#i think your grandfather was so lucky to be able to know you. to have you in his life for the time you had together.

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Sebek Zigvolt - Armor of Eternal Night Voice Lines

Armor of Eternal Night Sebek does not have a vignette

When Summoned: In order to be someone worthy of being my liege's right-hand man, I must grow stronger and improve myself even further.

Summon Line: I must conduct myself properly so as to not bring any shame to this armor. I will certainly be of use to everyone!

Groooovy!!: I will demonstrate a fighting prowess worthy of both this mask and the Zigvolt name!

Home: Don't be late, human!

Swap Looks: Here I vow on the pride of the Royal Guard!

Home Idle 1: I deeply regret not noticing the pain that my lord was feeling. From here on out, I swear to not overlook any minute details, and strive to serve him even better.

Home Idle 2: How lucky am I to be able to witness with my own eyes Lilia-sama during his time as the Royal General of the Right! I'll never forget the sight!

Home Idle 3: It is a little unsettling that Silver doesn't just suddenly fall asleep anymore. I know that this is what should be considered normal, but... It just feels odd.

Home Idle - Login: Designs that have been passed down within Briar Valley since long ago have been worked intricately throughout this armor. From the bottom of my heart, I am honored to be able to wear this.

Home Idle - Groovy: My grandfather is the one who instilled in me the joy of reading. I still cherish every single book he has ever given me.

Home Tap 1: The young master had always said that Lilia-sama is terrifying when enraged... And now I see his expression is just as intense as I had heard.

Home Tap 2: My grandfather showed some concern for my puffy eyes. It seems like he's always balanced his strictness with compassion, even in his youth.

Home Tap 3: I cannot believe that I never even considered thinking about how my liege was before he was born until it was brought up... What an absolute blunder!

Home Tap 4: Her power is so immense that even Lilia-sama and the rest of the royal guard could not possibly win against her, even if they stood up to her all as one... I wouldn't have expected anything less from Meleanor-sama, my lord's esteemed mother!

Home Tap 5: I cannot believe you'd let him try to take his meals before the members of the guard have had the opportunity... You haven't disciplined Grim at all, whatsoever!

Home Tap - Groovy: You're much too weak. Even while marching you quickly look so exhausted... I suppose I'll just have to train you myself one of these days!

Duo: [SEBEK]: Time to go on the offensive, Ortho! [ORTHO]: Sebek-san, I have your back!

Requested by Anonymous.

[manicpixiefelix]

they stare at me (and i stare at you) {18+}

Felix Catton/CEO!Reader

AU of head, heart, hand. but you don't need to have read that to enjoy this.

Summary: In another life, ten-year-old Felix decides against straying from his parents at that function he was dragged along to on a boat, decides against taking a chance and befriending you there, and it changes everything.

Growing up in the shadow of your more than reluctant parents and desperate for affection, you look to find some common ground with them by investing yourself in the family business. Except as it turns out, your father, who'd been made CEO after your grandfather had passed, was more of a figurehead than a real businessman. He's happy to pass on responsibilities to you as time goes on as your growing interest and understanding of the company quickly surpassed his own. At fourteen you're attending board meetings in his place, at sixteen, you're running them, and at nineteen you're essentially acting CEO, about to start your first year at Oxford, if only to bolster your credentials, and yet it's still been years since your parents had been active participants in your life.

The unconventional environment in which you'd spent your teen years shaped you dramatically and violently into the kind of person who could command attention and respect from anyone or any room. There was no room in your life for being underestimated in any circumstance, not with so many people looking to undermine you, to tear you down, so you would never allow yourself to give them the chance. Work hard, party harder; for years you'd forced yourself to keep up with those around you despite your youth, and now it seemed to be second nature.

To the people who knew you professionally, you were a shark; beautiful, efficient, deadly. To the friends you find yourself making at Oxford, the people who can't even fathom the full extent of your world or what you're capable of because of it, they regard you like you're The Sun.

Except, of course, to the boy with a title and a castle and a lifetime of feeling like a display piece for his parents. The only other person who others offer in loving comparison to The Sun in his own right. Felix Catton knows a shark when he sees one, and hates feeling like the only one who does. Even his cousin- even his fucking sister turn out to be the type to be blinded by your light. You are objectively, unmistakably dazzling, and he's starting to really hate you for it.

Everyone around you tells him you're impossible not to love, but they say the same thing about him too. Maybe that's why, despite his best efforts, he still find himself drawn to you, pulled into your gravity, or perhaps you're pulled into his.

Binary stars, destined to crash into each other in one way or another; a supernova, a cataclysmic disaster, he's sure. However this ends, it will be beautiful and terrible, Felix thinks, just like you.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly Non-Binary Reader. Enemies-With-Benefits, Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers.

Warnings: SMUT (AFAB!reader), psychosexual (and regular sexual) mind games, reader has sometimes dubious morals, recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, business discussions despite the writer being a theatre&literature major, questionable business ethics, discussions about transphobia in the workplace, discussions regarding reader's parental neglect, awful communication skills all around, Eddie's there.

Felix watches you on the dancefloor, watches the way you move along with the other bodies as they writhed around you, hands all over you. Like moths to a flame, they're drawn to you, looking at you like they're desperate for you to just meet their gaze. He sees the way you shift as your attention does, the subtle way you change yourself for each person you focus on. Soft or bold or teasing or pandering; you seemed to be able to figure out what exactly will entice whoever it is that is lucky enough to receive your attention on any given night.

Which perhaps is part of the reason Felix feels slighted by you; it's like you go out of your way to antagonise him instead. Its not that he's jealous, it's just that he's pretty sure you're doing it on purpose.

[ COMING SOON ]

THE TAGLIST IS ALWAYS OPEN !

If you are already on the taglist for head, heart, hand. you will be automatically tagged in this. If you've found this fic and are only interested in being tagged in it and not the main fic, please feel free to message or comment letting me know!

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 8

Look at you lucky ducks! Two WIP Wednesday excerpts today! I'm afraid you won't be able to get used to it. Going forward I may update each fic on alternating weeks. I have a busy few months coming up if everything goes to plan and could use the buffer in case I can't get much writing done. We'll see, though.

I'm going to start leaving a fic summary at the beginning of every excerpt in case people find this in the wild and want to know what they're getting into.

Summary: Danny is finally going to meet Jazz's boyfriend Jason. At Jason's family's mansion. He spent weeks making sure he could have an evening off of any Ghost King business. But when he meets Jason on the steps of the mansion, he can barely pay attention to the guy because his focus is on the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off his shoulders. Who is very happy to find someone who can actually see him.

Word Count: 1.4k

First, Previous

----------

“Right. Um… Well, I do just kinda do whatever is necessary or find someone who can. Because, um, well, I’m… kinda the High King of the Infinite Realms? There’s a bunch more titles after that but I refuse to memorize them because ugh.”

Danny looked down at his plate, not wanting to see everyone’s reactions. Jazz must’ve made sure he got a piece of pie because it sat in front of him. It looked so good. Did they even know about the Infinite Realms? Justice League Dark members did, but did Batman? Jazz reached over and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Tim and Barbara’s typing seemed to get faster. And then a pair of pixie boots and legs settled on the table next to his plate. He looked up and met Robin’s eyes.

Robin reached out an poked Danny on the nose. He gave a little trill of safe, friends drawing a smile out of Danny.

At the same time, Duke exclaimed, “That’s why you have a crown!”

And Steph said, “Okay, I may be out of the loop, but what the hell are the Infinite Realms?”

Damian snorted. “Aren’t you too young to be a king of anything?”

Danny half stood. “Look, do you want to go spar or something? Is that why you keep picking fights? Because we can do that. Fighting is good for young liminals. But I really don’t think this is the time or place.”

Jazz groaned and dragged him back into his seat. “Stop it, Danny. You’re on Earth right now.” Speaking over Danny’s protests, she explained to Damian, “We wish. Managed to get them to delay until he turned eighteen at least, but his grandfather wouldn’t let us wait any longer than that.”

Danny let the fight drop, but he did notice how Damian’s grip on his spoon tightened. Looked like they would be having that spar tonight if Damian had anything to say about it. Still, Jazz was right and he had to follow human customs on Earth so he bumped his sister’s shoulder and spoke to her instead. “You know as well as I do that he would’ve if it was possible. But thanks to Pariah, there are things that haven’t been done in a thousand years and it’s been causing so many problems.”

“Steph,” said Barbara. “The Infinite Realms are the spaces between universes according to Constantine. His documentation states that the Realm’s inhabitants are all incredibly overpowered and should not be approached under any circumstances. Just one being can evade all methods of capture with standard supplies.”

Jazz nodded. “And our parents dedicated their lives to building a portal to the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as they call it, and destroying all ghosts.”

“By ‘ghosts,’” asked Bruce, “Do you mean beings from these Infinite Realms?”

Jazz nodded. “Yes. Most beings from the Infinite Realms come into being when a living creature dies in a traumatic way, with a lot of emotion, or near a large source of ectoplasm. Usually some combination of all three.”

Both Tim and Bruce tried to ask further questions, but Jason’s voice cut in over theirs. “Jazz, when you say your parents wanted to ‘destroy all ghosts,’ did they stop after Danny’s accident?” Jason’s question did, at least, cause silence to fall as everyone stared at the two siblings.

Jazz looked down and gripped the tablecloth tightly, jaw clenched. Now it was Danny’s turn to lay a comforting hand over hers.

“No,” Danny said. “They didn’t. They didn’t know what happened for several years and when they found out… Well, there’s a reason I can’t use their last name and Jazz won’t call them ‘Mom’ or ‘Dad’ anymore. But”—Danny clapped his hands—“this is a great segway into what is actually important. Does the Justice League know about the Guys in White? More formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward? Or even just GIW?”

“That name is unfamiliar to me,” said Bruce.

Tim agreed. “Babs and I aren’t seeing anything in the JL databases.”

Even Robin just shrugged.

Danny didn’t expect the jolt of pain that sent through his chest and Jazz turned their hands around until they were gripping each other’s hands with more force than any baseline human would’ve been able to.

“I told you, Danny. They didn’t know. They didn’t know.” Her eyes were wet, but she forced a shaky smile. “You could’ve had help.”

Danny just shook his head. “Even if I had believed they didn’t know… Without meeting them, without knowing how many of their own were in danger, I would’ve never trusted them. Too many people rely on me for me to risk it.”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” asked Dick. His posture was relaxed, but his voice had an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

Robin nodded from where he sat staring at Danny. He sent out a questioning Danger? pulse at Danny.

“Yeah, danger,” agreed Danny. “Barbara, Tim, if I give you a law code number, can you pull up the law I’m referring to?”

“Of course,” agreed Barbara. “Just a moment… And shoot.”

Danny gave them the code for the Anti-Ecto Acts. “The Guys in White are the government agency responsible for enforcing the Anti-Ecto Acts which classify all ‘ectoplasmic entities’”—he made the air quotes—“as non-sentient and non-sapient and excludes us from the metahuman protection acts.”

“What the fuck!” shouted Duke.

Next to Danny, Dick suddenly was sitting up tense. “That’s impossible.”

“The league would’ve noticed such an act being passed,” said Damian, though he didn’t look as sure as his words would seem.

Cass merely tilted her head and looked at him while Steph choked on her drink.

Bruce looked to Tim and Barbara. “Is this true?” he asked them.

Robin pointed to himself and mouthed the word ‘Me?’ at Danny.

“I’m afraid so. And Bruce, Cass, Steph, and Damian as well.”

Dick’s spluttering got louder. “How are they all in danger?” he demanded to know.

Before Danny could reply, Tim was speaking. “It’s all true. And far worse than Danny implied. Not only are ecto-entities not protected by the metahuman protection laws, but they are to be actively hunted and turned over to the GIW for experimentation and extermination and anyone who assists them is declared guilty of treason.”

“When did they pass?” asked Bruce.

“Four years ago,” said Barbara. “While Luthor was president. They were hidden in some laws about green energy.”

“Ghost are made of ectoplasm,” explained Jazz. “Ectoplasm is a fantastic energy source.”

“It happened a few months after I defeated the previous king but before my coronation,” added Danny.

“Why do you think myself, Damian, Cass, Stephanie, and Jason will be targeted by this Ghost Investigation Ward?”

“It’ll be easier to show you.” Danny reached down and pulled up his bag. The thing was made in Pandora’s realm and was bigger on the inside. Once open, it took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He could see Robin signing to the group next to him. “Here we are,” Danny said as he pulled out three devices. “These are all different ectoplasm detection devices. One is my own design, one is the Guys in White’s design, and one is my parent’s design. I’ll show you mine first because it’s the best.”

“Might be a dumb question,” started Dick, “but what the hell is ectoplasm?”

“So you know how all the elements in this universe came about from nuclear fusion of hydrogen in the cores of stars?” asked Danny. When most everyone nodded, he continued, “In the Infinite Realms, that base element is ectoplasm. But there’s no need for a star to transform it into anything else. It will mold to the shape any consciousness that interacts with it wants. When sentient creatures slip through, either by a portal or through death or any other means, they shape the part of the Realm they’re in to their will. The stronger the ghost, the larger the area they control.” Holding out his hands, Danny called forth a ball of ectoplasm, shaping it into a glowing-green ice duck. “Something like this,” he commented grinning around the table.

Only to be met with horrified looks as most of the table were staring at his hands with distrust. Damian had his knife out again. Jason, his gun with the other arm held protectively in front of Jazz. Bruce was standing and Cass tense.

“What’s wrong?” asked Danny. “It’s just an ice duck sculpture. Completely harmless.”

Jason’s voice was low and threatening. “It’s an ice duck made of Lazarus water.”

More alarming than his voice was the way his eyes glowed ecto-green and the fear-anger that filled the room.

----------

Next

Challenge: Stay on one topic for more than two sentences.

Outcome: Failed.

They keep getting side tracked with more questions. And Danny still hasn't had a bite of his pie. This evening will never be over.

Tag List Part 1

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[lovelybrooke]

Childhood besties with Yuji, pleassse!!

Platonic Yandere Yuji Itadori

You and Yuji have known each other since you were in elementary school. Yuji has always been a ball of sunshine, even when he was little.

He was drawn to you because of your quiet nature, both of your personalities complementing each other perfectly. He was always excited to see you in class and would cause trouble when you weren't there. He would even invite you over to his house, wanting his grandfather to meet you. If you couldn't come over, then he would beg to come to your house, wanting to be with you constantly.

As you grew up, your friendship only grew. Yuji didn't change a bit, even as he aged. He was bright and welcoming, managing to make many friends in middle and high school. You, however, were not that lucky. You weren't as good with people compared to him and would become flustered whenever someone would try and talk to you. Yuji was sympathetic, and never judged you when you got nervous around people. Deep down, he really liked it, since it meant other people wouldn't be talking up your time.

I like to think that even before becoming Sukuna's vessel, Yuji is very protective. Sukuna and sorcerer training just heightened those feelings.

He feels bad, like really bad, that he is this possessive over you. He wants you to have life outside of him, but he can't help his overwhelming feeling of dread he gets whenever he sees you with someone else that isn't him.

At first, he would burry down his feelings, thinking that was the best option. It worked for a while, since you didn't really talk to anyone other than him. Once he leaves for Tokyo and starts his training at Jujutsu High however, he's constantly plagued by thoughts of you leaving him, abandoning him for better friends.

He's surprised when he visits you one weekend, and you tell him all about the friends you made while he was gone. He congratulates you, somewhat happy that he you have people to look after you while he's away. However, he hates that you were able to replace him some fast.

It definitely does not help that Sukuna is edging his darker thoughts on. I won't go into exactly how Sukuna feels about you, however at the least he finds all this hilarious. He can't believe Yuji gets so worked up over some random human. Yuji tries his hardest to make sure that Sukuna doesn't pop out whenever he with you, since he doesn't really know how to explain the whole 'eating someone's finger' thing.

He does eventually introduce Megumi and Nobara to you, both of which are happy to meet the person that Yuji wouldn't shut up about. Megumi is pleased that there is someone who can handle Yuji's personality, while Nobara doesn't have any strong feelings about you. You even meet Gojo whose definitely a... character. You're happy that Yuji has managed to make such a diverse group of friends, even if you don't exactly know what this school does.

Even while Yuji is busy being trained, he still finds time to make sure no curses are bothering you. He might not be the brightest, but he knows that being Sukuna's vessel will put a large target on you. So, whenever he can he'll check up on you. Whether it's following you when you think you're alone or when if it's isolating you from your friends via manipulation, he does whatever he can to make sure you're safe and sound.

Speaking of manipulation, Yuji doesn't feel good about it, but he will manipulate you if he deems in necessary. His go to is telling you how lonely it's been being away from you. So, when he comes to visit, he just wants to hang out with you, no one else. Or he'll manipulate your friends, telling them that you don't want to hang with them anymore. When you come to him, crying about how your friends have abandoned you, he quickly comforts you, happy that he finally has his friend back.

With your friends out of the way, everything goes back to how it should be, at least how he thinks it should be. It takes a while, but he finally realizes how much he likes you being dependent on him. Yuji's a little delusional, and he believes that he's the only one who can protect you. That's how he justifies his behavior, claiming that you need him to protect you from everything bad in the world. It gets to a point where he doesn't even view what he's doing as wrong, since it's all to protect his best friend. Even as he's brutally beating up someone for making fun of you, he doesn't regret anything.

Whether it's because of his own delusion, or Sukuna's influence, no one will really know, including Yuji. What he does no, it that you're the most important person in the world to him. So many people in his life have died, Yuji being unable to do anything about it. He's not about to let you be one of them.

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You didn’t mean to catch Ransom’s attention, and you’ll do whatever it takes to lose it. 

Word Count: 8.1k

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Dubious Consent (Kissing, Blow Job, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Mild Degradation/Humiliation, Praise Kink), Coercion (Payment for Sex), Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare, Leather Cuffs), Pet Names (dear, birdie, pidge). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should continue it! Up next is A.W.A. Meeting (#2), then hopefully Lloyd. 

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

The song has been stuck in your head all day. Soft and sweet and romantic, it buzzes past your lips in a quiet hum while you end your work day by tidying your space.

“You know,” Harlan says as he leans back in his chair, contemplation narrowing his stare, “my offer still stands to make you my full-time personal assistant.”

You sigh and continue to clean up your papers, clipping them in neat packets for easy access when the research becomes relevant. “And you know I have other commitments.” You glance over your shoulder with a grin and shrug. “I can’t leave Chase hanging.” You snort at the unintended pun and continue working. Your hand brushes a spec of fuzz from the corner of your table, leaving it immaculate.

Harlan makes a noise of agreement and sits up before standing. “Well, if things ever change.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you agree. The final clip snaps onto your last packet. “Now,” you address your boss with a playfully stern finger pointed in his direction, “don’t mess this up.” You nod toward the space set aside as your desk. Pens, post-its, and papers neat in a row.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eye, and you know you’ll be reorganizing on Monday morning, but you don’t mind. Not when Harlan’s done so much for you, and you know he’ll inevitably make your job easier somehow.

The dogs start barking outside. The front door slams and heavy steps thud toward the kitchen. No greeting, no real indication of who it might be. But you’ve worked in the Thrombey house long enough to make an educated guess.

“Looks like your grandson’s paying you a visit,” you muse while packing away the last of your belongings. “Don’t tear each other to pieces, alright? I still need this job at the end of the weekend.”

Harlan chuckles and shakes his head. He’s a good man, kind but indomitable. You admire him a moment longer. Fond warmth reflects back at you in his gaze. You’ll never forget how lucky you were he decided to take a chance on you.

“Goodnight,” you bid with a smile.

Harlan sends the same after you as you turn to the stairs, waiting for his grandson to make his surely dramatic entrance. The Go board already in hand. You wonder if he will take his grandfather up on the challenge.

Passing Marta and Fran on your way out the door, you say your farewells. And you almost make it out before coming face to face with the notorious ass—Hugh Ransom Drysdale. To think you’d been able to avoid him for so long. You should have taken the back exit through the patio.

“Who’re you?” he asks, inspecting you like a blot of dirt on his Beemer.

“Hello, Mr. Drysdale,“ you greet softly, short and professional. His head tilts and his gaze narrows at the address. “I’m expected elsewhere. If you’ll excuse me.” But you don’t wait for him to move, skirting around his broad frame before making it out the front door. His stare burning into your back the whole way. Constant, uncomfortable.

Safe and locked in your car, you’re able to shake it off. At least for a moment. When it starts to creep back up your spine while pulling out of the driveway, your hand reaches over to flick on your stereo, blasting the feeling away. You sing along, belting out any lingering unease. Getting yourself ready and letting the week’s stress seep from you.

The drive back into the city winds long, but passes quickly. Only forty minutes. But part of that convenience is negated by the absolute bear it is to find parking downtown. Another ten minutes of struggle before you get out—the urban parking gods not on your side tonight. Your car beeps with the lock and you sigh. It’ll be a longer walk.

The sun sinks behind the buildings and the orange glow of the streetlights paint the sidewalks. You bundle yourself in your jacket, shift your duffle higher on your shoulder, and start marching. One foot in front of the other. Glancing at familiar storefronts and navigating around the few passersby finding their Friday night adventure.

By the second block, you pause. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Eyes bore into you from behind. Heated, focused. You spin on your heel, but find no culprit. You swallow and breathe deep. Just your imagination, surely. Maybe.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath and turn to begin walking again. Quicker.

Your steps beat light on the pavement, though you don’t want to seem rushed. Trying to find a steady, rapid pace that doesn’t signal your distress. Still, the sensation doesn’t cease.

The evening gets darker and you see Chase’s studio in the distance. The industrial building looming and dark, intimidating. But your safe haven. The back door stands just within reach. You knock a rapid shave-and-a-haircut on the wood and wait for it to open. Phantom fingers dance along the back of your neck and you whip around. The alley stands empty save for a grimy dumpster and a few trash bags. Yet your heartbeat continues to thunder in your ears.

“There you are,” a gruff yet relieved voice exclaims. Long fingers wrap around your bicep and pull you in, the door closing behind you and cutting you off from your paranoia.

“Sorry,” you reply automatically, distracted before you shake away the adrenaline and turn to your friend. He beams brightly and lets his hand slip down to yours. With a turn on his heel, he guides you through the hallways to the back room. “Minor delay and had to find parking a few blocks away.”

“Don’t worry about it, li’l bird,” he shrugs and opens the door. “The room’s still filling out and Caleb is doing his sensation thing.”

You hum and enter behind your friend, setting your bag down in its usual place by the futon and shrugging off your coat. Your neck rolls on your shoulders, releasing any residual tension. Warm hands wrap over them and knead the muscles.

“You okay?” Chase asks, genuine concern in his voice. “You’re looking a little rattled.”

You lean into his gentle but firm touch, letting your eyes drift shut. Sinking into the feeling and focusing on it. Keeping yourself out of the instinctive loop of fright that lingers at the fringes of your mind. Chase’s hands travel down your back and over your sides—comforting, but objective in their precision.

“I’m fine,” you reply, breathy and calm. You pause, feeling his hands do the same. “Just,” you bite your lip, “maybe have the others keep a watch on the crowd tonight? I’ve had this strange feeling.”

Chase’s warm hands move back up to grasp your shoulders, reassuring in their press. “Of course.” He steps back and releases you. You spin to meet his eyes. “You know I always look out for my girl.” His lips lift in a soothing grin. “Now, let’s get you ready.”

You nod and begin to strip. Your blouse unbuttons and falls from your shoulders. Chase helps you step out of your skirt and grabs your outfit from your duffle. You change quickly from your everyday bra into the elaborate sports bra saved for these occasions. Chase helps straighten the straps, keeping them from turning on themselves and arranging them as they’re supposed to be. The bike shorts slide up your legs and sit at your waist. A quick peek in the mirror ensures you’re presentable—effortless yet alluring.

“You ready?” Chase asks softly.

You catch his eye in the mirror and nod with a small grin. “Ready.”

He offers his hand and you turn to accept it. Fingers squeeze around yours and draw you out. The crowd gathers around the elevated stage. The rig is all set up, the mats on the ground, the spotters standing on the fringes, everything waiting for you both.

Chase stops right by the steps up. He turns to you and takes your other hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. A deep breath calms your spiking heart and the butterflies in your tummy. Displaying yourself in such a vulnerable position never stops being terrifying—or exhilarating.

“Then come along, birdie.”

The lights blare bright on the stage. Hot and revealing. You cannot look to the crowd waiting out past your line of sight. You’d freeze if you did. Instead you keep your focus on Chase—your constant, your rock, your Dom.

He brings you to the center of the stage and releases your hands. His chin dips in a bid for you to kneel. You sink the onto the floor, hands resting on your thighs, waiting. Your eyes locked still on him.

“Good evening.” He addresses the crowd with all the charisma you expect from him. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves.”

As he continues, you let your mind center on your body. Keeping yourself present, but counting your breaths and feeling the steady pulse of your heartbeat. Rope uncoils. Instructions and explanations fall to a rapt audience.

Chase walks over, turning his back to the crowd to face you. He smiles. “There’s my good girl,” he says just for you. Your lips stretch, preening at the compliment.

He cups your cheeks, tilting your face up. His lips descend to press a kiss to your forehead before he finds the bite of his rope and begins.

The rope slides over your exposed skin. Each caress precise, purposeful. Chase works quickly, but pauses every so often to address the audience again or check in with you. Your arms lift. You bend and submit to the way he moves your body. The rope cinches too tight. You wince. Immediately, Chase corrects it.

Around and around, you’re bound. Your thoughts quiet, steady and calm. The last knot ties everything together and Chase steps away.

Another speech before he positions you and the hooks pull taut. You breathe deep, preparing yourself. Your body rises from the stage, suspended. Like you’re flying. It takes a moment to adjust. Chase places his hand on your side, grounding you in the way you need. Your eyes fall shut. Blissful in the darkness behind your eyelids.

Chase stays nearby. He watches. The spotters watch. The people watch. You’re used to the appreciation. Admiring the way you hang from the ceiling, the way your body contorts to the shape of Chase’s vision.

Music begins to play through the studio. You hang like a piece of art. Whispers and conversations pick up until it’s the drone of a crowd filling the high ceilings. Talk about your dedication and grace. Discussion of Chase’s skill. Various mingling. But all the buzz of the background mellows in your head. Your blood flowing through your veins and the tension of the rope on your frame.

Chase brings you down earlier than usual. He lowers the rig and starts to untie you, except for the final ring that keeps you hooked. You stay there for a few minutes until he’s certain of your stability.

All the while, he begins your favorite part. His hands pet over your limbs. The blood already pooling under your skin, creating tender contusions. He whispers words of affirmation and praise. You savor the bliss of his aftercare and feel exhaustion’s tug.

The spotters dissemble the rest of the rig and release you from the final tether. Chase’s arm wraps about your shoulders and the two of you exit off the stage to wind your way back to your room.

It’s quick, habitual work for Chase to prepare the futon for your nap. And you sink onto the bed with a sigh. The mattress dips beside you. Your Dom strokes his hand over you head. As always, he insists you drink electrolyte water and eat a little snack, each presented to your lips by his own hand.

“You did so good for me, li’l bird,” he whispers, coaxing you toward rest. “Just close your eyes for me and I’ll let you sleep for a while.”

You hum in response, knowing he’ll stay beside you until you’re under. A thought drifts toward the surface before it escapes your grasp, floating away from you until it’s gone and you’re asleep.

By Monday morning, you’ve forgotten the encounter with Ransom Drysdale, too distracted by your weekend to remember an insignificant meeting. Pleasantly fuzzy feelings and bright spirits follow you in your drive to the Thrombey estate. But it all evaporates when you turn toward the house and see Ransom standing there, leaning against one of the porch columns. A grimace twists his lips and his arms fold across his chest.

“So, you’re grandad’s research assistant,” he says with a derisive edge to his tone.

“Morning, Mr. Drysdale,” you return on a whisper, waking past him and into the house. Ignoring the derogatory sting of his remark.

His brow furrows and he follows. You take off your coat and scarf, hanging each with care in the entryway. The whole time, Ransom’s stormy presence grows increasingly agitated behind you. When your feet turn toward the kitchen for a calming cup of tea, you take only one step before finding yourself flailing and dragged backward by a strong arm clutching at your waist.

The hard wall of Harlan’s office digs into your back. But you would take that discomfort if not for the fire flashing in Ransom’s eyes.

“Your grandfather is waiting for me,” you say without inflection, staring at him and waiting for his tantrum to cease—for him to get bored and release you. “Please let me go.”

His lips screw up in disdain before he responds with an decisive, “No.”

You keep your breath even, refusing to let him get under your skin. Hoping you haven’t unintentionally gotten under his.

“Tell me how you came to be Harlan’s assistant.”

You don’t reply. The hallway clock ticks. Your nerves spike as it continues, knowing Harlan expects promptness.

“You’re being quite rude, pigeon,” he says after a tense minute, stretching his arms to brace against the wall, keeping you cornered but elongating his body in a spectacle of power. He leans close, invading your space until his breath brushes your cheek. “Why don’t you coo for me? I would hate to have to contact my Uncle Walt at the publishing company and get your position filled by someone more…friendly.”

A swallow clicks in your throat. “Mr. Drysdale, your grandfather hired me himself, and I’m not directly associated with Blood Like Wine Publishing,” you explain in clipped syllables, clinging to your calm while he looms closer.

His brow quirks in intrigue and his lips press into another smirk. Words form on his tongue. But as the stairs creak at someone’s approach, they remain unspoken.

“There you are,” Harlan calls from the stair landing, peering into his office. “Come along, dear, time to get to work.”

His eyes flash to his grandson, a sharp look challenging his obstructive position. Ransom meets it and they lock gazes for a charged moment. You take your window of opportunity for what it is, surging forward under Ransom’s left arm. In the space between his frame and the wall paneling, you squeeze through. Though your body drags against his and your balance falters, you get past. Ransom grunts in displeasure and protests, but you march your way upstairs following your boss.

“Be careful of him,” Harlan warns in a whisper as you pass him along the stairs.

You nod and continue on. A final glance over your shoulder confirms your suspicions. Ransom remains planted in place, jaw ticking and arms crossed. His attention focuses on your retreating figure, brow furrowed in thought—a glint in his eye you instinctively fear.

In. Out. You focus on breathing. A steady cadence, a calming exercise. Your safety and escape with the ropes biting into your flesh.

This week pushed your limits. Every day affected by unease—following like a burning gaze. You’ve seen little of Harlan’s grandson. Yet every time you feel yourself tipping into that unsettled state, you find your thoughts turning toward him.

In. Out. Now is not the time to think about it. Not when you don’t have to. Not in this state. Suspended above the mats. On display. In. Out. Focus. It works, mind drifting on the softy syllables of Chase’s conversation with a curious patron. Grounding you, guiding you toward peace.  

Until it returns. That burning prickle at the back of your neck. The paranoia. It sets your teeth on edge. Despite your head being supported above your heart in tonight’s position, it becomes light, dizzy. Your eyes snap open, darting from face to face. Searching for his sinister features.

A flash—brown hair, sharp blue eyes, a regal sloping nose, a tan coat. It’s just a glimpse, but you meet their eye and see the beginnings of a smirk. Your vision swims. The studio blurs. Your heart pounds in your ears. You swallow, throat dry.

A croak escapes your lips. Chase’s concern meets your panic immediately. The spotters step forward, but his form eclipses your view of the rest of the studio—the crowd, the figure hidden amongst them—first. Your Dom reaches out to you and steadies the unconscious flail of your limbs. His fingers stroke across your skin. Slowly, it calms you. Your fear receding in the surety of his presence.

“Do you need to come down?” he asks, ready at a moment’s notice to lower you back to the ground—cut you out of the rope, if need be—and sweep you away to the safety of your room.

“No,” you say after a minute and a few deep breaths. “I thought…” Your words trail off in a mumble as you shake the silliness of your concerns away. It couldn’t have been Ransom. How would he know about this? It’s your mind playing tricks on you.

Chase examines you a moment longer before conceding with a wary nod. He steps back, letting the flood of the room rush back. Your eyes close again to force your way back down to comforting darkness. In. Out. In. Out.

Yet the evening becomes soured by that one moment. Chase’s distance expands like a chasm between you as he unwinds the rope from your body and steadies your walk back to your room. His methodical aftercare lacks in a way that sears a hole deep in your belly. Though you can’t name why. You wait for his tenderness to make it all feel better, but it doesn’t.

He settles you down on your futon and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His eyes flicker with that same concern, but he says nothing more of it. Simply feeds you your snack and tilts your water past your lips. They slosh uneasy in your stomach, but you follow your routine, praying for some solace.

His muttered praises do little to coax you toward rest. Fidgeting and turning over and over, you body thrums even as you feel the weight of exhaustion. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to give in. Chase stays a moment longer before leaving you to the sticky blackness of sleep.

Though it’s not long until you’re disturbed. Like pulling you up through tar, you find the surface. Your reluctance to awaken keeps your eyes stubbornly shut, but the figure beside you strokes their hand over your head. You sigh and a small smile twitches at your lips. The touch soothes your soul.

“Chase,” you mumble on a sleepy murmur. He makes no response, but lets his fingers trail over your cheek. Your hand reaches out, grasping his and tucking it close to your chest. “Stay with me til I’m back asleep?” A yawn punctuates your request. He says nothing but stays beside you. His legs stretch alongside your body. And he makes no protest when you half-consciously scoot closer, letting you cling to him for the first time as you sink once again.

Harlan’s warning rings constant in your mind, “Be careful of him.” But there is no careful—there’s no more safety, no escape. Because you weren’t wrong. That figure in the crowd, watching you and sending you spiraling toward panic—that was Ransom. Following you again and again to the studio. Each week struggling to find a way to bring it up with Harlan, and failing. Each weekend spent suspended with Ransom’s eyes piercing through you.

You’ve tracked his approach, stalking closer and closer to the stage with each passing week. His eyes never leaving you. Not concerned with whatever Chase says. He has his focus. And it never wavers.

He doesn’t glare or glower—his observation far from menacing. Though foreboding still blares at the back of your mind each time your gaze meets. And you cannot stop yourself. Hanging from the rigging, you always find him. Your heart always lurches before you cut away the room by closing your eyes.

You drift awake, rested from your nap. Your phone proclaims the time and you groan at the early hour before sitting up on your futon and stretching. Muscles protest in the most delicious way and your lips tilt toward a grin. With a roll of your neck, you stand to gather your belongings into your duffle so you can return home.

The door to your small room clicks behind you. A step, two, and you catch a dark figure in you periphery. Your bones jump and you gasp. Turning toward the intruder, you clutch at your heart. Your diaphragm starts spasming, hiccups bobbing up your throat.

“Who,” you hiccup, “Who’s there?”

They step forward, their head bent and hands hanging by their sides. The glint of the ring on his pinky catches the light. You lick your lips and hiccup again. A hand presses to your abdomen hoping to calm the convulsions of the muscle.

“Oh, pigeon, did I scare you?” His mirth grates on your thin tolerance. He doesn’t do anything technically inappropriate during the demonstrations, but this confrontation is.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you say with a heavy breath, trying to swallow around the hiccups. “Why are you here?

Amusement continues to dance bright in his eyes. You’re just waiting for him to start laughing at you. Like there’s a cosmic joke to which you aren’t privy. But you’re willing to wait while he explains himself. All the while starting to feel sick from the incessant hiccups—and maybe something more.

“Let’s just say I have an itch I need you to scratch,” he replies with a teasing shrug.

“That doesn’t explain much, Mr. Drysdale.”

His jaw ticks and the amused light in his eyes dims a fraction. He shifts on his feet and stands straighter. The glint of a gold watch shines in the light. You swallow at the reminder of his status and your precarious position in the hallway with him—the ways this could spiral unpleasantly numerous and beginning to swarm in your head. A thought of Chase materializes in your mind. His bedroom nearby but too far all at the same time.

“Call me Ransom,” he suggests, though even the way his head ticks to the side reads more as a command than counsel.

“Right,” you mumble with a hint of disregard—too focused on yourself, your position. Your eyes dart around the cramped hallway, looking for an escape. “What do you want?”

He hums, deep and threatening in his throat. “You.” The statement simple. Yet it rocks your world—sends you reeling and off-kilter. But he continues, “You see, I can admit you intrigued me on our first meeting. Especially after Harlan refused to tell me much about you other than your job title.” He sighs and takes a step closer. In retreat, you press yourself to the wood of the door. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since. And I need to fix that.” His arm cages you in, resting beside your head as he leans forward, crowding into you. “So,” he says, drawing out the word. His chin dips and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Name you price.”

Your chest jumps in another hiccup, voice jumping with it when you yelp, “What are you talking about?”

A smirk twitches on his lips. “I’m a very wealthy man. I need one night to get you out of my system.” His breath brushes your cheek. “Name. Your. Price.”

You sputter, mind whirring. You’re not na��ve. You know for what he’s asking. You used to consider it, when the rent wasn’t adding up—before Chase, before Harlan. But not with someone like him. Your tongue swipes over your lips. His gaze continues to wander over you, examining you like a slab of meat.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” The number, plucked from the air, grits past your clenched teeth in hopes it will deter him.

He grins and gives you a sliver more space to breathe. “Done.”

You gape in shock. Such an easy agreement. “Wait—”

“Do you want more?” His fingers tickle along your throat while his brow quirks in curiosity.

Your head shakes, vehemently against it. “No. I don’t—”

“Then, what’s the problem, pidge?” His voice husks, a moment away from descending upon you. The glimmer in his eyes hungry.

“I don’t want you,” you reply. The force of your statement knocks him back. His head tilts and his jaw ticks in irritation. His gaze narrows. “I wouldn’t want you for a million.” You push at him, but he doesn’t budge. Too strong, too firm.

His nostrils flare with his ire. A deep breath expands his lungs, pressing his chest to yours. He closes his eyes and calms himself. When he captures you again with his sapphire blue eyes, they’re softer. The sharpness dulled for his plea.

“Look, pidge,” Ransom croons. Sweet as pie but far too deadly. “It’s one night. That’s all.” He backs away, though he keeps his touch close by, ready to swoop back in and strangle you. “You’ll get one million dollars, alright? I never bother you again—never show up to this dump, never meet you at granddad’s. You’re done with me and I’m finally done with you. Got better things to do anyway.”

He lets you think. The moment stretches taut between you. Your hiccups the only disturbance.

“I’ll never have to see you again?” you ask, wary of his answer.

He grins, triumphant. As if he’s already won—which he has. A million dollars can do a lot for you. Clear most of your debt. Make your paycheck stretch further for a little while. Maybe give you a little cushion for a rainy day.

“When?”

“Oh, I knew you’d say yes.” He smirks and trails his fingertips over your cheeks. You turn your head away but he follows, ducking to catch your eye. “You made the right choice. I’m gonna give you the night of your life.”

Air expands your lungs and escapes in a steady hiss. Another hiccup interrupts the stream and you close your eyes in frustration. Lips press to your cheek. You jerk away, startled.

“I’ll text you the details, pidge.”

He leaves, his business concluded by sneaking a pat to your ass. The hallway expands around you once more and fills with your precarious relief.

The door looms too tall before you. You eye the keycard slot. Check the time on your phone. Another minute passed. You wonder if he knows you’re here. Your hand rests on your abdomen for a moment, calming your nerves. Your other reaches out and swipes the card. The light blinks green. You breathe deep, open the door, and stop right in your tracks.

There in the center of this great, grand hotel room sits Ransom cushioned by a big black leather chair. You swallow hard and glance over your shoulder. Your heartbeat flutters anxiously in your throat. You take a step back. Fingers cling tight to the doorknob. You clear your throat.

“Well,” he hums with a twisted grin, “there you are. I guess it’s true—amazing what some people will do for a chunk of change.” He eyes your position, still straddling the threshold and clutching at the doorknob. “You gonna try to run?” His brow quirks and he stands, relaxed and unconcerned. His hands shove deep in his pockets, but his sweater sleeves sit folded up near his elbows. “I thought you were braver than that, pidge.”

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you step forward and let the door close behind you—accepting his challenge. It brings a smug grin to Ransom’s face, but you ignore it by setting aside your bag and toeing off your shoes.

“How are we going to do this?” you ask without looking at him. “Do you have some kind of contract? Or will oral negotiations suffice?” You grab a small notebook from your purse and the attached pen, releasing it from its holder and clicking the cam down.

The scoff and eye roll you receive in reply sets your teeth on edge. Ransom shakes his head and says, “we’re not going to do that, no matter how fun oral negotiations sound.”

You blink. “But—” you begin in your shock before closing your lips and clearing your throat to gather your thoughts. “I realize this is for one night only, but it’s important—”

“You’re right,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, turning his back on you and meandering around the back of the chair. “This is only for one night. We don’t need all that boring shit. I want to fuck you, not exchange friendship bracelets.” As he comes around to settle on the cushion, he tucks something beside him you can’t catch. “Now.” He leans forward. You stare, entranced by the confidence of his movements. The way his fingers clench on the arms of the chair and his chin tilts. “Get on your knees.”

They threaten to buckle at the command, but you stand firm. Still uncomfortable with this little exchange, you’re not yet ready to start. Not like this. Your tongue lashes out to lick your lips, eyes darting about for something to prolong the conversation. Another question to ask, another point to make.

“Will you listen if I safeword at least?” you ask as your toes tap on the floor in a nervous rhythm. The notebook in your hand crinkles with your grip until you place it and the pen back in your bag.

“You have my word,” Ransom promises, hand pressed—sincere or mocking—to his chest. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not exactly.”

He chuckles and shrugs. Whether his word means anything, you don’t know. All you know is that he’s not getting any more patient. He nods toward his feet, the open place between his knees.

You take a moment to gather yourself and find that safe space in your head, taking slow steps to approach him. Watching him—wary of any sudden shift. The fluffy carpet meets your knees when you sink down. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on steadying your breath.

Ransom waits—for what, you couldn’t guess. Until he rasps, “Open your eyes. Look at me like you look at him.”

Your eyes snap open and meet his. “Like him?”

But he simply holds up a pair of padded cuffs, dangling from his index finger. “You want me to stop, you say ‘Hugh’. Understand?”

Your head bobs in a nod, keeping eye contact. “Yes, Mr. Drysdale.”

In a flash, he grips your chin with his free hand. His fingers dig into your cheeks, anger flaring in his gaze. “You. Call me. Ransom.”

You swallow hard at the abrasive grit in his tone. “Yes, Ransom,” you respond with a stilted nod.

“Good,” he hums in satisfaction, “I prefer good girls.”

The tension drips away as he releases your face. Fingers scratch at his jaw and he stretches, relaxing back into the cushion of the chair. The cuff chain clinks, drawing your attention. His follows, lips twitching toward a smirk.

“Now, can we begin?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

“Yes, Ransom,” you reply, resisting the urge to drop your gaze. Unsure of what reaction might await at such a disregard for his request, but unwilling to risk a punishment—not from him.

“Give me your hands.”

You offer them up, blood vibrating in your veins. He holds them gently despite his prickish nature. The cuffs wrap around your wrists, latching snug to your skin. Perfect—not too tight or too loose. You stare at them. The detailed leather work. The minky lining. The safety buckle ready to release at a moment’s notice. They’re quality, expensive—an indication of forethought, research, commitment.

A weight lifts from your shoulders. The nerves buzzing inside you start to disperse. With a final pat to the leather, his hands stray to explore your body. He traces the curve of your lips. He feels your pulse throbbing at your throat. He cups your breasts and kneads the flesh until your breath hitches.

“Just like that,” he purrs while toying with you. “You’re gonna sing for me, aren’t you?” He plucks at your nipples through your shirt, staring you down to drink in your reaction.

You swallow a whimper—needy and plaintive. Thoughts flurry in your head tinged by heat. Submission tempts, at odds with an insistence on remaining in control. He catches the hesitance when your teeth worry your lower lip. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, and your heart lurches.

He lets the silence settle around you both, reclining back and taking his touch with him. A minute ticks by. His attentions drift over you, searching. Only he knows for what. Your lungs draw in a steady flow of air, each calmer than the last. Your hands itch in impatience, craving contact. Your fingers flex toward him. The chain rattles.

Ransom reads something in that sound and tilts his head, lowering his lips to yours. You blink, unsure of your boundaries with such intimacy, but he swallows any protest with a kiss.

You expect it to be harsh and demanding. Clacking teeth and a suffocating intrusion. That’s not what you get. The way he kisses you like a lover locked in a forbidden embrace between the stacks of an old library—sensual, passionate, and all-consuming. Letting you taste a hint of his hunger, his desperation.

Your bound hands raise to cup his jaw. Drawn to him like a magnet. Because this is the best you’ve ever been kissed. Sure, you’ve been kissed by amateurs, by creeps, by lovers, but nothing like this. It’s addictive.

Without meaning to, you sigh your delight against his lips. His twitch toward a smirk, even as he licks into your mouth and drinks you in. His hands cradle your throat and tilt your head back. The dance between you a delicious exercise of control.

With one last brush of his lips to yours, he draws away. Your head floats, hazy with the sparks of lust ignited by his kiss. Unconsciously, you follow his retreat, leaning up to him like a flower seeking the sun.

He stands, a slow movement that breaks your hold until your falling hands rest upon his thighs. He stares down at you, a conceited pleasure glinting in his appraisal. But you’re past the point of caring or becoming peeved by his superior attitude. You just want him to kiss you like that again. It’s only for one night anyway, what does it matter if he’s proud of himself for making you his plaything—or that you think you’ll enjoy every minute of it.

“Up,” he beckons with an outstretched hand.

You place your hands in his and rise. He squeezes and saunters toward the bed. A noise of approval rolling in his throat, observing your body.

“We’ll need to fix this,” he says with a gesture. You glance down—the plain tee, the jean shorts, your socks. He steps forward, pressing his lips to your ear. “You wear something special for me, pidge?”

You swallow, but can’t answer. Voice stuck in your throat.

“That’s okay,” he coos, playing with the collar of your shirt. “I’ll see soon enough.”

Fabric falls from your body. It pools on the floor at your feet. Your gaze falls with each article of clothing. Exposed to his scrutiny, you stand in your best lingerie set. Thinking he should get what he paid for, you’d donned it but now find a seed of apprehension blooming in your belly. Another thing he’ll nitpick or tease.

“Look at that,” he rasps, hand smoothing across your waist and gripping you close. Your feet stumble over each other and you brace yourself against his chest. “So pretty and just for me.” His fingers pluck at a bow on the front of your bra.

A shock of arousal hits you at his praise, leaving your knees weak. Gripping at his shoulders, you try to support yourself, and his eyes shine with amusement.

“You like when I talk sweet to you, pidge?”

He spins on his heels and takes you with him. With another stumble and a toss, your back bounces on the mattress. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he chuckles and undoes his belt. With a snick of his zipper, he releases himself and strokes his cock. And, god you hate to admit it, it’s a thing of beauty. You meet his eye and feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

He quirks his eyebrow and dips his chin. You push yourself clumsily to kneel before him on the soft mattress. His fingers trace your lips until your tongue licks over them. He smirks and leads you down with a firm hand.

The first tentative taste of his flesh sends a shiver up his spine and a breath puffing from his lips. You kiss his tip, eyes locked with his. His cock twitches. He growls and urges you forward until he enters your mouth and rests on your tongue. You purr around him and begin in earnest.

A few bobs of your head work him back as far as you can manage. Eyes close as you focus on your task. Head drifting on greedy waves of sensation and muscle memory, you swallow him further and further. Listening, yearning to hear how you affect him. Drool pools on your tongue, stimulating every part of him it can reach. Part of you wishes you might have your hands free, if only to feel him. Urge him further toward release.

His hips buck against your face and you gag. But he keeps you steady, a guiding hand pressed to the back of your head, gripping and massaging your scalp.

“So cute,” he muses with a brush of his fingers over your forehead. “Look up at me, li’l birdie.” Your eyes flutter open, waterline wet with the start of tears. Ransom smiles down at you and winks. You hum around him. His head falls back on his neck with a groan, abdominals flexing as he pulls you off and up. A weak noise of protest escapes your lips, plump with blood from the stretch of his cock. He pants, tongue darting out to lick over your swollen flesh. “Not bad,” he comments with a tilt of his head. “But I think I’m ready for a bit more, aren’t you?”

With a hand smoothing across your throat, his other lowers to find the apex of your thighs. A twist and pinch, a rip and your panties fall away. His fingers free to explore the most intimate part of you. You whine at the squelch of your arousal. The slickness shamefully copious as he plays with your pussy and grins. He hums in delight, but doesn’t say anything. That sound enough of a gloat to humiliate you.

“I can’t help it,” you protest, brow tilting pathetically.

“Oh,” he croons, smearing his lips across your cheek, “I know.” The gentle mocking of his words pierce through you. You huff in pitiful indignation.

His fingers pinch at your lower lips and your hips jolt. He barks a laugh, but his touch turns nicer. Stroking over your folds and swirling around your clit. Your breath hitches. The sensation curling in your belly, building your pleasure. Teeth nip at your pulse point, startling you. Ransom chuckles against your skin and begins to suck.

You’re weak with him. The prick of his teeth and the soothing swipe of his tongue mingling with the skill of his fingers. Filling your head until you can hardly think. Moans and gasps build in your chest, too persistent to ignore. Just as you reach the precipice of your climax, though, Ransom stops.

He grips your chin with sticky fingers, pecks a kiss to your gaping lips, and smirks. “Not yet.”

Once again your back finds the mattress. You stretch out, bones jelly and blood thrumming. You crave release now. More than you can say, leaving you only able to reach out as he strips off his sweater and jeans.

A chiseled Adonis he is not. Muscles flex beneath skin supple with just the slightest layer of cushion borne from a life of luxury and indulgence. So when he descends and pins you to the bed, you feel it against you—his strength and softness.

He slots himself between your thighs, pulling them up to his hips. His cock finds its place, slicking itself against your sex. You sigh and loop your bound hands around his neck.

You bite back a “please,” but he sees it shining in your eyes and denies you. Content to roll his hips. Each thrust knocking the head of his cock against your clit until you whine and wriggle beneath him.

“Don’t be like that, pidge,” he says with a mocking pout, swiping a thumb over you cheek where unbidden tears fall from your eyes. “I’ll let you have what you want.”

With the slightest shift, he prods at your entrance. Bare. You breath hitches. Hands grip at his hair.

“Protection!” you protest at the last minute, surfacing from the lusty daze with fear in your eyes.

Ransom takes it in stride, continuing his persistence. “What for?” he asks with another roll of his hips. A delicious, sparkling sensation skitters up your spine. “I’m clean, you’re clean, you’re on birth control. Right?” The drawl of his voice accompanies his descent toward your neck. Another nip and suck of your skin as you reluctantly nod. He reaches a hand down between your bodies, gripping his dick. “Then there’s no problem here, pidge.”

You whimper, “I—”

He thrusts into you. The stretch divine. His gorgeous cock filling you inch by inch until you ache. A moan rips from the depths of you, a wounded sound of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, sweat dotting your brow. How can a douche like Ransom Drysdale feel so right when he’s inside you?

He pauses, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. “Fuck,” he hisses beneath his breath. Your own hips roll in an attempt to adjust, but his hand lashes out to stop you. His grip tight. “Squeezing me like a vice, pidge.” The husk of his voice, the strain, the need dripping from each word, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ransom,” you plead with a gentler tug at the roots of his hair, “please move.”

His eyes open, the blue tinged dark with desire. His lips part around a shuddering breath. Finding his composure, he tilts his hips, filling you just that little bit more until you gasp. “I’m gonna fill you up just right. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

There’s not a moment more to prepare yourself before he begins fucking you. The drag of his cock against your walls enough to make an endless stream of sounds dribble from your lips. You grip him for dear life. The clap of your bodies filling the room with your moans and heavy breaths.

Ransom takes and takes, filling you and grinding against you until your vision blurs. You cum on his cock, screaming your release. Your knees squeeze his sides. You cling to him. Yet no matter how he ruins you, he keeps going. To sate his own pleasure, to see you crumble just a little more, to chase some ineffable desire.

It takes him longer. The stutter of his hips, the warmth of his cum flooding you. You mewl, hips shifting at the sensation.

“Hold still,” he commands, gripping your face with one hand.

His other travels down your body. Pausing to play with the sensitive beads of your nipples. You squeak. But his true destination lay between your thighs where he keeps himself nestled. Your clit throbs with your pulse, overstimulated and tender. You tense, bracing for whatever his plans.

He plucks at the aching bundle of nerves despite your every twitter of protest. Smirk plastered on his face. His intentions clear as he rips another orgasm from you and another. Letting you milk his swelling cock with your sex.

Your tongue swipes across your dry lips. Knowing by the wiggle of his hips he prepares himself for another round—one that will surely be a delicious torment. Your head shakes, arms tightening around him. Hoping your silent pleas will be understood. Already overwhelmed by the night’s exertion.

But he starts again, pleasure gleaming in his eyes every time he knocks your aching clit with his pelvis. You reel with the sensations scourging your body. The way the pain washes over you with the sweetest hint of pleasure. That hint just enough to keep your mind searching for more. Clinging closer and rolling your hips in tandem with his.

Your head lolls on your shoulders, sure to keep your eyes locked with his. Knowing he might stop if you let them wander just a moment—both needing and dreading that brief reprieve.

“There we go, that’s what I’m looking for,” he purrs staring deep into your glassy eyes.

Sweat dampens his chest, pressed against you as he cages you in with his weight. His fingers lift, two of them prodding your lips and delving into your mouth. Your tongue tangles with them, teeth nipping his knuckles. You swallow around them and they withdraw, trailing a cool line of saliva down your throat. His wet fingers trail beneath the cups of your bra, pinching at the tender buds. A raw moan rises out of you at a particularly wicked thrust of his cock. And another. You shudder, an unstoppable wave of pleasure ripping through you and leaving you in a fit of pained euphoria.

But Ransom says nothing more. A look shining in his eyes, thoughtful and indecipherable. If you could contemplate the dawning of such a look, you might. Though, with the rush of your own orgasm flooding your head, the stutter of his hips and the spill of his cum, you’re lost. He falls off you with a grunt, sprawling across the open area of the bed.

“Shit,” he mutters to the room. Sweat glistens along his skin and musses his hair. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. A hand wipes over his face. You might have taken offense to the utter disbelief radiating from him, if so inclined.

Instead, you rise, prising through the quick release of the cuffs. Emptiness and pain halts your movement. An ache between your thighs that plucks its sweet agony. No choice but to push through it.

As Ransom recovers, you gather your things. Aftercare far from your thoughts. Willing to face any possible repercussions yourself and in your own space. You dress hastily, intuition begging for retreat. Knowing that another moment with him might cement something inside you. Something you know will only end in pain and disappointment.

Each step, each movement he follows with his eyes. They burn into you. Whether in anger or some other resentment, you don’t know—don’t need to know. Slipping your shoes on at the door and gathering your bag, he says nothing to stop you. You pause with your hand on the doorknob and glance over your shoulder. He continues to rest on the bed, body gloriously lax, and stares. Quiet and contemplative. You leave him there.

All thought of the money forgotten. No. All you want now is to escape that seductive lure he offers. You pray he’ll keep his word. That you’ll receive what he feels he owes. You’ll manage with what you’ve got until he does and start forgetting this night ever happened. Move on, work with Harlan, perform with Chase—lead your normal life.

You rush from the hotel, cool morning air slapping you in the face. You stop and tilt your head back. Your regret washes over you. Your lips press together, holding it back. Keeping it at bay.

The trek home stretches before you. Tenuous hope growing that you’ll never see Ransom Drysdale again, even as you feel the fierce burn of a gaze at your back.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for saying that my boyfriend would deserve it if he died in the Titan submersible implosion?

I figure it's far enough out from the argument itself now that I can post this. I (27M) and my boyfriend (29M) come from very different backgrounds.

He grew up in a wealthy family. His family isn't, like, billionaire rich--his father is a semi-prestigious actor--but they can, for example, eat at michelin star restaurants on a regular basis, pay for all their kid's ivy league educations, drop thousands of dollars on an impromptu trip to Europe for no reason, and so on and so forth. Which, like, good for them! Genuinely, I'm glad my partner and his family did not struggle with money growing up.

I, on the other hand, grew up in poverty. I didn't have any formal schooling until I got my GED and enrolled in college. I grew up food insecure, living in a very poor area, and frequently had periods of time where my family could not afford to pay our bills. I was extremely lucky to be able to go to college, and I only managed to pay for it due to spending basically all of my free time either working or applying for every niche scholarship I could find. Even now, several years into my career, I pretty much live off of rice and lentils so I can pay rent.

All this to say: Neither of us would consider ourselves pro-corporation or billionaire, but my boyfriend is sometimes more sympathetic to wealthier individuals due to his background. We do not currently live together, which is not because of the aforementioned, but is relevant.

A while back, my boyfriend's grandfather came to stay with his parents. His grandfather was, at the time, not feeling well--coughing, sneezing, the works. He pretty obviously had COVID. Nevertheless, my boyfriend took the 4 hour drive to spend time with him, and wouldn't you know it, he got sick. He stayed at his parents house until he got better. I decided not to make the drive to see my boyfriend, and stayed at my apartment. This is because I am immunocompromised and would prefer not to. Y'know. Die.

While my boyfriend was out, the whole debacle with the Titan submersible occurred, which I kept an eye on and made some memes about. A couple days after they found the wreckage, my boyfriend became coherent enough to have a phone conversation. While talking to him, I told him the story of what happened, the details about the submarine, the $250k ticket price, and so on.

He seemed indifferent until I brought up the 19 year old on board. He then seemed very upset, especially when he found out the kid didn't want to go in the first place. I tried to assure him that most of the memes were not about the kid, but he was having none of it. He seemed very sad, and said something along the lines of "I hope I don't go out like that."

I was confused. I didn't think his parents were so rich they would be able to afford that, but I figured it was just a hypothetical. My boyfriend has a big fear of death, and I often need to reassure him about things like this. "Well," I replied, "If you're worried about that, I can assure you that's an easy death to avoid. Just don't do dumb shit like that."

He then got VERY upset. "What do you mean??? Are you saying I'd deserve to die like that???"

Me: "I mean, that's not what I was saying? But you're not 19, you're almost 30, and you're not financially dependent on your parents. Also, your parents aren't nearly that rich, and even if they were, I know them, and they are not nearly that stupid. So, at that point, to get into that situation, you would need to personally drop $250k on a ticket, then weld yourself inside of an experimental deep sea submarine controlled via text message and an xbox controller. Like, there are several steps you personally could have Not taken to avoid being in this situation, including simply not deciding to be on an underwater death trap. So, yeah, that'd be on your head."

He then got even MORE upset, and started yelling about how insensitive I was being. After some back and forth, I got it out of him that he had been speaking metaphorically--that, from his perspective, I was saying that I thought he deserved to die of COVID, because he had made the choice to spend time with his grandfather despite knowing he had COVID.

I assured him that no, that was not what I was saying in the slightest, and he calmed down, but I was still upset. He had been yelling at me, after all, and it legitimately didn't occur to me that he was speaking metaphorically, while I was still on the very literal experimental submarine.

I asked one of my friends/his other partner (30M) about it after it happened, and he laughed and said that my boyfriend was being ridiculous. It's been several months at this point, it was a silly argument, I'm not going to bring it up again (because that would be weird) and I'm sure he's forgotten all about it. That said, if I'm being honest, I still feel kind of indignant that he immediately assumed I was secretly hoping he was going to die in a submarine. Am I being insane here?

What are these acronyms?

[rafeandonlyrafe]

legacy

words: 4k

warnings: violence? ig, finding treasure, evil ward

“i know you have it. so you better run y/n.” ward says, pushing his hat further down on his face. “because i’m going to chase you down and get my map.”

you stand there in fear, no point further denying. you know ward can’t do anything more now, as more and more people come out onto the street. he’s lucky that no one has recognized him already, he is supposed to be dead after all.

he walks down an alleyway, and you only stand still to process for a moment, before rushing to your car. you know ward has money. money to track you down and destroy your life, even from beyond the grave. he thinks you have a treasure map leading to some random treasure you’ve never even heard of but apparently is buried somewhere along the outer banks. you haven’t the furthest clue what he’s talking about.

you drive home, knowing you don’t have much time before ward is going to send his people to your house. you grab a backpack, stuffing a change of clothes, all the cash you have on hand and some waters in it, as well as some packable food. 

you grab your cell phone, with the idea to plant it on a bus and watch it drive away, unsure if ward will somehow be able to track it, but knowing it’s not worth the risk.

you pause by the door, before running back to your bedroom and grabbing your favorite book, one passed down from your grandfather. you add it to the backpack as well, wondering if you’re going to regret the added weight later. 

the sound of a car approaching makes you hustle away from the house, walking along the backyards instead of the sidewalk. the car ends up driving past your house, but you know you’re low on time. you rush to the bus station, dropping your phone into someone’s bag on the ground, not staying to see them taking it onto the bus.

you’re not sure what the plan is, other than having to evade ward for as long as possible. you know there’s no point going to the police, they’d never believe you that ward is alive and after you, especially not with your previous run-ins with the law.

you grew up a kook, which is why you were able to afford your own house on the island, but you never were truly in with them, and your calls about class consciousness and wanting more wealth equality was not taken well by your neighbors, but it only radicalized you more, joining in on protest for a number of social issues, resulting in you getting jailed a couple times overnight for disturbing the peace.

you blame your grandpa for the radicalization, he amassed a large fortune that could have secured your family for generations to come, but he chose to distribute most of his wealth to various charities, while still leaving a sizable chunk to you.

you thought it would put you on bad terms with ward’s son, rafe, considering how he was especially cruel to the pogues, but there was always a spark of kindness he showed towards you, like you had wiggled a little way into his heart to make him not as evil. it gives you hope, knowing he’s just a product of his environment, like you are yours.

you head towards a more isolated part of the island, hoping to hunker down for a few weeks until it all blows over, ward unable to keep hidden or to move on to the next crazy obsession.

you enter into an old barn, climbing up to the second story carefully, not sure how structurally sound the old wood is as it creaks loudly under your every step.

you get to the top, cringing at the decomposing hay, but sit yourself down near the mostly boarded up window, watching through the slats as the rising sun moves higher into the air. you pull out your book, making sure to take a hearty drink of water. you know that one major advantage of hiding from ward is being able to go out in public, whenever it’s too busy, he can’t show his face without getting recognized.

you start to read the familiar book, one you first remember being read to you by your grandfather. it’s titleless, and grandpa would always just call it the adventure book. the cover is brown leather, and you dive into the familiar words to pass the time.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve read until your stomach grumbles, realizing you’re already halfway through the book and the sun is high in the sky, glittering through the small holes in the tattered roof.

you pull out a granola bar from your bag, eating it quickly and putting the wrapper back in your bag, not wanting to leave a trail when you eventually leave the barn. you go to pick up your book to begin reading again, but pause as you hear something approaching the barn. it sounds small, but it could be someone creeping carefully closer.

you creep to the edge, peering over the fence, listening carefully to the noises. you let out a breath of relief when a racoon scurries into the barn, only to run out a minute later. it reminds you that this is a wilder side of the island, and that you need to be careful of bears and alligators.

you head back towards your spot, finishing your book as the sun sets in the sky. you situate yourself to sleep, glad for once you’re a light enough sleeper to wake up if someone began to approach. despite spending most of your day sitting and reading, you’re still exhausted and fall asleep quickly.

surprisingly, nothing wakes you up until the sun shines through in the morning. you give a big stretch, downing a water bottle instantly to relieve your dry mouth. you decide you can’t stay in the stuffy barn any longer, packing everything into your bag and heading down the ladder. you make sure to quietly walk, and keep your ears open as you head towards town, needing a real meal.

“hey y/n.” you hear as you enter the small diner.

“hi ma’am.” you smile, taking a breath of relief when the hostess is one of your closest friends mom. maybe you can whisper what’s happening to her, but you don’t want to put anyone else at risk. you decide against it as you order a meal, ignoring the people staring as you scarf down an entire burger at 10 in the morning.

you order another burger to go, packing it up and putting it in your backpack, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. you pay and give your friends mom a big hug, much to her surprise, but you honestly just need some good human contact.

you head out the door, looking in both directions, wondering if heading back to the barn is the safest idea, when you see him. your eyes both widen as they make contact.

“wait!” rafe yells, but it’s too late, you’re already running down the street, hearing his footfalls behind you as you head through an alleyway to evade him.

you tuck behind a wooden fence blocking off an entrance to an apartment, hoping to hear him run past, but his footsteps slow down when he doesn’t see you still running. 

“fuck.” rafe curses, unaware that you’re so close you can hear him.

“rafe?” the voice has your blood running cold. despite running, you’re really not scared of rafe, but you’re fucking terrified as ward. ward would stop at anything, while you don’t think rafe would hurt you personally.

“did you see her, son?” ward asks.

“no.” rafe’s answer confuses you, he absolutely saw you. “i thought it was her, but i think it was just someone who looks like her.” 

you don’t have any time to process rafe protecting you as the door to the apartment opens. you turn with wide eyes, shaking your head no and holding a finger up to your mouth, hoping the elderly man won’t say anything and alert ward to your presence, but as you see his mouth open, you know it’s too late.

“this is private property!” you cringe at how loud his voice is, hoping you can get the jump on ward and rafe by jumping up and quickly running, but they’re on your back in no time. you’re glad you ran track in school, pulling ahead but not by much.

you spot the elementary school up ahead of you, closed for summer, but you know from your rebellious teen years exactly where the tricky window that doesn’t lock is. you make a sudden turn towards the school, ward and rafe overshooting the turn onto the grounds from the unexpected move.

you round to the back of the building, opening the window quickly, letting out a silent apology to mrs. lindstein, who is still in this same classroom after all these years as you step on her bookshelves to get in. you shut the window the best you can behind you, hoping ward and rafe didn’t see. 

you rush out into the hallway, just in time to hear the door slam in an adjoining hallway. they must have found a door left open, most likely there’s a teacher working on her classroom set up as autumn is quickly approaching. you run as quickly as you can into a classroom, glad to see the desks are piled up from the floor being cleaned, making you have to crawl under one to get through.

rafe enters before you can hide, and you know he’s seen you, but he doesn’t shout for ward to your surprise.

“rafe, please.” you whisper as he climbs over the desk. 

“i’m not gonna hurt you, y/n.” rafe says, reaching out to you as he approaches, moving like you’re a wild animal ready to strike.

“your dad will.” you whisper, backing up towards the wall.

“i know. that’s why i’m with him. i knew he’d find you first, so i pretended to help him, let him think i was on your team, but i don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“let me go then.” you plead.

“he’s having us check every classroom. his guys are already on their way to cover the exits, they might even be here right now. i can convince him you slipped away, that i didn’t see you in here, that you must have got out before we covered the exits, but i need you to hide, now.”

you glance around the classroom, having no better option than to trust rafe.

“i don’t know if he’s going to have his guys search the school. probably not, but you’ve got to keep yourself hidden until i can come back for you tonight.”

“okay.” you whisper, letting rafe lead you over to a cabinet. 

“i’m so sorry but you have to get in, baby.” rafe opens up the cabinet door, taking a glance at the classroom door, knowing he’s running out of time before his dad is going to get suspicious as to why he’s taking so long to clear one classroom.

you take your backpack off and climb in, thankful for the air vents at the top providing you not just fresh air, but also cooling it down a little as you situate yourself in a seating position, deciding you’ll wait until nightfall and if rafe doesn’t come back, then so be it.

“wait, rafe-” you call as he goes to shut the door.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling down to get on your level.

“why are you helping me?” 

rafe bites his lip, unsure how to word it, but then decides words won't suffice, leaning in and kissing you gently. “i won’t let him hurt you. i promise.”

you’re not sure what to say in response, so you just nod, letting rafe carefully shut the door. you rest your head against the wood, closing your eyes and breathing gently, not wanting to make any movement until you were sure that everyone was gone.

“was she in there?” ward asks, and your ears strain to hear the conversation happening in the hallway.

“no. i think she must have slipped out already.” rafe replies, your heart now skipping a beat at his voice, remembering the soft feel of his lips against yours.

you can’t hear the rest of the conversation as they walk away. you wait a couple hours, completely bored. once your stomach starts to rumble, and you remember the burger you’ve saved in your bag. you unwrap it as carefully as you can to avoid noise, holding back the moan as you take a bite, still tasting just as good fresh now, but your hunger may be clouding your mind.

you finish it and your second to last water bottle before leaning your head back against the wood, closing your eyes. you don’t even realize that you’ve drifted off until you’re woken up by the sound of soft footsteps approaching. light doesn’t shine through the vents anymore, signaling you must have slept for several hours and night has fallen.

you pray that it’s rafe, you have nowhere to run if it’s someone else. 

“y/n?” you let out a breath of relief hearing rafe’s voice. you throw open the door, running into rafe’s open arms.

“it’s okay, i got you.” rafe says, letting you hide your face in his shoulder as his hands slowly rub up and down over your back.

“where’s ward?” you ask, voice muffled by his shirt, but you don’t want to pull away, not yet.

“i convinced him you had some family in charlotte and were probably hiding out there. he left me behind to watch over tanneyhill.”

“thank you rafe.” you say, leaning back to look him in the eye.

“i’m… i’m sorry it took me so long to see what was happening with my dad. it took him wanting to hurt you to realize what was happening.”

“it’s okay.” you say, pulling him into another hug, relaxing into his touch. 

“here, i brought you food and water.” rafe says, pulling you to the floor so you don’t have to stand and eat.

“thank god, i’m starving.” you say, sitting criss cross and grabbing the sandwich he brought you, eating it quickly.

rafe watches you eat with a small smile on his face, leaning forward and kissing your forehead as you finish up. the little picnic would be romantic if it were under different circumstances.

“thanks.” you blush, thinking about your kiss.

“is it… can i… nevermind.” rafe shakes his head.

“no, what is it?” you press.

“can i kiss you again?” “yeah.” you nod. “yes, of course.” you move closer to rafe, letting him kiss you again, your lips softly gliding over each other, able to take more time now. you pull away, but don’t go far as rafe’s arms wrap around you, and you lean into the side, both of you just needing the feel of each other.

“what is it that your dad thinks i have?” you ask, tracing a shape on rafe’s thigh.

“oh the map? you do have it.” rafe says casually, making you sit up and look at him.

“what do you mean?”

“you don’t know?” he asks, seemingly genuinely surprised.

“no, i have no clue what you’re talking about.” you admit.

“that book your grandpa gave you, you have it with you right?” rafe asks, and you nod, pulling the book out of your backpack, not even hesitating before handing it to him.

rafe opens up the book, placing a finger down on the very first page. you give him a confused glance before realizing he was pointing at the map, describing the fictional land from the book.

“that’s-” you’re about to say it’s not the outer banks, but you grab the book back quickly, flipping it over so you’re viewing it upside down, the shape of the outer banks quickly coming into view.

“how did i never realize?” you ask, mostly to yourself.

rafe laughs gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “wanna go find it?”

you look up at rafe, eyes widening. “for real?”

rafe nods, looking at the book with you. “can you tell where it is?”

surprisingly, it is close to the barn you were hiding out in yesterday. “i know exactly where it is, but it’s under water now.” it’s not uncommon for the banks to change, and if you’re looking at it correctly, the X that marks the treasure is near the edge of the swamp.

“let’s go check it out.” rafe says, standing up and giving you a hand up, leading you out of the school with your hands intertwined. despite rafe saying that his dad is looking for you in charlotte, you’re both extra careful as you head towards the docks.

“it’s old, but this is my family’s fishing boat. it would be the least noticeable if we take this one.” rafe says, leading you onto an old but well kept boat, still large enough to have a small enclosed area in the hull.

you cuddle up next to rafe on the bench next to the helm, enjoying the cool breeze on your face as he easily guides the boat to your location. 

you open up the book again, lit by the moon, as you try to tell where along the coastline it may be. “i think maybe 100 more yards.” you tell rafe, and he slows down. you eventually point to a spot, guessing it should be there. rafe pulls closer before examining the area, right on the edge of a swamp. the water isn’t deep, only around a foot at the spot you think it’s at, and it shouldn’t be too hard to get to.

rafe goes to jump out of the boat and swim the rest of the way, but you place a hand on his arm, stopping him. 

“sharks, rafe.” 

they’re rare in outer banks, but this area is a wilder section, and you really don’t want to risk anything.

“i guess it can wait until morning. don’t want you to worry about me out there.” rafe says with a laugh, pulling you into him. “you can go down to the cabin, i’m gonna anchor us.”

you head down the couple steps to the small cabin, noting that the bed is a single sleeper and very thin. you quickly change your close into a fresh pair you have in your bag, throwing the dirty clothes into a corner just as rafe comes down the steps.

he sits down on the bed before beckoning you over. you stand in front of him fingers coming up to toy with the loose ends of his hair that hang over his forehead.

“how are you doing?” rafe asks, placing his on your hips, thumbs gently rubbing.

“okay, i think.” you admit. rafe nods, but doesn’t look completely happy, knowing that there’s emotions bottled up inside of you, just waiting to come out.

“let’s go to sleep, yeah?” 

you’re honestly not sure if you can sleep, but you nod, letting rafe lie down before carefully getting on the bed, having to lay on top of him due to lack of space, but he doesn’t complain at all having your head on his chest, his arms around you.

it takes you a while to sleep, but rafe’s soft breathing and the gentle rocking of the boat helps you drift off.

//

“i think i see it, babe!” rafe says, much to your surprise, considering he’s only been digging for a few minutes, the water immediately displacing any of the dirt he moves.

rafe has forced you to stay on the boat, insisting that he can do all the dirty work and you can stay safe and dry.

“no way!” you shout in disbelief with a laugh, watching as rafe leans down, reaching into the hole and pulling on something heavy.

“there’s still too much sand on top of it for me to pull it up, toss me that chain.” you toss rafe the chain, and he is able to connect it. he hops in the boat, soaking the floor, but you’re too excited to even care as he puts the boat into drive as you watch the chest come unstuck.

“it’s free!” you shout to rafe, who quickly stops and maneuvers the boat as closely as he can in the shallow water before hopping out, now able to push the chest onto the back of the boat.

“holy shit.” you say as he hops back on, giving him a wide-eyed look. “we really found it.”

“goddamn i can’t wait to open it. kiss me first though.” you completely ignore how soaking wet his clothes are and press into him as your lips meet, bodies flush.

the rush of emotions suddenly bursts out of you, tears rolling down your cheeks as you kiss rafe.

“you okay, princess?” rafe says, wiping away your tears, giving you a couple pecks across your cheeks and forehead.

“yeah, yeah.” you nod. “i just can’t believe my grandpa left this for me to find.”

rafe smiles at you, running his fingers over your cheeks before kissing you again, letting you relax against him for a moment.

“let’s open it.” you say excitedly, turning towards the chest, realizing that there’s a lock on it. “rafe.”

“i don’t have any tools to get it off on the boat.” rafe sighs. “we’ll have to take it back to land.”

“wait!” you go down to the cabin and grab the book, bringing it back up to the light to examine it closely. “grandpa wouldn’t just give this to me, lead me to the treasure, and not give me a way to open it…” you check the spine of the book, pressing and pushing it until a small piece of the leather flips back. 

“the key!” you shout, pulling it out of where the pages bind to the backing.

“holy shit, babe, you’re a genius!” rafe says, taking the key from you and working it into the lock. it takes a minute due to how aged it is, but eventually it clicks open, and you’re able to open up the chest, revealing gleaming gold bars.

“it’s half full?” you question, but still reach in and pick up a gold bar. to be honest, it’s closer to a quarter full.

“y/n… do you know how your grandpa got his fortune?” rafe asks, picking up a gold bar for himself.

it never crossed your mind before. “no… do you think he found it and then reburied it for me to find?” “he must have. i mean, this is still a lot of money but…”

you know what rafe is saying. it isn’t really a life changing amount, not with the amount of money you both already have. 

“i think i have a good idea of what to do with it though.”

rafe looks at you with hope in his eyes, “what is it?” //

it’s been two weeks since you’ve found the gold, and you dropped off the last bar today. while it isn’t a life changing amount for you, it can be for some people, and this was yours, but mostly rafe’s, way of giving back to the outer banks, distributing the gold to the people in the area who need it most.

“i’m so proud of you, you know?” you ask rafe, running your hands through his hair as you lay on your sundeck. rafe has moved in with you after walking away from his dad, who was pissed about not getting the gold, only until he found out how little it actually was.

“for what?” rafe says, nuzzling his nose into your side as his head rests against your stomach.

“you gave up that gold when you could have kept it. you chose to use it for good.” “you’ve changed me.” rafe says, turning so he’s hovering over you. “and i love you for it.”

you smile up at rafe, looping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down into a kiss. “i love you too.”

[doberbutts]

I’ve always said that if I ever have kids I want to adopt, and specifically adopt someone who’s older in the system because the older they are the more likely they are to age out.

Maybe I’m misunderstanding the thread but. Is that still a good thing to want to do?

The thread and conversation is not saying that fostering and adopting is necessarily a bad thing. It's saying that the system in which we do these things sucks, does not take into account the very real problems it has and has had, and that for every feel-good story related to fostering and adoption there are dozens of kids and now-adults with lingering trauma regarding their housing situation.

If adoption is something you're serious about, then by all means, there are so many kids in the system that need a way out. But- and this is a big "but"- you need to go into it prepared. Most of these kids have some sort of trauma, because the system is inherently traumatic. Do you know how to parent someone through their trauma? Can you make that commitment? Can you take this as seriously as if it was a child of your own blood, and commit to forever in the same way?

If you want to adopt, you need to take that commitment as seriously as if you had birthed the child yourself. And if you want to adopt older kids, you need to be prepared to parent someone through their trauma, because they need you to be able to help them out of that dark place. People don't want to adopt them because they don't want to deal with the trauma, but the honest truth is that if no one helps them how will they avoid the incredibly high rates of homelessness, human trafficking, sexual assault, and jailtime waiting for them when they age out?

You're not getting a brand new "fresh slate" baby when you adopt an older kid at risk for aging out. You're getting a whole ass person who is old enough to be deeply harmed by everything that has led up to this point and who has had the system prove to them over and over that they can trust no one and they have no one there to help them. Kids who bounce from foster to foster with little more than an hour's warning and a trash bag to throw all their stuff in before getting dumped at someone else's door. Kids who may still remember, miss, even want to return to their birth family. Kids who may have been hurt by their birth family from the start and now have no trust in anyone. Kids who may be well behind in school due to bouncing from district to district. Kids who've never actually made a friend. Teenagers who still wet the bed. Eight-year-olds acting out their sexual assaults on others because they don't know how else to cope. Preteen girls who can't stand to be in the same room as your husband or father or grandfather without a screaming tantrum. High school students who can't read or write because no one cared enough to teach them how.

These are often kids who have been failed by everyone else they've seen. Don't be just another person who's failed them too.

My sister was 13 when my parents took custody of her. My sister was raised by an addict mom who chose drugs over her, who chose her pimp boyfriend over her, who chose to look the other way when said pimp boyfriend started noticing her daughter was "becoming a woman". My sister spent her first year with my parents having screaming fights with them because she wanted to go home. Not because "home" with her birth mother was better, but because that is what deeply traumatized kids do. Better the devil you know. It didn't matter that it wasn't her or her mother's choice- the state took her away, not my parents. My parents just ensured she had a soft landing. It took a long time for her to trust them enough to call them her family- keep in mind that my dad is her uncle by blood.

And she is considered one of the "lucky" ones, who went straight from separation to an adoptive family who committed to forever immediately. I don't think getting trafficked and beaten and starved and neglected for 13 years is particularly "lucky", nor do I think it leaves behind a non-traumatized kid. But if that's considered lucky, then what happens to the unlucky ones?

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [32]

chapter thirty-two, act four: somebody else

masterlist

little Author's note /TW before this act begins. There's going to be alot of talk of drug use and addiction within the chapters coming, if you're not comfortable with these kinds of things please don't read.

October 18th 2016

Adam smiles to himself, watching the huge grin on Tommie’s face as she and her grandfather walk ahead discussing the newest Star Wars movie that’s coming out.

Their nan is beside him, they walk in silence back to the tour bus. Adam looks between his grandparents a few times trying to think of the best way to say what’s come to his mind.

Maggie sighs and looks at him in the corner of her eye, “What Adam?”

“Hmm?”

She raises one of her dark eyebrows, “Tell me what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Why are you guys actually going home?” He asks.

Adam’s not stupid, despite having a lot of the same characteristics one thing he inherited from their maternal grandparents was his observation skills. Whereas Tommie inherited her paternal grandparents' naivety. 

Maggie sighs watching as Tommie skips ahead with Button, Thomas watching on with that proud fatherly look he saves for only her.

“It’s come back.”

Adam pauses, he stares at her, for too long and she nods slowly, “Doctors gave him a year.”

“It’s back?”

She nods, “He wanted to come see you one last time.”

Adams shakes his head, “We- we can stop the tour, I mean, we have money now, nan, we can pay for the best treatments, get him private-”

Maggie shakes her head, “You know he won;t let you do that-”

“What about Tommie?” He asks, “This will break her.”

Maggie keeps quiet, looking forward and Adam shakes his head, “Nan…”

“We’re not telling her-”

“You have to.”

“I want to.” She says honestly, “I want to give her the chance to say goodbye, the chance to be with him, she didn’t have that with her mother. I don’t want to keep another thing away from her.”

“But he won’t?”

She nods slowly, “He refuses to.”

“He was never able to hurt Tommie.”

“Hurt her? This will kill her.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Phoebe’s dyed eyebrow is raised higher than usual as Tommie sighs blissfully and wraps her in a hug.

“Uh, you okay?”

“This has been the best day ever.” She grins, bending down to twirl Max around and kiss his little head, “Went for ice cream with nan, Granch and Ads, had a Star Wars marathon, drank a shit ton of dr pepper, ate pizza and even watched all the prequels.”

Phoebe smiles, “We still going to that party?”

She nods quickly, “Oh, fuck, I forgot.”

Phoebe shakes her head in an adoring way as she laughs, “Of course you did.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Raid my closet, I’m planning on wearing the black dress laid out on the bed so don’t have that.”

“Thanks,” She kisses her cheeks as she passes through her kitchen, “Life saver, love you.”

Phoebe hums, shoving some crackers into her mouth as she shares with the two dogs.

“Is Caleb picking you up from here?”

“Um, think I’m meeting him there, can I catch a lift with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Tommie settles on a long white and green summer dress that’s been folded and pushed to the back of the American’s wardrobe.

When she steps out, hair let down from the half up hair do it had been in and her docs on Phoebe makes several comments on how good she looks and how lucky Caleb is to have her that causes a blush to rise up her cheeks.

“I forgot I had that dress, you can keep it?”

“Really? I love it.”

Phoebe hums, “Thrifted it when I was in high school, I wore it to a wedding.”

“White to a wedding?”

“It was an aunt who was mean to my mom once.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Caleb smiles leaning in for a quick kiss, “Hey, babe, took your time.”

“You having fun?”

He nods, “Get yourself a drink, I’m going to go talk with some friends, catch up with you in a bit.”

Many drinks later, when Phoebe had decided to call it a night and half the party goers had left Caleb was still in some corner with some guys and Tommies sat nursing a double vodka-red bull on a sofa alone.

The sofa dips beside her, a pair of feels landing on the coffee table where her doc martens rest.

“You look as bored as I feel.”

Tommie’s eyes drag up a pair of tanned legs, up a pretty silver dress and land on a mop of dark curly hair.

Her eyes shine brightly as she smiles, assessing Tommie in the same way, “I’m Roxanne.”

Tommie’s mouth opens a few times until she clears her throat and shifts so she’s sitting upright, “Tommie.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommie.”

“Yeah, you too.”

She smiles, pretty teeth revealed once more and Tommie swallows thickly as she watches her lift a fruity drink to her lips.

“Nice night, huh?”

“Beautiful.”

“You look like the moon.” Tommie winces, shaking her head but Roxanna laughs and she internally groans, or moans, she can’t exactly describe the feeling in herself right now. But she does it because even the woman’s laugh is beautiful.

“Thank you. You look like a star.”

Tommie grins at that, she hates the sun, it burns, it’s too warm and she hates when it gets in her eyes.

Stars are beautiful, not always seen but always there.

“Do you want another drink?”

“I’m okay, thank you, but I can get you one… if you want?”

“I’m good, still got this one.”

“What do you do?” Tommie finds herself asking.

Her heels click as she drops them back to the floor, she shifts and pushes herself back into the sofa, “I own a clothing line.”

“That’s cool.”

She nods, “Yeah, it was my mother and I’s dream to design clothes when I was a kid.”

“You get into it together?”

She hums, “I draw she sews. We make a good team. What about you?”

“I play guitar,” She says, “I’m in a band… I write sometimes too.”

“With your mom?”

“Uh, no, no… my childhood mates.”

They talk for a bit longer… until early hours of the morning, tucked away in the lounge away from the party.

She learns she’s from San Diego, and moved to LA when she was twenty-one a couple years ago. The business took off and they went from a t-shirt company, to a clothing brand partnering with all different celebrities here in LA.

Roxanne’s silver ringed fingers brush hair from Tommie’s face to see her better, she’s just made a comment on how the guys in the music industry in LA rival the childishness of frat boys and Tommie’s drunken mind had found it incredibly funny. Head tilted back on the sofa as she gasps for breath.

Roxanne smiles again and lets her hand rest against her collar bone for a few seconds.

Tommie goes quiet when the fluttering in her stomach is revealed not to be the alcohol like she’d assumed but a swarm of butterflies.

She wets her lips and her eyes soften as Roxanne goes on to tell a story about a guy she hooked up with who was a bassist and gave horrible head. Tommie’s about to butt in with a story of her own when they’re interrupted.

“Hey, Babe.”

Roxanne smiles as she stands, long slender arms wrapping around an equally as beautiful man, “Hey, honey.”

Tommie’s smile slowly fades as she watches them get off for two minutes too long.

Roxanne pulls back and looks down at her, “This is Tommie.”

“Hi.”

“Hey, nice to meet you.”

He turns back to Roxanne and she sends an apologetic look over his shoulder to the younger girl, “Ready to leave? I’m exhausted.”

She nods, leaning beside Tommie to grab her purse, her hand brushes against the skin of Tommie’s thigh exposed by the slit in the dress.

Tommie’s face flushes at how quick warmth spreads between her legs and she gulps as she clenches her thighs together.

“Hopefully I’ll see you around again?”

She nods, “Hopefully.”

Caleb passes by them, exchanging friendly words with Roxanne’s boyfriend who he seems to know, he leans down to kiss her lips, “Making new friends?”

“Yeah… yeah, new friends.”

“Ready to go?”

His hands land on her waist and she finally drags her eyes away from the silver dress to his, he leans forward to kiss her deeply and she finds herself pulling away, “I’m too drunk to do anything tonight.”

He nods, “You don’t need an excuse, babe, if you’re not up for it just tell me.”

She nods, “I want to, I’m just drunk and don’t want to spew on your dick.”

He laughs with a nod, “Okay.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

Because this chapter is so short here's a sneak peak of the next one

“One minute.”

“Tom…”

“One minutes to explain or I start hurting people-”

Adam sighs, “Tommie, just wait until Matty’s better-”

“What the fuck is going on!”

“He OD’d.”

Adam and Ross’ heads snap towards George who shrinks back into his seat slowly.

They’d kept it a secret. The three of them. For four fucking years. 

Then George had to open his big gob at the wrong moment.

“George!”

“What?”

“It’s about time she knows!” George defends himself. “I’m tired of keeping this secret if he’s going to be doing this to himself again.”

“Again?”

She pauses, looking around the three of them, “What do you mean aga- again? What do you mean George?”

He stays silent, eyes looking down, “George? G, what do you mean again? Again? Again what? Another OD? This happened before? Again? A-Again? Ads? Again? Ross..? What does again mean?”

She steps back, brows furrowed, breathing uneven as she looks between them all.

Adam stands slowly from the settee, hands outstretched, “Tommie…”

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[morningglory-sims]

... The Chills Came From You 💙

I think they may be exploring, the "each other kind" 👀 I love them and their growing love for each other 🥰

Previous Story Post/Next Story Post

Transcript under the cut:

2 Months Ago

📍 Chisaka's, Mt. Komorebi

[AKIO] Yeah, so this restaurant is run by my older half-brother. This is essentially his inheritance from his grandfather on mother's side, so technically this is a family thing, just not my family, I guess?

[AKIO] *deep sigh* Fuck, family is complicated, huh? I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but some of the dynamics I would. A part of the tension going on with my family is my dad threatening to cut Isao off for taking over this restaurant. I don’t know if it’s one of his messed up ways of dealing with the grief of that failed marriage, but it’s really torn things apart.

[ELIZABETH] Oh, that must be so hard for your brother. I can tell he's just trying to honour his family's legacy in a meaningful way. After my mom died, one of my aunts felt like she was owed something because my mom was the "prettier" sister and she"suffered" because of her. It's really messed up how legitimate feelings of grief can be dealt with in such unhealthy ways. It makes me nervous for Kath's wedding.

[AKIO] I can imagine! That's really fucked up with your aunt though, I hope your sister is able to have her dream wedding.Now that I think about it, it’s the entitlement that gets in the way. Like you said, its not healing wounds in a healthy way. Anyway, I want to know more about your mom and your family. If you're comfortable sharing.

Family matters, and you matter to me.

[ELIZABETH] My mom was amazing! Totally warm, welcoming and made you feel like you mattered. She knew how to stand her ground and be bold, yet she was also shy. She passed away from heart failure when the twins were 17, Caroline was 15 and I was 13, she was so young. You know how it feels to be punched in the gut and have the wind taken out of you? I felt like that every day for almost a year. Being more on the quiet side, I for sure slipped through the cracks. My dad did his best, but it's hard to come to the realization that your parents aren't perfect.

[ELIZABETH] I think that’s why I went to school so far away. I wanted to get away from the place and the dynamics, not my dad or my siblings. To be completely honest with you, Akio, and I’ve only said this to Lily. I finally felt like I grieved my mom fully when Owen took my sorry ass out of Del Sol Valley. I had a good cry in his car and I got everything off my chest.

[ELIZABETH] It was really special because Owen and I don't always get a long, but during that road trip to Windenburg, we really bonded and opened up to each other. Family dynamics are rough, but when I learned to see my older siblings as people beyond just being my siblings, I love them more! I don't feel like I've been punched in the chest when I think about mom. She'll always be a part of me.And, I can carry that into other areas of my life, especially in my relationships. I still can't believe it's been almost 10 years.

[AKIO] Thank you for allowing me to know something so deep and special.

I learn so much about everything from you, Liz. Maybe I need to see my family as people beyond just as my family.

Maybe it would take out some of the emotion? You and your beautiful mind have given me something to chew on.

[ELIZABETH] We're all works in progress, Akio. We tend to figure things out as we go along.

[AKIO] Well, I'm lucky to have you in my life as I figure shit out. *winks*

[ELIZABETH] Wait, were you hitting on me? *winks* I'm grateful for you, babe. I've never felt safer with someone, I'm grateful for your emotional intelligence, and it's pretty sexy if I'm honest.

[AKIO] *blushes* Well, babe I'm so absolutely serious about, us. I've never felt cared for by anyone like you.

I see how passionate you are and how you care for others. I want you to know that I only do serious and committed, and I want that with you.

[ELIZABETH] *sighs deeply, relieved* I only want something serious with you, Akio.

[AKIO] Good, glad to hear that, beautiful. I adore you, so much and I can't wait to explore what life has to offer with you by my side. 

[ELIZABETH] *to herself* Ohhh, hmmm!

[ELIZABETH] *lowers voice* Explore, you say? I've been thinking about 'exploring' too…

[ELIZABETH] *gently caresses Akio's ankle with her foot - a little flirty game of footsie*

[ELIZABETH] I wonder if we're thinking about the same type of exploring, hmm? The each other kind?

[AKIO] *gulps, eyes widen *

[AKIO] *lowers voice* Well, Elizabeth Grace, I initially wasn't thinking of it that way, but I'd be pleased to facilitate that. Juri is sleeping over at Eiko's tonight... So we can get that exploring' figured out.

[mlmxreader]

Pilot's Charm | John Soap MacTavish x m!reader

@guardkeywolf asked: Male Reader X Soap where he gotta go on a mission and Soap can't come so he asks him to Kiss him and he does get lucky on the mission!!!

"Kiss me once more, for good luck”

(Imma probably request one more lol)

summary: it's hard to date a pilot, Soap knows that more than anyone, he knows it's hard and he knows how difficult it can be at times.

tws: swearing, mentions of violence, smoking

Watching his boyfriend go off to war was never going to be easy for Soap, as even though he went through it himself and he saw the front lines more times than he could be bothered to count, he didn't know the experience of what it was like to be up in the air, he didn't know the experience of RAF pilots and what you had to go through; he worried a lot, he panicked and he never slept the night before your deployment, and if you slept, he would simply hold you tightly as he stared out into space and tried not to think about whether or not you would come back home. Back to him.

If he was already on the front lines when you were sent out, Soap would not cease panicking until he saw you, or until he laid eyes on that plane of yours, always able to recognise it by the painted roaring tiger on the tail; he hated seeing it fly. It was always a reminder that he could not do anything to make sure that you were safe and protected. He would refuse to rest until he could see you in person, until he could feel you in his arms and could hear your voice and smell your cologne; often, that came when you had been successful at a bomb raid or a dog fight, and had been able to safely land in allied territory. More often than not, that territory happened to be wherever the task force were.

You were smoking a cigarette as you sat on a stool in front of your plane, your recently cleaned Kukri blade sitting at your hip as you watched the task force go through some plans; you were only there for air support, but thankfully not alone, as Squadron Leader Perveen was stood beside you, cleaning his grandfather's kirpan. You smiled when you looked at his dastar, bright yellow in honour of his grandmother; it reminded you of freshly bloomed daffodils. Reminded you of home.

"I told Price," Perveen chuckled. "Any trouble from Americans, and we'll sort 'em."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Would that have anything to do with the fact that I used to be a Gurkha?"

Parveen shrugged, grinning at you. "Maybe. Probably... alright, yeah."

You rolled your eyes, taking a long drag from your cigarette and watching as Soap walked by with Ghost, both of them waving at you; you waved back, grinning ear to ear. "I fucking hate seeing John boy here."

"Why?"

"Same worry every other boyfriend faces, I guess," you shrugged. "I worry about him. A lot."

"'Course you would," Perveen hummed. "You're a Gurkha and he's SAS... but look at it this way: if he was American, you'd have to worry a lot more."

"Why?"

"Because they're fucking terrible," he pointed out with a laugh. "Americans are weak as fuck, and their soldiers are even weaker. If Soap was American... you'd have to worry about him stepping out the fucking house, let alone in the middle of fucking war. They're useless fucking pricks."

"Alright, pilots!" Price shouted as he approached, waving and clearing his throat as he held a cigar in his left hand. He didn't want to shout, but he was worried about interrupting if he didn't announce his presence.

"Alright?" You gave him a curt nod.

"Captain," Perveen copied. "What do you want from the royal air force now?"

Price smiled, looking between you as he took a drag from his cigar and watched as you took a drag from your cigarette. He couldn't stand the things, but he didn't dare to cross the RAF, especially not when they had a Gurkha on their side. "Right, we've got a plan, lads."

"Please tell me you haven't been thinking," you teased.

"Yeah, that's pretty dangerous, Cap," Perveen joked.

Price rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he silently realised how much you and Perveen were similar to his own men. "No, actually, Laswell has... but listen, and don't be knobs about how she's an American and-"

"She called football soccer," you grumbled.

"That's unforgivable," Perveen agreed. "I love her, and the dastar she got me for my birthday was lovely, but-"

"Shut it, you Muppets," Price sighed, trying not to laugh. "We're sending you boys up, anyway. At two hundred hours, we need you both to cover the northwest corner - we just need you to find one thing."

"Please don't say Americans' common sense," Perveen pleaded.

"It's not," he replied, "we need you to find a lorry. It should be standard size, standard colour, all that bollocks. But it should be parked between six trees. If you can find it, we can do our jobs."

You and Perveen shared a glance, but you cleared your throat and nodded. "Sure. I'm sure we can find a lorry for you... are we allowed to know why?"

"It's being used to transport weapons," Price explained, "and we have reasons to suspect that it's been loaded up."

"So no shooting?" You asked. "Even if we see Americans?"

"We just need your eyes, pilot. Only do it if you can spare the time and you're sure you don't get caught."

"What if they're French?" You questioned. "Can we shoot 'em if they're French?"

"If you can do it without getting caught," Price agreed with a shrug. "But all we need you to do is find that fucking lorry."

"We got it," you told him.

"Yeah, we'll be fine," Perveen agreed. "Especially if we can shoot a few yanks while we're at it."

You snorted as you tried not to laugh, bidding the Captain goodbye and making a few extra jokes with Perveen while you finished your cigarette, but when you chucked the end aside, you got up, and cleared your throat; you knew where Soap was, but the very moment you laid your eyes on him, you cleared your throat, and squatted down in front of him as he sat on his bed.

"Hey, Champ."

"Don't fuckin' pull that nonsense," Soap grumbled. "What?"

You smiled sadly, daring to sit beside him and wrap your arm around his shoulders, leaning against him as you sighed. "Price wants me and Perveen to fly."

He shook his head, grabbing your free hand and holding it awfully tightly, pleasing as he cleared his throat. "Don't."

"I have to," you said quietly. "It's my job, innit?"

"Aye, but-"

"John..." you whispered, shaking your head. "I'll be fine. It's just a bit of surveillance, and then I come back. I probably won't even be longer than an hour, I promise."

"Y'promise?" He asked, pushing you away gently, only to get a good look at your eyes, trying to commit the colour to memory as if he was seeing them for the last time. "D'ya?"

You nodded, gently cupping his face in your hands as you cleared your throat. "I promise, John Soap MacTavish, that I will come back from this mission."

"I wan'ta go with you," he whispered. "Can I not be your co-pilot?"

"No, baby," you shook your head, swallowing thickly. "Not this time."

"What can I do?" He asked quietly, putting his hands on yours as he bit back the instinct to fucking beg and plead for something, anything, that he could do.

A smile spread across your face as you gently tapped his cheek. "You could always give me a good luck kiss."

Soap wasn't about to say no to such a thing, crashing his lips against yours as he put his hands on your sides, letting you keep your hands on his face as he kissed you so gently; usually, his kisses weren't like that, but they were always soft and gentle when he knew he might never see you again. Always.

He laid you down on his bed, straddling your waist as he planted his arms either side of your head, starting to get desperate as he whimpered against your lips and let out shaky breaths; he just needed you to know how much he had wished you wouldn't go. That you wouldn't leave him. That you wouldn't die when you were sent out. He couldn't bring himself to stop kissing you, lost and drowning in the way you so eagerly kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him to make sure that he was close, but he had to pull away and break it. His lips were wet and swollen, but his eyes were still cloudy with murky worry.

"Dinnae go. Please."

"I have to go," you told him gently. "I'll be fine, Soap, I used to be a Gurkha, and I'll have Perveen with me... I'll be alright. Just kiss me once more, for good luck."

Soap was never going to refuse that, he knew it the second that you had told him and he didn't give a shit if he was going to be breathless; he just needed and wanted you to stay, even though he knew he wouldn't. He hated it when you were sent out, and he knew that he would hate to see that damn plane fly overhead when you left, too. He didn't want to be left like that, he didn't want to wish that there was a final kiss, just one last kiss that he could make sure was fucking perfect. But he knew he had to be left behind. He knew that he heard right when you whispered that you loved him before you left. It was an only an hour, he told himself. You would be back after that.

He didn't go out and wave you off, he didn't even move from his bed when Gaz and Ghost and Price had come back from seeing you and Perveen off. He didn't talk much, didn't move much. He felt sick to his stomach, his chest hollow as he held your uniform jacket close to his face; buried in the scent of your cologne and sweat. Drowning in the fact that he knew it was yours. That he might never see you again, not when it had been far more than an hour when he looked at the clock. He was starting to panic, able to feel nausea creep into his throat as his head began to feel light and his stomach gurgled and spat like spoiled milk being heated over a pan. It had been far more than an hour, and nobody had said whether or not you were going to return. It had been more than an hour. You said you would come back. You promised him.

"They're coming back," Price said when he passed Soap on his way to have a cigar. "Just radio'd in to say."

Soap looked up, a small smile on his features. "Really?"

"Yeah," Price held his cigar between his lips as he checked his watch. "They'll be back any minute now... just listen out for two blokes cursing Americans."

Soap nodded, but chased Price outside, eager to wait for you and to be there when you landed, shaking slightly as he watched the skies; he never thought he would see the day where he hoped to see that fucking plane. That fucking vile reminder that he couldn't keep you safe and protected like he wanted to. It was just about starting to get light, the sun starting to creep out from under its blanket, and Soap held onto the straps of his vest as he watched closely, listening for the engines.

"He's fine," Price said. "Just so you know, (y/n)'s fine. They just wanted to double check the area."

Soap didn't care about that, keeping his gaze on the slowly lightning blue skies as his heart raced. "He's coming back in one piece."

"Yeah, he is," Price replied, "don't worry, son, he'll be back any second."

The rush of the planes silenced them both, and when the wheels touched the ground, Price had to grab Soap by the back of his vest to stop him from running towards the plane with the Bengal tiger on it; he only let him go when both planes had landed and come to a full stop. He never saw Soap run so fast, and nearly winced when he saw him crash into you the second you got out.

Soap's arms were around your shoulders as he clung onto you, his grip was a vice as he pressed his face against the side of your neck and closed his eyes tightly. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to ruin the moment as you laughed softly and returned the embrace; the vibration from your soft laugh made him shiver, reminded him of home. That now, he was home. Now that he was holding onto you, Soap was home.

"See?" You grinned, gently swaying him a little. "I kept my promise."

Soap only grumbled in response, letting Perveen clap you on the back as he laughed. "The only men afraid of death are either lying, or Gurkhas."

"Don't tell Price," you murmured. "But, uh, we got into a dog fight while we were out there."

Soap pulled away, his jaw dropping slightly as his hands started to roam over you, checking for injuries. "What the fuck?"

"Don't worry," you grabbed his wrists gently, and smiled. "Thanks to your little good luck kiss, we managed to get out unscathed. The planes didn't even get a fleck of dirt on 'em."

He nodded, licking his lips. "Is that why you were so long?"

You nodded back, gently running a hand through his Mohawk as you dared to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm back, though, it's fine. It's all fine."

"I love you," he whispered. "Don't make me think you've died again."

"I can't promise that," you told him softly. "But I can promise I will always come back to you."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[wandering-scavenger]

Don't Lose Hope.

After watching our candidate, her team, and supporters put all their work, effort, time, money, and tears into the 2022 Elections, it feels like a dark shadow has been cast on our country again and there's nothing we can do about it.

I'm so sorry to the families who were victimized by the Marcoses. I'm so sorry to those who died trying to stop a ruthless and corrupt dictator, only for his son to wind up as President of our poor and starving country. I'm sorry to victims of the Marcos family, to those victims whose bodies were found and those whose bodies are lost in a place that their loved ones cannot find. I'm sorry to those who witnessed Martial Law and celebrated when Ferdinand Marcos was ousted, thinking their children won't have to suffer the way the Filipinos did in the 70s-80s. I'm sorry to those in lower socioeconomic status families who voted for Leni with hopes that she would be able to bring about change as our President. I'm sorry to everyone who hoped for a better future, only for evil to prevail.

Our hearts ache. Today, I watched my 81 year old grandfather sit on his own in a depressed mood because he couldn't believe that after doing his part in history by joining the EDSA revolution and voting on May 9, he was watching history repeat itself. He is too old to worry...but he worries because he cares the future of his family and country when he is gone.

But this is only the beginning. Before things will get better, they will get worse. But things can still get better. We cannot lose hope, because that's exactly what our corrupt government wants.

If you are lucky enough to be in class A and B, please do your part to help the less fortunate. We will suffer, but we will not suffer as gravely as those who live hand to mouth on a daily basis. It is easy to think that they might deserve it because they were the bulk of the voters who supported the Marcos family's return. But the truth is that their return has been carefully prepared for, for decades. Fake news, vote buying, poll manipulation, cronyism, corruption, political dynasties. The real evil lies in those with power and privilege who are educated enough to know better but choose not to do better. There is a reason why education is normally given the smallest budget, because these corrupt politicians benefit from the less fortunate's ignorance and miseducation.

The day will come when we are called to rally again and fight for our freedom. Until then, do not lose hope and do not forget to act as the miracle in other people's lives. The evilness of our government should not push us to tolerate and enable such behavior or worse, be as uncaring and without compassion as they are. Our country can be better if we continue to push ourselves to be better and demand our government to be better.

God bless you guys. To the non-Filipinos, please pray for our country or help spread the news about what is happening to us. We really need it.

[positivexcellence]

FRĒDA WOMAN: GENEVIEVE PADALECKI

TALK TO US ABOUT YOU.

HOW DO YOU DECIDE ON A PROJECT?

Gosh. I wish it was that easy!  I think to echo what Odette Annable said, “Taking on a new project usually means that I had to work very hard to even “get” the role. The audition process can be grueling with multiple rounds of auditions and each step feels like a victory.”  And that's the truth. I think having the ability to be able to work and play in our industry is pretty extraordinary and I feel incredibly lucky that I have been able to connect with the role bond with the team and find light in the message.

WHAT MADE YOU START TOWWN?

The awful truth is that I am a big waster. I have 3 kids. I used disposable diapers. Bought single-use plastics and easy on-the-go snacks. I did what was convenient and the best for my family.  But I wanted to understand how I could be better for our planet. The resources that were available to me were ones that we doom and gloom or all or nothing. I wanted something that made more sense to me. Where I could have a solution-based platform that was relatable and evolving.

HOW DO YOU SPEND TIME OUTSIDE OF WORK?

Great question. It depends on the day. But it’s either with my family or with myself, but most likely in nature. On a hike or with a book. But definitely recentering and hopefully getting our hands dirty.

WHAT HAS BEEN MOST REWARDING ABOUT BEING A MOTHER?

Knowing that there is an even greater capacity to love that I didn’t know existed.  My heart grew tenfold when I became a mother.  And I had such a deeper and greater respect for my own mother.  She always told me you’ll never know how much I love you until you have a child of your own.  And she was right.  I also love how much I learn from my children. They are so wise and earnest.  I love seeing the world through their eyes.

WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU’VE BEEN LEARNING ABOUT YOURSELF?

I hope that I am always learning. I think when I was younger I  was stuck in a loop of who I thought I was supposed to be. Or how I was supposed to present myself.  Now I enjoy letting my guard down and trying to go more with the flow.  Not sweating the small stuff and trying to be curious every moment.

HOW DO YOU FEEL SUPPORTED FROM THE GROUND UP?

My family. They are my world. And knowing they are safe and sound and feeling centered makes me feel incredibly grounded.

YOUR MANTRA?

I love a quote from my grandfather which is, “You don’t get what you expect you get what you inspect.”  Sometimes I tend to wash over the details and this quote reminds me to pay attention.  That I have to work hard to achieve what I want. It’s not owed to me.

I also always tell my kids that today is a brand new day. And we can start fresh.

TELL US ABOUT A FAVORITE SUMMER TRIP.

I grew up going to a place called Graeagle that was nestled in between mountains in Northern California. As kids, we learned to fish; tying flies, cleaning and cooking our fish, hiking the mountains and finding our way back. These trips encouraged self-reliance. In those summers we tuned out the noise and came together as a family. It was heaven for me. Now I try and recreate that feeling for our kids. This year we are heading on a rafting and fishing trip as a family (with zero cell reception, I cannot wait).

ANY FUN SUMMER PLANS?

Yes! Currently, Jared and I are in Italy.  We have been in Rome for a quick work trip and then we explored (are currently exploring Corsica) and then Sardinia. We are also doing an annual trip with Jared's brother and sis in law. It’s become a bit of a tradition now and it makes me so happy to have this time.  This year we are biking around France. Last year I tumbled ass over a tea kettle in the Dolomites so wish me luck…then Jared and I and the kids head to Idaho to get lost on the river.

TELL US ABOUT A FAVORITE SUMMER TRIP.

I grew up going to a place called Graeagle that was nestled in between mountains in Northern California. As kids, we learned to fish; tying flies, cleaning and cooking our fish, hiking the mountains and finding our way back. These trips encouraged self-reliance. In those summers we tuned out the noise and came together as a family. It was heaven for me. Now I try and recreate that feeling for our kids. This year we are heading on a rafting and fishing trip as a family (with zero cell reception, I cannot wait).

ANY FUN SUMMER PLANS?

Yes! Currently, Jared and I are in Italy.  We have been in Rome for a quick work trip and then we explored (are currently exploring Corsica) and then Sardinia. We are also doing an annual trip with Jared's brother and sis in law. It’s become a bit of a tradition now and it makes me so happy to have this time.  This year we are biking around France. Last year I tumbled ass over a tea kettle in the Dolomites so wish me luck…then Jared and I and the kids head to Idaho to get lost on the river.

THE AUSTIN DIARIES

FAVORITE SHOP: Estilo, Valentines, Maufrais, Hearth and Home, or Alexa James Baby, bygeorge

GO-TO RESTAURANT: Soto, Dai Due, Wu Chow

ALL-TIME BEST BBQ: Terry Blacks

CAFFEINE KICK: I go more for the smoothies and matchas…so Juiceland

SUNDAY ACTIVITY: Gardening, running Lake Austin trail or boating

HIDDEN GEM: I can’t tell you…lol

RAINY DAY DESTINATION: My library

TOURIST ATTRACTION LOCALS LOVE: Probably the bats on Congress Bridge or shopping SOCO

BEST THING ABOUT LIVING THERE: Your neighbors, Austin is an amazing community

[lockmad]

I’m going to try to make this make sense, but no promises… but I’m also going to acknowledge that Tumblr is like a diary to me and I don’t expect anyone to read this but if you read it hello! 👋 I hope you are well

I’m really struggling right now… my grandmother just passed away and she truly meant the world to me and I don’t even feel like I’ve had the time to grieve.

I had to pick up my whole entire life and move in with my grandfather within a week, I’ve been with him for two weeks, and he is struggling in ways we didn’t predict. I am also struggling in ways I did not predict. I have clinical depression, but I thought I had learned the skills needed to deal with things like this… I need to give myself credit though because I’m dealing a lot better than I would’ve when I was 19 or 22.

I’ve put so much work into myself and I’m trying so hard but I am so tired of life kicking my ass. 

Life is hard for so many reasons, I think a lot of people my age feel it. The economy, climate change, the way the majority of men are acting in regards to dating, not even that, but the whole idea of dating now is so hard with social media.

No one puts themselves out there, and when I personally do put myself out there, no one responds. And I want to make it abundantly clear to myself, as well as others, that I am not an unattractive person. I think a lot of the time the people who are expressing this discomfort with the dating scene are being told that there’s something wrong with them, and I would like to acknowledge that sometimes, things are not your fault. I am not ugly. I am not hard to be around. I am not unlikable. I would be the best thing that has ever happened to the right person. Most men would be lucky to kiss the ground I walk on, and I mean that in the most polite way possible … 

I’m constantly struggling with the idea that I don’t have much time to love and enjoy life because climate change has put a countdown on my life in a way I don’t think any other generations have had to deal with

I feel like I’m going to spend the time I have left alone. And though I don’t see anything wrong with being alone that’s never been what I want.

I want companionship, I want partnership.

I’ve been single for over a year now and I’ve been single for chunks of my life before that and I’m learning to be comfortable with it. But it just isn’t what I want. And now I’m in the situation that I feel has set me back.

 I’m struggling with an abundance of emotions that no one seems to be able to empathize with and it all comes down to the fact that I am lonely…

I just don’t wanna be alone…

Anyway, I’m not sure any of that made sense. I’m really just trying to use any and every outlet I have to keep myself above ground. I don’t feel like I deserve this, I don’t feel like my grandfather deserves this, I don’t feel like my mother deserves this. I don’t understand why life is so painful and I just came to vent to the void or whoever you are reading this right now.

EDIT:  I also want to acknowledge, for my own sake, that my relationship with death is very complicated. I was raised very religiously, and I am an agnostic if anything. But truly, I’m not sure how anything like heaven could be real. My grandmother was a devoted Catholic and she’s gone. I don’t know how to understand that she’s just gone. I don’t think I’ll see her again someday, I don’t think her spirit is with me or is watching over me, she’s just gone and that’s honestly as horrifying as if I were to believe she could watch over me right now (which is a concept that gave me extreme anxiety as a child. The idea that my loved ones could watch and judge me from above) I have not grieved her properly yet. She was a very anxious woman herself, and chose to not have awake funeral or burial. When she died in the hospital, I kissed her forehead and she was gone. I will never see her again, and I have nothing to visit, no grave to put flowers on, and no closure.

Obviously, her thoughts and feelings were complicated. I could get into the details of my family dynamics and all that but I don’t know.. I can’t change anything so what’s the point, right? it’s all out of my control .. 

Ciao  

[canirove]

Best friends… forever? | Chapter 10

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

“Can I be brutally honest?” Eva asks.

“Go ahead”

“I think the only way for you to make up your mind about Rúben, is by getting laid.”

“What?” Mila says.

“What you heard. If you are able to flirt with a guy, make out with him, and then sleep with him without thinking about Rúben, that means that whatever has been going on between you two was just sex. But if your mind keeps going to him…”

“Then it means that you do have feelings for him” Miriam adds.

“And that I’m fucked” Mila sighs.

After everything that happened at Bernardo’s house, Mila had to ran away. She needed to put space between her and Rúben, properly think about what was going on. And she couldn’t do that in Manchester. That’s why the next morning she quickly packed her things and took the first flight to Lisbon, meeting with Eva and Miriam, her childhood friends.

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t” Eva shrugs. “Let’s make this our goal in Cádiz. Find you a nice guy, and see what happens.”

“I don’t know if we will be able to do that in just a week. It usually takes you your whole life to find a decent guy” Mila chuckles.

“A week and a half thanks to you running away” Eva points out. “But leave it to me” she smirks.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━ 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Tonight is gonna be your night, Mila. I can feel it” Eva says as they walk through the streets of Cádiz. They’ve been there for a few days already, and so far, they haven’t met that nice guy who will help her decide if her feelings for Rúben are something else or just physical attraction.

“Are you sure?” Mila asks her.

“I’m sure” she says, looking for a club they were recommended by a group of girls they met the previous night.

“Have you heard from Rúben?” Miriam asks her.

“He’s in Ibiza with John. He texted me when they landed this morning.”

“If he is with him, that means trouble” Miriam says.

“Maybe he also is looking for his nice girl” Eva chuckles.

“I don’t think she needs one” Mila says. Unlike her, he doesn’t have doubts about what he now feels for her. He wants to be with her.

“We’ll probably find out rather sooner than later. Ibiza is full of paparazzis who know that football players are stupid and always go to the same places, that they are an easy target” Eva says.

“Hey, I also am a football player” Mila complains.

“Female football player. You girls are the clever ones. And here we are!” Eva says, stopping in front of a pub with a couple of small palm trees at the door, music coming from the inside.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

They had been at the pub for an hour or so, Mila ready to comment that this wasn’t her night either, when a group of very loud men approached them.

“Good night, ladies” one of them says in Spanish. “Tonight we are celebrating our friend Pablo’s stag party, and on every pub we are going, he has decided to invite the most beautiful girls to a round. What do you say?”

“Free drinks? I’m in” Eva says with a smile. “Miriam?”

“Count me in” she replies. “But Mila over here doesn’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh, that’s fine. She can stay with Rafa. He is the healthy one who doesn’t drink” the guy says, nodding towards one of his friends. He is taller than all of them, the white shirt he is wearing giving you a glimpse of some very nice muscles underneath it.

“That’s great, isn’t it, Mila?” Eva says before winking at her. Looks like she has found tonight’s candidate for the nice guy.

“Happy to have some company while I babysit you” she replies.

“I know the feeling” Rafa chuckles, sitting next to her. “Mila, right? From Milagros?”

“That’s my grandmother. I’m just Mila.”

“Lucky you. I was named after my grandfather, but they gave me the full name. Rafael” he says, moving his hands in the air like that SpongeBob meme with the rainbow, making Mila laugh.

“I’m sorry” she says.

“Nah, I’m already used to it. Where are you from? You don’t sound like people around here.”

“We are from Lisbon” Mila says.

“Portuguese, uh? You speak really good Spanish, though it may not be that difficult.”

“It’s tricky sometimes, but it definitely is more easy than other languages. What about you? You don’t sound like someone from Cádiz either.”

“Murcia. Do you know where that is?”

“I think so…” Mila says. “South?”

“South-east, literally at the other side of the country” Rafa chuckles. “You know your geography, uh?”

“I’m a clever girl” she says with a smile. “How is that you came here for a stag party?”

“I just moved to Sevilla for work, and Cádiz is beautiful, has an amazing beach, great parties… It seemed perfect. You?”

“Just some girls holidays. Eva’s parent’s have a house here, and we always spend a few days together.”

“Your juice, Rafa” Pablo says.

“Is it just juice? Nothing extra?”

“Nothing extra, I promise” Pablo says, sitting next to us and joining the conversation his other friends have with Miriam and Eva.

“It wouldn’t be the first time they add rum or vodka.”

“Such nice friends” Mila laughs. “You just said that you’ve moved to Sevilla for work. May I ask what do you do?”

“I… I play football.”

“No way! Really?”

“Yeah…” he says, playing with the glass on his hands.

“But like, professionally?” Mila asks.

“Yep. Just signed for Sevilla.”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing! I also play football.”

“Yeah, sure” Rafa chuckles.

“I do! Girls, tell Rafa what I do for a living.”

“She plays football for Manchester United” Eva says, all the guys looking at Mila as if she had grown another head.

“You also are a football player?” the guy who first talked to them asks.

“What do you mean by also?” Miriam says.

“Rafa just signed for Sevilla!”

“What a coincidence, uh?” Eva says with a big grin.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

As the night goes on, they leave the pub where they were and move to a karaoke bar where Pablo invites another group of girls to some shots. They also invite some other guys to join them, and they’ve gone from being just seven people hanging out, to twenty, most of them very drunk.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Rafa asks Mila.

“I can’t leave Eva and Miriam alone.”

“They seem fine to me” he chuckles. Eva is kissing one of Rafa’s friends, her tongue all the way down his throat, while Miriam is in deep conversation with one of the girls they met at the karaoke bar while talking very close to each other.

“Ok then” Mila says.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Is taking you to the beach a bit of a cliché?”

“A bit, yes” Mila laughs. “But I love it here.”

“You don’t have this in Manchester.”

“I do not, no. But tell me, Rafael.”

“Oh God, this is serious. You are using my full name” he laughs.

“It is” she says with a cheeky smile. “Tell me, Rafael. Do you take all the girls you meet to the beach?”

“Just the ones I want to kiss.”

“Really?”

“Really” Rafa says, taking a step closer to her. They’ve stopped walking and are now standing in the middle of the beach, the waves clashing behind them.

“Ok.”

“Ok? What does that mean?”

“It means that you can kiss me. Unless I do it first” Mila says, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.