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papayainsectorone · 1 day ago

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teach me about feelings

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summary: Unresolved feelings, a rain-soaked night and an unspoken longing lead you and Oscar to finally choose closeness over fear.

content: angst, fluff, second-chance tension, mutual pining, unresolved feelings, physical closeness, gentle longing, rekindled connection, emotional honesty, bittersweet hope

word count: 3 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: i appreciate you all so much — we just hit 500 followers (!!) and there’s even a post with over 1000 mentions and i’m honestly over the moon.

this series came (is still coming) so easily and i’m genuinely so glad i decided to start posting again after (not an exaggeration) literally ten years of not writing or sharing anything.

coming back to this space felt scary at first, but you’ve made it feel exciting and safe like something i actually missed without knowing it. (how fanfiction-y of me lol)

thank you again. truly. and since i’ve got a little stockpile of prewritten chaos, it looks like i can keep the updates coming pretty smoothly

also sorry in advance, i do not take responsibility for any feelings haha

teach me series

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You didn’t even want to come.

The group chat had been relentless all morning — heart emojis, guilt trips, caffeine bribes. You resisted until the guilt won.

Now you sit on a chipped metal chair outside a street cafe, letting the sunlight warm your hands, trying to pretend the ache in your chest is just leftover sleep. The coffee is decent. The company is easy. You almost forget you’re trying to forget.

After a part of the group had already left, you stayed behind talking and enjoying the last rays of sun, with clouds already nearing on the horizon.

But then your friend freezes mid-sip. “Oh my god. Is that—”

You follow her gaze and everything inside you stops.

Oscar.

Hood up, shoulders hunched, head down like he’s just walking, not expecting anything.

Your friend calls out before you can stop her. And suddenly, he’s crossing the street, like something inevitable.

He reaches your table. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. His eyes barely skim yours.

Your friend beams. “Oscar! Sit with us.”

He hesitates. Looks at you.

You don’t say yes. But you don’t say no.

He sits.

The conversation drifts, polite and surface-level. You stay mostly quiet, your fingers tight around the cup in your hands.

Then your friend checks her phone and stands with a flurry of apologies about trains and schedules. Just like that, she’s gone.

You and Oscar are alone.

He shifts, his thumb tapping against his knee. “You look…” he starts, then trails off.

You raise an eyebrow.

His mouth twitches. “Like you’ve been laughing.”

You glance down. “You look like you haven’t.”

He huffs softly. “Fair.”

The quiet that follows isn’t awkward. Just heavy. Familiar.

“I’ve been trying not to text you,” he says eventually.

“Have you?”

“Every night.”

You say nothing. But your heart thuds like it remembers exactly how that used to feel.

“I figured,” he adds, “if you wanted to talk, you’d have answered.”

“I wanted to.” You finally meet his eyes. “I just didn’t know if I’d be able to stop once I started.”

His breath catches.

“Do you want to start now?” he asks.

You swallow. “I don’t know what I’d say.”

He leans in just a little. “Then let’s walk.”

You fall into step beside him, but not quite in sync. His hands are in his pockets. Yours fidget with the edge of your shirt, like the fabric might anchor you.

The street is quiet — golden with late sun, washed in a kind of hazy stillness that feels like the world is holding its breath. You can hear the scrape of your shoes against the sidewalk. The whisper of wind tugging through your clothes. The soft, unspoken weight of everything neither of you has said.

You glance sideways at him, barely.

He’s not looking at you. But you can feel him.

His shoulder brushes yours once, then again — not enough to be intentional, but enough to make your chest tighten. Every brush feels like a question he’s too scared to ask.

You want to say something. Anything. But the words curl on your tongue, sharp and uncertain. So you just walk.

You turn a corner. Then another.

Still no talking.

His hands itch to reach for yours, but his heart is louder. What if you pull away?

He slows near a small shop window. You pause too. Not to look. Just to breathe.

He exhales next to you. The sound is low, like it costs him something.

And suddenly, you know. He’s thinking the same thing you are — if he speaks first, it might break. If you speak first, it might be too much.

So you both stay silent.

But his shoulder stays close.

So close.

A breeze cuts through the space between buildings. Not sharp, but sudden and it slips under your clothes. You shiver without meaning to.

He notices.

Doesn’t say anything. Just stops, shrugs off his hoodie, and holds it out to you.

You hesitate for half a second — not because you don’t want it, but because accepting it feels like something bigger. Like saying yes to something you're not ready to name.

But your fingers close around it anyway.

You pull it on. It’s warm from his body, sleeves too long, the collar faintly smelling like him, like soap and skin and the faded ghost of the cologne you liked too much.

He looks at you.

Only for a second.

Then walks again.

You follow.

Your steps are slower now. Not dragging — just measured. Like you’re both waiting for the other to speak first, and neither of you will. There’s tension in it. Not anger. Just... care. Held tightly. Unspoken.

Another gust of wind and you curl your arms into the sleeves, burrowing deeper into the hoodie. You shiver again, smaller this time, but not unnoticed.

Then, the sky shifts.

A sudden scatter of cold raindrops. One, then three, then a soft, steady patter that darkens the concrete at your feet. The storm didn’t wait.

You look up.

So does he.

There’s no question in his voice when he turns toward you — just a quiet offering. A way out. A way in.

“My place is just up the block,” he says. “If you want.”

You nod before you even think.

His apartment is dim when you step in, the kind of quiet that feels intentional. Like he left it this way in case something like this ever happened.

You toe off your shoes by the door, water still dotting your shoulders. The hoodie clings slightly — it’s damp now — but you keep it on. It feels safer than anything else.

He disappears for a moment, comes back with a towel and wordlessly hands it to you. His fingers brush yours.

Neither of you speaks.

You dry your face and let the silence settle again. Not awkward. Not cold. Just full — thick with things that want to be said and haven’t been yet.

He gestures to the couch. You sit. Your knees nearly touch.

Rain taps at the windows, soft and rhythmic. Streetlights glow faintly outside, golden through the glass.

He disappears again, returns with two mugs and passes one to you. Your fingers brush again. You don’t pull away this time.

The cup is warm in your hands.

Still, you don’t speak.

He sits beside you, but not too close. Like he’s giving you the space to decide what this will be. What you want this to be.

You watch the steam rise from your mug. Let your eyes flicker to him and then away again.

He’s doing the same.

Breathing carefully. Shoulders tight. Like he’s afraid if he moves too much, it’ll scare you off. Like he’s still holding that version of you from months ago — the one who left before anything real could happen.

And maybe you’re still holding that version of him too — the one who was always a little too open, too ready to fall, too easy to want.

Your knees brush again. Neither of you moves.

He looks over at you, finally. Just looks. And this time, you don’t look away.

Still no words.

The question burns in your throat before it ever touches air. It’s the only thing you can think to ask. The one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

But then it slips out.

“How was she?”

It lands harder than you expected. He doesn’t move at first—just stares. Like the words didn’t register.

You don’t look at him. Just tighten your grip around the warm ceramic in your hands. You add, voice low, bitter:

“The girl. In the picture I sent. Was she good? Did you like her?”

His body stiffens. You watch the flush crawl up his neck.

“Oh… uh…”

He hesitates, like he’s sifting through every possible version of the truth. Then his mouth twitches downward, jaw clenching.

“It was…” He shifts. “I couldn’t even—”

A sigh rips out of him. Frustrated. Honest.

You glance sideways. “Couldn’t what?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

You set your cup down slowly.

“Tell me.”

His throat works before his voice finds shape.

“I couldn’t even come. Not until I imagined it was you.”

Silence follows. Heavy and close. The air crackles.

You don’t flinch. Just breathe in.

And in that breath, something inside you shakes loose — a piece of pride, maybe, or guilt, or longing. Maybe all three.

He leans back suddenly, dragging both hands through his hair. The sleeves of his hoodie fall back, exposing his forearms.

“I remember everything,” he says, eyes flicking toward you. “Your lips. The way you kissed me. How your fingers curled into my shirt. The sound you made when I—”

He stops. A soft, broken noise escapes his chest.

“I still hear it. I still feel it.”

The silence that follows feels like a heartbeat.

Then, quieter:

“The smell of your skin,” he says. “Your voice. Your mouth on my—”

He stops again, pressing his lips together, trying not to say too much.

But it’s already too much.

And still not enough.

He leans forward again, elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together slowly. You can see how tightly he’s wound. How hard he’s trying to hold himself back.

Your breath is shallow. You sit still, but inside, everything shifts. The weight of his confession presses against the hollow ache that’s lived in your chest for weeks.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“No one was like you.”

His head lifts, eyes locking with yours instantly.

“I tried to forget,” he says, words trembling with truth. “I really did. I think they liked it. I know they did. But it never felt the same. Not like… with you.”

He doesn’t move—but his body leans in, almost unconsciously. Pulled by the gravity of your words. Of you.

Nearly whispering you say “I missed the way you looked at me. Like I was worth seeing.”

You’re not sure which of you reaches out first, but your hands find each other in the middle. Quietly. Like a promise too scared to say itself out loud.

His thumb brushes your knuckles.

“You were the only one who ever really listened,” you murmur. “Even when I didn’t say anything.”

His brows twitch—almost a wince.

“I tried to forget, ” he says. “I kept trying to… replace you. Make it easier. But it just made it worse.”

Silence settles between you again, but softer now. Shared.

There’s something new in the air. Not the storm, not the memory—just this moment.

And then, thunder rolls in the distance.

You both flinch at the same time.

You glance at the window. The rain now heavier. Fast. Cold.

“I should probably go,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

He looks up quickly. “No. I mean—just wait until it passes. It’s not safe like this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

But he’s already standing.

“You can take my bed,” he says. “I’ll sleep out here. I swear.”

You glance up, startled by the way he’s already fussing—pulling pillows, finding a blanket.

And then his voice softens, breaking through the hum of rain:

“It’s not about the bed.”

You look at him.

He’s standing there, eyes shining with something you recognize and fear all at once.

“It’s not just the physical stuff,” he adds. “It’s you. Your laugh. Your silence. The way you knew when I was falling apart. You taught me how to be seen. That’s what I really miss.”

You feel that pull again. The warmth that isn’t memory.

“I’d give anything to feel that again,” he says. “Not just your body. You.”

You want to argue. But you can’t.

Because the storm has settled in.

And so have you.

You nod, quiet.

“I know it’s not like that for you,” he says. His voice is soft, almost too careful. “I know you don’t feel the same. And I’ve made peace with that.”

You flinch, barely—but he sees it.

“I just…” he runs a hand over his mouth, exhales. “If this is only physical for you, that’s okay. I’ll take it. Whatever you’re willing to give.”

Your fingers tighten around the hem of the hoodie. You can't look at him.

He hesitates. Then you ask, gentler, “Is that why you think I stopped?”

You finally meet his eyes. Something in your chest lurches, sharp and scared.

You open your mouth again. But nothing comes out.

He nods like that’s the answer.

The silence thickens. Fragile. Breakable.

Then he shifts, clearing his throat.

“I’ll get the bed ready for you.”

Later, you lie in his bed, changed into his clothes. His hoodie hangs off your shoulders like memory. Water waits on the nightstand beside a carefully folded blanket—his, not yours.

You hear faint movement from the couch. The door is cracked open, maybe on purpose.

His scent is in the sheets. Your thoughts won’t stop.

You lie still, curled into the silence.

From the other side of the wall, you can almost hear him breathe.

You turn onto your side, staring at the open door.

“Osc?”

A pause. Then, from the other side of the wall, his voice:

“Yeah?”

“Are you still awake?”

Another pause. Softer this time. “Yes.”

You wait, letting the quiet settle again. The storm has dulled into a steady hum, like the world is holding its breath with you.

You sit up a little. “That night... in the club. It was a mess.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. You can tell he’s sitting up too.

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the breath he takes. “Did I—did I cross a line?” he mumbles.

“I don’t know. I think we both did. Or maybe we didn’t.”

He nods, even if you can’t see it. “It felt like everything and nothing all at once.”

There’s a small sound from the other room. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sigh.

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” you say.

“No,” he whispers. “It wasn’t.”

More silence. Not cold, but weighty.

“I left because it felt too close,” you murmur. “Like if I stayed, I’d never leave again.”

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you hear footsteps. Soft.

He pushes the door open and leans against the doorway, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His hair is mussed. His expression unreadable.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but there’s no sharpness in it. Just quiet confusion.

You sit up fully, blanket sliding down your arms. Your heart is beating way too fast.

“Oscar.” His name cracks as it leaves you. “I didn’t want it to be serious because I didn’t want to need you.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches.

“I thought I could walk away before it got too hard,” you whisper. “But I couldn’t. Not really.”

He takes one slow step into the room. Then another.

“I couldn’t make myself stay,” you say, “because I’d have to admit...”

His breath catches.

“Admit what?”

“Admit how I felt about you.”

For a second, he just stands there.

Then: “What are you saying?”

You finally look at him.

And everything in you aches.

He crosses the room like he’s afraid to scare you off. Careful steps. Bare feet on wooden floor. Like if he moves too fast, this will vanish.

He stops at the edge of the bed, searching your face. “Can I sit?”

You nod.

He lowers himself onto the mattress, close enough to touch but still giving you space. The air between you hums with everything unspoken.

For a long moment, neither of you says a word.

Then, softly: “You didn’t answer me before.”

You glance at him. “About what?”

He holds your gaze, changing the question “What if you stayed now?”

His voice is so tentative it sounds like a bruise. He blinks down at his hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on the blanket.

You swallow. “Do you want me to?”

His laugh is almost silent. “More than anything.”

You shift, inching just a little closer. His breath hitches.

“Would you still want me to” you ask.

He lifts his head, eyes wide. “It was never just physical. Not for me. So yes”

You hold that for a beat, your breath trembling.

Then, gently, your fingers graze his.

And he takes them.

His hand wraps around yours like it’s instinct. Like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

“I-I think.... I love you,” he says. Not a confession. A truth. Simple. Solid.

You stare at him. Everything inside you is soft and full and terrified.

But when you speak, it’s steady.

“I love you too.”

A pause. A quiet, shattered breath.

And then you lean in.

The kiss is slow—reverent. It tastes like memory, like longing, like home.

He moves closer, lips warm, hands framing your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It isn’t desperate. It’s sacred.

Like he’s kissing you back together.

It doesn’t rush.

Your mouths stay close, breaths mingling in the hush. His fingers brush along your cheek, then trail behind your ear, slow and careful like he’s learning the shape of you all over again.

You shift, just enough for your thighs to touch. He draws in a breath, low and shaky.

Your hand slips beneath the hem of his hoodie—not out of hunger, but familiarity. Comfort. And when your fingertips find his skin, warm and tense beneath them, his eyes flutter closed.

Still no words. Just feeling.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Still not fast, not demanding. Just more. His tongue slides gently over yours, like he’s asking permission for something he already has.

You nod into it—subtle, instinctive.

He moves, easing you back against the pillows, his body following yours. The weight of him settles over you like warmth, like gravity.

Your fingers curl in his shirt. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, your throat. The path is slow, reverent. Like each inch of your skin means something.

He whispers your name once, like he’s anchoring himself.

Then he stills.

A breath. A muttered, “Fuck.”

You blink up at him. His eyes are closed, forehead resting gently against yours. Like it hurts to stop. But hurts more not to.

“I don’t want to just have sex again,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Your heart kicks. Not from surprise but recognition.

You lift your hand, fingers brushing his jaw.

He looks down at you, like there’s too much in his chest to hold.

“I—I really want this to work,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I need it to.”

You nod. Slow. Honest. “Me too.”

Something releases in him at that. His body softens, not in disappointment, but relief.

So you just lay there, skin to skin, his head slipping down to rest half on your chest. His arm drapes over your waist, possessive but gentle, like muscle memory.

You feel the weight of him, steady and warm, blanketing you.

The storm still hums outside, but in here, it's quiet.

Safe.

You breathe together in sync. One beat. One rhythm.

And somewhere in the dark, between heartbeats and everything that was said, you both finally fall asleep.

v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr @koalalafications @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wadupppp @elle-28 @saudianna @18lovers @kaworusgf @random-movie @lilasthoughtss @maiyaholics @theskinofakillerbella

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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itsrlymine · 2 days ago

Note

hi lol i just wanted to share my success stories to motivate others 🩷

so for starters two years ago i was in college and absolutely MISERABLE. I was in my all time low episode. You can imagine-

Then during christmas break I snapped. I was like, enough is enough. I took a gap year, found a job I wanted to do. Problem was that for this job they are generally looking for confident extroverted people. I was neither of those things.

But all through that time I was like “This is a new chapter. It doesn’t matter how I was before. Nobody knows it here.” I got hired.

This once success changed my whole mindset. I truly started believing that I have the power to change my life for the first time. That not everything is written ahead and I can’t change it.

Next examples:

I really wanted to go to this big ass concert in my country in summer. I know people who sometimes can get me tickets for free but they said they don’t know this organizator so it’s not possible. Did that stop me? Hell no-

In the next month before the concert anytime I thought about it, I considered it done. I was telling people I’m going already. A week before I got a message I got two VIP tickets ready.

Then my job contract ended in october. The managment told us they’d take us back for summer. But that’d be around may the soonest. Again, I was already telling people I’m going back as soon as I ended there. In my mind there was literally no other way my life could even go.

A week into november I got a call I’m starting in january, which was literally a dream for me. I had money aside and I also had a ton of plans in winter with my friends so I had the time to do them all. For the next two months I was partying and going to concers.

Now back in job I learned we are going for layover trips. Basically they send you somewhere for a week or so. Nice sunny country with a pretty paid for hotel. But once again- the older colleagues were insistent that as someone new I won’t get there at all, that I have no chance.

Oh boy- in one month I was in 3 destinations. Tanning, swimming, shopping. One of those (the longest one) I actually got to spend with probably my favorite homegirl at work.

At this point I didn’t even try to manifest it, I was just like “yeah, bet!” to all the people who told me I’ll be sitting at home on my ass.

The last example is just me having plans that I refuse to cancel (another concert actually 🤭) and another of those working abroad things. First of all, this trip is for 2 weeks with ROYAL payment, so ofc I did not want to give it up. But it looked like it’s gonna be at the time of the concert.

Before our new schedule came out, I was just thinking how that’s just NOT happening. Like ain’t no way. I’ll be going to that destination and absolutely will be home at the time of the concert. It will somehow work out.

It did.

“It will somehow work out.”

This sentence basically sums up my whole mindset. I don’t overthink it. “How is it gonna work?” I just let the universe figure it out for me. I just know it will be in my favor.

I tried manifesting before when I was at school. But my problem was that I always worried HOW it’s gonna work out. I was overthinking, trying to desperately do the mental gymnastics of how those unreal things will happen.

The moment I stopped this, simply shrugged and went about my day, those things started to happen.

Hope this motivates yall and helps you stop obsessing if you do. 🩷

"anytime I thought about it, I considered it done." ARE YALL LISTENING OR???? THAT'S HOW YOU GET ANY AND EVERYTHING OMG . I love this so much for you babes. You never have to sit down and worry about how it's gonna happen. You sit down and think about how it already worked out for you bc literally everything does. You better come back and keep updating us babes.

#anon ask #itsrlymine #law of assumption #imagination is reality #success story #loa success #loa success story #manifesting success #loa tumblr #lawofassumption #manifesting #loassumption

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irisintheafterglow · 1 day ago

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lot of pretty boys, lot of funny business!

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: sabrina carpenter - "15 minutes"

summary: hired to be your bodyguard, lying that he's simply your driver. this job might be more complicated than sakusa expected.

wc: 4.3k

cw/tags: heiress!reader x mma fighter!sakusa, written with fem!reader in mind but gn pronouns used, brief peril, violence and blood, explicit language, angst/fluff with happy ending, miya twins cameo lol

note: welcome once again to iris is missing her grumpy jacked bf hours. i am well aware no one asked for this...but here it is anyway! enjoy hehe

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 7:42 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: No more than an hour in the mall. Failure: Basically acted as a butler for an hour.

“You’re out of your mind if you actually think you’re going out in that.”

“It’s a birthday party, Omi, not a funeral. I’ll dress in however many sparkles I want,” you state stubbornly, giving him a spin in your salaciously flattering outfit. From the bottom of the stairs, he’s overjoyed that you can’t see the shades of pink dusting his face. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think that if your parents were still in the country, they’d beat my ass for letting you out of the house wearing those shoes,” he deadpans to hide every indication that he couldn’t stop staring. Your excited expression abruptly drops into a disappointed frown and you cross your arms. “Get a jacket and we’ll leave. The leather one with the lapels would look nice.”

“If you think I look ugly, just say that,” you huff, stamping back to your room.

“That’s not what I–Nevermind.” He sighs, running a hand down his face and checking the time on his watch. The party was already underway, no doubt. Sakusa would never be caught dead at a house on the infamous ‘frat road,’ much less the one owned by Daishou Suguru’s family, but every heir to a fortune worth gossiping about were expected to attend the celebration of the slithering son himself. Like you, Daishou Suguru carried a reputation with him on-campus that lingered wherever he went, leaving the air reeking of rumpled cash and Versace cologne. Whether they admitted it or not, every family wanted a piece of the Daishou inheritance, and they were willing to use all of their charm to secure it.

Everyone, it seemed, except you.

“Is it really that bad?” You ask quietly, fidgeting with a piece of thread undone at the hem of your oversized leather jacket. The drive to the Daishou estate was painfully silent, especially when he suggested you turn on music and you just shook your head. In spite of himself, Sakusa was ready to veer you both off the road if it meant you’d just put on your stupid bubblegum-pop-princess shit and stop moping.

“What?” Sakusa’s single-word answer comes out harsher than he wanted it to. You deflate a little more in your seat and he swallows thickly. Your voice is even quieter than before.

“My outfit. Is it really hideous?” You glance at him and see his fingers white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel of one of your family’s many sports cars. It was a perk that came with the job, driving fancy cars and eating in places his friends couldn’t afford with a full year’s paycheck. Komori joked that he might as well marry you to stay in the family, for the benefits and all. Sakusa’d thrown an empty energy drink can at his cousin’s head, but silently agreed that the perks were more enjoyable than he thought. Spending time with you, the untouchable heiress to the second-most wealthy family in the city, also proved to be more bearable than he presumed.

“No,” he manages to force out. “No, it’s…It’s fine. You’re fine.” Idiot! If he weren’t busy being a robotically perfect patron of the road—in spite of his usual tendency to burn rubber with the skill of an F1 driver—he would slap himself. To your amusement, his composure slips enough for you to notice the way his eyes squeeze tight in pure embarassment of what he just said.

“Fine?” You suppress a smirk, feeling a little more invigorated again. “You think I’m fine?”

“I’d be fine if you stopped talking for the rest of the ride,” he retorts weakly and you finally crack a smile. “Stop grinning like that, weirdo.”

“C’mon, let me have a little fun,” you tease. “We barely spent an hour in the mall getting me this dress, and I didn’t get to check out any of the new blind box shipments.”

“Because people kept coming up to you asking if they could tag along for your little shopping trip,” he points out. “The group by the food court asked me if I was just there to hold your bags. And then asked if I could hold their bags.”

“True, but you were there to hold my bags and give me feedback on clothes.”

“Neither of which were in this job description,” he reiterates tiredly. The car approaches a backroad devoid of obstacles, sloping down and then climbing into an easy hill that would be perfect for him to slam the gas. He exhales through his nose, instead taking the road at a speed that would make the slowest drivers honk angrily. You watch him with an unreadable expression.

“You drive like my grandmother,” you declare after the only sound in the car was the roaring engine waiting to be called upon.

“She must be a very safe driver then,” he monotones.

“She’s dead, so don’t consider that a compliment,” you quip and he rolls his eyes. Your spunk wasn’t in the job description, either. “So, are you gonna speed up or not?”

“Hell no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could get fired?” He replies in disbelief and you shrug like it wasn’t even a remote possibility. “And I need the money to pay for next semester.”

“If you need money, I could just give you some,” you say truthfully and he shakes his head, declining to answer like he always did. You look at him too softly, with too much care, and it bothers him like a punch to the solar plexus. He wasn’t used to having someone ask about his day, about if he’d eaten yet, about if his physics exam was truly as bad as he described. You were nothing like the prissy, spoiled brats that prowled about the university campus, and he couldn’t help but feeling guilty that he was getting paid to essentially be a close friend as well as a chauffeur.

After what felt like an eternity, he was more than relieved to be pulling into the Daishou’s driveway. “I’m serious,” you continue when he doesn’t respond. “I have no idea where my dad found you, but I can always help pay for some of your stuff. It’s the least I can do since you’re always driving me around.”

Right. You still thought he was just your driver.

“I’m already getting paid by your dad,” he says, shutting off the car and taking a second to survey the swaths of people overflowing onto the front lawn. Every guest was wrapped in sickeningly bright shades of overconsumption, clutching red cups and swaying like palm trees in a strong wind. The Daishous’ valet approaches the vehicle and Sakusa steps out, crossing to open your door and offer his arm. “Really, don’t worry about it,” he assures you when you still have a skeptical pout. “Just have fun tonight and grab me if you need anything.”

— 11:16 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Regulated drink count at Daishou’s party. Failure: Possible Miya presence (catastrophic).

The party is unsurprisingly predictable. He stays within fifteen feet of you at all times, stalking from corner to corner with a stone-cold expression that deters any drunks looking for a quick hookup. Sakusa watches you flit from one pack of rich kids to another, showering people with compliments and asking them about their lives in that painfully sociable way of yours. He even finds himself smiling as he watches you spray punch from one nostril after laughing at a close friend’s story, until an unwanted voice makes his eye twitch.

“You know, it was a lot easier to sneak into this place than I thought it’d be!”

“Atsumu,” he acknowledges dryly, eyeing his friend’s completely unbuttoned shirt and holographic party hat with obvious disdain. His hair, usually so obnoxious, was getting practically washed out in all the other neons of the party. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Lighten up, Omi-omi. Believe it or not, I was invited.”

“For what? As an entertainer?”

“It was one time. One time, I said I could make it as a stripper,” he protests as he throws an arm around Sakusa’s shoulders too casually to indicate sobriety. “To answer your question, no! I am not here to take my clothes off. At least, not in front of everybody.” Slightly disgusted, Sakusa realizes that he’s lost you in the crowd and sets his jaw, trying to stifle the panic in his chest.

“Go away, Atsumu. I need to do my job,” he orders and attempts to shrug off the imposing arm, but it’s in vain. The lights were strobing in Atsumu’s mind but no one was home.

“Your job is to kick the shit out of people, those people being me, and ‘Samu, and Kuroo, and Bokuto, and—”

“Do you always need to be making this much noise?”

“It’s to fill in the silence of your constant brooding, my friend.” Eventually, he tunes out Atsumu’s rambling and wordlessly shoves his way through the huddles of students, intuition guiding him out the kitchen side door.

The scene he enters outside makes his heart drop into his stomach.

“Omi?” His heartrate increases instantaneously, all the blood rushing to his limbs and fists. He could feel it growing, the fiery energy shooting through every vein and into his brain until he becomes nothing more than a feral, fighting machine. You’re backed into a corner by who he recognizes as some of Daishou’s goons, low-life guys the asshole pretends to be friends with until they worship the ground he pisses on. “Omi, just go. Please,” your voice wavers and he could break a tooth from how hard he was clenching his jaw. The jacket he’d forced you to wear was clutched in the grip of one of the goons, probably from an attempt to grab you that you’d slipped away from. “I’m fine. Please, go.”

“Ah, this is awkward, isn’t it? I’m Atsumu, by the way!” His buzzed friend greets politely from behind him and, if he weren’t busy assessing the guys in front of him, Sakusa would be knocking the lights out of the idiot behind him. “You know,” Atsumu continues, his hands somehow finding their way to Sakusa’s shoulders and shaking him as if to break him from a trance. “You and I could take these guys so easily.” Your eyes narrow and he can tell you want to say something, but he was too busy trying to stifle the red growing in his vision to give you any kind of reasonable explanation.

“What do you want with them?” He grits out and the guys scoff.

“Daishou’s got a matter to discuss with ‘em. Said to bring them to talk by whatever means necessary,” one of them replies and Sakusa could feel his blood boiling as he unconsciously opens and closes his fists. “Even if they ran,” he sneers. His dark eyes dart to you.

His first instinct is to walk away, money be damned. It would be wiser for him to turn his back and let the rich sort themselves out. You would hate him, but maybe that was for the best, and he could go back to bruised fists and broken cartilage to pay for the rest of his life—

No.

“You wanna talk to him? To Daishou?”

“Omi, go,” you plead. “It’s fine, I can figure it out.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Your bite your lower lip and he swears he catches your eyes start to get glossy. He’d apologize for his bluntness later; for now, he needed to get you into the car and away from this party. “Do you want to talk to Daishou? Yes or no.”

You whisper a terrified “no” that’s almost too quiet to hear.

“This dickhead thinks he can just decide shit around here,” another one of the goons says with a snide grin. “If Daishou wants something, Daishou gets it. Your poor ass wouldn’t get it. It’s only for us classy folk that get what we want.”

He brushes a curl from his face.

Atsumu’s knuckles crack from behind him.

“Want me to get ‘Samu?” The blonde Miya asks lowly, suddenly sober. As another fighter who brawled just to fund his schooling, the verbal attack struck deep. “Suna should be around too.” Sakusa shakes his head; he didn’t have time to wonder why all his fighting acquaintances were at this stupid party.

“No,” he replies with a cold tone that made you shiver in the humid summer night. “You got a car outside, ‘Tsumu?”

“Down the drive, yeah.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at the gym,” he orders, stepping closer to the circle of opponents. They laugh and roll their shoulders back, anticipating a fun session with a willing punching bag. Sakusa doesn’t dare look you in the eyes, not ready to face the fact that he’d lied to you for months about why your father hired him. “Get them out and don’t let anyone stop you.”

“Why do you always get to have the fun?”

“Atsumu,” he warns.

“Fine, fine, just don’t make a mess.” A flicker of a dangerously confident smirk tweaks the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t I always?”

He’s moving faster than anyone could react, pivoting and slamming the side of his shin into the back of the nearest goon’s knee. The guy falls to a knee and can’t even blink before he’s knocked out cold, the familiar warmth of blood and broken-nose crunch enveloping Sakusa’s senses. His body feels like it’s running at 150%, just as it always done when he’s fighting for his life in the ring. Without a doubt in his mind, he can attack, dodge, and think faster than everyone around him, at home as both the quiet eye and the flurrying hurricane.

Atsumu is at your side in an instant, laying his own quick combo on the guy holding your jacket. He gently takes your elbow, taking great care not to guide you in a way that would make Sakusa target him next as a threat, leading you down the dark side path of the house to a gate. The next moments flash in overwhelming blurs, Atsumu at your back to take out the goons attempting to pursue you out of the house, kicking off your shoes to better run down the driveway, a second figure that looks suspiciously like Atsumu with darker hair sprinting past you to take down a guard trying to prevent you from leaving.

This is why we don’t get invited to shit, ‘Tsumu!

Less talking, more running, ‘Samu!

Right when your calves begin to burn from sprinting away from the house with your apparent twin bodyguards, you spot red lights blink twice, parked against the curb. With Osamu holding the door and Atsumu jerking the ignition to life, you slip into the passenger seat and barely have time to ask what the fuck is going on before your driver slams the gas.

— 11:30 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: Shut down arranged marriage negotiations. Failure: Got a bad cheap shot to the ribs.

Osamu is waiting for him a few blocks down from the main entrance gate, leaning against the hood of his car like a disappointed father picking up his teen daughter from a sleepover gone wrong. The fire that fueled him as he fought his way out of the estate was slowly burning out, its embers glowing enough to give him the energy to slip away into the darkness as the Daishou family’s private security start to search the premises, no doubt from the orders of the only son.

“You look like shit,” his getaway driver observes. There’s no malice in Osamu’s voice; there never was, only the unaltered truth and the occasional sarcastic comment. “They give you trouble?”

“No more than you or Kuroo do,” Sakusa answers tiredly. “Just a pain in my ass, at most.” His friend nods, his gaze narrowing on the item in his fist. Your jacket. Atsumu must have either dropped it on the way out or failed to pick it up at all.

“What’s that? Souvenir?”

“No, just need to return it to its rightful owner.” Osamu’s mouth opens into an ah of understanding and he finally turns to climb into the car, Sakusa also clambering in with a pained groan.

“Don’t tell me they actually got a hit on you,” Osamu says shrewdly as Sakusa leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Hmm, they did get a hit on you then.”

“I am going,” he repeats slowly. “To punch you.”

“Were you pulling your punches? You never pull your punches.”

“Drive,” he all but growls and Osamu’s dry chuckle is followed by the hum of the engine.

“You really did all that, just for them?” Sakusa peels open one eye and takes in his friend’s blank expression, fixated on the road.

“Yeah, guess I did.”

“Are they worth it?” Sakusa doesn’t hesitate before he answers, and that’s when Osamu knows that the ruthless, selfish fighter that he’d trained with was no more.

“I wouldn’t do all this if they weren’t.”

— 11:57 P.M. Week 10 of 15. Success: They’re safe in the gym. Failure: They might hate me.

I should get him a proper lock for his birthday, Atsumu thinks to himself as he unties the double-knotted rope securing Sakusa’s locker door. He spots the extra set of clean clothes and pulls out the carefully folded sweatshirt with a faded print of the university’s logo. Atsumu thinks for a moment more before making his decision; he’d reap the consequences of rummaging through his friend’s stuff if it meant you weren’t shivering in the stale air of the gym. To no one’s surprise, you’re right where he’d left you when he exits the locker room, curled into yourself with your back against a corner wall. You initially refused to sit down, but hesitantly let Atsumu settle you on a bench once you tugged Sakusa’s sweater over your head. The smell of the detergent, the faint undertone of his cologne, and the well-worn fabric feel like safety. It gives you enough courage to finally start asking questions.

“Where are we?”

“MMA gym, just a couple blocks south of campus,” answers Atsumu. He sits at a polite distance from you on the bench, purposefully far enough that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable but still able to have a normal conversation.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Miya Atsumu. I train here with your, uh…bodyguard.” Your jaw tightens.

“I thought he was supposed to be my driver.”

“Who the hell told you that?”

“My father.”

“He wear a silver signet ring?” You nod, wide-eyed. “Yeah, he came in a while back asking about Omi-omi. Wanted to hire him for a job.”

“I’m assuming I was the job,” you conclude. “Dad’s been out of the country for a few months now, won’t be back for another couple of weeks. Omi was hired to what, protect me?”

“From what I know of. You know Omi; he’s a man of the least words possible,” Atsumu says. “Didn’t even share that he’d taken the job. Just stopped showing up at his usual training times and only explained where he’d been when I cornered him after class.”

“I bet he hated that.”

“Oh, he nearly broke my nose. For the fourth time.” You manage a small, tired smile that fades just as quickly as it appeared. As angry as you were that Sakusa had lied to you about what your father hired him for, you couldn’t shake the nauseating stew of nerves in your stomach. “It’s good he was there with you, though. Maybe your old man knew those scumbags might make a move.”

“Do you think Omi’s okay?” You let the sleeves of the sweater cover your shaking hands and run your fingers over the inside ribbing of the cuffs to ground yourself.

“He’s the most feared fighter in the gym. I think he’ll do just fine against Daishou’s bozos.”

“The look on his face…” Your voice trails off and you stare at your shoes, scraped and stained from running across the Daishous’ lawn. “Does he always look like that when he fights?” Atsumu thinks, his eyebrows pinching.

“No,” he decides. “He usually keeps his composure pretty well. It’s what makes him so scary in the first place; half of the fight is not getting intimidated by his aura.”

“I assume you fight him often, then, to know all this about him.”

“Sure, we’re BFFS. Best fighters forever.” His attention is temporarily taken by his phone, which buzzes and makes quiet clicking noises as he types a message and sends it.

“What was different about tonight, then? Why did he have so much—”

“Blood lust?” Atsumu finishes without looking up.

“Yeah. Like he was on the verge of killing someone.”

“Honestly, I’d say it was because they’d cornered you,” Atsumu says with a shrug, pocketing his phone and turning toward the main entrance doors. “But if you want a genuine answer, ask him yourself.”

Sakusa doesn’t know what to expect when he opens the gym door with a metallic creak. Half of him hopes that you weren’t there at all, that you’d forced Atsumu to take you home and declared that you would never want to see the face of a liar. The other half of him is expecting a firm slap in the face, a screaming match, and the same outcome where he’s left jobless and you’re never to be contacted. What he doesn’t plan for, however, is seeing you wrapped up in his clothes and looking so emotionally wrecked that it feels like he’s been punched in the chest again. He doesn’t plan for the way you open your mouth to say something, abruptly shut it when tears start to well, and shrink even further into his sweater like a sad turtle.

He certainly doesn’t plan for the way his arms instinctively slide around your waist to pull you close, or how you immediately melt into him with your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. Your face is hidden where his neck meets his shoulder and he can feel every shaking exhale against his skin. Sakusa waits for you to let go, to pull away and shove your knee into his crotch, but all you do is stand there, letting him hold you, and breathing him in. Both Miyas have disappeared into the back, leaving you enveloped in the quiet security of his presence.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he murmurs into your ear. There’s a speckle of dark red on his neck that you wipe with your thumb, making his throat bob as he swallows. Against your ear, his heart rate picks up significantly at the feeling of your finger on his skin.

“I know.” About the lying or the remorse, he couldn’t tell.

“Think you can forgive me?”

“Stay at the house tonight and I’ll think about it.”

“That can be arranged,” he replies and without another word, intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the car to take you home.

— WORK LOG [K. SAKUSA]: 10:04 P.M. Week 14 of 15. Success: Won all bouts. Failure: Running very, very late.

“What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?” He calls out, breathless, to the empty living room after hurrying over after the night’s fights. Earlier, you graciously allowed him to borrow your family’s green Mustang—something about the color matching his aesthetic for luck purposes—and he’d nearly flipped several times racing to get to your house from the gym. Now, he does a quick check of the entryway before kicking off his shoes and beelining for the bathroom upstairs.

“I only unlocked it recently, don’t panic. I knew you were coming home,” you reassure him as you round the corner that leads to the kitchen carrying a party-size bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth with an unhurried crunch. He exhales and leans over the stairway railing, fighting back a smile at the sight of you wearing his jacket over your fancy going-out clothes. “Also, what happened to, ‘Hi, love of my life, how was your day?’ You’re already on thin ice for being late.” You set down the chips and posit your hands on your hips as he obediently makes his way back down the stairs. Despite your faux-irritation, you don’t protest as he pulls you in by your hips and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Hi, love of my life, I would love to hear about your day when I’m not covered in blood and sweat,” he murmurs with facetious compliance. You snort, all too aware of the stray beads of perspiration hanging from his curls and the small cuts on his hands as he takes one of yours to kiss your knuckles.

“You and your silver tongue.”

“You’re the one who said I needed another way to fight that wasn’t with my fists,” he reminds you, his mouth still brushing your fingers, “and Atsumu isn’t a bad teacher if you need to learn how to piss people off with just words.”

“Don’t learn too much from him, now.”

“Blame the teacher, not the student,” he replies with a sly grin. “Lemme shower and then we’ll go, yeah?”

“Fine, be ready in ten or I’m taking the Mustang without you.” You gently push him away and he sneaks one more peck on your lips. “I’m serious, Kiyoomi.”

“Promises, promises, baby,” he drawls, already peeling off his shirt as he climbs the stairs again. “You want me ready in ten, I’ll make it six.”

“Should I wear your jacket to dinner?” You ask and he pauses at the top of the stairs, looking down with the same old blush warming his face. “It goes well with my outfit, no?”

“I’ll have my arm around you anyway, so you won’t need it.”

“I won’t?” He smiles softly.

“Never.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #kiyoomi sakusa x you #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #hq x y/n

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bmpmp3 · 2 days ago

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i mean this is the most nonjudgemental way possible because i also like synthesizer shipping quite a bit but it does make me giggle a little when i see people talk about a vocaloid or whatever ship like they would in like, a fandom for an actual piece of narrative media instead of software like "ffffuuuck the way these two look at eachother they make me insaaaane" type stuff because i always smile and close my eyes and imagine this:

#i hear a strange sound coming from my fruity loops. the plugins... nay- they couldnt be........ unless?#it is funny even with synths with like heavy lore - outside of utauloids its pretty rare for any to have canonical romantic relationships #most of them barely have any relationship at all outside of 'they go to the same school''they work in the same place'#sometimes we're lucky enough to get a 'they are friends'!!!#jk i dont mind i actually prefer less lore heavy synths - i like to play with dolls in that way #and i mean sure a lot of popular pairings in narrative fandom are also not canon but at least theres like. a setting HKDSHJCds #with a lot of synthesizers.... we have to build from the ground up LOL so thats why it amuses me so much #like okay first i gotta get you on the same page. heres my shit i made up about this mascot. NOW play in this space with me #silly <3

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luvescore · 1 day ago

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Heyyy girl!! I’ve seen you post and I wanted to request something like riize reaction to y/n and them getting caught making love I understand if it’s a bit to much but it’s kinda fun to read it doesn’t have to be really explicit maybe as an example a member heard them or something like that feel free to do whatever you think sounds good :)

RIIZE! ୨ৎ GETTING CAUGHT IN THE ACT

── .✦ boyfriend riize x fem. reader

synopsis. how does the riize members react when.. getting caught in the act? read now to find out!

smut! | some angst, mild dirty talk, & sweetness.

a/n: hi cutie! I’m happy to take this request and no it’s not too much at all. I actually love reading these as well because it’s funny, cute, and.. well sexy all at once lol.

ANTON LEE.

“baby.” you heard his soft voice. always did but it was harder than ever to react how you normally would and he sensed that. anton’s thrusts were painfully slow, taking everything in you not to whine for him to go faster needing him rougher, deeper, and harder. he had gotten tired of calling for you so instead he grabbed ahold of your jaw in a gentle manner and forced you to look up at him. “let me hear you. please?” it was weird with the others just in the next room. all you could do was shake your head and bite down on your lip and just as you were about to let out the smallest most faint sound the door swung open and in came sohee like the dumb boy he was. “sohee!” anton screamed and you were instantly covered by his larger body and blanket. “o-oh.. my god. how gross. what the hell anton!” sohee’s voice cracked which only embarrassed him even more and he hurried out of the room as fast as he could running back to wherever it was he came from. at this point anton’s thrusts had stilled completely and his body still hovered over yours, cock going soft now. “what a way to fucking ruin the mood..” he sighed.

SHOTARO OSAKI.

“oh fuck.” shotaro’s whimper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, loving how vocal he always was during sex. his large hands gripped at your waist in such a harsh manner you knew there’d be bruising tomorrow. your hands stayed put on his shoulders as you rode him slowly, just how he liked and wanted it. his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each swallow as sweat dripped down the side of his face and down his neck leaving him looking so fucking perfect. “feels good taro?” his plump lips tugged up into a pretty smile and just as he was about to say something back the sound of the door opening startled you both, sungchan walking in the room. “oh wow!” shotaro moved as fast as he could to cover you not wanting sungchan to see his girl in such a intimate manner. “get the fuck out of here!” shotaro’s voice was loud and deep something you didn’t hear quite often. sungchan slowly backed out of the room but not before giving you a teasing wink. “what a moron..I’m so sorry baby, are you okay?” you nodded, embarrassed.

EUNSEOK SONG.

“I’ve waited all damn day for this. missed you so much doll. missed your scent, your pretty face, these thighs I love so much. fuck. need you so bad.” with just a few more clothing pieces taken off and thrown to the side, eunseok had you beneath him, shaking and crying from how well he took care of you. “taking my cock so good baby. perfect little cock sleeve aren’t you, hm?” his hand lifted giving you a little smack here and there just the way you liked it and his hands fell down to your breasts, giving them a harsh slap each before his hands kept still at your hips. “tell dada how much you love his cock, little girl.” but.. you couldn’t. not when wonbin opened the door. “piece of shit..” eunseok turned to glare at the man as he stood there in complete shock not able to look away or turn back to leave. so.. eunseok continued fucking you just like he had been before. “why don’t you show our little guest how much you love my cock.” a sob left your swollen lips.

SUNGCHAN JUNG.

“you’re so small. so small and I’m so big. fuck look baby, look at the bulge in your tummy. oh god.” your hands shook and slowly you lifted your head to look at what he had been bragging about for a few minutes, not listening at first since this had been about the third time he’s made you cum in less than two minutes. at this point it was all too much for you and he knew that but loved it so much. “I love you and this pussy.” he was rough but sweet and caring at the same time which was an odd combination. he pushed your legs open further if that was even possible and grabbed ahold of the top of your thighs, pushing himself deeper into you which made you squirt all over him and yourself. “fuck princess! making such a mess..” warm tears ran down your hot cheeks, vision blurred, and your hearing was just slightly off because you didn’t even notice anton walking in.. he covered his eyes immediately and apologized at least twenty times before leaving. sungchan was laid on top of you shielding you from the door and whoever else may walk in. he wasn’t mad. a gentle chuckle left his lips.

WONBIN PARK.

“bin stop!” he’d been teasing you for the longest time now and your cute bin stop this and bin stop that had turned into your head against the soft cushion of his bed and him fucking you from behind, large hands slapping at your ass or reaching forward to play with your clit wanting to push you over the edge and he did, making you cum twice already before he even could. “gonna cum inside your little pussy baby.” you whimpered a bit too loudly and you had just remembered that the others were just down the hall, now hiding your face in the pillow that smelled just like your wonbin. “uh..” that voice. wait a second.. that voice. you lifted your head in a quick motion, eyes locking with seunghan as he stood there with his mouth wide open. “so so sorry guys..” he turned and walked out slamming the door behind him. wonbin let out a soft sigh and pulled you close to him, his face now laying on your back. “this was so embarrassing.”

SOHEE LEE.

“do you think they’ll know?” sohee smirked. oh god was he just so adorable but hot at the same time. within a few minutes you ended up in his lap, arms wrapping around his neck and his hips thrusting up hitting all of the spots that you desperately needed to be hit. “sohee.. fuck feels so good.” he whimpered and panted and whined at how good your pussy felt around his cock, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple and sucking as if it was a bottle. “don’t stop. right there. gonna make me cum!” and he didn’t stop. never did. not when you sounded so sweet like this. as you were cumming the sound of the door made you both stop, legs started to shake from the orgasm that was hitting you and you cried out not even caring who was at the door. eunseok. he covered his mouth and slowly backed out of the room immediately running to tell the others what he just saw. “d-did he see you? oh fuck I’m so sorry baby.” sohee’s face was redder than a tomato at this point and it was the cutest thing.

SEUNGHAN HONG.

it had been a few days since you and seunghan had last seen each other. he was so busy during their newest comeback and your own schedule didn’t align with his so when you both were free on the same day he took advantage of it.. even if it meant the rest of the guys had to be near. seunghan had you pushed against his bedroom wall lips finding your own and hands ripping off the annoying clothes in the way, wrapping your legs around his waist and taking you right there against the wall. “fuck. sorry sweet girl. I can’t wait any longer.. missed you so fucking much.” he whined against your lips before attacking your neck making sure to leave as many marks as he could. seunghan was always like this, just so possessive and didn’t want anyone in his way of spending his time with you. “you know–” he was cut off by shotaro and you both froze when he walked into the room, dropping the snack bag he had brought in to show seunghan. “you know this is my time with my girl. get out.” you almost felt bad for shotaro but seunghan couldn’t and wouldn’t be bothered.

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addrai · 18 hours ago

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Elder Gen Z, here. It took me until I was in my twenties to discover that deepthroating is not a normal part of a blowjob.

Like, I had decided in my teens—and i'm still a virgin now, so this was all because of what I had seen in porn—that I would never give a man a blowjob, with my specific reasoning being, "Well, my gag reflex is way too strong for me to be able to do that without throwing up. Guess blowjobs are out of the question."

And then I learned that "deepthroating" is actually a relatively new thing, one that only became mainstream because of a specific porno from the sixties called "Deep Throat." And it turns out that female-on-male oral sex can actually just be, like, kissing his dick while giving him a handy. You don't even have to let his semen be in your mouth if you don't want to.

I learned this in my twenties.

Because, as a teen, I was aware that porn existed, and so when my sex drive was initiated by puberty, I inevitably sought it out out of curiosity. And instead of finding healthy expressions of sexuality, I was bombarded with endless videos of women being raped. It's why teenage me ended up gravitating towards watching hentai/animated porn, because the videos of actual people having sex felt "too real" to me (A.K.A. what I know now to have been extreme discomfort at the violence I was seeing).

Of course, hentai and animated porn have their own issues, because you can depict things that can't happen (or are illegal) in real life—and it's pretty much all made by & for men with fetishes. So I ended up seeing horrific shit anyway.

These days I've managed to wean myself off to only reading erotica & occasionally enjoying some sexy fanart—and I'm really proud of that. But like OP stated above, it's really hard to find erotica that doesn't end up falling into those tropes. Even if you think you've found something decent, you'll be reading a sex scene and suddenly you get jumpscared by the guy grabbing the gal by the throat out of nowhere, or by him grabbing her by the hair or spanking her without asking, or by him calling her "dirty" or a sl*t with no warning. Even if you go on AO3 and filter out all the violent/mysogynistic/fetish/etc. tags you can, stuff still ends up falling through the cracks, because the authors don't always tag things. It should not be this hard to find healthy erotica, people!!

(Obviously, the ideal solution would be for me to have a romantic relationship with a guy in real life, and have sex with him, so I'm not out here floundering like this. But... uh. Have you seen the heterosexual dating scene lately. Lol 🙃)

Anyway—if I didn't realize that deepthroating wasn't normal until I was in my twenties—and I'm nearing thirty, now—what kind of stuff are younger gals today being led to believe? How can we expect them to not seek out violent sex and abusive relationships, if that's what the media around them has groomed them to see as normal?

Okay I need to say it. I think the popularity of romance books/smut/romance tropes like physically + sexually abusive and controlling abusive male leads is partly hindering the progress of women's rights with it's use of Soft Power narratives, or power through desirableness. Yes it's all fiction, yes women should read what they want, yes it's part of a greater culture of female socialization, yes its good that women are staying away from irl men, but i think we need to talk about it more. For one thing, i wont say it started the recent boom of violent sex culture but it definitely promotes it as many girls' first exposure to sexual media is through romances and smut, and not to mention how pornified its become along with everything else. And it's not just fiction because people are doing this in real life, with real people. 'Id never want this in real life but I'd definitely roleplay it' I see that one a LOT.

With the popularity of booktok and smut there's been men who are absolutely disgusted yes, but only because they think women shouldn't have drives at all, or they're mad as shit about the fact that only good looking sexy men get Abusing Women Privileges. And they're disgruntled about the popularity of the bad boy trope. Like look at this random reddit example which echoes male sentiments I've been seeing absolutely everywhere

A significant other portion of men support this, because if you're a pos misogynist all you have to do is say you support women's choices to like what they want and you'll have both the opportunity to abuse them without consequence and get praised for it. If there is actually somehow a man uncomfortable with it he's gonna get reassured by thousands of feminists on how some women love getting abused!! Consent!! Feminism choice empowerment!! It's crazy out here.

There are a lot of women gloating over how mad men are over romance/smut while not realizing how we're reinventing misogyny in new desirable ways every day. And just how many men are going to take advantage of this recent boom. Misogyny is misogyny is misogyny. At the end of the day It doesn't matter that we can separate reality from fiction and that women can like certain things or that it's more nuanced than we think. The damage is done, for women as a group, it keeps us right in our patriarchal chains.

Liberal feminism is an actual plague. Literally how are we going to condemn horrible acts of oppression then turn around and say it's okay as long as you get off to it. Can you imagine doing this with any other movement?? Imagine if a major talking point in anti racism was that poc deserve rights and respect, but if they consumed extremely racist media willingly and/or they choose to degrade themselves for a white person it's just a fantasy? and just fiction? and actually really empowering? and actually is anti racism and reclamation? and how absolutely dare you tell poc what to like?? YOU are the actual racist here.. Seriously.

#radblr #feminism #anti pornography #personal

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transmutationisms · 2 days ago

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Asking in good faith, as someone with curiosity about/sympathies for family abolition. Do you have a positive vision of how children should be cared for, or any recommended readings that posit such a vision? I feel like sometimes when family abolitionists on here get questions about the aspects of childcare where some kind of coercion is clearly necessary (like getting kids vaccinated, making sure they brush their teeth so they don’t develop serious dental problems later, keeping toddlers from wandering into traffic), those are treated as these ridiculous bad faith gotchas, like, OBVIOUSLY we’re not talking about letting children wander into traffic. But I don’t think it’s necessarily obvious or that those questions are necessarily being asked in bad faith! And like, I’m a communist not an anarchist, and I do think that there are aspects of organizing any society (even one that doesn’t serve capital) that will invariably necessitate coercion of some kind, both of children and adults, and I also think that could possibly happen through means other than the family , and that the family gives parents a frightening degree of completely unaccountable power over their children. But I’d love to hear more about how you envision childhood in your ideal society, if you have specific ideas of e.g. communal child-rearing that you could see working. And also are there any forms of authority exercised over children that you consider acceptable, and if so who should wield such authority and how should it be held accountable?

i don't at all want to evade these questions because i think pretty much any purely negative critique has quite limited political utility & is a starting point only. however i also think that i'm frankly not the right person to be giving the positive argument on this particular tooic because i just don't have a great deal of experience around/raising/teaching/caring for children, nor have i read into this enough to feel confident bandying an opinion around lol. in general i would agree with you that some aspects of social living necessarily entail coercion [/authority/&c]; eg, i don't entertain arguments against vaccination requirements, for children or adults. i would also say in general the principle is to ensure children can, at the very most basic level, actually leave a violent or dangerous situation, whether that's a biological relative or other home caretaker or a school setting or anything else: this necessitates, for one thing, making sure the child's material needs are actually met without being dependent on any such relationships/settings, ie treating them [legally, socially] as agents rather than as property, &c. but this is a guiding principle & not a concrete proposal because i simply don't have those for you right now.

#honestly this is one reason family abolition is not something i usually post a lot about myself

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technicallyastar · 10 hours ago

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Survivors, Killers, and Debauchery

Basically, who’s willing to get freaky outside of a relationship. I was actually a little torn about making this. Like, I think it would be a bit less common to hookup with these people due to a lot of factors… but also everyone is kinda stuck in a pocket dimension for eternity, so, ya know....

Banner by Snaileek_@the_floops on Instagram

DTF

Chance. He’s got a pretty high libido and has no problem separating feelings from sex. As long as he doesn’t hate you, and there’s mutual attraction, he’s down to clown.

John Doe. He’d take a bit to build some trust first, but after that he’s down for a quicky. He understands that hormones run high sometimes, and it doesn’t have to mean anything beyond needing to get off, this is especially true for him after a match adrenaline pumping through his veins and warm blood caked on his body he definitely pops a boner. I don’t recommend a hate-fuck, but hey if that’s what you’re into.

Guest 1337. He’s of the opinion that this unconventional situation calls for taking your comforts where you can get them. He’s also pretty good at keeping sex and feelings separate, but requires a base-line trust level like John Doe. He can’t be watching his back when his dick is out. He understands craving intimacy, so he’s willing to be sensual even for one-off hookups.

Noli. As long as you’re into the crude types, he’s alright for some fun between the sheets. he can keep feelings and sex separate as long as he can isolate from you for a few days after the fact. Gotta cancel out that post-sex dopamine.

Shedletsky. He’s fun, friendly, and lived life constantly on the move! He’s fine with flings, but would prefer something like FWB, if not an actual relationship. He trusts friends to communicate with him more, which takes more stress off his shoulders and keeps things lighthearted.

Guest 666. As long as they're attracted to you and you get along, they're down. Frankly, they're always been a bit impatient and has trouble waiting for the things they want. (Your body included.) Who needs those drawn-out foreplay rituals when they've got a perfectly good floor beneath them?

iTrapped. If he finds you interesting, he’s probably willing. He doesn't even really need to like you--he's another willing to hate-fuck. His libido is lower than others, though, and he’s busy, so hookups won’t happen as often as with others. Also a little more likely to develop feelings for his bedroom partner…though they may be based more in possessiveness than romantic interest.

1x1x1x1. Don’t know if I recommend this…but you know what, you do you. Definitely hate-fucks. It's... Rough too put it lightly. Good luck...(They hate pretty much everyone, so there you have it.)

In Certain Conditions/ It’s Complicated

Bright Eyes. The circumstances are a bit dubious, but she finds sex to be a good distraction. Another one of those bad coping habits she leans on when she’s a bit desperate. Deep down, she’d rather sleep with someone she’s exclusive with.

007n7. He would strongly prefer to be in a relationship first, but if you have some reasonable apprehension about commitment, he’s understanding…and can be seduced.

Taph. If he sleeps with you, he’s been pining for a while. You don’t have to be exclusive yet for him to break, though.

Dusekkar. You don’t have to be exclusive yet, but if dusekkar is taking you to bed then you should know he is, in fact, courting you with the intention of being exclusive later.

Only With a Romantic Partner

King. Literally if you’re not dating he doesn’t even like you. (Though, there’s a chance you might have a “hook up” before you know you’re in a relationship with him lol.)

Noob. They dont trust anyone but a partner to touch or see them like that.

Azure. Like Noob, he doesn’t trust anyone enough for that. Even a romantic partner will be waiting a while for him.

Builderman. he’s busy with other things, and frankly doesn’t even notice his own physical desires unless he has a partner he can spend extensive periods of alone time with.

Jane Doe. First of all she's married, and seems to be quite committed... Safe to say she's not popping pussy anytime soon. (Her skank ass husband, who given... has lost his memories will sling dick like it's on sale, Excuse my crude language)

(I should probably make a masterlist huh...)

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kentojiis · 9 hours ago

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bestfriend!gojo x reader

content; no actual smut but gojo is so horny for u LOL, ur bf/ex-bf(?) sucks and ur crying bc of him to satoru, erm strong language (cock, shitty, tits, etc.), no curses AU bc i choose to be happy, they're just like college kids in this. so like 20 - 22? idk im not making a decision abt that rn.

author; i feel like this needs to be a fic bc i have another draft that would line up so well w this. idk but my creative juices r FLOWING rn. might get high and get even flow-y-er *smile*

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧₊˚⊹♡. ⋆｡𖦹°‧ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚

bestfriend!gojo who never had ulterior motives in being your friend. when he befriended you at 12, the only reason he had was because you had digimon stickers on your DS that you were always playing on during your walk to school. totally innocent. at least, until right now, when you looked so so pretty crying in his car.

of course he felt guilty, you're his best friend, you're hurting and all he can think about is how good your tits look in the low cut top you're wearing right now. and about how good you would look under him, crying about how good his cock feel inside you instead of the stupid asshole that had hurt your feelings one too many times for gojo's liking.

"- and i just don't get why he would treat me this way? like what's so wrong with me that he would do that?"

he's only able to pull his thoughts away from marking up those gorgeous tits of yours to hear the very end of your sentence. but he jumps right into action - there's no way he can let you continue with this train of thinking. "oh baby no, there's nothing wrong with you."

"but-" your protest is quickly shut down by gojo.

"no buts. there is nothing that you have done to justify his treatment of you. you have given him so much, i know for a fact that you were to one to plan every single one of your dates, and so much of your time has been spent catering to his needs while ignoring your own. he's a shit boyfriend and an even shittier guy for having the audacity to ask even more out of you." gojo says this with so much sincerity, he sounds like he's about ready to start begging you to believe him. he's seen how much time and effort you've put into this guy, even when you're in uni and have a part-time job. always catering to what he likes to eat, what he likes to do and talk about. noting about you. he's also seen this guy give you absolutely nothing in return.

bestfriend!gojo might've just been thinking about fucking you in the backseat of his car, but that doesn't mean he's going to be a shitty friend and let you keep getting treated like garbage by a guy who's IQ like 1/16th of your own. and his name is mike. who the fuck is named mike nowadays?

bestfriend!gojo who knows everything about you, has memorized what your favourite snacks are, what time you like getting in to bed so that you can actually get enough sleep, knows exactly how much studying you can do before you feel like you want to cry (but what you really need is a cup of tea and a 30 minute break.)

bestfriend!gojo who is desperately hoping that you can't see the boner he has for you through his pants, because even if you feel like a mess, he thinks you look so gorgeous with your mascara running down your face, and he'd really like to make you a mess for a very, very, different reason than the one right now.

bestfriend!gojo who ignores everything he's feeling, and just focuses on you. because making you feel better right now is so much more important to him than anything else.

#gojo satoru #gojo smut drabble #cw suggestive #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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Legit I almost called this mini series "Boiling Point" lmaooo. This chapter comes in hot, doesn't it? 🥲 That's the question for real: Drama or Trauma™️

But thanks for being on board with the angsty ride, my friend!! I'm so excited to see what you thought of this chapter! 🥰💚💚

God, the opening scene still takes me out! The rain of bullets, her fear but fighter spirit at the same time, and then the call to Reenie and Russell! But man, I feel so much for Russell in that situation. Worst possible nightmare coming to life and he's far away and can't protect his girl 😭💔

She's doing her best, and surely Charlie and Russell taught her some things, but the truth is she's not trained for this shit. 😭 Reenie playing the middleman here, but it was hard even for me to write Russell's side of that phone call. At this point, this really is one of his worst fears come to life 💔💔

I especially hate you for putting me through this. My heart shattered for him during that moment 🥺

It's that terrible thing of "knowing but not knowing" what's happening, right? 😥

Colter has no sense of awareness, does he? 😂 Like dude, the man is going through it. Read the room. (But reminded me a lot of the Sam and Dean dynamic lol)

lol right? My HC is that Colter cares about people, absolutely. But he doesn't have a lot of experience with being in an actual relationship and having that fear carving your insides, knowing your person is in danger. 🥲 I love that comparison to Sam and Dean! Like Sam, Colter's prone to think about these things very logically. Whereas Russell is acting very much like Dean would in this situation. 🥲

Betsy and the kneecaps made me snort. Thank you for that little bit of comedic relief, especially since I know what's coming down the line 🙈😅

hahaa I'm glad you appreciated Betsy, because there won't be much relief for the rest of this chapter. 😅 That part is also another SPN Easter egg, since Russ's gun is the same as Dean's Colt M1911. 🤓

Are we talking about OC Adam Brody? Or are we talking about the little psycho in Jennifer's Body?

Omg lol I actually haven't seen either of those shows, made up the name without realizing those were actual characters, but I think you're right on Jennifer's Body "Adam." That guy is pretty much what I picture, except this Adam is more dirty blonde. 😂

But I'm putting "Nobody Wants This" on my watchlist if you say it's gonna be good for my rom-com heart and soul! 😘 Plus I love Kristen Bell!

That's such an interesting tidbit! I'm so curious to see what comes of it. Did Horizon recruit Russell on purpose because they knew about Ashton and this was a good way to keep an eye on him? Or did he just by pure coincidence start working there? 👀

Honestly, after what they did to the reader for no real reason at all other than to fuck with Russell, I totally get why he'd wanna put the lights out in this guy. I still hope his need for revenge won't get him into trouble or worse – hurt 😭

Yeah it does seem like that, doesn't it? 😭 (That's def something that's going to be addressed in future chapters.) And your instincts are right there...

Reminded me of Beau right there 🤠💚

ahahaaa I love you for catching that!! Right now Russ is feeling even more frustrated than Barlen...

Yup, my thoughts exactly! God, the Shaw family story is driving me nuts. Not sure how far you've gotten with the book yet, but I always felt the real reason took such a dystopian turn lol. Basically sounded like this 😂👇

Ah YEP. I learned the reason behind Ashton's death and it soo wasn't what I expected with BlackBridge. But he was a historian so I guess it makes sense that it would be related to history!

But OMG, are you in my head, Wayne?? In a future chapter of BP, there's going to be a big National Treasure-inspired moment. 🤭💛💛

Jesus, she can barely speak and drove straight in, didn't she? 😅 But I can soooo understand her grievances, especially after their fight beforehand and Russell not wanting to quit for months, even after he promised her he would. And getting shot and beaten after some strangers with gun break into your home because of your goddamn boyfriend, I'd be super fucking pissed and so, so scared. This is a lot for a civilian and would even be a lot for someone like Russell. You wanna be safe in your home, at least 🥲

Straight the fuck in. 😅 Yes, for ALL of these reasons. She's still a civilian even though she's seen a fair bit of shit. Even though it can be argued that it wasn't exactly Russell's fault, he's still responsible for making her a target. Her home was basically made into a war zone.

This exactly 🫶 Even when you know what your boyfriend does and the dangers of his job, it's still different when it hits you. And I feel for Russell as well. I really do. But swearing up and down he'll protect her is a pretty empty promise. He can't be by her side 24/7. It's not realistic in the long run. And he already "failed" at it once, so now her illusion that he can really keep her safe from this dark life are completely shattered. She'd be insane to trust him so easily and quickly again after this whole ordeal 💔

She thought she could handle being with a man like him, but she really didn't think about it hard enough, let's be honest. 🥲 And you're exactly right - it is an empty promise. He's already marked her, and "failed." He can't protect her at all times. He can't promise that he won't be killed by these people either.

She really would be, which is why it takes her a few days to come back around to missing him, and ultimately forgiving him. Maybe she does take him back too quickly, but at the same time, it's hard when you love someone that much, have lived with them for a year, and knowing there were so many things out of his control. 💙💙

That was so goddamn heartbreaking for both of them! 😭 Russell's realization that she really was pulling the plug on their relationship in that moment – that something irreparable shattered – and the whole aftermath of this – losing his one and only home he loved, the domestic and quiet life he'd built with her – my God, it fucking broke me 💔🥺

I'm so sorry to do this to you, friend!! 😭😭 I hated myself for it, but you're right, this is the moment Russell realizes where his actions have led him. Having a foot in each world, not making a decision, has cost him almost everything. 💔

And then my heart broke here a little too – for Charlie. For Russell. There was just this deep sense of disappointment in the air. Totally understand Charlie, tho. He's gotta look out for his little sister, and he entrusted her life with Russell, seeing a bit of himself in him, so it's just twice as heartbreaking 🥲

I couldn't leave out Charlie from this, especially since he's given Russell a lot of leeway for what he did for them in ESC. But you know from Lost Time that Charlie's had his well-deserved reservations about Russell, and this is unfortunately proving him right. Charlie would probably say that he and Russ have a little too much in common. 😅 Ultimately though, it's because of Charlie's own lingering guilt/understanding of being in Russell's shoes that he comes around to giving him another chance.

That reminded me of Beau too, by the way – but your version when he cleaned up at reader's after her ex pushed her into that coffee table. Totally seems such personality trait for them both 🤓 (or all JA characters minus SB lol)

Girl I love you for that TMH parallel! 💗💗 It's really similar to that Good Man move. Honestly yeah, Jackles' characters have a lot of similar traits lol (minus SB killed me tho 🤣)

Such a pivotal moment between the Shaw brothers and so on point! Completely understand both Russell and Colter here. On one hand, you want to know what really happened back then, right? I mean, yeah, Ashton's dead, but considering the circumstances, I'd wanna know too. Especially since that whole weirdness caused them to have the life they have. But on the other hand, I completely see Russell's point in protecting what he has now, holding on to it and protecting it with his life. Answers to their dad's death are for sure not worth the reader's life or risking Russell's happy end.

Thank you!!! Even though TV Russ's characterization is very different from book Russell, I wanted to emulate the idea from the books that he wants nothing to do with this at this point, while Colter is the one who wants to unravel the mystery shrouding their dad's death. I felt like this ups the stakes for Russell on being a hard "no." Exactly like you said, "protecting what he has now, holding on to it and protecting it with his life." Like he tells the reader later, it's not worth risking her life or what they've been building together. 🥲🥲

I loved this bit so much, especially Charlie's little quip at the end there 😂🫶

ehehe Charlie coming in with that comic relief. 😂 I honestly loved writing this little scene between them, showing the lighter side of her relationship with her bro and how they probably argue about movies and stuff like that all the time, but they can still "real talk" with each other like best friend-siblings should.

God, this gets me every time. My heart breaks for her so much for thinking this, but I love you just as much for writing it the way you have and have Russell instantly correct it. Melted my fucking heart down to its core 😭❤️

At this point it's not hard to see why she would think that, right? But I'm so glad you liked how Russell came right in to dispel that fear for her. Her heart melted just like yours did lol 🥹💗💗

And we've already talked at length over the Shaw matriarch and her motivations. Now with that season 2 finale I'm really curious to see where they take this. I'm afraid my suspicions have been right, tho, and they're not sure they can get Jensen back for S3 with his busy schedule. Still hope they do somehow, just to see Russell's reaction and thoughts to all of this unfolding 🥲 (Also, have you seen this bit where the showrunner said he'd love to do a Tracker spinoff with Jensen? Like yes please 😍👏)

Oh God yeah. I have a plan of "attack" for Mary in this mini series, but I thought I saw something about Jensen coming back for season 3 at some point. They really need his character in order to move that part of the story forward I feel like, if they're going to follow the books at all (even tho they're really diverging with that cliffhanger lol).

Omg I hadn't seen that, but I would devour that spinoff! 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

I love him so much here 😆🫶 So happy they're back together 🥹❤️

Hahaa I feel like his sense of humor/charm is one of his coping mechanisms, but still sweet here in its own way. 🥹 I couldn't keep them broken up for long, just didn't have it in me considering I didn't know how long I was gonna have to keep you guys waiting for more chapters 😂😂

But man, what a chapter! Again, I love so much what you're doing with this story, Alex! How you're making it your own while also working in bits from both book and show. Surely not easy to navigate and you're doing it so wonderfully 💜💜💜

Wayne, you're the best fr! 🥹💕 It's been a fun challenge trying to decide what to use from show and book, while still being its own thing in the ESC world. I'm trying my best to keep the authenticity of source materials while giving you guys the romance and the drama in between. 💗💗💗

As for Adam and the whole Ashton story, I can totally see Russell going after Adam and Horizon and then stumbling more into his dad's death on accident. He's there for revenge (and let's be honest, he can't just let it go since they'll always pose a threat to him and reader from here on out), but during that mission, more about Ashton's death is revealed, which probably forces him to work with Colter after all – my theory of where you take this next 🤓 Gaaaaaah, I can't wait for more!!! 😍👏

Girl you're RED HOT. Because you're smart as hell and you know where I've gotta go next, logically. 😂 That "always pose a threat to him and reader from here on out" is how Russell is going to justify going after Adam, but it's tricky of course. Never pursue revenge is obviously going to be a major theme, and we're going to get to a few more of those "never rules" along the way. Thanks again for your notes on that! 😆💚💚

I just have 3 more chapters to write for BP, but they're big ones. So I think I'm going to start posting the next chapters toward the end of Unravel Me or right after. (So mid-June or beginning of July!)

BREAKING POINT - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Deep breaths, friends. It's about to be another angsty fun time. 😅

Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago

Posted on Patreon: 4/04/2025

Word Count: 8K

Tags/Warnings: 2x02 events, perilous situations, blood and violence, injuries, protective Russell, another Shaw sibling reunion, secrets and confessions come to light, major angst, but also major hurt/comfort…

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 2: One Chance

You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door.

Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera.

Your brows furrowed. That’s weird…

Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows.

You flinched at the fracture of glass, the splintering corner of your Pottery Barn coffee table. Shock made your entire body stiffen.

But when the second and third bullet became lodged in your couch and finished shattering two windows, you screamed and dove for the ground. You crawled on hands and knees across the hardwood floor, no doubt cutting your palms on broken glass. The coffee table only somewhat protected your body, but seeing the edge of something black in the corner of your eye, you managed to grab one of Russell’s Glocks taped under the wood that typically held your empty wine glasses and lavender candles.

Your mad scramble took you across the living room and into the bathroom, where you locked the door and backed away from the door, to the farthest corner beside the tub. Your path on the white tile was streaked with your own blood.

You clutched Russell’s gun with shaking hands, your thumb just barely managing to pull back the safety. When you tried to shift your body away from where the bottom of the sink hung over your head, you whimpered at a sharp twinge in your side. Looking down, you realized that blood had plumed through your shirt, right along the curve of your waist.

You took one trembling hand off the gun to lift the hem of your shirt, and a shaky breath escaped you.

Fuck. You’d been hit.

You didn’t see the bullet, or even a hole puncture. You prayed that you had just been grazed.

But! You still had your cell phone. It was lodged in the back pocket of your jeans. Your hands were occupied though, so you had to make a choice—keeping your weapon at the ready, stopping yourself from bleeding out, or calling for help.

You heard the front door splintering open at a distance, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Holding in a whimper, you heeded your instincts and reached for your phone. You tried calling Russell first, but it just went to voicemail. Goddamn it…

You considered calling 9-1-1, but in your manic desperation, all you could think of was reaching your boyfriend.

So you called Reenie next.

While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. You quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.

Still, the phone rang.

Come on, come on, come onnnn!

“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.

“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed. You forgot about the bandage for the moment.

“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did.

You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.

“Put him on the phone, please!”

In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.

“Russell,” you sobbed.

The raw panic in your voice made his spine stiffen. Every muscle in his body coiled in alarm. Russell sat up straight in the backseat of the SUV with Colter right beside him, along with the retired Scott Palmer, the conspiracy theorist they saved from a government black site. Reenie looked back in concern from the front seat.

“Someone’s in the house,” you said on the line. Every word was ragged, like you were trying to stay quiet, but crying all the same. “I got hit, bleeding a lot. I’m locked in the bathroom…”

In a beat of a second, Russell processed the words, I got hit.

The fucker was armed. You were shot. He wasn’t there to help you.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. A nightmare. A waking nightmare.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Russell said, immediately hiding what he felt under calm reassurance. His dark brows became a knitted line. “Were you able to get to one of my guns? Under the bed, under the—”

“Coffee table,” you said, in a tremulous voice. “Russ, what do I—”

Your scream was shrill in his ear after a gunshot went off, even making him flinch. His eyes never blinked though. He could hear the door ripping open, and a rustle of clothing preceded your sharp yelp. Someone manhandled you to your feet.

Russell’s jaw clenched tight. His heart hammered under his ribcage as he followed every sound. He yelled at the driver of this SUV to fucking floor it.

The sounds reaching him on the phone fuzzed over then, like someone was grabbing the phone out of your hand. You screamed and struggled, but a man’s grunt and a sharp hit echoed in the phone speaker. Russell’s teeth ground together so hard, he could feel them creaking with strain. He shouted your name.

The call ended abruptly.

Russell felt every minute, every second that clipped by.

Another half hour would pass before he reached his car. In that time, Colter had to explain to Reenie why calling the police right now was a bad idea.

“The police are going to trigger them to react. It’s more likely they’ll take her and move her than leave her behind,” Colter said, sharing a grim look with his brother. “Worst case…”

Russell shook his head and stared out the window, his lips pursing tight. He didn’t need to hear that said out loud. He was already thinking it, his mind shooting off sparks of one scenario after another. Each and every one of them shredded his insides to ribbons. His fingers clenched around the interior door handle of the car.

“Okay, but who’s doing this? The shady-ass government operatives you just pissed off?” Rennie asked.

“That’s my bet,” Russell said gruffly. He could picture that blue-eyed smarmy dick in his mind’s eye too—the shadow government stooge who took his brother captive, and thought he could get the drop on Russell at that lab.

He was probably still salty about the way Russell broke his goddamn nose.

“This one’s coming out of their ass,” he groused.

“We can’t underestimate them,” Colter said. His tone wasn’t censuring, but a reminder. “They got to Dr. Blair.”

Dr. Blair was an astrophysics professor who had taken special interest in some of Scott Palmer’s theories, particularly into the idea of extraterrestrial life. The professor had been found dead in her own car that afternoon, barely a couple of hours after Russell and Colter questioned her about the missing Scott’s whereabouts and her involvement with him. The police had ruled it a suicide.

Russell did glare at Colter this time. What happened to that professor wasn’t going to happen to you. You weren’t directly involved in this mess…

Russell’s fists clenched at his sides. He slid a hand over his bearded face and thought hard. Whoever had you was going to answer to him. Anything they’d done to you was going to be a mercy, compared to what he had in mind for them.

Colter parked his truck and airstream just behind Russell’s Chevy in your neighborhood. They hadn’t parked directly in front of your house, however. They wanted to retain the element of surprise, just in case your captors were still here.

Looks like they are, Russell noted by the dark gray SUV parked on the street, right next to your mailbox.

If they hadn’t moved, it was because they wanted Russell to go into the house. They wanted to make a show of this, drag this out.

Russell could just see that arrogant fuck in his mind’s eye already, waiting for him, smirking at him when he walked in.

“Like your father, Ashton Shaw. You have a long family history of getting in the government’s way,” he’d said, while holding Russell at gunpoint.

Then Russell proceeded to talk a little shit, as was his specialty, followed by a thorough ass-kicking. Also his specialty.

But he was interrupted from that satisfying recap by Colter’s subtle tap on his shoulder. He pointed toward the house with two fingers. Russell nodded and signaled back, leading him in.

Both of them had suited up with bullet-proof vests and proper weapons, with Russell favoring his usual .45 caliber M1911. He called her Betsy. She’d take your kneecaps off if you weren’t careful, and Russell was always careful. Especially about kneecaps.

He and Colter cased the house and veered to the left, where they caught sight of the carnage that wrecked the living room. Whoever broke in must’ve used silencers on their guns, because surely in a residential neighborhood like this, someone would’ve heard the commotion and called the cops themselves. All three windows at the front of the house were shattered, littering glass across the floor. The couch was a Swiss cheese rendering of fabric and stuffing, with picture frames, candles, books and bookshelves, and other keepsakes battered, ruined, and scattered.

Russell was sorry to see it, feeling an angry twinge, but it only got worse when he saw who was sitting on the edge of the couch. The man was flanked by four other men in solid black uniforms and guns, their faces obscured by masks.

Russell’s eyes widened in shock at first. And then in anger, and steely determination. After giving his brother a nod, he and Colter split up without needing to speak or signal. Colter went around the back and stirred the men’s attention. Three of them split off and went toward the diversion of the back door caving in.

Meanwhile, Russell shot out the window near the kitchen. It allowed him to tumble into the house, protecting his head from glass as he went. By the time he rolled to a crouch, he had his gun at the ready to shoot the remaining two men—headshot for the first one, arm and neck for the second one.

Adam Brody stood ready to shoot him next. He wore tactical gear as well, but he didn’t bother to mask up his face.

“Hey, Russ,” he said, with a humorless smile. There was something melancholy in his blue eyes.

“It’s simple. Start fucking talking, or I start shooting,” Russell snapped. Inside, he raged at the betrayal. It roiled like acid deep in his gut and solidified like a stone.

Adam sighed heavily. “Trust me, this wasn’t an assignment I wanted.”

He shifted the aim of his gun away from Russell…and directly to the ground, just a few feet away from him. Russell followed the trajectory with his eyes, and his throat constricted.

You were lying there on the cold floor, half twisted onto your side. Your arm was bent at the wrong angle beneath your cheek. The left side of your face that Russell could see was bruised and bloody, and there were shards of glass in your hair. But the sight that stopped him cold was the large patch of blood staining your waist and stomach through your shirt. It was slowly getting worse.

Russell’s gaze flicked back to Adam, and it sharpened, his fingers tightening a fraction on his gun.

“Let her go,” Russell demanded.

“We got what we came for. I don’t think we need to take it any further than this,” Adam said. “Just consider tonight as a warning. And word of advice? Stay off of the fucking black sites. You could get into some real trouble out there.”

“That’s not fucking good enough," Russell seethed through clenched teeth. "Why this? Because I quit?”

Adam gave him a look that was slightly pitying. Like a teacher who secretly thought you were the dumbest kid alive.

“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”

Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.

“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?”

Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch.

“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. It’s really all just business.”

Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.

“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”

Adam’s mouth twitched at a frown. He knew the look in Russell’s eye. It held a deadly promise, marked right here and now. And as Adam knew better than anyone, Russell never forgot to make good on a promise.

Adam’s fingers slowly flexed over his gun. Before he could make a decision about Russell, he saw Colter coming out of the corner of his eye. Adam moved fast, shooting off a clip at Colter first. Colter manage to dive back behind the wall that led to your bedroom. Then Adam ducked and dodged Russell’s aim at his head, all while still holding onto the box.

Adam threw himself through the last remaining window in the living room to make his escape. Russell moved to follow him, but he spared a second to lock eyes with his brother and gesture at you.

“Stay with her!” Russell barked.

Colter nodded and was already kneeling by your side to check your pulse. It tore at Russell’s heart, but he couldn’t just let Adam go. Russell ripped the front door open and sprinted outside. Dawn was just approaching over the horizon, with rays of orange-gold peeking out behind rows of suburbia and picket fences. Adam was half a shadow getting into the black SUV parked out front.

Russell fired off a shot that somewhat made its mark. He couldn’t aim for the heart; Adam was wearing a bullet-proof vest. Couldn’t aim for the head; he was moving too quick. But when Adam opened the car door, the bullet caught him under the arm, where the vest couldn’t cover. The projectile could rip through the chest cavity and at least knick an artery, if not a lung.

Adam cried out in pain and grabbed at the bleeding wound, but he still managed to climb into the passenger seat and shut the door as the car sped off. The windows were tinted, so Russell couldn’t see inside. It didn’t stop him from emptying his clip at the car’s windows and tires as he ran into the street.

Russell’s dark brows knitted in anger as he watched the SUV drive on and turn the corner, even with a blown tire. 2Y5-M20 read the license plate. Russell muttered the number to himself over and over while he ran back inside.

There he found you and Colter in the same place in the living room, except that he had carefully turned you over onto your back and moved your broken arm into a more stable position. He also grabbed your favorite throw blanket off the back of the couch; he had the corner of it crumpled in his hand to put pressure against the wound in your side.

“She was grazed, no bullet entry,” Colter said, hearing his brother’s boots approaching. “I need to grab some stuff from the car to help stabilize her arm before the ambulance gets here. Police are on their way too.”

Russell’s knees hit the ground beside you, where he carefully took control of keeping pressure on your wound. He then gathered you into his arms. He stroked your bruised cheek with a gentle, half-gloved hand.

“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Huh?” he said.

When you didn’t respond, still unconscious, he had to check your pulse for himself. It was weaker than it should’ve been, but it was there.

You were alive.

While Colter ran back out to the car, Russell’s thoughts led him in exhaustive circles, questioning every word that had come out of Adam’s mouth, questioning himself and his choices, worrying for you, and what you would say when you opened your eyes.

It was good that Colter called the police too though. There would be no other way to explain your injuries at the hospital than a break-in, else they might suspect Russell himself as the culprit. Always the boyfriend, as they said.

Maybe that was the case in civilian life, but not in Russell’s. In his, it was much crueler than that.

A couple of minutes later, Colter returned with the supplies he needed. He found his brother holding you as tightly as he dared, his face deep and brooding as he rested his cheek against the side of your head. Between the brothers, they were able to stem the bleeding on your wounded side and stabilize your broken arm. Russell tried to rub some warmth back into your bare arms.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can hear me,” he murmured into your hair. There was a subtle shake growing in his voice.

Colter glanced up and met his gaze. There Russell saw the weight of concern, for you and for him.

The hospital room was tense from all angles while you slept.

Russell sat in a chair on your right side, Dory to your left. Again, he silently brooded with his hands folded under his chin, elbows resting on his thighs. Dory was slumped in her seat, head in hand; tear tracks remained on her pale skin. Colter leaned against the wall by the door.

None of them spoke, because they all knew what each other was thinking. All of them wore shades of guilt, along with underlying anger. Colter had some measure of a grudge at Dory for giving you a burden you weren’t meant to have. He thought she should’ve given that damn box to him or Russell directly. Dory carried that guilt in hindsight, but she was also angry at Russell, and to some extent Colter too, for exposing you to this kind of danger.

Russell could harbor resentment for both of his siblings right now, but mainly, he was angry at himself.

“So Adam doesn’t really work for Horizon?” Colter asked, keeping his voice quiet. The question was aimed at his brother, who glanced up at him.

“Not sure,” Russell replied after a moment. “Could be. Or could be that whoever he works for does business with Horizon. Either way, I think he might’ve been planted there to recruit me, then watch me, keep me occupied.”

To keep him from looking into his father’s death.

Colter nodded. He directed his attention to Dory. “We’re going to have to do a sweep of your apartment for bugs. Likely they were watching you too.”

Dory’s eyes widened. “That’s how they knew I had Dad’s stuff, that I gave it to her. But why did they want it so bad?”

“Dad must've been into some shady shit,” Russell replied, shaking his head.

“The question is what,” Colter said.

“Check…m’ cloth-s,” you interrupted.

All three Shaw siblings stirred to attention with concern, their heads swiveling toward you.

You finally clawed your way through the anesthesia to keep your eyes open. It hurt, even to speak. The bruising around your throat betrayed Adam’s iron grip, choking you halfway to unconsciousness. The left side of your face was one mottled, ugly bruise all the way to your eyebrow, your lower lip split near the corner.

Russell stood quickly, his chair scraping the floor. He drew closer to you and sat at the edge of your bed so he could gently take up your hand. Dory came up on your other side and touched your shoulder—the one not currently wrapped in a sling. The doctor told them you’d broken your arm in two places. Not only would you need surgery, but you would also be in a cast for several weeks. The bullet wound had been a graze, for which you’d still lost a decent amount of blood. You would need to stay at the hospital for a week, at least.

“What, baby?” Russell asked. But then he thought better of it. “Don’t worry about it, just take it easy.”

“Check…m’clothes,” you repeated, with slightly more strength. You blinked your weary eyes open and found Russell. Your lips twitched when he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and threaded your fingers together.

Then he shot Dory an imploring look. He’d rather it be her sorting through your bag of bloody clothing than Colter, and Russell didn’t want to let go of your hand.

With a small sigh, she grabbed it from under the hospital bed and sorted through, finding just your jeans, shoes, and underwear, since the Emergency Department has cut through your shirt and bra.

“I don’t…” Dory began to say, but she cut herself off short when she found a small, old-fashioned film tube mixed in with your panties.

You hadn’t just taken the box with you into the house. On the way home last night, you’d stopped at a red light. Your curiosity was insatiable at the best of times, and you couldn’t stop yourself from having a look inside the box.

You found a short stack of essays and a couple of small wood carvings, but you also found that film tube. It reminded you of the disposable Kodak cameras you used to buy as a kid, complete with a little container for undeveloped rolls of film.

You took out the little canister and examined it. When you popped it open, you found rolled up papers inside.

And then the light turned green, a car honking behind you. You shot the black SUV behind you a narrowed look of annoyance. Instead of tossing the thing back into the box, you folded the papers back up into the little canister, secured the lid, and slipped it into your pocket on reflex.

Later, when you sat huddled and terrified and bloody on your bathroom floor, you set down the gun and took out the film tube from your pocket. If this thing was important, if it had anything to do with Ashton Shaw’s death, then you didn’t want to give it up so easily.

You stuffed it behind the waistband of your jeans, hopefully for safe keeping. The thought was dubious at best, but it was still worth a shot, you thought.

Now, Dory stared at the tube with the cap popped open. She saw the papers rolled up inside, but didn’t bother to unfurl them. She didn’t want to know what they were, but she knew instinctively that this was what you almost died for.

She bit her lip and gazed back at you in apologetic sorrow. Handing the item off to Colter, she went back to you and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully. “I should’ve never given…”

Her tears sparked your own, welling up in your eyes. You managed to shake your head a little.

“Y’didn’t know,” you replied.

Dory tried and failed to stifle her weeping. Colter came up to your bedside as well.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said. You managed to roll your head somewhat in his direction, your gaze reflecting some wryness.

“Why? ‘S not like you work…for Horizon,” you said, glancing over at Russell. He pursed his lips, lowering your hand to the bed.

Colter picked up on the vibe that you and Russell had things to talk about. Sharing a nod with Dory, he helped her up out of her chair and subtly led her out of the room with him. After the door clicked closed, Russell sighed, hanging his head.

After a moment, he drew enough courage to look up at your beaten face. His eyes were full of devastation, and the remnants of self-loathing.

“Sweetheart, I’m so—”

“Don’t you sweetheart me,” you warned. Your eyes stung all over again, and you sucked in a shaking, painful breath. “The world you’re a part of…you and Colter…it’s dangerous. I knew that full well when we got together, but…I naively thought you knew you what you were doing.”

Russell’s shoulders sunk. His gaze fell to his hands, resting on his thighs.

“You said you wouldn’t bring your work home with you,” you accused.

“I’m gonna protect you, I swear,” he vowed.

“From what? Horizon? Your friend? Whoever he works for? You don’t. Have. A clue,” you said. You still struggled for breath, for every word. “Regardless, you’re not breaking out of this life anytime soon. And I…I can’t do this anymore.”

Hot tears slid down your cheeks. They stung over cuts and nicks in your skin. But the distressed look on Russell’s face was what threatened to break you. His jaw worked as he processed your words. He looked away for a moment to gather himself, but he soon met your gaze again.

“I was just starting to turn things around, wasn’t I? Please, give me a chance to fix this,” he said.

You shook your head wearily. “Russell, there are parts of you that I’m never going to know. There are things that you either can’t or won’t let go of, things you can't control. I’m tired of getting caught in the crossfire.”

You didn’t know if you were being fair, but you couldn’t help how you felt. And yet, you also felt shredded from the inside just looking at him, knowing that you were breaking his heart as well as your own. But how else could you protect yourself at this point? It was all just too much.

“I need you to go,” you said.

Russell’s eyes widened. That was the one thing you’d never asked of him, no matter how pissed off you got. You might’ve wanted a little space in bed, but you never told him to sleep on the couch, never told him to go find a motel, or sleep in his truck. There was space, and there was space. This was fucking it.

“Baby, come on. I’m not leaving you,” he said. His hand itched to take hold of yours again, but you moved it away from his grasp, resting carefully over your bruised ribs.

“No,” you said more firmly, even though it hurt to strain your voice. “Just go.”

Everything within him protested. But, at that hard, angry, broken look on your face, he rose to his feet. He forced himself to head for the door, briefly hesitating there. He cast you one last look, his jaw and his heart clenching in tandem at the sight of your watery eyes, your swollen face, your pained attempts for even breaths.

He left your hospital room.

But, of fuckin’ course, the man he ran into in the hall was Charlie.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Charlie asked, grabbing Russell’s arm. “What happened? You barely told me anything on the phone—”

Russell sighed. He led your brother a little further away from your door so you hopefully wouldn’t overhear, but he tried to explain it all in its simplest terms, avoiding any talk about his father’s death. He understood Charlie’s anger. It mounted and mounted in your hothead brother, until he was gripping Russell’s jacket in half a threat.

“It was my fault,” Russell said. He didn’t even bother to grab Charlie’s wrist. He fucking deserved the hit if it was coming. “They were using me, and I didn’t know. Just waiting for an opening to grab something they thought was important.”

“Did they get it?” Charlie asked. “What even was it?”

Russell hesitated. “It doesn’t matter. But I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”

Charlie made a sound of frustration and shoved at Russell’s chest.

“I fucking trusted you!” he shouted. “I thought you’d be the last one to let some shit like this happen to her!”

“I know,” Russell said, swallowing his shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Charlie paced in the hall like an agitated animal. He seemed to be warring with his instincts to throw that punch, maybe more than one. But Charlie knew what kind of guilt was on Russell’s shoulders. Charlie still bore the weight of that guilt, even today. It would never leave him for as long as he lived.

So, Charlie simmered down, pressing a fist against the wall to try and calm himself.

“I’ve, uh…I’ve gotta go,” Russell said.

Charlie frowned and glared back at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Russell met his gaze, but he couldn’t hold it. Otherwise, his shame would break through the cracks.

“She asked me to,” he said.

Charlie shook his head. “Do you love her?”

“Charlie.” The look on Russell’s face warned him not to ask stupid questions. There was only so much he could handle right now.

“Okay,” Charlie nodded. “So are you gonna make good? Are you gonna protect her, or not?”

Russell didn’t know why, but he felt pinned to ground by that question. His heart, his soul, and his mind were all at war, pulling in different directions of what he should do, what he wanted to do, and what he knew he couldn’t.

Charlie’s frown deepened, with a spark of his anger returning.

“Make a fucking decision, Russell,” he snapped, and made the last few strides over to your room.

It left Russell in the hall, contemplating his next move. His fingers twitched at his sides. He stared hard at the linoleum, until the tiny blue patterns became smudges in his vision.

Then, he kept walking, even took the elevator downstairs. You’d told him to leave after all, but to go where? Back home?

That was your house. Hadn’t you broken up with him? All his stuff was still there though. Not to mention, your house was a mess. He wouldn’t leave it like that for you to come home to.

Even with all those thoughts swirling like angry coils of snakes through his mind, he stopped short of leaving the hospital. He stood in the way of the lobby’s glass double doors, his fingers flexing at his sides and nearly closing into fists. His jaw clenched and ticked with strain.

He turned back and took a seat in the lobby. He sat there for an hour, and then two. He passed time on his phone, but really, he was watching every single person who walked in through the double doors. He made a note of each face and scanned the way they walked and what they were bringing in the building with them. He checked each of them off as not a threat.

He couldn’t be certain that Adam would keep his word about backing off for now. If he realized that you took something important from that damn box…

Every muscle in Russell’s body wanted to go back up to your hospital room. He wanted to tell you again that he was sorry. Matter of fact, he’d be content if you just let him sit there beside you in silence.

Okay, maybe he’d try to crack a joke or two, see if he could make you smile. Extra brownie points if he could make you laugh.

Yeah, don’t bet on that one.

Russell sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands.

Colter came around to find him, first asking how you were. The look on Russell’s face was good enough of an answer.

Colter let him know that he’d just dropped off Dory at her place. He was going to stick around for a couple of days to keep an eye on her, just in case Adam came poking around.

“For the record, I don’t think he will,” Colter said. He took out the film tube you recovered from the box. Russell’s gaze fell to the little black canister.

“I had a look, and—” Colter began, but Russell raised up a hand.

“I don’t care,” he said. He slowly stood and met his younger brother’s gaze. “Look, if you wanna go chasing ghosts, that’s your prerogative, but count me out. I don’t wanna know about it, don’t wanna hear about it. As far as I’m concerned, Dad’s dead, and he ain’t coming back no matter what the fuck we find at the end of that tunnel.”

For once, Colter looked taken aback. It wasn’t a big expression, but it was enough to make his eyes widen a little, his mouth parting with almost nothing to say.

“You’re saying you won’t help me?” he asked.

“I’m saying if you open that door, you’re on your own. I’m not losing anything more to this,” Russell said. His eyes burned with his determination, and perhaps other emotions he wasn’t willing to let fly in front of his brother.

He lowered back down into his seat and crossed his arms. Colter watched him with a measure of dismay. But ultimately, he respected his brother’s choice.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” Colter said. He hesitated, and even drew closer to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Then, he left.

Out in the parking lot as he headed over to his pickup truck, Colter’s hand tightened on that film tube. In his mind’s eye, he already saw the map that was hastily scrawled on the curled-up page inside.

As for Russell, he spent the rest of the evening there in the waiting room.

A security guard eventually came over to tell him that visiting hours were over. Russell only pretended to leave. He waited until the guard was distracted, flirting with the receptionist, and Russell snuck back into the stairwell.

He found his way up to the second floor, then the third. He slipped down the empty halls. He didn’t intend to check in on you in your room, but that was where his feet ended up, stopping just outside of the door. It was open a crack.

When he peeked inside, he saw that you were sleeping after your surgery on your arm. Charlie was watching over you, so Russell pulled back. He stayed in the hospital all night, ducking nurses and doctors on the night shift. He retained some of his peace of mind, knowing you weren’t alone.

In the morning, Russell headed back home just to shower. He felt all right about it, knowing Dory was at the hospital with you today after relieving Charlie. Russell arrived at the house, just to remember that it was still an incredible mess after the police had cleared out.

Russell took the time to sweep up the glass, and mop up your blood from the hardwood floors in the living room and the bathroom tiles. He righted picture frames and whatever else he could. The rest, he stored in a big black garbage bag in case you wanted to sort through it later. Then he finally ate a sandwich and showered up. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, but he kept pushing himself.

He took measurements of every window that got busted, and he went to the closest hardware store to buy replacements. He installed them himself.

Finally, Russell allowed himself to sleep for just a few hours. Afterward, he returned to the hospital. He resumed his seat in the lobby, and he subtly monitored who came in and out while looking busy on his phone. He never forgot a single face.

The cycle repeated itself. Three days.

He didn’t let himself see you.

Your voice was still weak and muffled, being that half your face was swollen, but you had enough energy to argue with your brother.

“Saving Private Ryan is more historically accurate than Jurassic Park is scientifically accurate,” you said, more than a little testy already.

“You’re giving me a stats-based argument,” said Charlie, “when all that really matters is the dinosaurs still look real! The CGI holds up—”

“Oh, please,” you huffed. “Lincoln, War Horse, Schindler’s List—Spielberg movies that actually matter.”

“Hey, tell my eight-year-old self that dinosaurs don’t matter,” he said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Close Encounters, fucking Jaws—these are the staples of Hollywood, my friend. Those are the movies people actually remember when they think of Spielberg and his Steve Jobs glasses.”

“Raiders is all right,” you grumbled, after a moment of deliberation. “At least it’s rooted in some real history.”

Charlie snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Your smile weakened. “That’s Russ’s favorite.”

Charlie perked up in attention, noticing your shift in demeanor.

“What, Raiders?” he asked. When you merely nodded, seeming lost in thought, Charlie smiled a little. “It’s a classic.”

You knew that it was one of the few movies Russell remembered watching before his father moved the Shaw family to that compound in the Sierra National Forest.

You tried to take in a deep breath. Letting it out was painful though, a sharp twinge in your side making you wince. Goddamn stitches.

“You okay?” Charlie asked. He was coiled and ready to spring into action, whatever you needed. “Want me to adjust your pillow? Or you want to lay on your side again?”

“‘M fine,” you managed. You both knew they were empty words.

The room fell quiet, save for the movie playing on your small TV screen that was mounted against the wall. Laura Dern was limping on one foot away from a velociraptor.

After lowering the volume, you turned your head on your pillow toward Charlie, even though you couldn’t quite hold his gaze.

“He’s still here, isn’t he?” you said. There was a knowing gleam in your eyes.

Charlie feigned innocence. “Who?”

You just gave him a look. Your brother’s lips twitched at a smile, and he leaned back in the recliner seat, folding his hands over his chest.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Your Mountain Man’s still here.”

You blew out a sigh of exasperation. “I told him to go home.”

“To an empty house that isn’t his, not knowing how long he’s gonna be able to stay there?” Charlie pointed out. “Did you break up with him for sure?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You knew you weren’t all that specific when you told Russell to leave, but…maybe it was because your heart hadn’t totally decided on the matter.

“You know, he finds a way to dodge security every night, just so he can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay when I’m not here,” Charlie said. “Hell, even when I am here. Don’t know whether I should be insulted by that one.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting a swell of emotion. Looking back on that conversation after you woke up, you’d felt so raw and frayed. You knew what happened to you wasn’t exactly Russell's fault. He’d needed to help his brother. His own friend had likely sold him out as well as betrayed him.

You just couldn’t help the deep well of insecurity lying far underneath your skin, a bone-deep thought…

“He’s never going to be happy with a boring, normal life,” you said, with tears burning behind your lids. “I’m never going to be enough.”

Charlie frowned in sadness. For once, he felt bad for Russell. He opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.

“Sorry,” Russell said from the doorway. “But that’s just categorically untrue, baby.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. Your breath stilled in your lungs. He entered the room cautiously, waiting for you to throw him out. When you just stared back at him with those weary, uncertain, glassy eyes, he tried to give you a smile.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

After a beat of hesitation, you nodded. It was barely a movement of your head, but he’d take it.

And Charlie took his cue to stand up, rubbing his hands together.

“Think I’ll get myself a burger or something,” he said.

On his way out, he and Russell shared a look. On Charlie’s end, it was imbued with a cautious trust.

One chance.

Russell understood full well. He nodded in agreement.

The door shut behind Charlie. Russell lowered himself into a chair and tugged it over to your bedside, resting his hand on the mattress. You still didn’t know what to say, but despite your reluctance, your heart swelled just to see him. You missed him beyond belief.

You slowly moved your hand toward his on the bed. Russell noticed, and he smiled. He took your hand with both of his big, calloused ones, and he laid a tender kiss across your knuckles.

You trembled inside as your tears spilled over, hot and unfettered. Your breathing shallowed with it, your emotions bubbling up and over the surface. On your first hiccupping sob, Russell moved. He got up to sit on the edge of your bed, and he cupped your uninjured cheek, so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your hand, still clasped in his, he pressed over his heart. He was sure you'd be able to feel the uptick beating of it.

Once chance.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. It was a confession from the very depths of him, laden with grit. “This is on me. But I’m done, you understand? I’m done with all that shit.”

You pulled away a little. “What do you mean?”

“I’m more than ready to be my own boss,” he said, grinning some. “When you’re feeling better, I’m gonna need your help tasting the menu for the brewery. Plus, the décor. You know me, I’m shit at figuring out what kinda lamps go with beige walls.”

You uttered a weak laugh through your tears. You raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed tenderly there. All too soon though, your smile dimmed.

“Look, I know what I said, but understand if you want to find your father’s killer,” you whispered.

Russell released a sigh through his nose. He appreciated you for that, and even kind of marveled that you could say that to him from your hospital bed. But this was enough.

What he couldn’t tell you, not just yet, was that he planned to track down Adam Brody. Russell could care less who the man worked for now, but once he dealt with that unfinished business, he fully intended to devote the rest of his attention toward building a steadier life, that firm foundation. He wasn’t about to take this second chance with you for granted.

“I’m done with contract work, and with anything having to do with my father,” he said firmly, grasping your hand. “It’s not worth losing you.”

Your lips trembled. You were still a hint uncertain, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. You knew he wanted to protect you, to be with you, but could he really give up all the rest of it?

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Russell sobered further. He licked his lips, debating something in his mind. He could be honest about one thing, at least.

“When I was a kid, I saw a man up on that cliff with my dad,” he said. “You know that part. Now, I didn’t see what happened. Maybe they argued, scuffled. Maybe that guy was a part of what my dad was running from all those years. But when I got up there and I looked over that cliff, even in the rain I saw his body down below, mangled up…”

He shook his head. You squeezed his hand. Even now, you let him know that you were listening, that he had an anchor. He let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Colter was there,” he admitted. “He was just a kid. All he could do was try to connect the dots on what he saw, and that was me on the top of that cliff.”

Your eyes widened. “No, he…he thought you did it?”

Russell nodded. “When I got back to the house, my mom told me it’d be best for the family if I got gone. So, I left. And I stayed gone. Wasn’t ‘til last year that I could get Colter to hear me out, let alone believe me.”

“God, Russ,” you said in dismay. His mom told him to leave? How could she do that? What the hell was in her head?

Questions, too many questions…and you wondered if Russell had those same ones. How could he not? The more you learned about his parents, the more you understood his and Dory’s decision to try to bury it, and leave the past behind.

“My dad was a paranoid son of a bitch. You know, he even pulled a fucking knife on me once,” Russell said, earning your gasp. “Yeah. One of his little episodes. Mom calmed him down, but…"

He thought better of diving into that one, considering what you'd just been through. He met your gaze.

"No, the line for me was when he started going off again on his bullshit, grabbed my little sister and pinned her to the wall," he said. "I saw fucking red then. Pulled him away, made him snap the fuck out of it. That was the night he took off.”

Your lips pursed in shock. Russell shook his head at the old memory, though it still got to him. He rolled his shoulders and forced himself to relax.

“Man, I was fucking relieved when he did,” he said, an edge of anger lacing his words. “But I didn’t kill him.”

You nodded. There was conviction in every word, and your heart ached terribly for him. You tugged him closer by his shirt, so you could slip your good arm around his broad shoulders and pull him in for as good of a hug as you could give him. His long hair tickled your cheek and your neck, but you didn’t care. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glistening with tears, and you kissed his cheek. It was a weak press of your lips, but he felt it.

Russell couldn’t believe that you were the one comforting him right now. Grateful, relieved, those words didn’t even cover what he felt. His chest swelled with warmth, allowing him to let go of some of that bitterness. Some of that hurt, buried deep. His arms slipped around you, strong, secure, but gentle.

Eventually he pulled away, just so he could stroke your cheek and smile down on you. He took in the bruising around your eye. Your right arm, too, was still in a sling. The doctor would probably fit you for a cast next week, after the swelling went down.

“This is probably a stupid question, but how’re you feeling?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m okay,” you replied. “Pain meds are awesome, when they want to give them to me.”

“They’re being fucking stingy, huh?” Russell gave you a conspiring look. “Want me to break into the pharmacy, grab you a couple of the little blue pills? They’re fun, I promise.”

You snorted a laugh, even though it hurt your side and your face. You winced in pain. Gotta stop doing that.

Russell slipped a hand over your hip in concern, and to try and soothe you.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you said.

He wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t press you either.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you asked, your lips tugging at a smile. “Legally I mean, in this room. We can let Charlie go home.”

Russell met your gaze and held it.

“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. Not if you don’t want me to.”

Slowly releasing a deep breath, you nodded.

“I believe you,” you said.

Again, you tugged him closer with your hand on his cheek. He read the imploring request in your eyes.

Russell leaned in, carefully brushing his lips against yours. You felt bold enough to meet him a second time with a better kiss. It hurt your cut lip, just a little, but it was worth it.

You finally felt safe again.

AN: 🥹 whew! Okay, so perhaps a lot to unpack there, some 2x02 stuff, some plot stuff from the book cheekily making its way in here. I will say that this is an end to Breaking Point...for now.

I will probably continue this as a mini series within the ESC word, but I want to wait for the show to catch up to see what they do with certain book plotlines. Or, I might just get impatient and write my own spin on things. We'll see! 😂

Until then, what did you think about Russell's decision? How do you think he could settle his "unfinished business" with Adam, considering it might mire himself deeper with Horizon/the "mystery" employer Adam really works for? Or should Russ leave well enough alone on that one? 🤔

(Hint: We both know he won't.)

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