As a Writer itâs my goal to help and uplift other writers and future Authors alike so hereâs a Masterlist of resources Iâve compiled for you to use for your writing!
If you know any sites or have any recommendations for me to add, my asks/submissions are open!!
Iâll update these as I further my journey & research into becoming an Author one day, please reblog this to help your fellow writers!
Organization, Advice, and Research
Hiveword - A website with multiple writing resources available such as planning, index cards, articles with advice, name and character generators, and research capabilities. The free account offers the essentials such as scenes, characters, and plotlines.
Storytellerâs Roadmap - A website that helps you plan, write, and revise a story thoroughly. It including guides to write specific descriptions along with a thesaurus, templates and worksheets, an Idea Generator and more.
Helping Writers become Authors - A website in a blog style format with multiple articles and resources including writing mistakes, novel outlining, story structures, as well as character arcs and many more.
UK resources for writers - A website with resources for learning how to write with free and paid courses, writing opportunities, and more for writers in the UK.
Creative Writers Academy - A website with free classes guiding a step by step through the publication process.
Reedsy - A blog style website that includes Articles about publication and centered around learning how to publish a book with many tools and generators for writing.
Poets and Writers - A website for Writers and poets with resources like publishing your writing, finding your community and more.
Research Links for Writers - An HTML site with multiple links and resources for writers spanning upon multiple genres, subject matters, and history.
The internet public library - A website encyclopedia for essays and academic papers.
Writing realistic Injuries - A website with a list of different types of injuries and how to write them out including, impacts, and the effects of them.
RanGen - A website for writers with writing challenges, resources, and generators for things like personalities, characters, poisons, writing prompts, etc.
Ivy Tech Library - A library database website with a lot of resources for research including folklore and by region.
How to write a story by Creativepromptsforwriting on Tumblr - A different Masterlist with many more resources about writing, staying motivated, certain plots, etc.
Self Publishing
A step-by-step Video about Self Publishing - A video by Gilliain Perkins explaining her process of how she self published her Best Seller Novel.
How to format your book yourself through word - A video by Natalia Leigh with a step-by-step process on how she formats her manuscript. Her video covers: Page Size, Margins, Line spacing, Indentation, Chapter Styles, Page Numbers, and Headers.
Strategies for Marketing your book - A video made by iWriterly she explains 34 different strategies that can be used to market a book (while marketing her book lol!) and includes a downloadable checklist of these strategies
Masterclass How to copyright a book in 7 steps - An article guiding step by step how to properly copyright a self published book.
Fiverr - A freelancing website where you can find someone to make your illustrations, covers, and even get editors as well as someone to voice or make an audiobook for you.
Up Work - A freelancing website where you can find someone to make your illustrations, covers, and even get editors as well as someone to voice or make an audiobook for you.
Beta Books - A website for Beta Readers can read your book and return their feedback. It lets you sort and filter your feedback by reader, chapter, or keyword, to get your book done.
Docucopies - A printing service website with a short guide about self publishing, buying copyright, and ISBN references and sites, all while including printing services (10% off of orders over 350$)
The Book Patch - A book printing service which includes Print-On-Demand services or cheap printing services allowing for smaller quantities. The Book Patch does not offer expensive publishing package, and keeps book publishing costs to a minimum.
Affordable Book Printing - A website with book publishing services including printing books but also formatting e-books, Cover Design, as well as Marketing and more
Generators & AUs
Random AU Generator - A website that generates AUs randomly.
Fantasy Name/Realm Generator - A website that generates random fantasy names.
Random Name Generator - A website that generates random names based on the options chosen with the ability to choose by region and gender.
Service Scape Writing Prompt Generator - A website that generates in depth writing prompts as chosen by the genre selected.
Writing Plot Generator - A website that generates plots based upon your selections of genre, title, etc.
Art Breeder - A website that can use a series of images to generate photos or the perfect character for your story.
t141 + könig and their reaction to sleeping on the couch after an argument
âprice
when you banish him to the couch, he could be one of two waysâmature and forces you to talk it out nicely or toxic, flat out refuses, and fucks you back to your senses.
the first way, when the words spill from your mouth, his shoulders slumped with dejection as he steps from the room. no point in arguing when you're worked up. after stewing in your anger for thirty or so minutes, he returnsâarmed with foodâand talks it out with you.
the other way, he flat out refuses to sleep on the couch. i could see him manipulating you with the "I paid for that bed, and I'll sleep in it." you're stubborn, muttering something about you sleeping on the couch then, which is how you end up getting your brains fucked out.
âsoap
I imagine soap just pushed your buttons way too much that day. you know how he is sometimesâover the top, hyper, and an all-around instigator. he was looking for a reaction, and he found itâjust not the one he wanted.
immediately pouts, acting like a dejected child before he goes on to try and convince you to change your mind. real annoying about it too, doesn't give up until you're at your breaking point.
âkyle
the only one that I see actually accept his banishment with stride. he knows he made you upset, respects the boundary you placed with him and doesn't take it to heart. there's also a big possibility that, by the end of the night, you end up talking it out anyways like mature adults.
he knows you needed to get it out of your system, and you serving punishment to him did just that.
âsimon
the second the words leave your mouth, he shuts down. you see the moment he deflates, doesn't try to reconcile, and just accepts it. he doesn't want to upset you further or make you more mad than you already are. simon doesn't respond well to domestic conflict.
the second his back hits the cushions? he's tossing and turning. he barely fits the couch to begin with, and you both learn you need each other to sleepâbonded like a pair of cats.
âkönig
he's not fitting on the couch, and that's what makes it more satisfying. maybe he was being too persistent about his horniness, hands wandering too far until you snapped and threw your finger to the couch you know he can't fit.
he whines about it for sure, trying to whip you with puppy eyes and convince you to change your mind. he apologizes until you're sick of hearing it, allowing him back in bed just to get him to shut up.
I just want to say I love your writing and honestly I look forward to seeing the notifications I get when you post! I was wondering what positions you think are the Nightbrothers favorite?
Perhaps how each of them like to cuddle (sfw) or maybe what position they want their s/o while being intimate in the bedroom (nsfw)? Whichever you are more comfortable with ofc! Love you lots !!!
Ps: thinking about Maul laying on readers chest and getting back rubs genuinely makes me giggle đ
Youâre so sweet for this, your message made my day I swear, love you lots too! :) I already posted cuddling headcanons, so Iâll focus more on nsfw here. Hope you like it, donât lose faith in me if I flopped (non ironically sometimes I hate what I write) I feel huge amount of responsibility towards Zabrak boys and all of my readers. Im trying to improve every day guys.
The Nightbrothers - fav sex/after sex positions
NSFW 18+
includes: Maul, Savage, Icarus, Scorn, Feral
note: I will be writing aftercare headcanons separately. Andd there might be a part 2 to this one also, I might get inspired to go in depth on the matter.
Darth Maul
Enters the room like heâs about to kill you. The doors slam open, the whole place seems to shake, and he steps inside only to stop dead in his tracks. His eyes find you immediately, and once they do, youâd better hold that eye contact. :)
Then he starts circling you slowly. Watching you, waiting to see if youâll move.
He knows exactly what heâs doing. The anticipation is half the fun for him. Making you wait. Making you wonder when heâs finally going to close the distance.
And then, once heâs behind you, his arms wrap around your waist possessively, and he pulls you down with him onto the couch, settling you comfortably in his lap.
âThere is something deeply wrong with you, my dear,â he murmurs against your neck, clearly amused. âHow excited you get when youâre afraid.â
Before long, youâll find yourself straddling him, caught in a kiss that feels more like a challenge than affection. Maul never seems capable of focusing on only one thing at a time. He kisses you like he wants to consume you completely , yet somehow still finds room to talk. Smug little comments slipped between each kiss, amused observations about how impatient youâve become.
Heâs obsessed with your hair. Always has a hand in it. Fingers curling into it, guiding your attention back to him whenever he feels youâve glanced away from him.
In general, I think his favorite positions are anything outside the bed. Against a wall. On a chair. Leaning against a table. Somewhere on a staircase where neither of you should realistically be comfortable.
The important part is that youâre facing him.
Lovess that eye contact. He wants to see every reaction, every hesitation, every challenge. Wants your full attention and gives you nothing less in return.
If you close your eyes for too long or look away, heâll grab your jaw and tug you right back, tilting your face toward his.
âThere.â He mutters, âMuch betterâ
Pinning you against a wall while he talks to you, crowding your space until all you can really see is him.
Face-to-face is his favorite place to be.
The type who would choose missionary for no other reason than wanting to finish an argument while staring directly into your soul.
And after all that angry, chaotic, messy sex, he becomes almost unrecognizable afterward. One moment heâs impossible to handle, and the next heâs practically glued to your side.
He immediately pulls you close, curling himself around you possessively as if he has no intention of letting you leave for the rest of the night. He settles himself between your thighs, resting his head against your chest with both his arms tucked under you. If you try to move, he lets out a low growl of dissatisfaction and pins you right back where you belong.
And if you dare stop absentmindedly rubbing circles against his skin, he notices. Every single time. Heâll never admit how much he enjoys the attention. Funny how he shamelessly just claims it though.
He becomes strangely quiet. Murmuring the occasional thought against your skin, most of it so soft you can barely hear it. Sometimes heâs talking to you. Sometimes he seems to just be thinking out loud.
Mostly, he just likes watching you relax.
Hearing as your breathing slows. Watching the tension leave your body. Watching your eyes grow heavy until you eventually drift off.
Thereâs something rewarding about it to him. The fact that youâre not afraid of him.
Youâve stood your ground when he challenged you. Argued back when he pushed. Refused to run when he was angry, unstable, difficult, or convinced he was impossible to love.
And Maul knows better than anyone that some parts of him will probably never be entirely under control. Yet somehow, youâve accepted those parts too. So, when heâs wrapped around you like this and refusing to let go, it almost feels like his own quiet way of saying thank you.
Savage Opress
A sucker for hard core sex, but also super aware of his own size and strength. Because of that, most of the time heâs holding back. You almost get the feeling heâs waiting for permission.
If you want to see that side of him, you have to ask for it. Really ask for it. Tease him and challenge him. Push him a little. Give him an excuse to stop treating you like youâre made of glass.
The moment he realizes youâre serious, heâs on it like a dog! Hes responsive when it comes to praise, requests, or even outright demands. Talk dirty to him. Tell him what you want and heâll become completely focused on giving it to you.
Loves using his big hands on you. One massive hand wrapped around your throat, the other gripping your hip or thigh as he thrusts into you. He loves being able to manhandle you, move you exactly where he wants you, and watch your reactions every step of the way.
One of his favorite positions is throwing both your legs over to one side and pulling you against him by your ass, completely captivated by the sight in front of him. Savage is surprisingly visual. Once he finds something he likes looking at, he can get completely stuck on it.
Another thing he loves is having you on your knees in front of him, both his hands controlling your movements on his cock. One hand cupping your cheek, the other firm on the back of your head pressing you down as he likes.
Afterwards he gets super proud of the messy state youâre left in. Messy hair, flushed face, he literally pulls you on top of his chest and holds you there just to admire his work.
In his mind, looking completely ruined afterward is a sign that both of you enjoyed yourselves properly. Savage likes passion that he can see.
And if youâre sitting there trying to fix your hair while he stares at you with that smug grin on his face, then as far as heâs concerned, thatâs proof he did everything right.
Icarus
Loves watching you struggle.Not out of cruelty though. At least, thatâs what heâll tell you.
Half the time the positions he puts you in are difficult simply because they give him better access to you, but heâd be lying if he said he didnât enjoy watching you deal with the consequences too. The truth is, he enjoys seeing you squirm, watching you as you try to regain some sense of control when heâs already taken most of it away.
Has you tied down against a vibrator, so tightly that you cant even move an inch, he holds the remote while taking your mouth at the same time. Your hands are also tied, behind your back or over your head, you cant move, you cant talk(obviously hes keeping your mouth occupied) and the only thing you manage is to let out a few desperate cries or gasps for air between his thrusts.
Hes not a complete maniac though.. has his gentle moments too, and one of his favorites is taking you from behind as both of you are kneeling upright, your back pressed tightly against his chest as he sits directly behind you, practically wrapped around your entire body. One arm draped across your collarbones occasionally finding its way upward, tightening around your throat; the other resting securely around your waist or between your thighs. Pulling you deeper onto him. Keeping you right where he wants you. The thrusts are deep and slow at first but then he also likes switching up the pace without warning, anytime he feels like youâre getting too close.
If you ignore the fact that heâs edging you, it really is sweet. He just buries his face against your shoulder and enjoys the feeling of having you there. Just the steady rise and fall of your breathing matching his as the rest of the world slowly fades away.
Aftercare is non-negotiable with him.
He keeps you tucked against his side, rubbing slow circles along your arm or shoulder. Ocassionally checking in. Mostly, he just likes hearing your voice and knowing youâre still there with him.
Heâs especially attentive if things got particularly intense. Any lingering marks become something he fusses over. Gentle touches and soft kisses on each of them. A quiet praise.
âYou took it so well for meâ âŠ. âCome hereâ
Itâs crazy how quickly he switches from menace to caretaker. The psychopath that spent hours torturing you, now acts like he saved you from it too.
Makes sense I guess.. :âD
Scorn
Knows exactly how to completely disarm you.
Heâll have you lying comfortably on your stomach while he slowly works the tension out of your body. Soft kisses pressed along your spine, lingering just long enough to make your shoulders relax. Every time you think heâs finished, another kiss follows a little lower, a little slower.
At some point he sits upright behind you, to give you a massage or to play with your hair. He really takes his time with you, feeling your every muscle relaxing under his touch, not letting you realize the weight of him pressing down on you more with every second. Before you know it youâre pinned down without being able to move even if you wanted to.
That is how he likes to take you, slow and deep thrusts as you lie under his weight helplessly whimpering into the pillow. Occasionally he eases back, turns you slightly toward him, checks your face like heâs making sure youâre getting enough air. Heâs just such a caring babe, always making sure youâre safe before anything else.
Also likes pulling you up and just taking you doggy style His movements are rough and tough, if you didnt know him better youd say heâs ruthless. A quick, sharp strike with an open hand landing on your ass making you jolt and turn back to look at him.
He gets super lazy and sleepy afterwards, wants to snuggle you close and fall asleep with his face buried in your neck. The same hands that were rough on you, become absent-minded and soft, lazily tracing your arm or rubbing small circles against your shoulder until he drifts off completely.
Feral
Cuddles and sex with him can easily just be called playtime instead.
Heâs reallyy bratty and mischievous, loves getting a reaction out of you. Wants engagement, wants you to play back.
Sits super close to you, always making sure heâs touching you somewhere, even if itâs just his thigh brushing against yours, or his fingers drawing imaginary shapes across your wrist or palm of your hand. Somehow always finds himself sitting lower than where you are so he can look up at you with his innocent round eyes and use them to his advantage.
During sex heâs pretty spunky and confident. Loves giving head of course cause it gives him that lower ground, allowing him to keep that angelic eye contact with you. If you grab him by the back of his head and shove him closer onto you, he will absolutely lose his mind. Will still keep that eye contact even through the tears.
Also likes when you just take control and ride him, possibly with your hands on his chest, extra points if you leave scratch marks there. He will be cherishing them for days after, he gets really sentimental about hickeys and bruises you leave on him in general. Sees it as some form of a bond and just loves that you claim him like that.
Physical closeness is huge for him. He likes being tangled up together afterwards. Legs intertwined, arms wrapped around you, your bodies pressed together with no clear idea where one person ends and the other begins. His brattiness never stops though, he starts pointing at some little scratches he finds on his arm or chest and immediately asks for it to be kissed better.
Eventually falls asleep with his face resting against your crotch, somehow he is a complete tease even while asleep. He just canât help it. ;3
Savage strikes me as the older brother type to know immediately when Maul starts sneaking around with Kenobi
(And the brother who cooks, cleans, works, does everything because if he ever left the house unattended with Maul + Feral itâd be on fire within two minutes)
Okay now imagine cane corso!ghost bonding with terrier!reader
You were so excited to learn you'd be with another dog hybrid, contrary to popular belief they aren't all that common in higher ranks.
For once, you get to have someone who understands you instincts and doesn't scoff at your social behaviors. You get someone to maybe-hopefully pack bond with and not have to explain what that is. You finally get someone high energy to run and play withâ
And it turns out he's a giant, sleepy, boring dog.
Lieutenant riley does little more than give you a sniff when he first meets you, a sleepy rumble low in his chest before meandering off. Not what you expected, but it's still nice to bond with him.
Ghost, as it turns out, is a great packmate. He's willing to indulge your more hyper moods, and when he isn't?
"Fuckin' settle down, pup." Ghost grunts, grabbing you by the scruff and tossing you to the floor of the rec room. You barely get a moment to recover before 300+ pounds of dog hybrid lie atop you, pinning you down heavily.
Not matter how hard you bark and growl, ghost just rumbles in his half-sleep, tail slowly wagging.
Without fail, it always seems to make you sleepy too. All that high energy you can never deal with settling right down into a foggy peace, enjoying your packmate on top of you and his scent so close, your own tail wagging.
Which is how the team find you an hour later, happily sleeping under the crushing weight if ghost while he absently watches the birds outside.
Part 1 of a little comic for mershark soap and pirate ghost :)
Ghost thought sharks didn't make noise so he's really shocked when the one he's stuck with (hes not really stuck hes keeping it around cause he feels bad and the mer is handsome) starts crying loudly...
living with simon riley is more like living with a large, slightly scary dog than a man.
heâs quiet, low-maintenance - as long as he gets his hour or two of exercise a day. skip it and he gets restless.
right before dinner he appears in the kitchen doorway like clockwork, staring at you with a hopeful, wide eyed look that says âfeed me, please.â
when heâs home from ops, he follows you from room to room without a word - your silent, ever present shadow. if you leave for work, heâs waiting by the front door when you get back, like heâs been lurking there for hours.
and every morning when he wakes up hard, pressed right against your ass? he humps against you like a horny mutt whoâs forgotten all his manners.
Thinking about mer!reader who was born in captivity meeting mer!ghost who was born wild...
You both meet in a mer sanctuary, you having been rescued from an aquarium going bankrupt and ghost under treatment for a boating strike. You've never seen another mer before, but the strange creature in your tank undeniably is one, that much you instincts tell you.
But....but he's so big, bigger than anything you've seen before! You doubt he could ever comfortably fit in your tank! Just looking at him makes your fins flutter nervously, hiding in the rocks on the shelf built into the pool.
He keeps peeking into your cave, chirping and churring in a way that makes your instincts perk but you don't really understand. Safety? Pod? You don't know.
Meanwhile, ghost is losing his mind.
This strange mer is too damn small, and he keeps trying to ask "are you okay? I'm safe, did they hurt you?" But all it does is squeak like a pup and hide!
Ghost can't fit into the tiny cave with the mer, and his instincts are already freaking out because he's separated from his pod! He needs to protect the weird pup!
....how the hell the workers intend to care for you when ghost is at risk of drowning anyone who tries, they have no idea.
Request fill for nonny who wanted captive vs wild mer!!!
Still thinking about [captive bred mer!reader and wild mer!ghost] and their first feeding time together....
You spend so long in that little cave, tucked into the shadowy corner whenever the big mer swam by. He was just so big! And spiky in places you aren't, and all the wrong colors!
After awhile he leaves you alone, instead swimming laps in the giant pool, chirping...something. you still don't understand him. It was easy to calm down in your cave, knowing he couldn't fit. It was harder to ignore your growing hunger.
You don't know how you'll get food, it's too scary to swim up and do the tricks! Just the thought of doing your usual splashing and flying from the water with the big mer around....no. best not to.
So you hunker down, tuck your tail over your arms and open you vents for the long night. It's not the first time you'll go without food but it never gets easier.
Something thunks outside your cave entrance, startling you out of your half-sleep.
A....crab? It's definitely a crab! Oh, wow! You didn't know there were any in the pool! Excited, you swim out to say hi. chest brushing the rock so you can be eye level, you chirp "hai!!! Helloooo!!! Hi!!"
The crab doesn't move. Hrm. Strange. You bat at it, churring in curiosity when it simply floats away a bit, still not moving. You paw at it, inspecting it, worried it might be sick andâ
A loud rumble above youâ the mer! You go to dart back into your cave only to realize it's so far away. He rumbles more, reaching a giant hand down to pluck the crab from its place, and instead place food down!
Ah. He must be helping the crab out.
You eat the food, making sure to save some for the big mer because even if he's scary he's helping the crab so you suppose he should eat too. He brings more and more, and you eat your fill for the first time in...a long time.
Above the surface, two workers talk to eachother about your feeding method. It seems whole foods don't work, but ghost is willing to tear them up for you. They will continue to monitor.
The unintended side effect of your desk being moved to a central locationâŠmore people got to hear what the boys were saying to you.
One morning, Soap gave a particularly loud and proud âhey, sexy!â
âŠand thatâs how you landed hereâŠin HR.
The five of you sat sheepishly in the mismatched chairs (they had to bring in more and squeeze them in for you all to fit) in front of the desk for the head of the HR department.
âNow, sweetieâŠif these men are making you uncomfortable, you need to let someone know. Help is always available.â
Someone snorted and was quickly shot a nasty glare.
Your face is hot. Even as a kid, you didnât like getting in trouble. Just being called to the counselors office (it always ended up being for an award or something, never you in trouble) would make you cry, so this situation was highly uncomfortable.
âNoâŠno itâs fine.â You were looking at your folded hands in your lap, but spared a quick glance up. She did not look impressed. You straightened and tried to speak louder, âreally! Iâm fineâŠIâm notâŠuncomfortableâŠâ
Can you just sayâŠif this was truly a situation where you were being made uncomfortable, being in the same room as the perpetrators talking about it would not make you feel better. But what do you know, youâre not HR.
She leans forward on the desk, looking over her eyeglasses to you and stage whispers like the boys somehow canât hear it, âyouâre comfortableâŠbeing called sexy.â
You were going to die.
Truly, this had to be your final resting place. You could not think of a more embarrassing situation. Because for all your fussing when they talk to youâŠit really does make you feel nice. Wanted. AppreciatedâŠnot invisibleâŠand theyâre quite attractive too.
But now you had to sit hereâin front of them!âand admit that you liked when they called you sexy! How humiliating was this!
You purse your lips, âyes.â
Gaz is pulling his cap further down and covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide how heâs about to burst out laughing. The captain is trying to remain composed as well, seeing as heâs the captain and by all means should be fearing for his job right now! Instead, heâs just smug, crossing his arms and looking at you expectantly. Soap is unabashedly beaming at you (probably in some weird way proud that he was the one that landed the lot of you here). And Simon still has his mask on, but at some point during the meeting he tossed his arm over the back of your chair like some âfuck youâ to this HR ladyâŠwhich for the record is a horrible idea.
She leans back, adjusts her glasses, and picks her pen back up, writing something down on some form. âWell, alright then, hun. I canât keep askinâ, but I can write you all up for some mandatory training.â
That finally mellows them out. ââŠtraining?â Price finally asks.
âMhmmm,â she rips a paper out of her book and slides it to him.
âHarassment in the workplaceâŠâ he reads out.
Thatâs the final straw, your face falls into your hands to hide your embarrassment. âIâm fine!â You mumble out behind them.
âThat well may be, sweetheart, but youâll still be going to this training.â
And thatâs how you find yourself here. In a damp room in the basement on a Saturday. Like this is some adult version of detention and youâre all the fucked up Breakfast Club replacements.
The instructor doesnât look like he wants to be here either as he pulls the projector screen up and down trying to get it to stick in the right position.
OnâŠa different note. This is the first time youâve seen the boys out of uniform. And as much as you do love the uniformâŠthereâs certainly an appeal to their civvies. Something about Simon Riley in a leather jacket and the captain in a brown Carharrt is invoking images of motorcycles and early mornings on a farmâŠ
âGood morning, sweetâeart,â Price snaps you out of your reverie, placing a to-go cup in front of you.
âUh, uh! No pet names! We will be covering that!â The instructor briefly looks up from his computer and points a finger at John.
Price shoots him a side-eye before just looking back at you.
You stare at the cup like youâve never seen one before. âDidâŠdid you bring me coffee?â
âIn fact, I did.â Again, his stupid smug mug is backâŠbut still, you are very grateful.
âThank you.â You say reluctantly.
Despite the size of the table in this presentation room, the boys fill in the seats immediately next to you, which youâre sure concerns the instructor.
Again, Simonâs arm somehow finds its way onto the back of your chair, which earns him a glare.
The instructor goes over the basics of what counts as harassment and where to report it before he gets to an activity portion where you need the brainstorm some examples.
Soap raises his hand and youâre already preparing for the worst. âSoâŠfor exampleâŠif I was to tell the wee bird that those jeans do wonders forââ
âYes! SergeantâŠthat would count.â He cuts him off.
Soap just nods like he deeply understands, âright, yes, that makes sense.â
âAnd if I were toâhypotheticallyâask the sweet thing on a dateââ Kyle joins in on the torture of the instructor.
âYes! That would be inappropriate!â
Every suggestion youâre sinking further into your seat with your mind sent reeling. Would Kyle actually ask you out? Would any of them?
âIs it safe to assume touching is off the table?â Simon sneaks his arm off your chair and onto your shoulders.
âIt is! Remove that arm, young man!â
âRightâŠso just to clarifyâŠno calling our sweetheart, sweetheart.â John jumps in.
âNo! You just did it, captain! Have any of you been paying attention?â He looks on the verge of a heart attack.
âOh, yes we have. We were just making sure we understood.â John gives him his shit-eating grin and suddenly the boys are all on their best behaviors.
For the rest of the seminar, no complements, no touches, no innuendos. Youâre almost inclined to believe you imagined the whole thing.
The instructor wraps up, giving you all the green-light, and seeming very proud of the progress they made.
Finally, he makes his exit.
Immediatley, theyâre on you like vultures.
Simonâs arm wraps back around your shoulders while John picks up your cup to throw away. Kyle shoulders your bag and Johnny grabs your coat for you.
It always hurts in that big, bright way, like a thousand sticks of dynamite blowing a tunnel open through a mountain, giving you a way to pass to the other side. Like whispering the same wish over and over again until your lips go numb and your voice goes hoarse, your plea still unheard after all these years.
Perhaps it would hurt less to desire if you could fill that hole every once in a while. If you could wet your tongue with the taste of satisfaction, of a want fulfilled, of the opportunity to say to someone, âOh, look what I gotâ or âLook at what all my work has amounted to.â
Thatâs never been the case though, has it? Never been lucky enough for a wish to come true. You work like a dog for the barest scraps of what you know youâre worth (what you know and what every day seems less and less true).
Vacations that you never had enough money to take, jobs that never came to fruition, mistakes that couldnât be undone, memories that you could never remake, friendships that grew apart or that never materialized altogether.Â
Itâs not all doom and gloom. You have a good job and a decent network of friends and acquaintances, parties you attend on occasion and warm nights at home curled up in bed. You have a roof over your head. There's more than enough in your life to be grateful for.
But the wanting never goes away. That, you have in spades. That, you have in heaps and bounds. That multiplies itself tenfold.Â
And it happens that way with your heart too.
Thereâs a coffee shop down the street from your office with a decent amount of seating and an app to order your drink ahead of time, and every day at around two, you order your coffee ahead of time and walk over to pick it up, rain or shine.Â
The same chairs are always filled by the same people. Plenty of them youâve even grown to recognize over timeâstudents bent over thick textbooks, elderly men creasing newspapers in ink-stained hands, and laptop screens glowing with blank Word documents, scarcely a sentence added in the time it took to order and finish their coffee.
You recognize most of the takeaway regulars as well.
Theyâre harder to remember at first. Quick to come and quick to go. Hard to commit their faces to memory. But some give you no choiceâsome boisterously loud or ostentatious in dress, eye-catching enough to hook you like a fish, drag your attention down river with them.Â
Then, to him.Â
He, like you, comes in every day around two for his afternoon coffee. He, unlike you, comes striding in full-chested, confidence nipping at his heels, no world-weariness weighing him down.Â
Hard not to notice him. Of course you notice him. He takes up space like a living sun, all bright smiles and radiant energy, handsome in the way that, when men are, they draw people in like moths. You feel no better than a moth sometimes, particularly in his presence.Â
Tea-coloured eyes. What you notice at first is that thereâs a beautiful man waiting for his coffee next to you, a tall man with the sculpted physique of an athlete, all long limbs and broad shoulders tapering into a lean frame, and what you notice next are those tea-coloured eyes, honeying under the sun.Â
You stare so long that you only realize how dry your eyes have gone when the door swings shut behind him.Â
Itâs no wonder then, that you latch onto his presence like so, a little flutter in your chest on your way to the coffee shop every time after that first time, hoping that youâll cross paths again.Â
And you do. Cross paths again, that is. Only a few times those first couple of weeks, and then seemingly all the time, the two of you always in at the same time.Â
That isnât unusual. There are plenty of other familiar faces picking up their afternoon coffees at the same time as you, people that you recognize at the mobile ordering station and laptop stickers that youâve come to memorize, the same people sitting at the same seats. People like routine; youâre no different. Neither is he.Â
It comes over you like an ague, a desperate, eager thing, quiet enough at first when youâve only seen him in bits and pieces, not studied him at length yet, but itâ
It grows.
It grows like a vine in your chest, weaving around your heart and squeezing until you can feel it with every beat.Â
You donât entirely blame yourself. How could you? You swear youâve never seen anyone even half as good-looking as himâbroad-shouldered and lean, perfect smile, perfect teeth. Haircut always fresh, his edges neat. He squints with the force of his smile, always effusive with his gratitude and praise, so earnest in his kindness that it makes your teeth ache.Â
Heâs objectively a handsome man. Perhaps the handsomest man youâve ever seen. What else could you do but go a bit crazy?Â
You donât know what to do with yourself when he doesnât show up at the same time as you. Your schedules are so in sync that youâve grown to expect him, fattened and spoiled by the timeliness of his presence. But he doesnât owe it to you to show up, and there are days when he doesnât, held up for some reason, or maybe simply not in the mood for a coffee.
You practically drag your feet on the walk back to the office, a sorry sight. Pathetically despondent. You hardly know what to do with yourself the rest of the afternoon, oscillating between dejection and self-reproach. Itâs pathetic that the mere absence of your crush would reduce you to such a state, hardly able to concentrate on your work because the stranger that youâve become infatuated with wasnât at the coffee shop where you see him for a total of twenty seconds every other day.Â
Forgive yourself though. Nothing youâve ever wanted has come without pain.
What you donât expect is for him to finally notice you.Â
It happens on a day when you cross paths rather than arriving at the same time, him leaving the coffee shop as youâre about to enter. Your heart skips a beat when you look up and see him staring down at you, both of you taken by surprise when you go to pull the door open and heâs already pushing on the other side.Â
âTraffic jam,â he laughs when you both lean left and then right at the same time, trying to let the other go around. âHere, Iâve got you.â
He extends an arm to hold the door wide open and angles his body to let you pass through. You thank him as you pass, your heart pounding against your ribs. His gaze follows you as you step inside, and you nearly jump when his voice calls a farewell after you, leaving through the same door.
You stand near the doorway for far too long, other customers coming in and going around you, cutting you annoyed looks on their way to the cash. Your drink must already be waiting for you on the counter and still you canât move. It takes someone actually stumbling into you to jolt you back into the present.Â
That wasnât part of the plan. Itâs thrilling, initially, a rush so overwhelming, so kaleidoscopic, that you ride it all the way back to the office and all the way home, replaying the memory again and again in your head until even you start to tire of belabouring it.Â
And still you roll around in bed that night thinking about it, heart racing even hours after your short little conversation, picturing it over again in your mindâthe crinkle of the corners of his eyes, the smile nearly pulling across his face, all white teeth and soft, supple lips.Â
The only problem isâ
Now he knows who you are.
You donât expect him to remember you after such a quick encounter. Heâs not the one thatâs been pining these past few weeks. Heâs not the one thatâs been beating himself up for crushing on a stranger.Â
But he does remember you. And not only does he remember you, but he looks for you the next time heâs in.Â
Itâs one of those days when you get there first, coffee already ordered and paid for by the time he walks in, in dark trousers and a quarter-zip today, and filling them both out nicely, the sweater clinging to the muscles of his arms. You expect him to head straight for the cash like he normally does, blessedly and lamentably unaware of your presence.
His gaze immobilizes you, stronger than any paralytic. Itâs what holds you in place as he approaches, the distance between you halved in an instant, and then fully collapsed, the gorgeous man in front of you doing what Zenoâs Achilles never could.Â
âHey stranger, no dance today, huh?â he asks, clearly addressing you. Â
You donât know what to say. This is your worst case scenario, your category five emergency. In the weeks youâve spent crushing on him from afar, you hadnât considered the possibility of him ever noticing you in return.Â
âSorry?â you croak.
He gestures with his thumb towards the door. âFrom the other day, remember?â
You donât know how youâll make it through this interaction without making a fool of yourself. âRight. Haha. I guess the dance floorâs closed today.â
You could throw up on the spot. Of all the abysmal conversation rejoinders there have ever been in the history of humanity, the one you just offered must rank comfortably near the top.
For whatever reason though, whether divine intervention or something more dastardly, he chuckles, amused. He seems to like talking to you. Seems to like you even. That only becomes clearer when he approaches you the next day, and then the day after that, and then every day when you stop by at two p.m. for your afternoon coffee, your coffees now handed out together by the barista, as if you had ordered them that way.Â
The small talk alone almost makes you consider switching to a different coffee shop. Itâs too much pressure. You feel sick with anxiety at the thought of him figuring you out.Â
And he will figure you out. You havenât exactly played it subtle.Â
Then he gets your number. Somehow. And your name too, pried so easily from you that you donât even notice, like freeing a pearl from a clam; barely a flick of his wrist and you offer it up without a second thought, embarrassingly malleable.Â
You get his too. Kyle Garrick. He spells it for you as he watches you save his number into your phone from over your shoulder, so close to you that your fingers fumble with the keypad, mistyping it almost four times before getting it right. Â
Kyle doesnât seem to care that you can barely seem to string together a sentence in front of him. If anything, it seems to endear him to you. Â
His attraction makes itself apparent in tender words and a new penchant for touch, a hand always reaching out for you.Â
At first, itâs nothing more than the casual brush of his fingers against yours as he picks up your coffee from the bar and passes it to you, no different than a handshake or a high five. Ostensibly perfunctory. But that too changes over time. A fleeting touch becomes a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to a table for a quick chat before heading back to work, fingers squeezing your shoulder when he laughs at a joke you didnât realize you made, and quick hugs that grow a little longer each time.
Maybe. Or maybe youâre imagining it.Â
âSo when are you gonna let me take you out for real?âÂ
That snaps you out of the daydream, reality crashing down with such force that it leaves your ears ringing. His words leave you dumbfounded, gaping up at him in that stupid way that you canât seem to suppress.Â
âFor real?â you repeat.
âOn a date,â Kyle clarifies, as if the word alone werenât enough to wreck you.Â
âOh.âÂ
You tell him yes because the word no evaporates from your vocabulary. By the time it returns, heâs already gone, disappearing into the world (likely an office building around the corner from yours, but it might as well be Timbuktu).Â
This isnât what was supposed to happen. You were supposed to pine in agony until you died.Â
Itâs everything you ever wanted, and yet, you couldnât want it less in the moment, terrified for some reason that you canât quite articulate. You count down the days with growing apprehension, jitters giving way to a full-body sweat.Â
Youâll break it off at a later date. That thought comforts you to a point. At some point, there will be a moment for you to bail entirely.Â
The problem is the longer you say nothing, the harder it is to say anything at all. Already guilt stays your tongue when all you want to do is tell him that you canât do this anymore. You need to leaveâgo anywhere else, run home and lock the door behind you, never go back to the coffee shop again.
But thereâs a text in your phone telling you the time and place, and every time you look at it, it leaves you feeling off-kilter. Sea legs without leaving dry land.Â
What is it about you that you feel the need to run as soon as you get too close? What about this isnât what you want? Do you even know what you want?
Of course you know what you want. You want love and affection.Â
But having is not wanting. Wanting is safe. Itâs the having thatâs dangerous.Â
You contemplate cancelling on him about a dozen times until suddenly itâs too late, the man in question standing in the lobby of your building to pick you up. He must know someone in the building because heâs deep in conversation when you spot him, his head turning to meet yours at the same time, as if even in conversation, he wouldnât allow himself to be distracted enough to miss you. Your heart squeezes when he wraps it up in the same breath, crossing the lobby to meet you.Â
Dinner is a restaurant in a different part of town, one youâve seldom spent time in before, trendy in the way that would unnerve you were it not for the abrupt realization that to everyone else, this is simply a familiar part of town.Â
To some, the restaurant must be familiar as well. There might even be regulars. To you however, the small, dimly lit room with the booths on one side and the chairs lining the bar at the other, an eclectic assortment of framed photos and decorative porcelain plates on the wall beside you, is lovely, uncharted territory.Â
Over dinner, Kyle peppers you with question after question until your head spins, each answer that leaves your lips betraying some nervous tendency towards clandestinity. You have to keep some things to yourself. You have to keep some things private.
You have to shut your mouth before youâ
âA long time,â you reply without thinking, the whole world blowing open when you admit it. You hadn't even consciously registered the question before answering. When was your last date?Â
Kyle doesnât seem phased by it though, warm smile somehow warmer than the blood boiling under your skin. âI must be one lucky man then.â
He sweet talks you into agreeing to a drink after dinner, probably sensing the nervous animal in you, the fear about to take flight.Â
You assume he means a drink at a bar until youâre standing in the kitchen of your apartment, Kyle standing behind the island with a bottle of wine in one hand, uncorking it with practiced ease. When it pops out, you flinch.Â
What a strange thing, to lose time like that. You lose it again after he pours you both a glass, coming to on the couch with his arm around your shoulders, pinned between him and the side of the couch.Â
He turned the television on, you notice distantly, staring at it through your glass, red wine sloshing from side to side. Itâs not a program either of you would care to pay much attention to, possibly by design.Â
âDo you have, umâŠany plans tomorrow?â you ask, swallowing when he drags his fingers over the bare skin of your upper arm.Â
âNope,â he answers, playing with the sleeve of your shirt now.Â
You can hear it coming from a mile away. He makes it too obvious with his fingers trailing over your skin and the heat of his gaze searing into the side of your face.
The sky outside your window is black, the moon only a sliver of its usual brilliance, but your living room is bright, turning the window into a mirror reflecting the two of you, the picture of a couple in repose.Â
You watch his reflection lean over yours in the window, his lips grazing your doubleâs ears, your breath catching when his touch yours as well. âIf I give you an inch, youâre going to run a mile, arenât you?â he murmurs.Â
Thereâs a lump in your throat when you swallow. âNo,â you lie.
He must see right through you though. Must see the creature inside you about to succumb to its instincts.Â
He must be good at chess, you think to yourself, staring down at him with a stupid look on your face as he lowers himself to lie flat on the bed between your legs, spreading your thighs wide enough to wedge his shoulders between them. Any game of strategy.Â
If you never give your opponent a moment to breathe, they canât gather themselves enough to retreat.Â
That thought crumbles to dust when he makes you watch him lick the first stripe up the seam of your pussy, crudely spreading your lips with his tongue. Nothing more substantial materializes after that.Â
He eats pussy like he hasnât had enough to eat. Lips and tongue and hollowed cheeks when he sucks your clit into his mouth and your back nearly arches right off the bed, twisted into such a complex shape that you almost donât know how to unravel yourself. Fingers grasping at his head, his ears; rasping over the coils of his hair, fingers committing the texture to memory.Â
Your thighs tremble and squeeze, pried open again and again every time you try to shut him out. The muscles in his arms barely even bulge with the effort it takes to keep your thighs spread.Â
You are wound up in ways that would be a challenge to anyone, but Kyle doesnât seem to care. He just holds you down and forces you to come on his tongue, rolling it over your clit until you actually start crying. Big, belting caterwauls. His poor baby, he croons.Â
When have you been someoneâs âpoor babyâ? Someoneâs darling, sweetheart, honey, thatâs it, Iâve got you, that felt good, didnât it? God, youâre so pretty, I canât believe you let meâ
He flicks his tongue over your sensitive clit and you yelp, reaching down to slide your hand between his mouth and your swollen sex only for him to lace your fingers together and pull your hand to the side and lick it again.Â
âItâs still sensitive,â you complain, and he lifts a brow, unmoved by your bellyaching.Â
âSo what, you got twitchy little orgasm legs, that means Iâm not allowed to lick your pussy anymore?â
âNo,â you hiss, embarrassment warming the blood already pooled under your cheeks.Â
Warm hands rest on either side of your face as he eases his cock in for the first time, holding your gaze in place as sinks in to the root. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut.Â
They donât stay shut for long. He pries them open without words, without touch, every ounce of his ardor poured into you and lifting your own to the surface.Â
Sweat drips from his forehead onto yours. The sweat makes his hands slip up and down your face with the force of his thrusts, fingers tugging on your lips and pulling them apart, sliding over your gums and teeth.
âYou are the most beautiful thing Iâve ever seen,â Kyle pants, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto yours, eyes darker than youâve ever seen them, glassy and feverish.
âDonâtâdonât say that,â you gasp.
He dips his head down to press his forehead against yours. âYou canât tell me that. You canât tell me what to do.â
Whatever this is, itâs nothing like anything youâve experienced before. Proper lovemaking. Real kisses with passion, with fervor, with delight; the messiness contained between you, in the sweat rolling down your back and soaking into the sheets, the saliva dripping from his mouth into yours, the squelch of his shaft splitting you over and over, never giving you a second to catch your breath.Â
Coming a second, no, third time is painful, like a thing wrested unwillingly from you, and you fall back on the bed windburned. Kyle follows you down, hips bucking into yours faster and faster, his own end nearly on his heels.Â
He comes with a grunt, without warning; a sudden surge of heat and warmth, his fingers biting into your cheeks where he holds your face in his hands, his lip curling up into a snarl that you swear you can almost hear, andâ
You expect it to be over after that. For him to roll out of bed and pull on his pants, maybe give you a courtesy kiss for a job well done before leaving you to stew in the mire of another rejection, the small win eclipsed by the enormity of losing him.Â
What you donât expect is for him to lay down beside you and pull you into him. Kyle laughs softly when he notices your stiffness, jostling you slightly in an attempt to coax you into relaxing.
âThatâs right, baby,â he chuckles a touch breathlessly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose before relaxing back down. âIâm not going anywhere.â
Coffee the next day is different than usual. Early for one, the sun still a syrupy morning gold, not yet the starchy afternoon white, and in a different location than usual, the coffee machine on your kitchen counter hissing through its second cup of the day.Â
Kyle maneuvers around your apartment too naturally, a stark contrast to the way you scurry from the bedroom to the bathroom like a stowaway. Heâs entirely at home in your space though, helping himself to coffee and breakfast, only glancing at you for permission, the slightest cock of his head and arch of his brow, and you fold under the pressure instantly.Â
When you try to skirt around him, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, the touch of his lips against your chest shocking you still, electrical impulses still skittering under your skin.Â
âI can feel your heart racing,â Kyle teases, caramel-smooth voice sending a low vibration through your chest.
And why shouldnât he? Your heart is racing after all. âIâm nervous.â
âI know you are, baby,â he murmurs. âThis is hard for you, isnât it?â
It is. A few too many years on your own have turned you to stone, the slightest touch almost too much to handle. Youâve long learned to expect anything you touch to shock you.Â
âWant me to make this easier on you?â he asks gently. Youâre not sure what he means by that, but you have an inkling.Â
And wouldnât it be nice to not have to worry? To not have to second guess what you really want or what you should do?Â
You nod.Â
âOkay, honey. Then you donât have to do it. No telling me to go away. Iâve got it from here.âÂ
When Kyle takes your phone from your hand, you donât stop him, even typing in your password for him when he turns it towards you, watching over his shoulder as he shares your location with his phone.Â
You exhale shakily, the tightness in your shoulders easing. There he goes with that oyster shucker again, opening you up.Â
So be it. What use is there in protecting something thatâs already his?Â
