.

“It’s not just history,” you denied softly. “It’s your life.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just hummed in agreement. He encouraged you to relax against him again, with a warm hand on your back. You settled and released another contented sigh. Even though Russell’s story weighed on your heart, you did feel closer to him. It made you feel like you understood Dory better too, and even Colter.

Russell rubbed your arm. “You doin’ okay? You’ve had a long day.”

“Day and night,” you agreed. Your eyes closed against your will. “But, yeah…I think I’m okay now.”

At that, he smiled. He laid a kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said.

A few minutes later, Russell heard your soft, deeper breaths in sleep. He chanced grabbing a throw blanket laid over the back of the couch. He managed to toss it over your body, but he made sure it covered you. You shifted in your sleep and curled up more comfortably against him. 

Russell smiled down on you fondly. He’d learned a hell of a lot more about you in just the past couple of days, but ever since he met you, he’d been picking up on the important things. The things that made you the woman you were.

And he wanted more, he realized. He wanted more time with you.

That turned out to be the last real thought he had before his eyes closed on him too. 

Russell didn’t wake again until the credits on the movie were rolling near the end. You were still knocked out. So he carried you, blanket and all, over to your bedroom.

He smelled the remnants of your floral shampoo and body wash in the air, likely coming from the bathroom. It was an intoxicating mix, one that had infiltrated his nose ever since you came out of the shower today. 

It was only 6:00 p.m., but it might as well have been midnight. He laid you down toward the middle of the bed. There was still space on the other side. Very tempting.

She did offer, he thought, remembering what you’d said at the hospital. And yet, he hesitated.

Before he could make a decision, you made it for him. Your hand reached out to hook in his shirt. 

Russell looked down at your sleepy smile. 

“Get over here,” you said, tugging him downward. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around yours. He allowed you to guide him over, and he somehow managed to roll onto the other side of the bed without crushing you. 

“Reflexes like a cat, I tell ya,” he quipped.

You giggled softly. He took off his first layer of defense (his pants), leaving him in his henley and boxer briefs. He settled into bed behind you and slipped an arm around your waist. He fit in snug against your back.

“Mmm,” he sighed. His lips pressed behind your ear, smiling there. “Feels nice.” 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

He couldn’t see your smile, but you held his arm in place. For the first time in a while, you weren’t alone.

In the early morning, you woke up to warmth and closeness. The man in your bed snored lightly, mouth parted in sleep while he faced you. You smiled.

How could a man who felt dangerous, in more ways than one, also make you feel safe? It was a wonder. Though when an idea hit you, you carefully slid out of bed.

Russell eventually roused in his own time. He blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched out his limbs in your very comfortable bed. This sure beat rusty motel springs.

He realized that he was alone in the room, but he heard you puttering around the house. He allowed himself to doze some more.

A few minutes later, you returned to greet him with a couple of mugs, drawing him back into the waking world with the rich smell of coffee.

“Aww yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said. He groaned as he slowly sat up.

You laughed and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said. His voice was deeper and rougher with sleep, washing down your spine pleasantly.

He accepted the mug you offered him. He took a sip and hummed in pleasure at its bold flavor. It wasn’t as sweet as he usually liked it, but it was exactly what he needed right now.

“I just did a little sugar and creamer. That okay?” you asked. 

“It’s good,” he nodded. And you looked good, he noticed, with your bed-tousled hair and an open robe over your tank top and little shorts.  

“Do you want to meet Dory and Colter for breakfast?” you asked. “Dory texted me this morning.”

Russell’s brows shot up. 

“Colt stuck around?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dory asked him to stay at her place last night,” you said. Russell hummed in response. 

A bit of an awkward lull fell between you. You’d felt bolder yesterday in the hospital, but now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were doing with a man who just slept somewhat-but-not-altogether platonically in your bed.

“Um, I’ll just…get ready then,” you said, pointing to the bathroom. “You…take your time.”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

He peeled back the covers and climbed out of your bed, away from the sheets that smelled like you. 

You watched him go when he headed across the hall back to Charlie’s room. You sighed and beat your hand against your own forehead in frustration. What the hell am I doing?

You’d literally invited him into your bed last night, but he hadn’t done anything more than hold you while you slept. It was incredibly kind, and it said a lot about him, despite his rough-around-the-edges exterior. You were just a little disappointed that he’d been a perfect gentleman about it all. 

You rolled your eyes at yourself. What did that say about you?

You shook your head and resolved to freshen up. There was still a cut that the ER nurse covered with a butterfly bandage above your brow. You cleaned it up and applied a new bandage. Then you put on some makeup to cover the ugly bruise on your cheek and the dark circles that lingered under your eyes.

God, look at me. You actually wouldn’t blame Russell for not being into you enough to make a move. 

A bit disheartened, you changed out of your pajamas to slip on a nice, but comfortable dress over your bra and underwear. Afterward, you paused to stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. What exactly do you want here?

“Hey, uh—” Russell’s voice startled you, making you flinch. Maybe you were still jumpy.

He raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry. Just thought I’d ask if you want some toast or something. I don’t think my stomach can wait ‘til we meet up with Dory.”

You smiled faintly. “Sure, go ahead. Whatever’s there, you’re welcome to.”

Russell paused, tilting his head. There was something off with you. He saw it, and felt it. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away. 

Russell’s spidey senses began to tingle. He approached you and laid a hand on the counter, inches from yours. 

“You sure?” he said. He took in your hesitant face, then the pretty dress you had on. The color matched your eyes. Soulful eyes.

He smiled when you let him see them again.

“Can you see the bruises? I think I covered them up well enough,” you said. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, touching your jaw carefully. 

Russell’s hand raised to find your cheek, earning your attention with wider eyes. His thumb swept across your skin as you started to blush.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Your face warmed further, despite your smile. 

“Yeah, the makeup helps,” you quipped. 

“I didn’t say anything about makeup,” he replied. Though he grinned and made a show of looking closer at your face. “Although, have your lashes always been that damn long?”

You laughed, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, his hand drifted down to your neck, cradling your jaw. His thumb brushed over your lower lip this time, smudging your lipstick a little. Your eyes met his, but they’d already lowered, to the path of his hand. You were tempted to nip at his thumb, or better yet, suck it into your mouth.

Perhaps he read the thought crossing your face. Because when those darkened eyes flicked up to yours, he finally bowed his head to kiss you.

You took in a deep breath, and you melted into his mouth with a moan of wanting. A craving from the depths of your heart, finally being fulfilled.

You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you let him in. You met his every kiss with the same fervor, claiming him right back, demanding just as much.

Your hands slid up his chest and helped him shrug off the green jacket first, then his shirt (Led Zeppelin this time). He hooked an arm around your waist and brought you flush against him, so he could turn you around and walk you back to the bed. 

You clung to his bare shoulders and savored the feeling of his warm, calloused hands burning up your thighs and ass, bunching the skirt of your dress. You helped him get it over your head and toss it onto the floor along with his clothes. 

As he held you by the waist, his gaze dipped for a moment to take you in, from bare thighs and hips and lacy panties, all the way up to your breasts cupped in your bra. Through panting breaths, you smiled and blushed at the heated depths of his green eyes. You felt like your heart was beating in and out of rhythm.  

But you managed to get a hold of your nerves long enough to drag your hands down his chest, down to his belt. You unclipped it for him and took your time in sliding the entire belt out of its loops. Then you let the brown leather fall to the floor. 

Russell raised a brow at you, smiling. Taking your challenge for what it was, he unbuttoned his jeans himself and aimed to step out of them, but he had some trouble when one of the pant legs got caught around his ankle and sock-covered foot.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled a little. “Hold on.”

Unable to help a small giggle, you grabbed his left arm to help steady him. He hissed in pain, but he cleared his throat to cover it. You gasped as you realized what you’d done. You noticed then that he had a bandage tightly wrapped above his elbow, right below one of his tattoos.

“What’s this?” you asked in concern. You held his arm with both hands. “Did you get shot? Did you get this looked at when we were at the hospital?”

Russell staved off your questions with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. This is old, just still healing up,” he said. 

You frowned up at him. “You got stabbed, shot, what? When did this happen? I thought you worked in private security.”

“A couple months ago. I got, uh, grazed. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sometimes the job gets a bit dicey.”

He could tell though, that you weren’t going to let it go easily. 

“Let me see,” you said, trying to peek under the bandage. Russell laughed and gathered you into his arms to stop your attempts. Your concern warmed him, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise. Can we focus on the fun part, here?” he said.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but Russell saw the testiness in your eyes. He dipped down to kiss you, swallowing whatever snippy remark you were about to make.

You weren’t the only one giving into a craving here. Russell’s was bone-deep, molten in his blood, and getting to see you, to feel your soft body under his hands was already so much better than he’d imagined. His hold tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin.

A shudder ran up your spine at his touch. You circled your arms around his neck and let him continue ravishing you, then laying you down onto the bed. 

While you were careful about avoiding the bandage, your hand did drift down his arm, and further still, to palm at the straining bulge pressing against you. And Jesus Christ, did it feel generous. He grunted at your touch and paused with his lips against your jaw. 

“Well hey there, cowboy,” you said, adopting a more sensuous tone. “I had a feeling you’d be packing. What’s that, a .45, or a 38 Special?”

Russell’s eyes blinked wide. Then he erupted with deep laughter that made his shoulders shake. Aside from throwing a punch, your brother must’ve taught you something about guns too. 

“Well thank you, kindly,” Russell said, putting on a bit of a southern drawl, just to tease you. “But you’re about to find out, naughty girl.”

You giggled as he began to kiss your neck, languid and sloppy. He blazed a wet trail down the column of your throat and between your breasts. His beard rasping against your skin made you shudder a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you quite liked that a lot.

He slipped a hand underneath you to unclip the black lace. You arched into him so he had easier access. 

He slid the bra from your body and tossed it somewhere behind him. Just as he’d imagined, you had beautiful tits. His lips explored each of them in turn, squeezing supple flesh and rolling your sensitive, hardened nipples with his tongue and fingers. 

It was a prequel, you thought, for what talents that mouth might have further down. You had to moan just at the idea, your fingers clenching in his hair, but also at the sensations he was drawing from your body wherever he touched. The man clearly knew what he was doing.

He traveled lower still and laid slow, occasionally nipping kisses across your stomach, hips and thighs. His fingers hooked around your panties and lowered them down your legs. You felt his warm breath panting against your thigh. You glanced down at him and tensed in anticipation. 

“Still good?” he checked, squeezing your hip. You smiled and reached for his hand. Russell gave it to you, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in affection. 

“I think I’m about to be,” you said cheekily.

He smirked. His other hand smoothed up the inside of your thigh and slipped past your folds, finding wetness that already coated his digits.

“Goddamn. You’re soaked,” he said, just a hint teasing. “Bet if I put my mouth on you, you’d fuckin’ drown me.”

Again, he stopped whatever smart quip you were about to levy at him next when his fingers found your clit. You let out a gasping moan instead.

He decided that he already loved that sound. He endeavored to pull it from you, again and again when he began working you open with his fingers and pumping them inside you. He enjoyed seeing you writhe and arch against his hand. Your hands squeezed his arms, his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.  

His thumb circled and strummed your clit in a rhythm only he could hear in his head, until you couldn’t help biting your nails into his shoulders when you came. You shuddered your release as your core throbbed with warmth and slick around his fingers. 

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he said. His voice rasped deep with arousal. “Wouldn’t even mind if you did drown me.” 

You huffed in response, unable to form speech just now.

Next time, Russell thought. He slipped his fingers out of you and licked them clean, making your eyes widen. He smirked and stroked your thigh as you came down, a shuddering mess.

After taking a second to regain your breath, you pulled him down for a kiss, both grateful and fueled by a passion you couldn’t put into words. What you felt for this man was instinctual, from the moment you saw him. And yet, it was also so much more. It was raw, and real, and maybe even beautiful.

The thought spurred you on as your hands moved with purpose down his body. Your nails caught at the waistband of his boxer briefs as you tried to roll them down. You got it halfway down his thighs, enough to let his hardened length spring free. You bit your lip at the mere sight of him. Goddamn.

Your hand slid around his cock, near its weeping head. You used the beads of wetness there to work your way smoothly down to its base. Russell’s body tensed above you, just before he groaned low in pleasure.    

You pushed at his chest to have him let you up. 

“Your turn, baby,” you said. It would be one hell of a challenge to get your mouth down that beautiful 44 Magnum, but you were more than willing to try.

To your surprise, Russell shook his head and guided you back down.

“Let’s pin that one for next time too. Wanna be inside you already,” he said.

You blinked, but then you nodded in breathless agreement. He kissed you deeply, devouring you with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. His tongue soon slipped out to soothe it.   

“Condom?” he panted, between kisses. 

“Oh, yeah. Um…bathroom, bottom drawer,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why you were whispering. 

“Okay, two seconds,” he said.

He left you in the bed, quite literally hot and bothered, and very naked. You crossed your arms over your breasts on reflex while you tried to recover. Your core was still tingling, and your heart was beating fast, though you couldn’t stamp out the smile forming on your face. 

You heard the sound of foil unwrapping and clothed rustling. When he came back to the bedroom, you finally got a full picture of what you were in for. You unconsciously licked your lips as your gaze dipped down his body, and the indeed impressive package at full mast, and full display. 

A grin curved his lips when he caught you staring. He climbed back onto the bed with just a bit of struggle with all the blankets coiled about. He pushed a heavy blanket out of his way, accidentally shoving it to the floor.

“Back to business,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed, and you welcomed him back, sliding your hands up his arms and shoulders. You hooked your thigh around his hip as he found his way back between your legs. Holding his bearded face in your hands, you pulled him in for another kiss that reignited you both. 

He sunk his hand into your hair and treated you to another slow, deep kiss. Until your thigh tightening around his hip urged him to satisfy what you both had been wanting and waiting for.

He grabbed your thighs and angled you higher. Then he lined himself up at your entrance. Looking into your eyes, your breaths mingling together, he sheathed himself a little at a time. A keening moan fell from your lips.

He started with shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust. But that in itself was a torturous tease. It made the coil in your lower belly start to tighten again. Pleasure began to thrum inside you, ever slowly. Your head tipped back into the pillows with a gasp.  

“God, Russell, please,” you uttered. You squeezed his arms on reflex, your heels digging into his ass. 

“I know, baby. Gonna fucking wreck you, I promise,” he said with a grin. 

You huffed in amusement. That was a hefty promise.

Though a moan tore from your throat when he finally bottomed out, stretching your inner walls. He groaned along with you. His lips fastened to your neck as he gave you deeper thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you said raggedly in his ear, raking your fingers through his hair. You felt every damn inch of him.

“You too, baby. So damn good,” he gritted out. “Tell me what you want.”

He raised your thigh a bit higher, his fingers pressing into flesh.

“Ugh, fuck,” you gasped, as he hit a particularly delicious angle. “Whatever you want to give me.”

“You sure about that?” Russell asked, panting against your neck. Your nails dragged down his back between the muscles in his shoulders, hard enough to earn a halting groan from him.

You nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

His lips hinted at a smile. “Okay, hold on."

Before you could even respond, he pulled out of you all the way, just so he could guide you over onto your stomach. He pulled you up onto your hands and knees. As he ran a hand down the gentle slope of your back and around the curve of your ass, you breathed harder in anticipation.

“So damn beautiful,” he muttered.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You unconsciously bit your lip as your heart couldn’t help but swell at his words. Russell met you with a look that betrayed his desire, making your lower belly tremble as well.

He parted your cheeks and slotted himself between your thighs from behind. You once again felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and then pushing back in with one deep plunge. Both of you let out moans of relief at the feeling.  

Pretty soon, he was pounding into you deeper and faster than before. Oh, fuck yes…

You clawed at the headboard, trying to find something to keep you stable. Russell’s arm slid around you for a solid support. You held onto him right back with one hand while he continued to drive into you, earning each and every sound coming out of your mouth. He’d finally angled you just right, so he could hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. Your pussy clenched on him in response, making him grunt in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you’re close. I can fuckin’ feel it,” he said, panting. He laid a biting kiss where your neck met your shoulder. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, your inner walls once again squeezing on him. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathless. “This time, you’re gonna come with me.”

You reached back and tangled your fingers into his hair. He held you to his chest and squeezed your breast a bit roughly. You uttered a wanton sound. You dragged his hand down your body to part your folds. You used his fingers to press against your clit. 

He picked up your hint, and then took control, massaging you with his fingers. There you began to tremble from the inside out. Warmth emanated from your core and spread outward, down to your toes as you came even harder on his cock. 

Russell wasn’t far behind. His voice joined yours as his body locked up, and he spilled hot into the condom. You almost wished he’d come freely inside you, so you could really feel him. Regardless, your body was boneless when he lowered you down onto the bed afterward.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, before he fully pulled out. Panting for breath though you both were, you managed to twist onto your side and reach a hand for his cheek. Your fingers slipped higher from there, cupping the back of his neck. Your thumb swept tenderly across his cheek, and you guided him down for a proper kiss.

Russell obliged you, his lips meeting yours plush and wet. He brushed strands of your sweaty hair away from your forehead with affection.

Somehow, that last kiss was softer than all the rest.

One thing was for sure though. There was no way you two were making it to breakfast. 

“I kind of feel bad now,” you later confessed. 

You and Russell were taking a few minutes just to recover under the messy sheets. He held you while sitting up against your headboard. He almost craved a smoke. You’d given him a damn workout. 

He smirked at the thought. Admittedly, his mind was more on focused on the scenes replaying in his head than on what you were saying. 

“Dory doesn’t get to see you guys that often,” you continued, “and who knows how long Colter will seriously wait for us to get out of bed.”

Russell’s attention drifted back to you at that.

“Come on, it’s not like they know why we’re running late,” he said. You gave him a knowing look. 

“Are you kidding? They were already suspicious when you brought me home yesterday,” you replied with a laugh. 

Russell grinned and rubbed your arm. He knew you were probably right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Yeah, well. That was damn worth it,” he said.

You smiled. You rolled your head over on his shoulder, so you could see his face, but you became contemplative as uncertainty crept in. You let in a breath to gather your courage, and you decided to take a chance. 

“You know, drug dealers aside, Laramie isn’t such a bad place to live,” you pointed out. “We’ve got a movie theater, a couple good outlet malls, a new Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened down the street. I’m gonna have to find a new bar though.”

Russell smiled at you. He knew what you were suggesting.

He sighed as his amusement faded. 

“Look, even if I stay…” he hesitated.

He looked into your eyes and saw the vulnerability there. You were being honest with him, putting your heart into his hands. The least he could do was be honest. He covered your hand where it rested on his chest.

“If I’m on a job, I could be gone weeks at a time. I won’t be able to tell you where I am or what I’m doing. That’s gonna be hard on you,” he said. 

He knew his friend Doug made it work with his wife, but their relationship wasn’t without friction because of the job he and Russell shared.

“I can handle it,” you said firmly. 

“You just had a little freak out over a scratch earlier,” Russell pointed out, with a gesturing hand at his bandaged arm. 

“Okay, that’s different,” you said.

You wouldn’t say it now, but there were things that still concerned you about his job. You had a strong feeling that "private security" wasn’t all it entailed. However, after what he’d done for you, after what he’d done for Charlie, you knew that Russell Shaw was a good man.

There was something good here, and you didn’t want to lose it this time. You shifted in his arms, so you could face him.

“Look, we can sit down and figure all that out,” you said. “But do you want to at least try? Or…am I reading this wrong?”

Russell stared back at you ruefully. He raised a hand to touch your cheek, grazing your soft skin with his fingers. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. 

In fact, what he felt already ran deeper with you than he’d like to admit. He let out a long breath through his nose. 

“Okay,” he said at last. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right, I guess. I’ll book a motel here in town for now. If things go well, I can…I don’t know, find an apartment.”

Your answering smile broke him down further, even as it warmed him inside. You turned over to circle your arms around his neck, and as an added bonus, pressing your bare breasts against his chest. You kissed his cheek with a happy hum. He laughed at your enthusiasm. He also accepted your sweet path of kisses that led to his lips. 

He groaned when it became not so sweet, with your tongue slipping hotly against his. His hold on your hips tightened.

“Uh oh. Baby, we can’t do this now,” he chuckled, even though your hand was already wandering down his body and under the sheets. You both were supposed to be getting ready to meet his brother and sister for lunch. 

“Five minutes,” you said against his lips. All the while, you were pushing him back onto the bed. You began to kiss down his chest, and lower still.   

Russell snorted. Right. 

But he wasn’t about to argue with you. He had a gut feeling…one that made him almost certain.

He’d found where he wanted to be. 

AN: Well, then! I hope you enjoyed the "happy ending." 😘 I always get a bit sad at the end of a series, but thank you to everyone who's followed the ride on Every Second Counts. Let me know what you thought of how it all shook out here at the end between her and Russell! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Want more ESC? Read the next one-shot, Lost Time (18+):

Summary: When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

▶️ Keep Reading: Lost Time

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

God, Rest Ye Merry

Warnings: kidnap and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You're sick and you don't think things can get much worse until they do.

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Day Twenty-Four of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt -i'm too sick to go anywhere!

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

It’s the happiest time of year and you couldn’t be more miserable. Your head is pounding, your nose is stuff, lips cracked from having to breathe through your mouth, and you just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Still, your body is too addled with the flu to allow you that peace. 

Watching the snow through the window, you dig deep down to find the strength to go out. You shudder as you hook a mask over your ears and bend the wire across your nose. As much as you’d love to share the cheer, you’re not that type of person. 

You take your reusable bag and your keys and set out. You pull your hood up as you emerge into the white swirl. The fur around the edge blocks out your peripherals and before you is an endless sprawl, untouched by shovel or plow. It isn’t far to the pharmacy; across the street and down the next corner. 

You trudge through towards the prize of more cough drops and possibly some vitamin C. You’ve gone through most of your supplies, not having bothered to replenish since the last time you had a cold. You’ve been lucky for so long that it has to be absolutely horrid this time. 

You kick through the drifts. The snow is getting deeper by the minute. Some might relish the festive fall but you’re not into it. Thankfully, you’re staying in for the holidays. Not that you have much choice with this chesty cough. 

The snow dampens the sound and you slow as you come in sight of the pharmacy. The silence is eerily still despite the winds sweeping the flakes over the blanketed ground. You dust the snow from your hood and pivot to see around you. You’re the only one desperate enough to be out on Christmas Eve, aside from the poor retail employees sentenced to work in purgatory for those last-minute sales. 

You press on and enter the pharmacy with the jangle of the bell above. You do your best to kick the snow off before you cross the threshold. You pass the shelves of Hallmark cards and wrapping paper and pull your hood down. You read the hanging signs of the aisle and drag your treads towards the cough and cold section. 

As you turn down that aisle, the bell on the door rings again. Strange, you didn’t see anyone on the street. It could be someone who works down the next street or someone brave enough to drive in this. You stop before the shelves of cough drops and get the extra menthol. You might try the vapour rub too. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some electrolytes too. 

You spend a bit more than you should on your haul but at this point, you’d sell yourself for some relief. You bring it all to the counter as another pair of footsteps softly trace the rows behind you. You pay and the girl behind the till puts it all in a paper bag. You choke back a cough and thank her. 

You pull your hood up in expectation of your delve back into the elements and hug the bag to your chest. Your head slumps as the short walk back seems a Tolkien-ish trek in your condition. You push through the door with your shoulder and slow as you step into the calf-deep downfall. 

You get about halfway down the street. You’re panting as your legs ache and your chest thrums. You look ahead of you as the soft crush of snow comes from behind you. You blink as your head pulses and you turn slowly as you try to see past your furry hood. 

Not fast enough. The snow cushions your fall as you’re thrown into the piles. Your bag falls out of your arms as you murmur and fight weakly against the powder and your own weakness. Your struggle is short and pathetic as the white fades to black, the world and all your agony with it. 

💝

You cough yourself awake. Your throat feels as if it’s lined with shards of glass. You groan and chatter as a chill washes over you. Your arms are heavy as you drag them up to hug yourself in an effort to ward off the cold. 

There’s a tug on your wrist as you do. Your lashes flutter and your head lolls as you raise your hand shakily. The leather cuff below your hand blurs in your hazy vision. You pull again, the resistance enough to deter you. What is that? 

You cough and use your other hand to wipe your nose. What’s going on? What happened to you? You just wanted some relief and now... 

You remember falling. Did you trip? No, something knocked you over. You’re sure of it.  

You wince and force your eyes open, even as they ache. You peer around the dim space. You lay on a thin mattress on a metal frame. There are two pillows, one under your head, another beside you, a grey duvet over you, and that cuff on your wrist. You lift your hand again and examine the chain attached to it. It trails over the edge. 

What the fuck? You’re too sick to even think about trying to get it off. Your eyes scan the shadowy walls, your scalp slaked in cold sweat, and you shiver again. There’s an electric heater glowing orange like the doorway to hell in the corner of the room, and a folding table shrouded in the dim. 

All this because you wanted some cough drops. You shake your head, sending another echo of heaviness through it. You whimper and try to touch your temple, the attempt drawn short by the restraint. 

“What’s wrong with you?” The voice is like gravel. 

You flinch and lift your head, searching the room. Something shifts in the corner and the figure steps closer, his silhouette just discernible against the dark. You scoff and send yourself into a hacking fit. What a stupid question. 

“I’m... sick,” you rasp. 

He’s silent. He moves around as you try to see him clearer. He goes to the table, still nothing more than a fuzzy blob to you. Something crinkles as he bends and he hauls up the paper bag onto it. He peels open the tear in its side. 

He turns and hesitates. He comes around the foot of the bed and the heater gives light to his features. You see him clearer as the single metal lamp next to you illuminates him completely. His features are sharp and stony, his expression emotionless. He holds out the pack of cough drops, almost cluelessly. 

“Will this help?” 

You frown. You sigh but it catches in your scratchy throat. You reach for the lozenges. He lets you take them. He watches you tear open the package and then unwrap one of the drops. You shove it in your mouth and groan. 

“Do you feel better?” He asks. 

You squint at him, “not really. They’re just menthol... for my throat.” 

“Oh.” 

What’s wrong with him? Hasn't he ever had a cold? Bigger question, why did he bring you here? 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says as if he can read your mind. You can’t help but show your discomfort. “I could but I won’t.” 

You frown at him. Did he have to say that? 

“You’re sick.” 

You nod. 

“And alone.” 

You don’t move. 

“My family--” 

“You said you couldn’t go this year. Too expensive to take the train.” 

You snap your teeth shut. How does he know that? You look down at your wrist. He does too. 

“It’s for safety,” he explains but that doesn’t make sense to you. 

“Why...” you begin the question but can’t decide which one would get the right answers. Probably none of them. 

“Take another,” he points to the cough drops. You’re still sucking on the other one. You shake your head and drop the pack on the blanket.

“Won’t help,” you croak. 

He blinks and his blue eyes round, “what will?” 

You just stare at him. You’re half-sure this is a demented fever dream and you’re currently face down in the snow, slowly sinking into hypothermic delusions. He twists on his heel and marches away. He grabs the bag, cradling it to keep the contents inside, and you brace yourself as he comes back your way. 

He puts it on the bed and sifts through. He holds up the large bottle of orange electrolytes. “It’s for babies.” 

You push your elbows into the bed and sit up. He shifts closer. “You should relax.” 

“I can’t,” you say hoarsely and reach for the bottle. “Elecrolytes. Help...” 

“Keep you hydrated,” he finishes. “Makes sense. What else?” 

He reaches inside and takes out the vapour rub. He examines the tin. He untwists the lid and gives it a deep sniff that makes his eyes water. 

“Stinky.” 

“Here,” you reach for it but he keeps it away from you as he reads the tiny writing on it. “Spread across chest...” he mutters as he reads then his eyes flick to you, “take your shirt off.” 

“What?” You exclaim then cover your mouth as you cough yourself halfway into oblivion. 

“I’ll put it on for you. Like it says.” 

“I can do it...” your voice crackles. 

You don’t have time you react as he reaches for you. He shoves the blanket down then tugs on your sweatshirt, drenched in your feverish excess. You squeak but can’t resist him. He strips it over your head as you writhe helplessly. 

You cross your arms over your bra as he pushes his fingers into the menthol rub. As he extends his hand towards you, you shy away. You crush the pillow as he presses his fingertips to your skin and smears the cream over your skin. Your heart is pounding. 

“You shouldn’t be afraid,” he says as his touch lingers and he brings his hand down to feel your heartbeat. “I’m taking care of you.” 

You furrow your brow and stare at him, in confusion, in horror. You have no idea who he is or what he wants, at this point, you’re rooting for the flu to win. He slowly peels away his hand and caps the tin. He turns and searches around, dissipating back into the shadows. 

He re-emerges as he wipes his fingers. He watches you from the foot of the bed as you grab your sweatshirt and pull it back on. He grips the two fingers he used to apply the cream and twists his fist around them and the cloth. 

“Are you better now?” He asks. 

You close your eyes and sink back into the bed. You can’t. You don’t have the energy for this. 

“Not yet.” 

“Oh...” he utters as he looms still. “Well, when you are, let me know.” 

You snort. The way he speaks, the way he just stares, it’s like he’s missing something. It’s just as scary as the cuff on your arm. 

You open one eye and find him still there, watching. 

“God.” He says. You open your other eye and tilt your head.  

“God?” You repeat. 

“That’s me.” 

You drop your head again and exhale. Right, so, maybe you are dead. 

[skulkingfoxes]

A post-mortem of "Good Morning, Rose"

A few weeks ago, I posted my addition to the comic anthology GLIMM*R, a short comic called "Good Morning, Rose".

The reaction to it has been so uplifting and exciting. It really seemed to struck a cord with people, which, really, the best thing for me to hear as a creator. I absolutely love writing and making short comics, you can do much with so little, explore such interesting stories. The feedback I've gotten has been very heartwarming! It makes me want to explore short stories even more!

But, first, I want to talk about some of my feelings and about the process of making "Good Morning, Rose". This got a bit long, so you'll have to indulge me a bit. You should also read the comic first before reading this. Don't worry, it's only 8 pages.

Now the preamble is out of the way, lets go back to the beginning.

The idea of "Good Morning, Rose" was a nugget in my brain for a long time! Originally it was actually from the Dreamwalker's point of view, where she was a faceless entity who had a long term relationship with Rose and was trying to figure out how to explain that their relationships only were in Rose's dreams. It was a story about seeing, accepting, and loving each other truly and fully, and the trials and tribulations of getting there. Also a cute girl with an ancient eldrich being is always fun to explore.

A lot of it was too convoluted, emotionally and storywise. It also required to get into what the Dreamwalker actually was, which I ended up really not liking. So, ultimately, the idea didn't work, and I put it down. I ended up going to do my short comic Twigs instead.

When I was invited into the wlw anthology GLIMM*R and was told that the theme was "dreams", I decided to take another stab at the concept. This time, I inverted the pov, it's now Rose's story. And instead of a long term relationship, it was about the powerful first feeling of a perfect (maybe even too perfect?) first date.

One of the hardest thing to write in romance is getting readers to care about the relationship in the first place. To have the readers believe in the character's feeling, to be invested in their romance. This is even harder to do when you only have 8 pages to do it. Focusing it around a first date helped a lot in that case. There I'm not trying to sell that these two character will love each other forever and forever, just the fluttering first butterflies of realizing you're developing feeling for someone. It's why I leave it so open-ended about whether the two of them meet again at the end of the comic, or even if it was real in the first place. It's just not the point of the story.

That's something important about writing short stories, I find. You really have to hone in on an idea, on a thought. Take a simple idea and try to find all of the interesting layers. It's too easy to try to stuff a short story with too many ideas that ultimately go unfulfilled. In fact, the first draft of the comic, at the time called "Dream Date", there was a big problem with this and the pacing.

Here, take a look at the first stab at the roughs:

(BTW, there is something so fun about roughs for me lol. The art is so kinetic and loose, all about just getting the story across)/

As you can see, a lot of the ideas and imagery made to the final version of the comic. But both the initial readers and I agreed that the beginning and end were good, but the middle was messy and slowed things down. You can also see that I got stuck in the same problem I did when I first conceived of the story, it's bogged down trying to understand the Dreamwalker in a way that actually hurts the story. You simply dont have any room for bad pacing a short comic like this. I need to focus more on the character's and their emotions and exploring their actual relationship rather than blandly trying to explain the situation. A friend also suggested that I should hone in on the fluid dream-like aspects of the first couple of pages, especially since it's so fun to explore in the medium of comics. So I got to work gutting it out and trying again with the new, much stronger imo, direction.

Also there were some issues with the page format that needed changes for printing, thus the final spread had to be split up. Which is a shame, but oh well, it still works. I also honed in a lot more on Rose and her insecurities. I ended up putting a lot of myself into Rose. I'm glad readers seems to able to relate to her.

After figuring out the the story and the pacing, I went and, well, made the comic. Once you've done as many comic pages I have at this point, once you figure out a process, the actual drawing is fairly straightforward. Eventually, after thinking, and drawing, and toiling, and revising, and thinking hard about my life choices, I come out of the other end of the tunnel with a comic. One that I ended up really liking. One that other people ended up liking, which is always crazy to me.

I got a lot of interesting reactions to the comic. One demographic thinking it was sweet, wanting more of it (always a flattering thought), and enjoying the romance. Other remarking on the bittersweetness of it all, finding your soulmate in a dream, maybe never to see them again if they were even real in the first place. There were a lot of people remarking how they had a similar dream, one where they met someone they seemed totally and completely convinced that they were real and told the dreamer so, until the dreamer woke up. There was one person who asked if I had met the dreamwalker myself. Alas, my dreams are not this romantic and straightforward.

But all of us can hold hands, nod at each other, united by one universally true statement: big eldritch lady hot.

There's a lot of little bits I can talk about, like how Rose's dress is actively modeled after selkie dresses because I think they're cute, or some other trials and tribulations. But I think I've finished all I have had to say. I hope you enjoyed this and will stick around for my future projects! I definitely want to explore more short stories in the next year, especially as I am illustrating big graphic novels for my day job and don't have the time or energy for huge projects.

Till then, thank you so much! Happy holidays and have a good new year!

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[dawnthekitty]

They are not punished for lack of empathy the way women are. Growing up there are so many expectations of caregiving and caring put on little girls. A woman that acts like a man is accused of being robotic, unfeeling, monstrous; sharklike, spider like, wrong.

This leads to women checking in with others far more often, even if only performatively, because being seen as uncaring has social consequences. Men are not subjected to this.

You wanna know the worst thing? Being seen as too caring is also wrong. We grow up in a rigged system where a woman is always not enough or too much so we spend years of our lives neurotically analyzing our surroundings, selves, and everyone around us because if we miss something and misstep EVERYONE comes down on us for not doing it perfectly. And even when we manage to pull it off, there is always going to be someone who says "This way would have been better." Always.

Men don't have to worry about that. The only thing they ever need to worry about is being perceived as weak. Not even being weak, just being perceived as weak. So as long as they come off as strong, as long as they can convince themselves that the imaginary audience in their heads thinks they're winning they are doing it right. So they can do the most fucked up shit imaginable as long as it means they 'win' and they never have to worry about inconsequential things like other people because no one has ever judged them and found them lacking, found them 'weak' of character, before so why would it matter now.

These behavior patterns are deeply ingrained in patriarchal societies. We do not know what a truly equal society would look like so socialization cannot be ruled out. There is not enough information to determine whether the fucked up crimes men commit are due to social or biological reasons. The only thing we can do is fight for wider acknowledgement of the data: men are commiting the majority of violent crimes. This needs to be studied and addressed as the pressing public safety issue it is. We can figure out why once governments and nonprofits are willing to address the issue.

Men not being able to control themselves is false. They just don't think they need to. Men can wait to kidnap or fight a women, before raping them. They have control. Otherwise they would be running around with their dicks free begging for some.

Women/lesbians are taught to see others as humans.

The reason men rape and sexually harass women isn't bc they can't control themselves. The fact that they don't see women as humans and only potential hits or fuckable is, in itself the problem. It is not normal to be so porn driven.

[omgsecretsecret]

I don't want to go ! Part 2

Pairing : Lee Minho x gn!reader ; established relationship

Genre : angsty, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending

Word count : about 930

Warnings : phobia of needles ; crying ; panick attack ig (idk if it's exactly one)

Author's note : I'm so sorry for taking so much time to post it but it's out now for Christmas (btw merry christmas to everybody who celebrates it and happy day to everyone doesn't <3) ; lots of love and bisous to @giddyfatherchris for helping me ; the pics on top are not mine, credits to the owners

Request : « Can you do a part 2 of the don't want to go lee known fic, where lee know comforts the character while getting a shot, the character cries too, maybe puts up a fight because she doesn't want to get a shot? Lee know tries to keep distracted. » by @200billionlightyearsaway

Masterlist || Part 1

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

Honestly, you are happy to have Minho with you, his presence is always reassuring. But at the same time, it's so embarrassing. How could a grown-up like you need their boyfriend to go to the doctor? You feel so childish.

You don't notice the way he's looking at you with slight concern, but you do feel him taking your hand. You smile at him and he simply squeezes your hand. You give your name to the secretary for the appointment, then go in the waiting room. Everything seems so slow, you feel like you're waiting forever. Why are doctors always late?

When you are finally called, you don't even know if you are relieved to leave the room full of sick people or if you want to run away even more. You tense up as you enter the medical room and Minho's hold on your hand tightens.

It's like you're not completely there when the doctor asks a few questions, letting Minho answer as you try to handle the anxiety threatening to overwhelm you. You feel so stupid. Why are you so damn scared of a simple fucking needle ?

Minho has to call your name three times to finally get you to react. You blink a few times before slowly getting up, your movement almost shaky. Your body feels weak as you walk to the examination chair and you are just unable to let go of your boyfriend's hand. The sound of your own heartbeat pulsing in your ears and your already heavy breathing covers everything else around you. You can't see the look of worry on Minho's face as your eyes get glassy, but when you hear the doctor pulling out the needle, you break down.

You instinctively grip his arm as you can't hold back the tears that immediately fill your eyes, looking up at him with genuine distress. You can't do this. You don't know why you react so strongly, but you just can't keep it together. You suddenly start crying, pulling on Minho's arm and messily begging him to get you out of here. You don't care about what the doctor might think of you anymore, all you want is to go home.

"Baby, baby... It's okay. Calm down, love. Just calm down. he whispers sweetly as he cups your face and crouches down to be at your eye level, but it doesn't help.

— No it's not ! I can't just fucking calm down ! You think I do this on purpose ? You think it's easy ? I can't –"

You want to keep talking, keep telling him how you feel, how wrong he is, but you can't. A loud sob interrupts you and you just can't speak anymore. You cower down and cover your face as you cry, vainly attempting to suppress your sobs. Of course you know you should calm down, of course you know your reaction is disproportionate, but you can't control it.

Minho's heart clenches at the sight. He hates seeing you in this state, but it's not like he's going to blame you. He lets out a soft, pained sigh before carefully wrapping his arms around you. He holds you gently, with all the love of a man who only wants to comfort his partner.

You bury your face into his neck, shaky hands coming up to clutch his shirt lightly. He doesn't say a word, simply holding you close and rubbing your back. In a last surge of resistance, you weakly whisper that you want to leave, even trying to get up but it's halfhearted. You know you have to take that damn shot. Minho just keeps you there when you try to move, pressing you against his chest.

"Baby ? You're going to get the shot okay ? You can do it, baby. I won't let go of you, I'll be right there. You can cling on me all you want. But we have to do it, okay ?" he whispers softly without pulling away.

You don't reply, don't nod, but your lack of protests serves as a silent agreement. Minho kisses your forehead lightly in encouragement before looking at the doctor and nodding for her to go ahead. He talks you through it, keeps you close and lets you squeeze him, not even reacting when you dig your nails into his shoulder.

The doctor puts down the empty needle, patiently waiting for you both to be done. Minho tries to be a bit quick as to not make her wait too much, but still takes his time to make sure that you're fine.

"Are you okay kitten ?" he asks softly, watching as you nod weakly.

He presses a small, tender kiss to your lips before turning to the doctor, keeping your hand in his. You hear him apologize to the doctor, but she's quick to reassure him. Kids are way worse, and we can't control our phobias. Minho gives her a soft smile before paying, grateful for her understanding.

He looks at you again and his gaze softens with love when his eyes meet yours. You look drained, exhausted even, and honestly you are. He helps you get up, bows towards the doctor and leads you out. He holds your hand all the way to the car, only letting go when you are settled in your seat so he can go to his own.

"You're okay. he says softly.

— I love you. you reply and he chuckles at the suddenness of the declaration, a mix of amusement and fondness filling his heart.

— Me too, kitten. So much." He whispers before kissing you gently.

◍｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡◍

do not repost, translate or rewrite without my written authorisation

[monokoitari]

I'm thinking this idea so hard that I definitely have to write it down, but shit!! It's hard for me to capture Shen Yuan's chaotic vibes in a good narrative way

So it begins like this: Shen Yuan transmigrates. Not into Shen Qingqiu. He opens his eyes and there are two massive tits crushing him, a luxurious room, a garish and bitchy System with kaomojis. Well, he's a wife. A Binghe's wife.

Shen Yuan wants to run away, obviously. Get his penis back, get his MASCULINE MALE MANTASTIC body back, and get as far away from Binghe and the harem and their shitty dramas as possible. He doesn't need that, no thanks. The System obviously doesn't let him. [ You're a wife, user!!! You must behave like the original goods until you collect enough points to unlock the OOC!! ]

And the shit begins. Little harem dramas. Uncovering clues like silly children's puzzles. Shen yuan is fed up, bored, moody, hated by many wives (apparently the original goods were not in good standing. Half-demon, which is good- more power and more strength when escaping!!, but not for a harem wife. Especially since that body is 5'10" and is strong as a sword instead of submissive and bendable like the other sweet wives).

Even though the System keeps putting him in shitty situations, the truth is that there is no trace of Binghe during the first week. Nor the second. By the third, Shen Yuan gets a little worried. According to the current storyline, he shouldn't be far away... No wars, no new wives, just a missing Binghe. Shen Yuan snoops around Binghe's office with such bad luck that Binghe definitely shows up at that moment.

And Binghe looks... Tired. He's tired and grumpy, treating the wife with ice-cold kindness, and Shen Yuan treats him back. It's not that he wants to! It's not that he's offended to see his favorite and be horrible to him! It's the fucking shitty System! If Shen Yuan could, he would be on his knees before Binghe being pathetic and pitiful to ensure his protection!!

But he can't. Binghe sends him away after a cold and hostile encounter and Shen Yuan runs away in a dignified manner (running after the corridor where Binghe can't see him anymore is different).

The next morning, Shen Yuan makes a plan: he will do whatever it takes to get his last damn twenty points to activate OOC mode and get the hell out. Nope, no more Binghe for him. One taste was enough. Thanks but no thanks.

What gets complicated is when one of Binghe's personal servants!!! goes to his room. Binghe is inviting this lady wife to have breakfast with him. And Shen Yuan... He can't say no. Partly because of the System, partly because of the ambition for points, partly because he wants to try Binghe's food. And because he wants to... see Binghe. Again. He's his favorite, okay, don't judge him, maybe Binghe was just tired and being hostile to him. The duties of an Emperor are many and Shen Yuan was invading his private territory. Aaaaand he's a wife, after all, he can't treat him like that aaaaaall the time...

Binghe's breakfast is a delight. In his month at the palace, he has eaten nothing more delicious. Binghe is darkly charming: Shen Yuan asks about her (him), how she (he) is, how she (he) has been. Shen Yuan learns two things: the original goods had only been in the harem for a month and week when Shen Yuan usurped his body, and Luo Binghe doesn't know much about his wife, which means he can improvise answers without losing his in-character personality. The System even gives him +5 points for improvising!!

... +5 points that go to hell when Luo Binghe exposes a scroll on the table. Written in the original goods handwriting... it's a divorce application!!

"I was in my office" says Binghe as the System takes 50 points from him of a blow.

Of course Binghe is going to be wrong now. Of course he is believing that Shen Yuan filed for divorce the day before, when he found him in his office!! Damn original goods, why divorce Binghe!? Does divorce even exist in PIDW!? WHY!?

Shen Yuan makes up excuses, loses at least 20 more points, makes up more things again and sadly crawls with only 15 points in his favor and a rather furious Binghe.

Why does this wife want to abandon Binghe? This emperor has been kind, does this wife want something different? Shen Yuan makes up that he never imagined being married to an absent husband, capable of making him feel so lonely in a nest of other lonely women... And Binghe seems genuinely affected by it. Ah, loneliness, the weapon Binghe knows firsthand. An isolated and caring newcomer, being mocked and humiliated by others, seeking to remain resilient. Binghe, this one promises that he didn't use your past traumas on purpose!!

Binghe promises that he will change her (his) mind. He will be a present husband and make her (him) feel comfortable. Which makes Shen Yuan's escape plans go to fuckin hell. Bye bye, xianxia male body! Hello, another weeks of back pain from huge boobs!

And Binghe delivers on his promise, unfortunately. What's it costing you to be a normal man and forget your promises every day, damn protagonist!!

Shen Yuan wakes up with breakfast from Binghe, continues his day with walks with Binghe, ends his afternoon with dinner with Binghe, and dodges the papapa like a champ. Binghe is patient, considerate. Their conversations are charming, but Shen Yuan can see him... Sad. There is an old braid in his hair and deep dark circles under his eyes. Binghe looks exhausted, wasted, and when he thinks Shen Yuan isn't looking, his face shows so much sorrow that Shen Yuan wants to comfort him.

There's not much he can say. Get some random points - holding Binghe's hand at the right moment, discussing an important point about a creature and a hunt, giving recommendations how to best deal with eastern bear demons... Binghe seems to appreciate his company beyond the call of duty, which makes Shen Yuan a little proud. He's spending time with his favorite fictional boy without screwing up.

Then his body gets sick.

Xianxia World! Cultivation! Magic! Nothing? Shen Yuan wakes up with his head spinning like he's just stepped off a roller coaster, vomiting pathetically into an empty vase. The nausea is not getting better. His headache is horrible.

The System offers him to buy a skip plot; it comes out the same points that Shen Yuan has and he has tried hard not to spend them, a ridiculously large amount of points just to avoid a stomach infection. It's hard to complete side quests with the protagonist attached to his hip! Shen Yuan drops the skip plot.

The System insists. If he doesn't skip the plot now, he won't be able to do so in the future. Shen Yuan ignores it again. It's a silly illness. Nothing a little rest won't help.

... a little rest won't make it better.

Shen Yuan is thankful that Luo Binghe is not in the palace on his mission in the east, because he can be fully pathetic. He barely eats, faints from hunger, but as soon as he puts something in his mouth his stomach expels it. Damn demented body, do you want to eat only Binghe's food so much!? Spoiled body.

Shen Yuan sleeps a lot, sobs a lot in pain, growls (his body can growl. It's interesting) to the servants who come to clean, he takes cool showers that relieve his headache, and continues to expel every crumb.

He thinks he was even poisoned. He doesn't let the harem doctors get close. Mostly because he doesn't know them, but also because he remembers a subplot about a doctor who poisoned Binghe's wives to get revenge because Binghe had refused to take his daughter (for reasons that were entirely valid for Shen Yuan: she was a girl of barely twelve years old) in marriage and she had run away from home to avoid the humiliation. The plot ended with the girl hiding in the doctor's basement, who had made everything up, Binghe making a gore chapter out of it to remember the old days, and adopting the little girl to be raised among his many children in the harem... A good subplot for Shen Yuan, without unnecessary papapa even if it was for two chapters and followed by a threesome with massive busty demons.

Shen Yuan doesn't want to take any chances to unlock some gore subplot. So he just endures his nausea and pain until it fades about two weeks later. Suddenly it's bearable. He can snack on fruit and some roasted seeds. Some flavors are still intolerable to him... some smells too. He feels nauseous at the strongest, or even mildest, smells, but if they are too sweet he must run away. And textures on his skin. And tunics squeezing him. And his fucking huge tits hurt. They hurt like, like they're going to burst or break his cleavage. He even believes that from one day to the next they look bigger if that is possible. Wearing clothes is annoying. Having a body is annoying. Is this some fucking PMS that Shen Yuan didn't want to live with?

Wasn't it a ferocious body of a half-demon with a high cultivation level?? Why is he having PMS? He hasn't... bled since he came into this world!

...

. . .

He hasn't bled since he came to that world. The wedding (papapa of the original goods with The Heavenly Pillar) was almost three months ago. Shen Yuan has been occupying that body for almost two months.

...

. . .

That's not fucking happening.

"System, what the hell!?"

[ User was given the opportunity to buy a skip plot! User rejected it!!! (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) Congratulations on making it through the first trimester in a healthy way!!! ]

Fucking shit.

[yurinaa-world]

Hi! Could you make an artist reader? Basically a painter who draws his partner or cats, etc?

With the characters Aventurine, Sampo, Moze, Dan Heng (I'm using this with a translator so I don't know if it's spelled correctly...)

2#"𝓓𝓻𝓪𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine, Sampo, & Moze x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who's an artist

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫Dan Heng's part is here: 💫

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

“Not bad, not bad at all. You really know what catches my good side.”

It was supposed to be a gift painting of him, your delicate, nimble fingers first sketched it out before picking out colours and finally taking a brush and painting over the canvas sketch with extreme eye for detail.

He always loved to barge in whenever he felt like it, but now it is a very bad moment! He saw it when you were almost finished! Seriously, you wanted to surprise him so badly. You whirl around cheeks already flushed from the intensity of your concentration, now burning hotter with embarrassment. 

"Y-you weren’t supposed to see it yet!" you stammer, instinctively moving to shield the canvas with your arms, though it's far too late. He smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. 

"Oh, come on. You can't blame me for being curious. I mean, you’ve been holed up in here for days, looking all suspicious."

He goes silent for a bit, staring at the painting for a while…

He's sort of left completely speechless by you.

“Wow, what detail. How about I put this up in my office.” he grinned, while you completely protested the idea because you weren’t finished 

“No way! It’s not finished.”

💫𝒮𝒶𝓂𝓅𝑜 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓀𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇-𝒯𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓊𝑒𝒹 𝒮𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓃"

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He whined and cried till his throat went dry, but even then that wouldn’t stop his extremely annoying cries. All while you listen and skim through your supplies, nit-picking at what you need all while your canvas is stood in front of a Sampo who’s tied to the chair. 

“Dear Sampo just wanted to make some profits, and those paintings have been there for years, I was just doing you a favour!”

You only sigh at his words. You don’t like to sell your painting, especially with a vendor like Sampo of all people. It may have been ancient yet you didn’t want to get rid of it.

the idea that it may be hanging on a wall in some random place, bought by Sampo’s tricks at a higher price, gave you an unpleasant feeling in your mouth. “You are something, you know,” you whispered, taking a palette knife and twirling it around in your fingers. Not for a show of power—even if you’d like Sampo to see it that way—but because it helped your mind stay focused.

At an exaggerated rate, Sampo shrank back while his chair was making a squeaky noise, signifying his discomfort. “I mean, come on, be realistic, let’s think logically about it! I’m only the middleman in the process here, attempting to make your raw talent the new trend!” 

“You’re right, so in turn for your service I decided to give you something to sell as well.” you smile with joy, as you sit down on the chair in front of my canvas, which makes him sweat dearly on what you’re about to do. 

You lean back, tilting your head as if to get a better view of your subject. “You’d make a... striking muse, don’t you think?” Sampo’s cheeks flush a deep red. “Striking? I—I mean, I am a good-looking guy, but—wait a second! What kind of striking are we talking about here?” 

“You're right, someone would like a painting of a guy like you, I wonder in what position though,” you mutter that last part but you know he heard “Your beauty will sell for millions just like you wanted.”

💫𝑀𝑜𝓏𝑒 “𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝒢𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔”

“Moze.”

One call of his name and he’ll be landing at your feet to see what you need him to do. Appearing behind you, his hands gently landing on your shoulders—still scaring you to death, before whispering “You called” under his breath, yet loud enough for you to hear.

Immediately turning around and clasping your hands with his, along with a giant smile on your face. “Moze! Could you be my subject!”

He (easily) caved and became what you needed him to be most, your subject in your painting. He’s so awkward when posing! You had to personally move him around a couple of times since he’s made all of the poses you put him in awkward somehow.

Which leaves you to have your hand on your chin, staring at him with a precise gaze, that is the same as his, yet, yours was made to find beauty in hopeless things.

 “Hah…how should I pose you.”

Taking his one hand in yours while your other hand goes to his hood, you gently pull it down, revealing his slightly messy hair. “You hide so much behind this,” you say softly, smoothing a few strands away from his face. 

“I think… maybe something natural,” you mumble, tilting your head to examine him from another angle. You guide him to sit on the chair near the window, where the soft light filters through the curtains. “Lean back, like this,” you murmur, adjusting his shoulders to relax against the chair. “And look out the window… like you’re lost in thought.”

Moze does as you say, his hands gripping the edge of the chair a little too tightly. You shake your head with a small laugh and pry his fingers loose, placing one hand on his lap and letting the other dangle over the side of the chair. “There. Try to look more relaxed.”

He’s honestly trying the best he can, his shoulders less tense and face less serious—even though that’s basically all he knows to do. “Thank you.” You smile gently at him before pecking him on the lips as a thank you, before finally starting at your sketch.

He can’t forget your pretty smile. He helped you. He wishes he had his hood on now.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[freakenomenon]

wooly crash-outs are so much scarier than amanda crash-outs to me. like genuinely within the context of amandas entire emotional turmoil and what shes been going through for 20+ YEARS stuck with the instincts , emotional coping skills and developmental strengths of a traumatized 8 year old , her getting angry is only scary to me because we know what shes capable of when shes upset. not because she has explicitly malicious intentions. shes a child who doesn't know her own strength.

WOOLY HOWEVER.

almost nothing is confirmed about him, nothing is set and stone with him. and ( at least in the sequel ) even the slightest slip of script , does not sit well with him. not to mention that , while amanda herself openly states that she doesn't find him scary. the ENTITY is scared of an object that merely RESEMBLES him. while i don't think wooly is some big scary bully who is intentionally going out of his way to make himself appear bigger as a defense mechanism like amanda is. one thing i do think is very interesting is the fact that , amanda is never afraid announce her annoyance , frustration and downright RAGE towards the viewer when they fuck with her patience. while wooly , immediately masks his anger the moment it slips out. filtering it, and or channeling it as some kind of "this is whats best for you!" scolding. which is more terrifying to me , simply because. it also seems like he's not used to amanda not listening to him. everytime shes ever truly lashed out at him when hes trying to keep her in line, hes shocked. almost offended. and at the very most. hurt

and we've never seen him GENUINELY fed up until the storytime tape, where he was likely forced to keep it together because there was an audience. or at least someone to call out his bullshit.

something thats also noteworthy is that wooly. is not good at his job. or at least what the majority thinks his job is. hes very obviously there to keep some kind of eye on amanda. but from what it looks like he can't properly put his foot down anymore because his ( and amanda's ) emotions for the past 20 years are all coming to a gruesome bubbly front. hes always had this attitude of genuinely caring for amanda at some points , but also caring way too much about the show for it to actually be helpful. and when all of that frustration comes to a head I DO NOT WANNA BE HERE FOR IT.

holy mother of yap this is long. TLDR ; wooly is a very interesting and dynamic character and you lot would have so much more fun if you actually looked at him from a less black and white perspective and realized he can ..not be a good person while also having motivations and reasons as to why he is the way he is.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 100)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (76) / Alexia Putellas x Character (52) & Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson (29)

Masterlist (other parts here)

Appreciate you all coming along on this 100 chapter journey with me!

A reminder that I've spent a lot of hours creating an online community for anyone to join in and chat about everything from WOSO to everyday life (you can be as anonymous as you want in there!) Don't be shy! Come on in and my DMs are always open.

Follow the link below for the following:

LUMOS BY JAE - Join our little BRAND NEW online community on Discord! Come along to chat and hang out, make friends, and follow along with live games. (Updated link as the old one had an expiry!)

JaegerAether Tumblr link

JaegerAether A03 link

JaegerAether Wattpad link

JaegerAether X (twitter) link

((5.6k))

YFN POV

“I need it to be perfect.” She said frustrated and a little disheartened. She read through her notes again, skimming along with her finger.

A strong hand took hers and gently lowered it. She willingly fell into the comfort of Lucy’s deep, green eyes. “Little one, it is perfect. You’ve made sure of that.”

“And the book-”

Lucy put her hand on the book to hold it down before she could pick it up and overanalyse every word. She paused to smile at the words on the front before she spoke. “The book too. Both are perfect.”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t make me call Ridley.”

YFN crossed her arms at the threat. “Go on then.”

Lucy chuckled and shrugged, taking out her phone. She pressed call and put it on loud speaker, staring at YFN as if waiting to stop her. But she was stubborn, after all.

“Bronze. How’s doing?”

“I’m alright, just need your help with something. You busy?”

“I have a Spaniard between my legs, but go ahead.”

The sound of Alexia telling her off in the background was amusing. It sounded as if they were fighting over the phone before their faces popped up. They were clearly in the pool, Alexia lounging between Ridley’s legs and both very topless it seemed.

“We are swimming,” Alexia said in her cute Spanish accent. “Don’t listen to her.”

YFN chuckled. She always loved to see how happy they were. “I’m surprised to see you back already.”

“I missed home.” She said, exchanging a look with Alexia. “And I wasn’t lying but hey, we can Facetime you later on when it gets more sexual if you really want.”

“Riddlesss.” YFN warned to her cheeky grin.

“I’m jooooking. Christ. I’m a one woman type of girl. Voyeur elsewhere Bronze.”

“How the fuck did I get roped into this?!” Lucy defended.

The trio chuckled.

“What can I help you with?”

“YFN won’t stop trying to change the speech. She’s insisting it’s not perfect. I figured you’d have the right thing to say.”

Ridley shrugged nonchalantly. “Perfection is subjective.”

YFN’s mouth dropped open slightly. How had she not thought of that?

“And, before you start big-braining around whose perception of perfection is more important, just remember that you’re emotionally involved and biased having spoken to Mark and written both the book and your speech, so our perception is more pure. We are the audience, after all.” She got closer to the phone. “And baby… believe me when I say it’s perfect.”

She felt her lower lip tremble.

Ridley smiled at the look on her face. “That’s my girl. Now don’t you two have better things to be doing?”

“Speaking of perfect,” Lucy answered. “I do have the perfect day planned. First things first, I need you to put on this blindfold.”

“That is our time to leave.” Alexia said.

“Aw, sure we can't stay and watch?” Ridley asked.

“Goodbye you two.”

“See you tomorrow!” YFN said warmly.

The day was perfect, by any standard. Sex in the morning. A phone call with their friends. A surprise picnic in the park where they kicked around a football and then laid around, napping and reading their books. By the time the sun began to set, they packed their things back into the car and wandered hand in hand down towards the coast.

She’d been so distracted by their conversation and flirting that she hadn’t even realised where they were headed.

“So there’s the event and then the business afterparty, and then we can all catch up for food and drinks after while the footballers have a few days off..” she rambled, not knowing they’d stopped.

She looked up at Lucy who seemed to be smiling down at her, patiently listening and waiting for her to realise where they were. Turning, she saw the beach she’d met Jordan on. The exact same spot. The little alcove between the bushes, staring out over the sun setting.

“Oh, Luce…”

Lucy sat and pulled YFN down in between her legs, cradling her there. Taking in the moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath in and out. The sea breeze whipped a few strands of hair out of her messy bun, which Lucy tucked behind her ear. YFN opened her eyes to look at the last rays of daylight as the wind shifted. A storm was coming – she could feel it. She smiled and looked up at the darkening clouds. She loved the feeling of the darkness creeping in, and the storm. She was unsure whether it was the potential violence of it, or the uncertainty, but she still loved it nonetheless. She felt comfortable in that space. Leaning back, she felt the warm comfort of Lucy. How much things had changed..

She looked around the beach and saw nobody. Sparing a thought for Jordan then, and where she was now, made her smile. How good the country had been to her.

They stayed for an extended period, until the sun had fully set and the sky was overcast with dark, angry, yet comforting clouds.

“It’s getting cold, my girl.” Lucy murmured into her ear.

She nodded, having thought the same herself. “It’s time to go.”

They walked up the beach and ascended the stairs as the wind worsened. She turned to look one last time before they headed back towards their car. Halfway back it began raining suddenly. Large, heavy droplets of water soaked them in an instant, though they weren’t too concerned. Laughing, they ran to the closest shelter they could find.

Lucy grabbed her by the waist and backed her into the little alcove, her eyes darkening. Fuck, she looked good when she was wet.

Unable to resist, she reached up to tangle her fingers in her soaked hair and drag her head down to hers. It would never get old, kissing Lucy. She was talented in everything she did, including intimacy. She pressed her body up against her offering her no escape, something YFN obsessed over, and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. They tongues met and she moaned into the taller woman’s mouth. She tightened her grip on her jacket in response to Lucy’s thigh pressing up against her and Lucy moaned in return.

“F…fuck. Little one.” She gasped, pulling away slightly. “Not here, it’s too public.”

“You really want to stop?” She challenged, pressing herself harder against Lucy's thigh, rocking slightly into it as her mouth found the soft flesh under her chin and sucked.

Lucy groaned.

“Fuuuuck. More.”

YFN hummed at the power she had over her, rocking her hips and getting the pleasure she needed from the friction of rubbing against her.

“Arghhh.”

Her hand let go of her jacket and slipped down, taking Lucy’s and guiding it up under her own. Lucy didn’t need any guidance from there, her hand kneading her naked breast, thumb brushing over the peak.

“I need.. I..”

“Mmn, what do you need, Luce?”

“I need you.”

“Then take me home and have me.”

Lucy pulled back and seeing that look in her eyes, she knew just what the rest of their night held. “Mmn.” She looked around to make sure no one was looking, and realised the rain had eased off just slightly. “Let’s get home. I need you.”

Chuckling, the two disentangled and Lucy took a slight step back, waiting for YFN who was looking around with a sentimental expression.

“Luce?”

“Ready?”

“I… do you realise where we are?”

Lucy looked around confused and then it hit her. “Oh… it’s... where we met.” That first evening with Jordan, and the rain. “If only I’d known.”

“Known what, Luce?” She murmured with pure happiness at the significance of where they stood.

Lucy took her hand and raised it, kissing the gold band she was so proud of. “That I’d met my wife.”

JORDAN POV

Jordan was finishing the last of her stretches on the balcony outside their London apartment when Blu came bounding out from the kitchen to involve himself. He’d been running between the two of them, excitedly padding around with his short little legs, and was beginning to get tired.

Jordan felt his tongue lick her cheek and chuckled. She grabbed him and rolled into her back, raising him over her like he was Simba. He loved that. His little legs moved as if swimming and he shook with excitement.

Jordan sat up and cuddled him to her chest, giving him a kiss on the head and looked inside through the glass doors to where Leah was watching them with a smile and a spatula awkwardly in her hand. She wasn’t a cook by any means, though she was trying, and that’s all that mattered to Jordan.

The slightly older woman released him and he bounded back inside to his other mother. She was on cooking duties today, though Jordan was just about to go in and keep her company.

She rolled up her gym mat and stepped inside, putting it back in its place and wandering over to where the delicious smell was coming from.

“Need any help?” She asked.

Leah turned and gave that genuine smile of hers. “Want to keep my company?”

“Of course.”

Without a hesitation, Leah picked the smaller woman up and sat her down on the edge of the countertop. “You can just stay right there, then. I have this under control... I think.”

“It smells amazing.”

Leah stirred the pot and then stood with her back against Jordan’s chest. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her legs and arms around her, kissing her cheek a few times. “Those lessons have been coming in handy, it seems.”

“I still can’t believe you went and did that.”

Leah shrugged and turned to steal one of the cheek kisses with her lips. “It was for us. Of course I did.”

Jordan happily hummed and rested her chin against Leah’s slightly taller shoulder. “What is it?”

“Just this… us. It’s all very domestic.”

“Well I’d like to think so after we had to convert the third bedroom into our closet.”

Jordan chuckled. “Hey, my place isn’t much better. Lucky YFN is living in London full-time with Lucy now – her room has almost more clothes than this one! She barely has room when she stops in for a few nights.”

“God, I just want to live with you already.” Leah grumbled, turning and resting her forehead against her collarbone. Being the only person who Leah let comfort her was not lost on Jordan. “Why can’t we have that?”

“One more season..” Jordan reminded, reassuringly stroking her back. “And then I’ll move to London.”

“Just let me move there, Jord.” Leah almost pleaded. It wasn’t the first time.

“I’d never let you choose me over Arsenal. It’s one year.. what’s one more season?”

Leah groaned, ditching the spatula to wrap her arms around her. “One more season away from my wife.”

A shiver ran down her spine. She loved when she called her ‘wife.’ It was even better than seeing it around social media. Leah and Jordan Williamson-Nobbs. They’d decided to hyphenate rather than choose like their friends.

“I’ve already begun to do some work with YFN.. can you give me one more season?”

Leah pulled back to study her. “Of course. Of course. I don’t mean to pressure you at all, I’m just being needy.”

Jordan draped her hands over her shoulder. “I love it when you’re needy.”

“Yeah?” She whispered, kissing her softly. Just tasting…

“One more season with a Christmas holiday in amongst it... this time with your folks. And as for the neediness, I say we Facetime more and pay your therapist extra.”

“Poor girl.” Leah chuckled.

“Until then, let’s make the most of it...” Jordan mumbled, pulling her close. Leah grabbed at Jordan’s oversized clothes, tugging her to the edge of the bench and sliding her hands under to feel her. Their mouths connected and as they did so, Jordan smelled burning. Looking over Leah’s shoulder, she saw the pot begin to bubble over the edge.

This wasn’t exactly unusual, even when Leah was watching it.

Instead of telling her, she smiled into her mouth and let herself enjoy the taste and feel of her for a few more seconds, knowing their night would probably end like it usually did…. with takeaway.

ALEXIA POV

Alexia dodged left to avoid an incoming Mapi. She used her body to protect the ball from Ona before dodging right and kicking to Caroline on the far side. With the defenders' attention now away from her, she chased forward quickly, pushing her legs to outrun them as she pointed to the spot where she wanted it.

Alexia yelled for the ball. Caroline kicked. The ball came directly to where she’d pointed of course, unimpeded even by Ona sliding through. Alexia’s boot connected exactly where she’d wanted it to, left foot and straight into the top right corner. Cata leapt and missed by barely an inch.

Perfect.

Alexia felt the grin lighting up her face at that glorious sound of the ball hitting the back of the net. The final whistle blew just as it did so and before she could really react properly, her training team swarmed around, all trying to get a piece of her. She usually didn’t let her team celebrate her too hard, but this felt special.

Everything was good.

“Yes, Alexia!” Keira yelled from behind her as she grabbed her.

“LA REINAAAAA!” Patri yelled into her ear far too loudly.

She felt her body being shook from every direction and tried to let herself enjoy it for once.

“That’s it for today!” Pere called to the team. “Well done to Alexia’s team. Go enjoy your event and I’ll see you all on Monday.”

The girls gave their thanks in amongst the celebrations, as the rest of the team came over to congratulate them.

“You want to take my trophies away again, huh?” Aitana joked.

“God, you shot so quick,” Ona smiled, genuinely happy for her friend.

She heard a person whistling in celebration and rolled her eyes. “Okay okay, enough celebrating now.” Alexia said, yet unable to stop her grin.

“Oh, that wasn’t us,” Mapi teased, jerking her head towards the sidelines.

Alexia’s heart jumped as she looked over and spotted Ridley sitting on the fence. She was back, and looking as relaxed as ever with Alexia’s sunglasses on, her legs slightly spread and a proud looking smile on her face as she watched from afar patiently with Chiquito sitting by her side.

Alexia tried to ignore the teasing from her group. Chiquito looked up at Ridley and then back to Alexia in a sort of question.

“Chiquito!” Alexia called.

He didn’t need to be called twice. The little, fluffy grey cat abandoned his spot to trot over to where Alexia and the girls were standing. She bent down to pick him up, saying her hellos before he was kidnapped by the rest of team. He’d become somewhat of a team mascot, having been around them all so often.

Alexia smiled as she watched him share the love and attention of the girls around, though her attention was now elsewhere as her feet took her towards her Australian.

As she reached her, she parted her legs further with her hands, her palms sliding up the bare skin of Ridley’s thighs and wrapping around her back. She tried to withhold the urge to groan at the comfort of it. Of her.

Her warmth. Her smile. Her touch. Alexia’s home. Ridley held her softly, leaning her head against Alexia’s and presumably watching the girls play with Chiquito over her shoulder.

“Congratulations, my girl.” She murmured in Catalan. “Amazing, as always.”

Alexia hummed against her, happy that she’d seen it. She’d never been the type to be too publicly affectionate, though that had shifted slightly with her relationship with Ridley, especially after their headline-making event with Bashir. Now she wanted to be near her wherever she was. It was such a strange, lovely feeling to have her on the sidelines at games, sitting amongst her family, and at training, talking to her teammates.

“You’re back..” she murmured into her, happy that she didn’t have to wait until that night to see her.

“Mmn. I saw an opportunity to come home earlier and I took it.”

That sent a nice shiver up Alexia’s spine for multiple reasons. Not only the fact that she’d called her ‘home’ but that she’d left her military family who she was so close to, just to come home earlier to her.

Alexia squeezed a little harder before pulling back to see her face. Ridley moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and tucked the sweaty strands of Alexia’s now more brunette looking hair behind her ears. She looked at the scar the bullet had left her with, cutting from just above her eyebrow and disappearing into her hairline. It was now a faded pink colour and looking less aggressive every day. She reached up to stroke it with her thumb, forever grateful that it hadn’t been deeper.

Ridley let her play with it, closing her eyes as Alexia’s thumb moved down and across the one on her cheek. She caught her hand as it reached her jaw and turned her head to kiss the pad of her thumb, and then her thumb, palm, wrist.

“Ready to go home?”

Before she could answer, the girls came over. “What time are you picking us up tomorrow?” Keira asked, handing Chiquito back to Alexia.

“Will we be flying in the Barca plane you bought for us?” Patri interjected.

“First of all, the bus will pick you all up from here at 9am. Secondly… Alexia wouldn’t let me buy anything. Barca has a long-term lease on that plane from my company instead.”

She pouted as if she were unhappy, but she’d still managed to work her way around the problem, of course. Alexia’s stomach fluttered at the cocky look in her eyes.

“But no..” Ridley continued and then chuckled. “No, we’ll be in something much faster and less conspicuous. Management don’t exactly want unnecessary trips while Lucy and Mariona’s faces are still on the plane.”

“You’d think they would have planned ahead.”

“It’s not like I didn’t warn them..” she murmured cheekily. “But never mind that, I’m here to take this one off your hands.”

“At least let her shower first!” Ona exclaimed as a few more of the girls came over.

Alexia stayed quiet as usual and turned to Ridley who looked her up and down with a smirk. “I think I’ll shower her myself at home.”

She rolled her eyes, having expected her to say something similar. “Do you mind waiting? It’s been a really hot day and I want to get these sweaty clothes off me as soon as I can.”

Ridley looked her up and down, seeming to enjoy the enjoying the ‘sweaty clothes’ and gave her a calm but hungry look. Like she hadn’t seen her in a week. Which was about accurate. “I’d wait forever for you.”

Alexia tried to hide her smirk and ignore the teasing noises from her teammates as she took a step back. She was eager to get showered and back home with her. As she’d expected, Ridley moved to follow, sliding off the fence and entering her personal space again. She was slightly taller which meant Alexia had to look up to see that smirk of hers.

A week was the longest they’d been apart since before the island. She could barely keep her hands off her now let along the thought of when they finally got home.

The group made their way into the changing rooms for their showers. Alexia forced herself to go slowly, knowing how frustrating it would be for Ridley, and even though she was annoyingly good at hiding it, Alexia was slowly getting to know her little tells of frustration and impatience. The shifting of her weight onto one foot, the clasped or pocketed hands as if to hold them back from reaching, her head tilt to overcompensate and remind herself to slow down.

Alexia checked herself in the steamed mirror one more time and dropped the towel in the basket as she left the showers. She walked into the changing rooms to see an array of her half-naked teammates all in different stages of dressing and talking. Her eyes found her locker and below it was Ridley sitting calmly, her eyes on Chiquito alone as he sat on the table in the middle of the room with multiple people patting him. The small smile on her face showed how proud she was of him.

Alexia’s first step into the room was met with was Ridley’s eyes flicking to her. Her head tilted as she looked her up and down. Regardless of how turned on she was, she knew the one thing they both wanted more than anything. A hug. She guessed her need to touch and show love was that Spanish side of her, but for Ridley it was different. She wasn’t necessarily a touchy person, unless it was with Alexia. It seemed to be growing on her as a comfort, and so it was never a thing that the Spaniard shoved aside or refused.

Alexia walked right up to the Australian, her knees in between her own and leant over her completely as she put her clothes away. She felt Ridley chuckling into her chest as she did so, gently grasping the backs of her thighs as if to hold her there.

“Ready to go home?” Alexia mimicked from earlier, looking down at her.

Ridley held up Alexia’s car key. “I’ll drive.”

“9am sharp!” Ridley called out to the girls as she drove off.

Alexia reached out to play with her hair as Ridley pet Chiquito who was curled up in her lap.

“He missed you..” she murmured.

“I missed you both.”

“Will you need to go back soon?”

“The team will handle the clean up, Lex. There’s no talk of needing me back anytime soon.”

Alexia hummed happily at that until she spotted a gash with dried blood behind Ridley’s ear. She inspected it with her fingertips. Before she could speak, Ridley did.

“I wasn’t on the front line, Lex, I promise. Wombat got a little too carried away with the working out.” She said calmly, making Alexia chuckle at the image. Since the incident with Bashir, she’d promised to not go front line again unless it was absolutely necessary for her team, or others. “Besides, you already know this. I know you and Duce talk behind my back. What a rat.”

“I like her.”

“She’s just trying to stay in your good books. They’re still getting used to knowing a bit of my personal side.”

“A bit?”

She rolled her eyes. “The biggest part of my personal side.”

“I’m very likeable, you know.”

“Jesus, I’m back for thirty minutes and I’m already copping it.”

“Of course. Someone needs to remind you that not everything is about you.”

Ridley’s mouth dropped open slightly which amused Alexia to no end. She loved every time she surprised her. It was rare.

Before she could get her composure, Alexia reached over and closed her mouth for her.

Ridley’s jaw twitched in amusement and she shook her head. “You’re a pain, you are.”

“You wouldn’t like me so much if I were easy.” She shrugged. “And besides, I’m your pain.”

She hummed in agreement. “That you are. And just to be clear, I’m not surprised you two like each other.”

“It doesn’t bother you at all..?”

“Honestly? The opposite.” She pulled up in front of Ridley’s house which they now shared, and turned to her. Alexia fell into those dark eyes of hers gladly and tightened the hold she had on her thigh. “It doesn’t bother you that I talk to your family often?”

Although she’d been hesitant at first, Ridley had eventually slipped into the fold of the family. It was a bit impossible not to with them, especially after they’d bombarded her at Christmas. “The opposite.”

After they’d made up for a week apart, the pair had spent the rest of their day snacking by the pool. It had been incredible to have a longer pool for the rehab and recovery of her knee back to a solid form. Ever since, she’d made it a habit to do pool workouts a few times a week. Ridley usually watched, sitting and reading a book or playing with a guitar as she did so. She’d been interested and invested in her rehabilitation and everything that went into it.

Ridley was also getting used to being in a relationship. Allowing herself to love and be loved. The island had been a start, but Alexia had known that. She’d never complained, though. They’d always communicated their needs and fears, no matter how difficulty, and were growing together.

It meant a lot less independence, and more teamwork. Less decision and more compromise. This included Ridley adjusting to become more physical. Able to touch, instead of look respectfully from afar. This meant pushing aside that military side of her which needed her hands free. Learning to be the one to initiate contact. To get used to sleeping with that warmth and skin to skin contact.

It also meant that as Alexia sat at the shallow end of the pool, Ridley could come up behind her, dipping her legs into the cool water either side of the Spaniard and cradle her arms around her, stroking her arms with her fingertips, her neck with her mouth.

Both of them had been rather hesitant with it – the worry of falling too deep – though they’d both had a realisation on the night that Bashir had died as to just how far they were in it already. There was no safety net now. They were all in, together.

“It’s almost 4pm,” Ridley murmured in Catalan as her lips explored along her cheek.

Alexia didn’t answer, because she was more than happy right there instead. She kept her eyes closed, head tilted back as she enjoyed the feel of Ridley everywhere. She could feel herself getting wet, even in the water, and her nipples hardening almost to the point of pain.

“Alexia,” she said again, this time in a more warning tone. Her movements stopped and she covered her cold nipples with her palms. The warmth was glorious. “Your interview.. and I don’t like how cold you’re getting.”

She opened her eyes and realised that the sun had set so low that they were fully covered in shade.

Alexia finished with her interview after an hour and wandered through their large house, in search of Ridley. Although it was very comparable to the way it was when she’d first moved in, due to their similar tastes, it now held pieces of herself also. Jerseys and trophies and sentimental pieces here and there. It felt more like them together, rather than just one of them.

She checked by the pool, the office, her art studio, the library, their bedroom. She checked her bedside table for the passport she’d need the next day and found it exactly where she’d left it, with Ridley’s note tucked into it. Smiling, she put it back and turned to see Chiquito at the door. He must have been spending time with her, as he’d missed her the past week.

“Take me to her…”

Ever the intelligent cat, he turned and led Alexia to the last place she could be if she was still in the house.

There by herself in the darkened studio, was Ridley. Her headphones were around her neck, her hand resting on a keyboard and eyes closed as she listened to the track back, presumably checking a note or lyric. It sounded perfect to Alexia. Something she hadn’t heard before. If she had to describe it, it would be… obsession, and adoration.

Although it was dark, she could still see the silhouette of her face, the emotions written across it as it slightly changed with each part of the song.

Just before it ended, Ridley opened her eyes as if she knew she was there. Her lips tilted up at the confirmation and watched Alexia as she listened to the end of the song with her. From the look on her face, she didn’t even need to ask what the song was about.

It was hers.

YFN POV

YFN shook with nerves as her Lumos team introduced her to the stage. She looked at the clicker in her left hand and the notes in her other, pausing as she decided to leave the latter behind. She knew what she wanted to say.

She walked onto the stage accepting the applause as it rang through the crowd.

“Really good job up there.” She praised her team as they passed each other. They gave her proud smiles and “good lucks” as she took centre stage and stopped to take a breath.

She pressed the clicker and turned to see the new company logo once again adorning the screen.

“We here at Lumos began with so much drive and passion that we forgot to introduce ourselves. Tonight, we remedy that. Good evening, my name is YFN, and it’s my honour to be the first to introduce you to Lumos – the first women’s sports media titan.” She took another breath to steady her heart. “When we started twelve months ago, we had one goal: to change the narrative, to give women’s sports the recognition, respect and platform it deserves and tonight, I’m proud to say we’ve taken our first bold steps and accomplished what no one has before. Lumos is now the primary media outlet for women’s football, covering all the top leagues across the globe with plans to expand into all women’s sports in the future. This is just the beginning, but what a beginning it has been!”

She paused to hear that warm, encouraging applause filling the room. Her gaze briefly met Lucy’s proud look in the crowd which steadied her, as well as Alexia and Ridley’s. Ridley being proud of her meant more than she realised and she felt so supported, surrounded by the people she loved most.

“Tonight, we want to share our story with you – not just where we’ve been, but where we’re going. You’ll see the heart of Lumos – our culture, aspirations, and our commitment to innovation and inclusion. You’ll see our platforms, culture, charity and philanthropic initiatives. But for now, more than anything, you’ll see the power of collaboration. This moment, and everything leading up to it, would not have been possible without the extraordinary women who live and breathe the game. Female footballers, and their fans from around the world have trusted us with their stories, their triumphs, their challenges. Their voices have shaped what we are unveiling tonight, and their courage continues to inspire everything we do.”

She paused to look at Mark, his cheek twitching as he realised who she was referring to. She softened her tone as she continued at that heart of her message.

“Lumos is more than a media company. It’s a mission. And at the core of that mission is a promise to shine a light on every untold story, to give a platform to the overlooked, and to honour the dreams and passions of those who came before us. At the heart of Lumos stands a charity dedicated to the legacy of a young girl who shared the same passions and dreams as we do. Her legacy is our promise: to stand for hope, inclusion and possibility.”

She let the weight of her words linger as the room fell into a deeper silence. Then, with quiet strength, she began her conclusion.

“And to begin our journey, comes the launch of our book… a prequel of our life so far, if you will. It is a reflection of the journey we’ve all taken together. From the friendships, to the love stories, football, the headline-making incidents, footballers, and to the charity at the heart of us. This book is about believing in the power of possibility, about working for something greater than ourselves. We’re here because we believe women’s sports can inspire and unite the world because women too, deserve the spotlight.”

She pressed the clicker in her hand and saw the screen behind her reflecting on the crowd and it were as if the world slowed as they stood to cheer. She took as much of it in as she could, appreciating the moment and all of the hard work she’d put into making the moment what it was. Her eyes flickered over the people in the crowd from Lumos who had made it possible, over Kate and a still unsuspecting William as he clapped for a company he had no idea his wife had created. She looked over the footballers, Katie, Caitlin, Kyra, footballers from Arsenal, Barcelona, and such. Alexia and Ridley were sat at the front with proud smiles alongside Lucy who was clapping loudest of all. She chuckled lightly at that and tried to hold back her tears.

After she took it all in, she smiled and turned to the giant screen behind her which was illuminated with a simple title: Sunsets and Footballers by YFN Bronze.