I'm Actually In My Keanu Reeves Era Again So Please Send Some Requests

i'm actually in my keanu reeves era again so please send some requests

i just realized i posted smut on mlk day

BEGINNERS GUIDE FOR NEW WRITERS !

A/n: this for my beginner writers who actually want to write a piece or work for the first time!

✰you finally want to start writing for fandoms popular or not it’s okay! write whatever YOU want to. (we don’t judge whatever work you decide to post).

✰no inspiration or fic ideas I got you babes! here here here. here. here here here you can also combine these Au’s together if you’d like to!

✰you don’t have any motivation to write or writers block for short.

Take this time to relax and think about what you want to write deeply and take your time when you do!

Light a candle, get cozy and write little reminders you’d like to add into your fic’s later on.

take a self care take for yourself, away from any devices and clear you mind.

✰FINDING YOUR WRITING STYLE !

everyone has different writing styles ! Your writing can be different from others (ex: adding details, dialogue etc, be creative!)

✰PLAGIARISM IS A BIG NO !

plagiarism isn’t cute never was, with that being said taking people’s fic and passing it off as your own then playing the victim again isn’t cute it’s wrong. Here’s my suggestion save yourself the of the anon hate and write your own ok?. Don’t do this shit.

We do this for free as a writer myself, author can spend hours writing with or without sleep (sometimes) so don’t rush them! Be patient, authors have life outside this app.

✰COMMENTS/SUPPORTING YOUR WRITER !

your probably thinking maya was is this important? because your author needs all the lover and support they can get. it’s also because they’re a lack of “reblog’s” and “comments” these days even the small things can make your author happy!

✰MORE RECOURSES (these are some of the authors if you’re looking to write smut for you can ask them!)

@kazushawty @omgeto @hoshigray @luxesiren plus more those are the ones I can remember on the top of my head right now!💕

✰DETAILS !

You can add the smallest details in your story! that your readers with comments on, like adding descriptive, it could be body language or how the readers feels it matters! (It helps make your fic’s longer)

Adding plot twists in your story can make your reader more interested in your story and makes them want to follow and read more.

✰ thesaurus!

you can use this if your constantly using the same words over and over and want to switch up your word game!

if you have anymore questions let me knowww!

I’m 16 and I want to add my age to my pinned post but my writing is suggestive and sometimes straight smut and I wanna know if you get any hate or criticism for writing smut bc ur 16 (¯ ³¯)♡ love the recent post btw

honestly, i don’t promote anyone 13 or younger reading smut bc their brains aren’t really developed well enough and i wish i didn’t read smut at this age tbh. but i really haven’t received hate because people are hypocrites and if they like what you produce, they won’t hate you for your age. and even if i did get hate for my age, i wouldn’t sweat it because i’m not controlling my age.

do you, boo. let them hate from a distance🗣️‼️

holy fuck....

𐚁֙࿐ MEET THE WICKS.

keanu mlist.⠀ 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ ⠀boyfriend's dad!john wick⠀𝑥⠀f!reader.

synopsis. fucking your boyfriend's dad was surely one way to leave a good first impression.

contents. cheating all around. everyone sucks here. ooc!john. large age gap (20s/40s). non-john wick universe au. outdoor sex. size difference. tummy bulge. 4.4k words.

⋆ 𓂃 ﾟ .⠀josie's little note: hello hello ! a happy new years to you guys, and here's a gift! i haven't been terribly active lately, i know— so hopefully this makes up for it ♡ haven't written a proper fic in ages so i kinda of hate this ://

“MY PARENTS ARE GONNA LOVE YOU.” 

You side eye your boyfriend at his reassuring smile, his hand on the wheel as the two of you drive further up the mountain to his parent’s home. You finally worked up the courage to meet your boyfriend, Michael’s parents. Having procrastinated this moment for almost two years, Michael finally wore you down to saying yes.

The rows of thick, dark trees trapped the two of you on this thin road up the mountains. Pearly white snowflakes float gently down on your window, your chilled breath creating a small fog as you reach to turn the heat up in the vehicle.

“Your parents are gonna think you fell and hit your head,” you roll your eyes. 

“Oh c’mon!” Michael tuts, letting out a little huff. His eyes focused heavily on the road ahead, turning the wheel as the car took a left. “You’re way too hard on yourself.”

Truth be told you could’ve gone your whole life without meeting his parents. The prestiges Wicks. Michael was not the son of any run of the mill family, but rather the son of two CEOs of the largest cybersecurity companies in the world, while all your achievements were golden-sticker-on-a-piece-of-homework level at best.

“Says the kid of billionaires,” you say dismissively.

“Millionaires,” he corrects cheekily, earning a playful punch to the arm. “Baby, you gotta relax.. I love you, so by default my parents will love you too— or at least be nice enough to pretend.”

“Not funny, Michael,” your little whines turn into a soft laugh as your boyfriend chuckles. The two of you continue the drive up to Michael’s parents home. You two engage in nonchalant conversation that was periodically interrupted by a series of texts. Occasionally glancing over to Michael’s phone, you see the name “Maggie” popping up.

The hairs on your neck stand up, and your palms sweat onto the leather seat, but Michael’s soft smile reassures you .. a little.

Hours go by before he finally pulls up to the home and your jaw drops. Your eyes meet the sight of the gorgeous villa, decked with greystone walls with a light wooden trim. A small cobblestone bridge that goes over the infinity pool, leading to the large front door with crystal clear windows. This isolated winter wonderland of a villa (that Michael downplayed heavily— the ever humble man he is) was to be your home for Christmas. 

“Michael! This place is—”

“Smaller than the one in Italy, but my mother wanted something cozy.”

Your eye twitches a little at how dismissively he talks about this house. His nonchalant demeanour as he parks his car in the driveway of a home you’d never even be able to afford a fraction of. You simply nod, then unbuckle your seatbelt.

Ping.

You glance down at Michael’s hand, which quickly flips the phone face down. 

“Pretty popular, huh?” You joke half-heartedly, trying to probe a reaction. Michael smiles at you, shrugging his shoulders. Noticing his shoulders tense up, you try to ignore the pit in your stomach. The two of you get out of the car and unload your suitcases.

Each step across the small bridge and to the front door felt in slow motion, your heartbeat thumping your ears.

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” Michael reassures, before ringing the doorbell.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Click.

The heavy slategray door glides open slowly, and your fake smile plasters on at the sight of Michaels’ parents. Helen Wick, a graceful woman in her late 30’s. Her flat ironed brunette hair hugged her soft face, and her smile accentuated the faint laugh lines.

On the other hand, her husband John, the older of the pair, stood stoically. His black hair, and black eyes matched with his simple black slacks and button up protruded his muscles. His dark aura almost sucked the light out the area as he stood tall next to his happy wife. Helen’s hazel eyes meet yours as she hides her surprise with a plastic grin.

“Oh Mikey… she’s beautiful!” Helen exclaims, her voice a little pitched. 

Michael nudges your shoulder as Helen wraps her arms around you, giving you a stiff hug. You could smell the expensive Chanel No 5 from her neck, and the Michael Kors blouse was silk and soft against your hands as you hugged her back. Mr. Wick, remaining unimpressed as ever, simply watched the interaction unfold.

This was gonna be a long Christmas.

Dinner was painfully awkward. The scratching of gold silverware on the rare china plates filled the air. Inside their villa was just as impressive as the out. The warm lights of the christmas decor and the glorious christmas tree illuminated the luxurious dining room. You rest your elbow on their mahogany table, calmly taking a bite of your roasted turkey.

“Elbows, dear,” Helen hums from across from you, her tone almost motherly. Glancing down at your elbow, you flush embarrassed as you lean back against your chair. Michael sips his wine next to you, sighing at his mother’s uptight behaviour. 

John seems to be the quietest of them all, although you can feel his intense stare from across the table. The older man intimidates you to no-end, and some part of you is desperate to earn some form of approval from him. You always liked a challenge.

“So..” Helen breaks the silence again, clearing her throat. The light shines on her expensive bracelets and rings that adorn her hand as she sets her fork and knife down. “Tell us how you met our Michael.”

Michael and you share a glance, and he subtly urges you to speak. You smile softly, sipping your liquid courage before speaking. “We met at the diner I work at. Michael was always a regular, and refused to let anyone but me serve him,” You giggle at the memory, and Michael blushes.

“You’re a waitress?” John chimes in. You swallow at how low and husk his voice was, and you finally meet his dark orbs piercing into you. Like a little ant under a magnifying glass; his simple question felt like a heavy exam, and you were determined to pass.

“Yes.. It’s called Daisy’s Diner on Victory Boulevard” You furrow your brows, a little confused. “Didn’t Michael tell you..?”

“He led us to believe you owned a diner.. Not working in one..” John hums, seemingly returning to his unaffected attitude. Your lips are slightly parted in surprise, and heat rushes to your cheeks as you side eye Michael. He avoids your gaze, focusing down at his plate. 

“You told them I owned a food chain?” You huff, annoyance dripping in your voice. The dinner lasted for what seemed forever before the sun finally set and each couple retreated to their respective bedrooms. “Michael, what the hell?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Michael rolls his eyes, fluffing up one of the pillows. He rubs his eyes tiredly, and you can tell he’s getting agitated. “It’s fine— they didn’t mind.”

“Oh really?” You scoff, putting your silk pyjamas shorts on. “He led us to believe you owned a diner.. Not working in one..” you mock John’s voice, making your own deep and nasally. 

“My dad does not sound like a nasally Christopher Walken, but okay,” Michael snorts at your impersonation. You toss a pillow at him, hitting his chest.

“Not the point, Michael! You were supposed to be on my side, you just fed me to the wolves!”

“Grow up— you had an awkward conversation with my parents, it wasn’t the end of the world!”

“The whole point of this weekend was to get them to like me! You just sat there cutting your turkey into a million pieces!” The air in the room was thick with tension, the two of your moods souring as your voices raise. You wished your boyfriend had a spine, and he wished you didn’t have one. Letting out another huff, you grab your toiletries purse and head to leave the bedroom to go brush your teeth.

The brightly lit home was now dark and empty, aside from the moonlight shining in through the bright windows. You glance out, and see the snow top mountains faded behind a thick fog as you walk down the hall; feet padding softly on the cold wood.

When you finished in the bathroom, you were hardly paying attention as you opened the door, eyes half shut. Your face instantly pummels into something hard, making your eyes blink rapidly. A quiet hmph can be heard above you, and your eyes dart up to meet John’s. He stood there blankly, wearing nothing but his briefs.

Your face flushed with utter humiliation and you turned your head away. “Sorry— um— I didn’t see you—”

“Wrong bathroom.”

“Huh?” You raise a brow.

“You’re in my wife and I’s bathroom,” He repeats slowly, his tone slightly condescending. His chest rises as he takes a breath, and you can help but watch each muscle that twitches; feeling your throat go dry. You get lost in analysing the tattoos on his arms and shoulders that were so well hidden by his button up. 

“Oh..” you clear your throat, snapping out of it. “Sorry.. Michael told me this was the guest one..”

“Michael tells you a lot of things that are not true it seems,” John hums, a curious look on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

No reply.

John simply shrugs, and shifts to the side, allowing you to pass him and you can’t help but take a peek at his toned back. For an older man, he seemed to take care of his body well. His defined muscles, covered in ink of religious tattoos and Latin proverbs, intrigued you to find out more. 

“It’s rude to stare,” his deep voice is in a low whisper as he shuts the bathroom door behind him, not even glancing back at you. Embarrassed and fascinated, you hurry back to yours and Michael’s room where you find him already asleep, his mouth open wide as he snores. His typically irritating habits of snoring loudly and taking up space seemed to be the least of your concerns as your mind is flooded with images of his father.

His father’s voice.. His father’s tattoos.. His father’s v-line that disappeared under his briefs.. 

You were too distracted to even notice Maggie had texted again.

The following days leading up to Christmas were suffocating to say the least. Unless Helen was there to kindly offer comedic relief or keep John occupied— it was as though you were constantly invigilated. Any anecdotes you told, the way you skied when the four of you went, how much or how little PDA you showed Michael: it was one big test, and you were failing, hard. 

You had no clue why you were desperate to please Michael’s father. Helen was easy enough to win over.. Perhaps it’s just the masochist in you, but his condescending words began to make you bashful, rather than embarrassed.

Michael’s been aware of your strange behaviour but can’t seem to put his finger on it. Worst part was you knew why he was suspicious— he was projecting. It seemed this trip to get you closer with his parents, ended up straining your own. 

“She’s a co-worker— fuck— I can’t keep explaining this to you!” Michael snaps defensively.

“Lower your voice— your parents are right there!” You hiss. The two of you stand outside on the back patio of the villa. Flames from the fireplace crackle, leaving an orange hue on both your faces. The sound of soft wind and smell of dinner oozing from the inside almost created a romantic atmosphere.

Had it not been for Maggie.

“What kind of co-worker texts you on PTO?” You whisper shout. Michael groans, rubbing his eyes as he turns away from you. “She’s been texting you everyday since this trip and it’s not the first time.”

“I’m busy— I work a lot. It’s probably about a project,” your boyfriend replies, almost being unconvincing on purpose. “You’re so goddamn nosy.”

“Nosy? I’m here meeting your parents and you’re probably sexting some random girl right now.”

“She’s not some random fucking girl.”

Your face drops. Your brows furrow together, the anger fading into a gentle hurt. The silence is deafening, and there’s zero remorse in Michael’s eyes for what he’s saying. A stunning realisation sets in that this Maggie is no longer just a notification you notice on his screen— but an actual person who Michael might harbour actual feelings for.

“Michael?” You ask quietly. "Who is she?"

Michael runs his hand through his hair, lips pursed as a sharp sigh escapes. His head hands low, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Agitation fills his figure to the brim, and another pregnant pause occurs. You pinch your thumbnail into your palm, anxiously waiting for his next word.

It never comes.

Michael just mutters to himself as he walks off the patio back inside, sliding the glass door shut loudly. You stand there in the cold, desolate quiet. A thousand thoughts running through your head, but your body stood still— unmoving. What felt like minutes, was hours as the lights inside the villa eventually turned off.

You sat on one of the lounge chairs in a small ball, knees to your chest and your stare fixated on the flames flickering. The ember fire warms your body, but can’t reach your frozen heart. For a strange reason.. Your eyes were dry, your lips weren’t trembling. Rather than a wave of sadness or betrayal— there’s a black hole, numbing you from the inside out. 

“(Y/N)?”

Turning your head to the side, you hear the glass door slide open and a tall silhouette emerges from the darkened villa. The moonlight glowed on his face, his black t-shirt and pyjamas sweats only accentuating his pale figure. 

“Hello.. Mr. Wick,” You clear your throat, pulling your knees closer to your chest. His faint footsteps become louder as he walks over to you, his looming shadow dimming the fireplace for a second before sitting next to you.

Here he was. The man who shamelessly steered clear of you like water and oil. The man who squinted his eyes at every word you said. The man who was now sitting right next to you in the dead of night.. His legs manspreading a little too close for comfort.

Your leg twitches a little, either from pure anxiety or the Vermont air breezing past your almost bare skin. Perhaps a thin Henley shirt and jeans were not the best choice of clothing, you scold yourself. 

Occasionally you glance over at the older man, who simply sits hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees with his fingers interlocked with each other. The gold of his wedding ring glowed like a red warning sign. You were surrounding an intimate fireplace inches away from a married man— your boyfriend’s married father. 

“So um—”

“You alright?”

He cuts your sentence off as usual.. But there was a sincerity in his question, albeit his blank expression. Your face softens with genuine surprise, and you scratch your arm, adjusting your sitting position. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie.

“Fine with the way Michael talks to you?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shrug. The lines of appropriate conversation topics began to blur, and you worry that trash-talking your boyfriend to his father was definitely crossing something.

“I apologise for his behaviour.” This dude’s a fucking paradox.

“What?”

“Helen and I never raised Michael to raise his voice at a woman, let alone curse at you. And for that I apologise,” John repeats blankly. His amiable words were dampened by his impassive body language and tone. 

Was he serious? Was it sarcasm? Was it a test for your reaction?

“Thank you” was your safe option, and he nods at your reply, still not even looking your way. Your leg continues twitching anxiously— and this he notices.

“Cold?” John asks.

“What?”

“Your leg.”

Like an obedient pet, you stop your twitching immediately. You hug yourself a bit, leaning back against the lounge couch, trying to create some distance. John mimics your movements, letting out a soft sigh as he does so. As he rolls his shoulders back— a soft crack hissing— his left arm lifts and reaches back, wrapping around your shoulders.

Eyes widened. Heart beating. Throat dry.

This was definitely crossing the line.

“Mr. Wick—” 

“John.”

Chewing your bottom lip anxiously, you shift in your seat again, but his arm remains firm around your shoulders, gently pulling you against his side.

“John..” the name feels foreign on your tongue. “What are you doing?”

“You can do better than Michael.”

His words almost make you chuckle— if it wasn’t for your chest tightening. Your brows snap together as you look at him, full of confusion. The entire week you spent trying to impress, and show you were good enough for Michael son— only to be met with such.. Praise? Could you even call it that?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You don’t think so?”

“Well..” you pause, repeating the phrase in your head over and over. “You spent this past week completely tearing me down, and mocking me.. Where’s all this coming from now?” Tenacity laced in your voice, and for the first time, John’s pink lips pull into a small smile.

“So just because I’m not explicitly praising your every movement means I’m tearing you down? Are you truly that desperate for me to approve of you?” John licks his teeth, a rare chuckle leaving his mouth. Heat rushes to your face at his taunt. 

“I don’t need your approval..” you weakly defend. John tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes surveying you before leaning back. You’re almost disappointed at his retrieval of his arm, letting your warm skin cool down. 

“You have it.”

If you jaw wasn’t dropped already, it was on the floor by now. 

“You’re nice girl, and you're humble. A diner is hard, honest work. I wasn’t born the boss— everyone has to start somewhere, and I respect that.”

“So why act so.. disappointed?” You stammer, eyes blinking rapidly. 

“I was disappointed my son had the balls to lie to me,” John clears his throat. “Lied about where you work, when you met.. He was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, of course he doesn’t respect you.”

He doesn’t respect you.

“... He loves me,” you whisper, almost in denial. But deep down in your frozen heart, you knew the truth. All the arguments, the dismissive tone, the hiding were physical proof right in front of your nose.

“That’s not the same thing,” John hums. “He’s cursing you out at his parent’s home— my home— I can only imagine what else he must be doing.”

You don’t know the half of it, is what you wanted to say. But for the sake of not burning bridges, you kept your lips shut. Suddenly, the pad’s of John's finger brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch was electric. Warm. Intoxicating. Merely a bristle of his touch made your chest tighten.

"Michael was right about one thing.. You are beautiful.”

Before you could come to your senses, your soft lips were enraptured with eyes. He swallows your little squeal of surprise, and your back meets the arm of the couch. A ringing echoes in your ear, like a bomb going off. Your boyfriend’s father.. had just made a move on you.

And you like it.

His tongue slips past your lips, meeting yours. You feel his warm big hand cupping at your hip, the other slipping under your thigh to lay you down better on the couch. His taller frame was much bigger now that it hovered over you, keeping you firmly pinned. 

“J-John— stop— we can’t!” You manage to pull your face to the side, your lips leaving his. “Your wife— and my boyfriend— your son are right upstairs! Their rooms are right—”

“So you better be quiet then.”

His firm tone sends shivers down your spine, and you were once again suffocated with his lips. The sound of your jeans unbuttoning hits your ears and you realise there’s no turning back. Your mind flashes with moments of this week where you ogled his body. 

No longer were your dreams of his tough hands, his manly shoulders or deep voice just a distant fantasy.. but now a reality. You let out a sharp gasp, when you feel pressure on your nub. His sneaky fingers managed their way under your thin panties. His painstakingly slow circles had you squirming like a puppy.

John chuckles at your needy little whines, looking down at your face and watching as it twists into growing pleasure. Ignoring the cold mountain wind, the two of you are quick to shred your pants, drinking in the absolute tabooness of the situation.

Your nails dig into couch pillows, your leg resting over his shoulder. John hisses softly, his large tip barely kissing your entrance. Your eyes trail away from his gorgeous face up to the open window on the second floor. The lights were off, and a small pit of guilt filled your stomach. But soon to be filled with something else, when John suddenly leans in, letting his tip slide past your folds.

“Fuck—” You bite your lip hard. A baritone chuckle echoes through the empty patio and he continues to slowly slide in, stretching your tiny hole out to the brim. The wind promptly knocked out your lungs as your eyes almost rolled back. 

“Look at you.. taking it all in like a good little girl,” John taunts but it only makes you throb, clenching tight around him. You blink rapidly trying to focus, but his mocking coos only fluster you more. “Oh.. someone’s enjoying this.. You like when I praise you, don’t you?”

His hips begin at a gradual pace, and you slap your hand over your mouth, desperately trying to swallow your moans and whimpers. John’s longish black hair was covering most of his face, as he leaned down. Your knee was almost to your face, and you whine at the burn in your legs.

“Y-Yes— I do—” You admit bashfully. Thrust by thrush, his hips rut faster and faster against your small frame. The sound of his heavy balls hitting the curve of your ass were so sinful and sticky, and you feared Helen or Michael hearing you two. 

“So desperate to make a good impression..” John’s hand rests above your pussy, completely fixated on the small bump his large cock is causing. His tip kisses your cervix as he fills your spongy walls, a thin white ring forming at the base. “...that you’re slutting yourself out to a man twice your age.”

His mean tone and jeering words make your eyes water with humiliation, but your moans sing a different tune. John lets out a groan as your cunt flutters around him, shifting his grip to your waist, and his fingers pinching painfully.

“Such a filthy little girl..” he coos in your ear. You squeal girlishly against your hand, biting down on your finger. John drinks in the teary look in your doe eyes, the way they almost roll back in pleasure. Your soft lips around your finger, as you clamp down hard when he begins to toy with your breast. “With such pretty tits— and such soft skin.”

John’s head dips down, his lips wrap around one of your nipples and you let out a loud cry. He’s quick to bite when you slip up and start making too much noise. The feel of his tongue swirling your bud, and his cock plunging in and out of you was too much, and the knot in your belly tightened.

“Ohmygod— fuck—” You whisper and pant as quietly as you can. John laughs against your skin, his hands like magic as they hit every button that makes you squeal. 

“Baby needed a real man to make her feel good, hm?” John asks rhetorically and you nod hurriedly through tears, as you lie a babbling mess under his powerful stature. He continues fucking you relentlessly, each thrust beginning to bruise your poor pussy. 

“D-Don’t stop— please— ohgod—” You stammer and sob.

John leans back up, but keeps your thigh pressed to your chest with his hand. Running another hand through his black locks, and wiping the sweat off his hairline, he groans harshly. The bulge in your stomach popping up and down kept the blood rushing to his cock.

“Gonna cum inside— make you all nice and full,” He pants. “You want that, hm?”

“Yes— yes please— please—” You don’t even care how pathetic you sound. How needy you sounded. Like all sound of mind flew out the window the moment you came here. The moment he even wrapped his arm around you. 

His abs contort and his thrusts began to get sloppier. He gripped your soft hips like a vessel, like he owned you. John grins devilishly at your pretty little cries and pleas, enjoying how much you craved him.

“God you make the prettiest noises— all for me, hm? Just for me,” John hisses, snapping his hips faster against you as his fingers work skillfully on your bundle of nerves, sending waves through your trembling legs. 

You let out an embarrassingly loud squeal, wallens tightening around his thick girth when you feel climax approaching. He shoots ropes of his warm seed inside you, filling you to the brim.

The air is filled with the sound of your weak moans and his quiet pants. Your bodies drenched in sweat, and the Vermont wind is painfully cold now as the passion fades. The thirst of desperation was now quenched with guilt and horror as you realised what you’ve done.

John returns to his blank expression, pulling out of you with a sloppy sound. You wince when his fingers wipe your sensitive folds, collecting his cum on his fingers as he pushes it back inside you. “These pillows are expensive.”

You lie there in shock at how nonchalantly he behaves: like he didn’t just ravage his son’s girlfriend on the couch, leaving her covered in lovebites and full of warm cum. You watch as he tucks himself back into his sweats, and heads back inside the villa.

Soon enough you follow suit, and dress yourself to come back inside. The house was dark and empty, presumably everyone was asleep at this point. You tiptoe to your room with Michael, and thankfully he lies snoring away— unaware what you just committed.

You change into fresh panties and pyjamas, feeling John’s sticky cum on your thighs as it leaks out of you. The betrayal and sin leaks from your skin as you climb into bed, and guilt drips from your pores when Michael wraps his arm around you. 

Guilt that you wish it was John’s arm instead.

Fin.

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