#LED Lamps Types and Uses

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ unspoken

➤ summary: after a heated argument, Rafe is terrified he’s pushed you too far and that might actually lose you

➤ w/c: 1.6k

➤ warnings: allusions to sex, hurt/comfort, insecurities, fear of loss

masterlist

The room was only lightened by the bedside lamp, casting long shadows over the bed where you and Rafe lay tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with the weight of the situation. Your small argument, just a simple misunderstanding, somehow quickly took the wrong turn, and you both said things that you didn’t mean to.

You were fighting, pouring all the pent-up energy and exhaustion from work, and Rafe’s stubbornness didn’t exactly make it easier. It felt raw and vulnerable, and then suddenly it all led to you stumbling into your bedroom and ripping your clothes off each other. 

Your breathing was still heavy, and your body was still feeling hot and tingly from what had happened just a few minutes ago.

Rafe's chest rose and fell beneath the sheets, his arm thrown across his forehead as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't said a word since the argument in the kitchen, which was so unusual of him. His kisses and the way he touched your body weren’t in his typical longing and teasing way; they were angry, almost desperate. Now, there was a silence hanging between you, thick and almost suffocating.

And you knew that partly it was your fault. Blinded by the rage and hurt, you said something that you would’ve never said in the right mind. Something that you should’ve never used against Rafe, knowing his sensitiveness about this topic. But the words about you better get out of his life and you not even knowing why you were still there left your mouth before you could actually process it. 

You instantly regretted it. Seeing the sudden change in his face and eyes and the way his posture became more tense, another sharp reply died on his tongue. You wanted to say something else, soften the situation, but it was too late when Rafe dealt with the problem the only way he knew—he kissed you with all he had, not allowing you to say anything else. Pulling you flush against his body, he gripped the back of your neck until you answered him with the same energy. 

Your words felt like a bucket of cold water, and he panicked, knowing that it might be it. Rafe knew that sex was not a good way to solve a problem, but it was the only thing he thought he was genuinely good at. He wanted to please you, to beg you to stay, so he led you to your bedroom, even if he felt empty inside, even he couldn’t say anything out loud because of the lump in his throat. 

Now, as the argument faded away, when it all seemed too stupid to even argue about, it was weirdly uncomfortable. Rafe’s mind was spiraling. He was too scared to even look at you, too afraid that the simple move or word might push you to get up and actually leave.

You slowly turned onto your side, as if afraid to make noise in the dead silence of your bedroom, your heart pounding with guilt and worry, unsure of where to even begin. You could feel the emotional distance between you two, and it stung. Rafe wasn’t usually the type to get vulnerable or emotional, yet you knew that he took everything too close to his heart. This time, something had shifted in him, and it left you unsettled because you were the reason. You could feel his presence next to you, but it was different.

Slowly, you reached out and laid your hand on his chest. He flinched, but then, after a moment, his hand covered yours, squeezing gently and letting out a shaky breath. He didn’t say anything, but the tension between you was palpable.

"I didn't mean it." You whispered, your voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you think that was the end. I just… I was angry, and I didn’t know how to say what I really felt. But I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to leave you." You stopped for a second, noticing the way he clenched his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a beat before Rafe finally moved, turning to face you. His eyes were raw and tired, and there was a certain despair in them that made your heart ache. He reached up slowly, his hand trembling as he gently traced your cheek with his fingertips, as if trying to reassure himself that you were still here and that you weren’t slipping away from him.

“I thought… I thought you were done with me.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotions. “I thought I’d messed up too much, that I’d pushed you too far. And I couldn’t take it, I couldn't imagine not having you in my life.”

You felt his breath hitch as his thumb grazed the corner of your mouth, his gaze softening with a mix of relief and still-present fear.

“Oh, Ray…” You said gently, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve never pushed me too far. We fight, we argue, but I don’t want to lose you. I love you. I love you too much to just walk away.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them away quickly, but it was too late—you saw them, the rawness in them that he was trying so hard to hide.

His chest tightened, and he exhaled shakily, a sob escaping him before he could stop it. He pulled your still naked body close, burying his face in your neck, his hands gripping you like he was afraid if he let go, you’d vanish.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out, sneaking one hand around your waist to find some comfort in the feeling of your skin on his. “For being so difficult and stubborn. I don’t know how to be better. I don’t know how to make you understand how much you mean to me.”

You held him tighter, your hand running through his hair as you soothed him. “You don’t have to be perfect, Rafe. You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long while, you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms. The anger had faded, replaced with something deeper, another level of trust and vulnerability that were new for your relationship. With how hard it was for Rafe to open up and express himself, it was a big step, and you wanted to do everything in your power to make him comfortable.

Rafe still wasn’t entirely sure of himself, but you could feel him beginning to trust in your words as his body relaxed against yours, his breath slowing. His hand never left your face, his thumb still tracing the curve of your cheek like he was trying to memorize every detail of you.

“I was so scared.” Rafe murmured, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the curve of your neck. “I thought I’d lost you... and you’re my entire word.”

You felt his breath warm against your skin, and your heart ached at the tremble in his voice. You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your fingers brushing the stray hair from his forehead. “You’re not going to lose me, Rafe.” You said softly, your voice carrying all the reassurance you could muster. “Not tonight, not ever. I promise.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line like he was trying to hold something back. But then he shook his head, his blue eyes locked on yours, glassy with unshed tears. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life. I don’t know what I’d do if you—”

You didn’t let him finish. Leaning in, you kissed him deeply, your lips catching his in a way that was tender but still confident enough to show that what you said was true. His hand slid up to cup the back of your head, his grip firm like he needed this connection to anchor himself. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as the weight of the moment settled around you.

“You’re stuck with me, Rafe Cameron. And don’t think that you can get rid of me this easily, even if you’re annoying me sometimes.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, shaky and uncertain, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Good.” He said, his voice barely audible. “Because I don’t think I could handle it any other way.”

You smiled, your hand smoothing over his back in slow, comforting strokes as his body began to relax against yours. He exhaled a deep, shuddering breath, the tension that had gripped him loosening with every beat of your heart.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore; it was warm and allowed you to finally fully enjoy the presence of each other. Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering there as if savoring the moment. And as the hours stretched on, the night wrapped around you like a cocoon, and you both were too lost in each other to care about the outer world. 

For the rest of the night, words became unnecessary. Instead, there were soft kisses, quiet touches, and the unspoken promise that no matter what, everything is going to be okay. Wrapped in his arms, you felt the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was peace.

[satorena]

.𖥔˚. he asks if you believe in soul ties. you laughed, but your heart whispered yes before your mouth could catch it. 1.6k wc.

the second time wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

not to you, anyway.

it was late night. not romantic nor dramatic— simply late. one of those hazy nights, with slumped muscles and fried brains from one “one more round?” too many, where breathing next to the right person felt like an exhale. one that ended with tangled limbs, throaty moans and soiled sheets.

it wasn’t anything like fireworks. it was something deeper, quieter, like fleeting warmth left in a hoodie after someone else wore it.

sitting at the edge of the bed, half-wrapped in comforters that reeked of your unison, you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. he traces shapes at the column of your bare spine, lightly dragging his fingernail from the dimples in your lower back up to the middle of your shoulder blades. he revels in the way a soft gasp crawls out your chest and momentarily draws your attention away from your screen and back onto him.

she smelled of his pillow now. fuckkk, he’s so cooked.

“you ever think about soul ties?”

he blurts out before he can help it. he doubts he’d be able to hold it back even if he tried. his voice is gravelly, thick with the sleep he hadn’t drifted into yet, and it broke the silence a dropped glass.

you turn around, eyebrows raised in amusement, “seriously?”

he swallows thickly, “yeah.”

your lips part, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath, and gojo engraves the sound in the deepest parts of his memory. “you’re asking me about soul ties. . . right now?”

somewhere in the midst of his question and your reflection, his hand finds yours, and thumbs at the smooth skin enveloping your knuckles, “you make it sound like it’s weirder than it is,” he mutters, suddenly second guessing every molecule of sincerity that led him to voice it out loud.

“it is,” you answer, smiling so gently that any inch of doubt that had surfaced is immediately dismissed. he’d kill for you. he’d watch the world burn for you. “we’ve had sex twice. and i’ve known you. . . what? three weeks?”

“and a half,” he corrects you, like it makes it any less ridiculous.

you fully turn toward him, pulling the covers over your kiss bitten, love marked chest, phone now entirely forgotten. the light from the bedside lamp catches the slope of your cheekbone, the curve of your smirk, “okay, i’ll bite. why’d you ask?”

he runs his hand— not the one you started subconsciously squeezing at— over his face and inhales sharply, “because i don’t feel normal after this.”

your head tilts and your eyes widen curiously. cutely. god help him.

“i mean—” he gestures vaguely between the both of you, still sprawled under his sheets, your joint hands flailing around. “after you. this. us.”

“and you think that’s because of a soul tie?”

“i think,” he starts carefully, “that there’s something here. and it feels too familiar for how new it is. and i don’t know if that’s chemistry or karma or. . . if it’s just because you look at me like you already know all my secrets.”

you snort, an ugly but honest sound that’s so authentically you. it makes his heart skip a beat and jump starts a nasty flock of butterflies in the depths of his stomach, “you’re really going full poet on me, huh?”

“don’t make fun of me,” he pouts, laughing despite of himself.

“i’m not,” you assure him, voice incredibly soft, pressing your palm into his. his fingertips hover over yours almost comically, but in a way that makes him want to keep you in his pocket and shield you from this cruel world. for now, he settles with flexing his fingers to lock yours into his, “i just didn’t peg you for the type.”

he hums, “what type?”

“the type to sleep with a girl twice and start talking about the metaphysical ramifications of it.”

he rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you ever felt something like this before?”

you hesitate.

and that was enough to make his chest ache in places he hadn’t even known were tender. you look down at your joint hands laying in your lap and curl your fingers around his index. there aren’t any languages in this universe that could translate how deeply he feels for you.

“i think i’ve felt parts of this,” you speak after a beat. there’s vulnerability laced into yours words, “little echoes in other people. but never the whole thing at once.”

his heart does something stupid at that. “so you feel it too?”

the trail of your eyes from your lap to his face is as slow as your growing smile. “maybe.”

“you’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he isn’t complaining. he wouldn’t want it any other way.

you shrug in faux nonchalance, eyes glinting. “you’re the one bringing up soul ties. that’s big talk.”

“i know it sounds crazy,” gojo falls back onto his mattress and stares at the ceiling. “i just. . . you kissed me, and something in my brain short-circuited. like something ancient woke up.”

“oh my god,” you laugh, clutching his blankets tighter to your frame. the grip on his hand also tightens, “you’re so serious right now.”

“i am!” he agrees, unashamed and prideful. “i’ve never had sex and immediately wondered what kind of spiritual fallout i was gonna have to process.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed and amused. he likes that look on you, amongst others. “you make it sound like i cursed you.”

“maybe you did,” he mutters, focused. “would definitely explain that magical ass pussy; consider me bewitched.”

he expects the gentle swat at his shoulder and the honeyed giggle that follows suit. he is not one of god’s strongest soldiers— you make him so weak in the knees. he is but a fool for you, entirely smitten and fully submitted.

there’s a sudden pause. and then, “satoru,” if you say his name like that one more time, “you think sex means that much?”

“not always. but with you. . .” he looks at you, really looks. “it doesn’t feel. . . casual. even when we’re trying to pretend it is.”

you slowly nod, your gaze distant like you were trying to read a thought off the inside of your eyelids. “i know what you mean.”

he waits.

“i’m not usually sentimental,” you admit through a shaky breath. he squeezes your hand as silent support. “but something about you makes me want to be.”

gojo sits up then, long legs crossed, blanket now pooling around his hips. he lets out a huff that blows at dampened fringes on his forehead. “you scare me.”

you blink, “why?”

“because i don’t think i’d know how to unfeel this if i needed to.”

your expression cracks open just a little. subtle but not. it isn’t shock. not even tenderness, but something between recognition and surrender.

he shifts, brushing your knee with the back of scarred knuckles. “i’m not asking you for anything. i just wanted to know if you believe in it.”

you stare up at him for a while, and this time your gaze was unguarded.

“i think soul ties exist,” you mumble quietly. “but not always forever. sometimes they’re just for the right moment. a lesson, maybe. a wake-up call. a connection you needed when you were drifting.”

he thumbs at your ring finger. “and us?”

you take a deep breath. his heart drums wildly against his chest. oddly enough, it’s the calmest he’s felt in a while

“i don’t know yet,” you admit easily. your eyes focus on the way he imagines the sight of a heavy rock sitting atop the digit. “but if i’m tied to you. . . i don’t feel like running.”

uncharacteristically, that shuts him up. he feels a weird sentiment claw at his throat and hold him snuggly. his shoulders drop a little, as if your words loosened something around his ribs.

you both sit in stillness for a moment.

then, you shift closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. he wastes no time to tilt his head towards you, the warmth of your breath fanning his cupid’s bow. with a little smile, you start, “you know what’s funny?”

“what?” he’s a little breathless. you’re too beautiful for your own good.

“you were nervous to ask me that question,” your hand cups at his jaw and lazily traces the softest of stubbles peeking through pores. “but i’ve been scared to admit that you’re the first person in a long time who makes me want to stay after.”

he doesn’t hide his surprise.

“i always leave,” this time, it comes out hushed. the scrape of your nails at his neck feels good. “always. first night, second night— it doesn’t matter. i leave before it means something.”

he needs to know. “and now?”

you shrug, “i’m still here, aren’t i?”

a grin breaks out across his face, crooked and too full of affection. he tilts forward and lands a sweet kiss on your lips. he parts away with the softest of smacks but the goofiest smile, “soul tie confirmed.”

a girly laugh erupts from your stomach, and you nudge him playfully on his shoulder. “don’t get cocky.”

how could he not? when you look at him like you need him even half as badly as he needs you? he’s already leaning in again, “no promises,” and seals it with another kiss. he presses his body weight onto yours and traps you in between his mattress and himself, dizzying off the taste of your tongue in his mouth.

he feels your hearts interlinked through your chests. and even if neither of you said it out loud, he’s positive you felt it as well— that invisible thread, woven quietly between skin and spirit, tugging like a soft yes.

incredibly self-indulgent. my man my man my mannn

[spartev]

(Not) About Us - Karina x reader

SYNOPSIS: A young idol's mental fatigue messes up her life beyond expectations but when the world is cold Karina is your warm home.

CONTENT WARNING: angst/smut, little discussion, make-up sex, slaps, comfort

A/N: Chat I would kiss her so sofly :(

I've been wanting to write a bit of angst for a while now, so I hope you like it :)

The walk home was quiet, eerily quiet. In the noisy streets of Seoul, tiredness was the loudest noise in people's minds. As a young idol in the industry, your days were almost always busy and tiring, but despite that, the walk home usually felt good, almost as if the world was redeeming itself by giving you at least 15 minutes of rest.

It was in these turbulent times that you began to question yourself... About your career, your personal life, your choices. Maybe it was just the difficulties of being in this industry knocking on your door, weighing your body down and changing your attitudes. Maybe it was just a phase.

The hood of your sweatshirt covered most of your face and the mask helped you hide your identity. The hallway light turns on as you step out of the elevator and cross to your door, your hand reaching for the doorknob, taking a deep breath as you hesitantly type in the password.

You already know what to expect, but you open the door and walk through, taking off your mask and hoping that maybe today won't be like the last two weeks. But you spot the figure sitting in the armchair on the darkest side of the shared apartment's living room.

Your fingers reach for the switch, turning on the light and revealing the expressionless face of the woman you loved. Your eyes watch her run her fingers through the pages of one of the books you had given her for her last birthday. She doesn't say anything at you and you think that maybe silence would be better than another argument to fill your ears.

Then she leaves the book on the stool next to her, gets up, puts on her little slippers and walks towards you, passing straight past you with her body lightly brushing against yours, following the corridor that led to the room.

You finally exhale, realizing that you've been holding your breath and your body tense since the moment you set foot here.

Your eyes scan the room before turning to the hallway, hands clenched as your feet drain all the courage you have in your body to walk to the room.

Opening the already open door, you can see her leaving her glasses on the table next to the headboard of the bed, she lets her hair down and it flows perfectly down her back, long dark and soft curls.

You finally walk in and she doesn't look at you again. Sighing, you sit on the bed with your back to her, taking off your sweatshirt and quickly getting up to go to the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, feeling the hot water soothe the pain in your back.

The wrinkled fingertips betrayed your commitment to avoiding the inevitable — and necessary — conversation. The sight of the sweatsuit waiting on one of the pieces of furniture decorating the room made your heart clench. She had set it aside for you, even during this moment.

You take your time to brush your teeth, already wrapped in the comfort of your clothes. The sight of her lying with her back to you fills your vision as you approach the bed.

The secondary lamps are the only source of light that illuminates the room. Your eyes stare at the ceiling for a long five minutes after you insert yourself between the heavy blanket and the large, soft bed. But you can't help but look back at her, far enough away that you miss her warmth, her smell, and the sound of her breathing.

"Karina." You whisper as you turn towards her, your hands itching to touch her but you don't.

She doesn't respond, nor does she move.

"Jimin... Please." You whisper again. And you see her body shiver.

"What do you want?" She tries to speak firmly, but you can hear the fragility in her tone.

The room is silent as you select your words.

"Can we talk?" Your voice comes out carefully.

"Now you want to talk? You've been avoiding me all week, Y/N." She says irritably.

The words don't come out of your mouth and she continues.

"You leave early, you stay there longer than you need to, you take a long time to get home and when you get home you hole up in that damn studio." The grinding of her teeth is clear as she raises her voice, turning to you.

Your words falter, swallowing for a moment the shame of your own actions.

"So what do you want now?" She repeats, staring at you with her brow furrowed in anger.

"I just... I thought we could talk, like... A real talk. No yelling." The words come out slowly, at this point you can see the anger bubbling in her eyes as she takes her time watching you.

"Okay. So where have you been? Who have you been with?" She shifts on the bed, towering over you. "When you're not at work and don't even come home." Somehow you know she's been thinking about this often, maybe because of the way she immediately mentioned it.

"You know I always stay longer than my office hours." You say, sitting up in bed.

"I know?" An unhappy laugh is uttered. "Yoona assured me that you weren't there during the twenty times in a row I called to check on you." She refers to the leader of your group.

You sigh, not believing what she's implying. "Jimin... please. I'm not always in Yoona's sight." Your tone can describe a bit of discontent.

"Come on, Y/N. Be honest once and for all." The voice echoes in a delicate thread about to break.

“I’m not cheating on you, Jimin.” You make sure to meet her eyes as you say this. “I could never do that.” Your head falls back, closing your eyes and sighing before turning your gaze back to her. “It’s not that.”

"So what is it? What makes you come back late, avoid me and dodge around." Her tone gives her away, the restrained words coming out as if they were stuck in the back of her throat.

"I just... I've been going through some things. Work..." Your throat tightens. But you have to do this, you know you have to make sure she knows that... "It's not about us."

"But you're the one doing this to us." She whispered, tears starting to stream down her face. And fuck... That hurt, it hurt more than when she pointed her finger at you about her suspicions, it hurt more than the angry words exchanged over the past few weeks, because you knew it was true, you knew it was your fault.

"Jimin..." This time you don't hesitate, your hand reaches out to reach her, sliding over the tears that were streaming down the woman in front of you. You can feel the warm skin in contrast to the cold tears that ran down your hand.

As much as she briefly thinks about pulling away, she can't. She misses you, she misses your touch on her, your love.

She chokes, trying at all costs to stop crying but the small sobs come to the surface with the persistence of her tears.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." You gently beg, your voice low as your hands cup her face.

Your fingers stroke her sadness-stained cheeks and her blurred eyes look up at you. You step closer to her, your faces inches apart.

"Shh... I'm here. It's okay." You stated, trying to reassure her. Your foreheads were now touching, your gazes locked even though she couldn't see much in her current situation.

Her hands reach out to grip the hem of your sweatshirt, her grip firm as she tries to make sure you’re really there.

"My love." You whisper, placing kisses on her face. She continues to pant as her sobs fill the room. "I'm sorry I did wrong to you." Your hand moves to the back of her neck, caressing every skin it touches.

"I thought..." She shudders before completing her sentence. Her chest rises and falls unevenly.

"No, no, never." You insist, nodding. You can feel the pressure of her grip on you, pulling you toward her. "There's only you." Her eyes meet yours again, swollen and watery.

"Do you promise?" She whispers, her voice weak and exuding fragility.

"Babe, I promise." The gentleness is present in your tone. "I'm so sorry." Your lips brush against hers as she gasps for breath, her tears stifling.

Your mouth moves forward millimeters, feeling the softness of her lips and the great gusts of air that enter and leave her mouth. You press your touch to the warmth of her half-open mouth, the delicate contact expressing all the care and love you have for her.

Her lips slowly meet your, effectively sealing them in a kiss. Parting for another breath of oxygen and meeting again.

Her tongue slid over your lip, exerting pressure to enter your mouth. Your saliva mixed and her taste intoxicated you like a sweet warm shot of tequila.

She gasped into your mouth, pulling you desperately towards her. Your sighs were inevitable as her nails scraped the skin of your waist through the gap in your sweatshirt. Your body followed hers, carefully laying her down on the bed and placing yourself on top with her legs on either side of hers.

"Mmmph..." She bites your bottom lip before you pull away, you lowering yourself towards her neck.

"Jimin..." You whisper into her neck between wet kisses, sending goosebumps across her skin. Her legs open to receive your hips.

All you hear are the murmurs she lets out whenever you run your tongue over her or catch the skin between your teeth, marking her with a red that makes her sigh.

Your hands slide down over her pajama shirt, settling on her hips to squeeze the soft flesh. Gently your hands rise along with the fabric, with her help you manage to remove what was blocking the view of your paradise.

Your eyes travel down her figure, trying to imprint the image in your mind. Her rosy face and closed eyes furrowing her brows, her blotchy neck and her large breasts moving with her rapid breathing.

Her tapered waist and wide hips painted by the pale skin your hands touched. She has no flaws at all, and you feel guilt build up in your chest.

The path your hands trace is warm, the skin that fills your palms is firm and soft. Her eyes open as your fingers tighten, squeezing her boobs.

The heat that takes over her is expressed in the way her hips advance beneath you, seeking contact.

"Oh..." Escapes her mouth, her low, gravelly voice reaching your ears as you lean down, your tongue snaking across the bristling areola.

Your tongue runs over the entire breast before wrapping around the nipple and sucking it between your lips. Your hand never stops working the other, teasing it with small pinches.

"Y/N!" She exclaims louder, your teeth working on the sensitive area. Her full breasts are pink with darker spots from the hickeys you've beautifully distributed all over her.

Her hips move, grinding against you. Her hands hang on the back of your neck, pressing your face even harder into her, you can feel her nails digging into your skin as you pulls harder between your lips.

She lifts her hips off the bed as your hands travel to the edge of her pants, pulling her panties off with them. Your mouth trembles with desire as you see her pale, shapely thighs squeezing her intimacy.

Your fingers wander again over the slender body laid out below you. Feeling yourself throb as you gaze at her.

"You're so beautiful." It escapes your mouth without you even questioning it. Her bright eyes staring deeply into yours, her body moving vaguely in a hurry.

She likes it. Karina loves having your eyes on her and your compliments directed only at her. Seeing your tongue moving over your lips as you saw her exposed made her feel desired, powerful, loved.

When she was like that, with her legs opening slightly to give you the pleasure of her glistening folds, and you saw your brain stop for seconds, completely enchanted by her. All of this made her own mind imagine the feeling of having you inside her.

"Y/N, please." She asked in the way she knew you liked, low in a growl. Trying to rub herself against your thigh next to her.

You quickly removed the sweatshirt that covered your torso wrapped in a tight tank top. Your hands hurried to lift her legs, making her sigh due to the pressure of your fingers on her open thighs.

She felt the cold air in the room in contact with the throbbing heat that was already seeping out by now.

Her hands squeezing her own breasts, before having you between her legs. Your mouth kissing and sucking the white skin of her inner thighs, on the way to paradise.

Her scent filled the air, filling your lungs with the most delicious aroma. Your mouth glided along her sides, kissing her larger lips. The feeling of being on the edge of an abyss about to fall.

She gasps with delicious sounds as your tongue slips over her soaked folds. Gliding smoothly over the soft skin, dipping into the slit that expelled the liquids into your mouth.

"Oh, oh... Fuck!" She moaned needily, pressing your head into her and lifting her hips to grind herself into your mouth.

Her mouth drops open as her eyes roll back at the pressure of your tongue on her sweetest spot.

"Tell.... Tell me you're mine." She begs through gritted teeth, fucking your face hard. Your scalp is starting to feel sore from the way she's gripping your strands and forcing your head down.

"I'm yours. Only yours." You reply messily with your mouth full of pussy. Your teeth scraping deliciously against her swollen clit and your tongue pressing against her entrance.

Her mind is confused and aching from the impact of her pussy with her face. She starts to rub it on his face, enjoying the way her liquids make him wet, and how his eyes express nothing but an empty mind desperate for her pussy.

"Ah... Yes, you're mine." She moans softly, reveling in the sensation of your mouth devouring her. Her hands reach up to her hair as you sink into her.

"You're mine," you say through gritted teeth, sucking her clit between your lips hard as your hands work to keep her legs open.

The soft flesh spreads in your hands, filling them completely. Your body begins to shudder in his hands, your hips stuttering as they thrust into you.

"Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum."

You allow her thighs to close around your head, pressing her pussy hard into your face as she melts into you.

The moans echo in sequence as you feel your mind go numb for a few minutes due to lack of air.

She takes several deep breaths, panting with pleasure. Her arms fall to her sides and her legs slacken around her, demonstrating her lack of strength after orgasm.

You partially raise your torso, watching her mumble some nonsense to your ears.

Her thighs tremble slightly at your soft touch on them, roaming inside her, squeezing in some places for the pleasure of hearing her gasp, still dizzy with pleasure.

Your wait isn’t long, she barely recovers before your fingers are wandering even closer to her throbbing cunt. You can feel the heat emanating from her core, her sensitive hips pulling away ever so slightly, only to press back into the touch.

"Ugh... I haven't... I haven't recovered yet." She struggles to catch her breath.

"Let me show you how much I love you. Hm?" You state more than ask. Your fingers, which had previously been pressed to spread her legs, now touch directly to her core.

Wet skin, sliding over your fingerprints, her hole opening and closing slowly, pulsing as if begging you to fill her. Your fingers press against her, but return to roaming calmly around her sensitive clit.

"Ah... I..." She can't find the words to speak when she feels your fingers tug lightly on her hard spot. Her hands fly to her hair when she doesn't know what to do with them. She feels herself shiver, her throat closing and her womb tightening with the pressure of your fingers.

Your fingers slide down her slit, now inserting one inside her. Slowly getting used to it, you know she's too sensitive, her walls gripping tightly around your length.

You can feel them opening and closing as your finger pushes deeper, reaching all the way to the base of it. You arches inside her, hitting her pleasure spot, her hips jerking up with a loud moan.

"Mmmph..." She bites her own hand to keep from screaming when you insert the second finger at once. You're almost certain she hurt herself with the force of the bite.

Warm walls expand around you, molding themselves to your shape. The high blood pressure makes it all better, the clenched fingers squeezing all the remaining sanity from your needy body.

Your fingers start to pound hard inside her, in sync with your other hand that moves towards her face. Forcing her to open her eyes to look at you when you hold her by the jaw, you can see her cloudy and shiny eyes, her swollen and open mouth that drips a trickle of saliva.

A firm slap makes her eyes widen as your palm touches the now red skin, your hand immediately caressing the spot. Her pussy throbs at the same time, pulling you deeper inside, sliding around you, the texture of her insides leaving your brain overstimulated.

"Take it. Take it all." You command, your fingertips hitting her most pleasurable spot.

"Oh... Uh... Fuck! Ugh..." Her moans are cut off when you shove your fingers inside her mouth. Sliding over her soft tongue, bathed in her saliva.

She works her mouth over you lazily as your fingers pound inside her holes. You feel her gasp as her pussy begins to convulse in your hand, her juices spilling over your palm and wrist, dripping onto the expensive white sheets.

Your hand speeds up, fucking her hard even as her thighs struggle to stop the impact. She starts to whimper as you slap her breasts again, turning the marked skin red again.

"It's my love, take it." You whisper in her ear as you lift up to kiss her neck.

"Ugh... Y/N!" She exclaims once again, completely melting into you. Her nails tearing into your back and her legs squeezing your hand between them with her hips chasing her pleasure.

"Oh..." Her breath echoes loudly through the room, her body softening beneath you. Your fingers tremble inside her to pull out. "No... No, leave it there. Leave it inside." She begs, her eyes dazed from her recent orgasm.

You laugh, pulling your hand out slowly, she stops you halfway, both hands grabbing your wrist to push back in. You look into her eyes and know that even though they look silly, she's not joking.

"Baby, let me taste you a little. I promise I'll put you back in." You wait for her to let you, your grip on her hands loosening hesitantly.

Your fingers come out with a sigh from both of them, lifting them your mouth to suck on them. You run your tongue between them to taste the milky cum with a moan. She keeps her eyes on you even though they are heavy with fatigue.

"So delicious, my love." You climb on top of her to seal your lips gently. She moans into your mouth feeling her own taste flavor the kiss.

"I'm so sorry... It won't happen again." You whisper against her lips, your regret expressed in all your actions, in the shine in your eyes.

"It's okay now. I understand." She matches your tone. "We'll deal with this together." Her fingers caress the arm hanging over her waist.

"Yes." You affirm with conviction. Her hands move down your arm to your hand, her lips pressing back to yours in a calm kiss, her hands directing yours to the middle of her thighs.

You giggle as she places you in her warmth, your fingers filling her again and she moans into your mouth.

You settle into each other as comfortably as you can, your bodies intertwined in a lovely warmth.

"I love you. I love you so much." You say, caressing her sleepy face, removing the strands of hair from her eyes.

"I love you too." She smiles big, falling asleep in your arms within minutes.

For the first time in about a month you feel at peace with life, with yourself again.

[itneverendshere]

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (seven)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

For the first time in years, you wake up peacefully. 

No racing heart, no threats lurking behind your closed eyes.

Just... calm. The type of quiet that lets you sink into the warmth of the blankets without a single worry. You’re so cozy, so perfectly at ease, you almost forget where you are and what led you here.

For a blissful moment, all you know is stillness. But then it hits you—this isn't your bed. No footsteps are stomping down the hall, no harsh voices insulting you through your morning peace. 

You blink your eyes open, and it’s a simple little room. Not much here but a heavy old quilt over you, a plain dresser, a lamp that looks like it's been there forever. A small window where the sun is streaming in, bathing everything in a golden glow. 

It’s almost funny, you realize with a little smile. You ran as far as you could, with no real plan except to escape, and somehow, by some twist of fate, you ended up here.

And then you remember why it feels so familiar. 

It’s Rafe’s. 

Your heart flutters around like it’s waking up for the first time in a while, too. You found him—or maybe he found you. After all those years of wondering what happened to him, your first love, the boy with grease-stained hands and the brightest smile was back.

He still looked at you like he cared, that was a given after what he did for you yesterday, between taking you to the hospital and offering you a place to stay, as if the years hadn’t put a single dent in the way he used to see you.

You’d half-expected him to just...look through you like you were a stranger. But Rafe—well, he’d always been different, hadn't he?

You let out a small, relieved sigh and curl up a little tighter under the quilt, sinking deeper into it, because today, you don’t have to run.

Back then, everything about Rafe felt like some secret only you were lucky enough to know. The scrapes on his knuckles, the stains that never really washed off his clothes, the way he’d sneak you out to the pier after dark to talk under the stars like you were the only two people on earth.

The entire world disappeared when you were with him—the line between Kook and Pogue didn’t mean a thing.

You remember his laugh, this loud carefree sound that would just bubble up, surprising even him. He’d make fun of how out of place you looked on the back of his old bike, but then he’d smile in this crooked, lovestruck way and kiss you so hard it didn’t matter. 

God, you were in so deep, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was yours, and you were his, and nothing else could touch that.

Your mind is a mess of memories, all those nights you used to slip out to meet him, sneaking around with this thrill in your chest, like you were getting away with something impossible. 

It all changed so fast.

One night, he was there, laughing with you in bed and calling you "princess" in that teasing way only he could get away with. The next, he was gone. You had no warning, no explanation—just this space where he used to be. Your parents finally admitted what they'd done, talking about him like he was a problem they’d finally got to fix. They had tried to break him, ship him off to some military school hours away, like he was just… trash.

But Rafe had always been too smart for them. He ran instead, left everything he knew behind, including you, before anyone could try to cage him. You didn’t understand it fully at first. You couldn’t.

Before college started, you’d waited at all your old spots, hoping he’d show up, that he’d come to you in the middle of the night, even if it meant climbing in through your bedroom window just to say goodbye.

But he never did, when the days turned into weeks, then months, you realized he’d left for good.

You never let him go, not really.

While everyone else told you to move on, you dug in. You spent so much, countless weekends sneaking off with the cash you'd save, paying people in shady corners of town, anyone who might know where he’d gone. You chased whispers and rumors and stray leads, but none of them ever led you to him. You used to lie awake at night praying he was okay, safe, wondering if he was ever thinking of you the way you still thought of him every single day.

You can’t shake the déjà vu now, lying here in his bed, realizing that somehow, by some freak chance, the universe led you back to him.

You think about yesterday, the look on his face when he saw you in his shop, like he couldn’t believe it was real either. He’d dropped everything, no hesitation. 

You call back to those years without him— you’d try to keep going, but every day was like you were carrying a dead weight no one else could see. Nights were the worst. 

You’d lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying all those stolen moments with him, pieces of a dream you were desperate not to forget. It was like trying to hold water in your hands; no matter how hard you tried, bits of him kept slipping through, fading with time, until you started to wonder if maybe you’d imagined how it felt to be that close to someone.

And God, you tried to let go, eventually.

You told yourself over and over, it was time to stop chasing after someone who’d left without a goodbye, who didn't want to be found.

You even went on dates, pretended you could replace him, like it would be so easy to “find someone else.” But no one else ever remotely compared to him.

No one else ever made you feel seen like that. 

Certainly not Frederic and it's like a stab to your heart to even think about it now.

You’d never planned to be with someone like him. He was handsome, polite when you met him; everyone around you liked him, and your parents might as well have handed you over to him in a silver platter the second he moved to town.

They’d called it “the perfect match”—his family’s money, your family’s reputation. They belived it would keep you distracted, and finally help you forget the boy they’d done everything to erase from your life.

You went along with it.

What choice did you really have? Rafe had been gone for almost three years, and you were supposed to move on, fit into this life they wanted for you. So you played along, smiled through dinner parties and gatherings, told yourself you could settle for this.

He wasn’t cruel, not in the beginning, just possessive. You’d told yourself it was almost flattering, that it meant he cared about you, wanted you to be his in some way.

Until the day he found that old picture, the one you’d kept hidden away in your wallet all those years.

That’s when everything changed and he never looked at you the same after that. Suddenly, each glance, every small thing you did, the little freedom you had was a threat to him. You weren’t allowed to go out without him or talk to anyone he didn’t approve of.

He made you feel like you were nothing but his property, something he could control and shape into whatever he wanted. He tore apart the dainty pieces of your younger self you’d managed to keep, as if any proof of the life you’d had with Rafe was something he needed to crush with his bare hands.

After a while, he didn’t even attempt to hide the anger.

The first time he hit you, you’d been shocked, unable to believe it was happening. He apologized right after, swore it would never happen again, but you knew. 

It was only the beginning.

From that day on, you lived in fear, knowing that any misstep could set him off, that each move you made was a risk. You learned to stay quiet, to keep your head down, to shrink yourself into a pet that wouldn’t provoke him.

Nothing was ever enough.

He’d pick fights out of nowhere, accuse you of things that didn’t make sense, twist everything around until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But you kept that picture.

Even after everything, he’d broken down every bit of strength you had, but you wouldn’t let it go. It was the only piece of Rafe you had, it didn’t matter that it was just a scrap. When Frederic was away doing business, late at night, you’d pull it out and stare at it, trace the edges of Rafe’s smile with your thumb, wishing you’d get to live something as beautiful again.

You’d almost forgotten was being okay felt like, to be somewhere you weren’t afraid to breathe too loud.

You sit up slowly, the quilt sliding off your shoulders as you stretch your arms overhead, your stomach is already growling with anticipation.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a micro second to breathe in the peaceful quiet around you, then, you shuffle to the kitchen, still half wondering if it’s happening, if Rafe is really back in your life after all this time. 

As you enter the kitchen, your heart does a little leap at the sight before you. There, resting on the table is a plate piled high with pancakes, golden and fluffy, topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of syrup.

It looks so delicious and so… thoughtful. It’s the kind of breakfast you’d imagined when you were younger, that felt like love poured into every bite. Next to the plate, there’s a note, scribbled in Rafe’s familiar handwriting, the same jagged loops and curls that make you smile like you’re seventeen again.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing over the paper as you read, “had to run to the shop, didn’t want you to wake up hungry. eat these and don't save some for me, okay?”. You tuck the note into your pocket, almost like a talisman, and turn your attention back to the pancakes.

You settle at the table, the chair creaking beneath you, and pick up a fork. The first bite is like heaven—soft and sweet, the syrup running down your chin as you take a big mouthful.

You can’t stop the giggles, remembering those late-night snacks where you’d sneak with him, trying to be quiet so no one would hear. 

He always ended up with more syrup on him than in the bowl.

As you devour the breakfast he made, you envision how he must have stood there in the kitchen, mixing the batter and flipping.

It's fun to picture him humming to himself, the light from the window hitting his dark blonde hair just right, making him look like some sort of guardian angel. The thought sends butterflies fluttering through your body, and after years in the dark, you feel light.

After finishing the last bite you can’t help but smile at the empty plate in front of you. Rafe really outdid himself. You feel a little giddy, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the syrup or the comfort of the food. 

With a little bounce in your step, you push back the chair and head to the sink, rinsing off the plate. You look around the cozy kitchen, taking in the mismatched mugs and the old-fashioned fridge that looks like it’s seen a hundred breakfasts. It feels lived-in and warm, like a home should, despite not being full.

You can picture Rafe here, maybe making his disgusting black coffee, playing music while he reads. You’d love to share that with him, even if it sounds silly.

You wander to the window above the sink, pull back the curtain and peek out.

Outside, the engine noises and clanking tools are a little noisy but better than the yelling you’re used to. You can see him moving around, his familiar silhouette bent over the engine of a car, grease smudged across his forearms, the sun glinting off his skin.

You’re chewing your lip to death while you admire him like he's the last man on earth. Rafe is dressed in a snug white tank top that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric slightly worn and smudged with grease from a long morning in the shop, showcasing his broad shoulders and the beefy muscles of his biceps.

His arms are covered in a light sheen of oil, making him appear even more rugged and, honestly, a little bit scrumptious. He looks so effortlessly beautiful even in the middle of a workday.

His hair is tousled, falling in soft, messy waves that occasionally cover his eyes, and you find yourself wanting to reach up and push it back just so you can see his gorgeous blue eyes fully. 

This is what you’d dreamed about, all those nights, clutching that tiny picture of him to your chest. Just seeing him like this, working hard like he used to be when you’d sneak out to find him.

You feel bad though.

He’d stayed up late with you, sat with you for hours, listening as you poured everything out, even as you broke down, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He held you until you fell asleep in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. And now, here he is, working already, probably exhausted after getting barely any rest.

You move back to his bedroom, scolding yourself for wanting to go out there and warn him to take it easy, but you know him.

He wouldn’t listen. 

And maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to, either, because having him there all night, knowing he was close by, made you feel content.

Rafe never did anything halfway, did he? Even back then, he was so… him, so all-in, with that devotion that used to leave you breathless and a little woozy.

Years later, he’s still giving everything he has to make sure you’re okay, he hasn’t changed at all in the ways that matter.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to savor it, to commit this peace to memory in case you need it again someday. You’re not naïve; you know there are things to figure out, talks that need to happen, but he didn’t leave this time, didn’t slip away in the middle of the night, no hidden messages or unspoken goodbyes. 

He’s right here, where you can see him. 

You're still lost in thought, when you hear the front door open.

You sit up, smoothing out your hair and trying not to seem as flustered as you feel.

Footsteps come down the hall, until Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, one hand braced above his head, looking at you with this little smirk that’s shier than he’d probably ever admit.

There’s a smear of grease on his jaw, and his tank top’s even dirtier than before, he’s been deep in a car engine for hours already.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, that southern drawl warming you to your toes. “Just came in to, uh… check on ya. Make sure you ate and all.” He nods toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. His eyes move to the empty plate on the table, and he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Guess ya did.”

You can’t help but smile back, a little nervous, and shy. There’s this energy between you—it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells, not quite sure how to talk to each other now that the cards are all on the table. 

“Yeah,” you nod softly, clutching the quilt closer. “They were perfect. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, color creeping up his neck as he shrugs. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand every part of you that’s been ripped apart, searching for the pieces of the girl he used to know, while still seeing the woman you’ve become.

Rafe shuffles his feet, his hand drifting to rub the back of his neck, “Sorry, I should probably clean up,” he mutters, glancing down at his hands. “Lookin’ like a damn grease monkey in here.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him, making him look up with this sheepish grin that’s just so… him. For a second, no time has passed at all, you’re both still seventeen and completely caught up in each other.

Rafe’s gaze lands on the spot where the blanket’s slipped, showing a faint bruise along your collarbone. His muscles tighten just slightly, and he exhales as he asks, “You feelin’ any better?”

You nod, but he’s already moving closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level, his expression creased with worry. He reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back, second-guessing himself.

“They, uh… they still hurt?” He nods toward the bruises, his eyes darting over them with a pained look, like he feels every mark himself. He starts rambling, “I got some ice packs in the freezer if you need ’em or I could go grab one of those heat pads, I dunno which one’s better, but we can try both if you need. I don’t want you just sittin’ here hurtin’.” He gestures vaguely, tracing every inch of your body with this helpless, guilty look, because if he could take them on himself, he would.

“And, uh… I mean, if you’re achin’ at all, I got some Tylenol in the cabinet—not the strongest stuff, but it might help a little. Or if you need anything else, I can just run out and grab it.” His gaze darts back to your face, and he adds quickly, “Only if you want, though! I know you’re… you’re strong and all, but don’t mean you gotta sit there and hurt, alright?”

You can't stop smiling, watching him try to take care of you in his own awkward, fumbling way. His shoulders are all hunched up, his fingers fidgeting against his jeans, and there’s that endearing tint creeping up his neck again.

“Rafe…” you cut him off, and he stops mid-ramble, his mouth half-open, looking like he just got caught saying too much.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, afraid he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

His fingers curl around yours instantly, holding on like he needs the contact just as much as you do. It’s the smallest thing, just the press of his hand against yours, but after so long of being handled like broken porcelain, it’s overwhelming.

“Really, and I’m—I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you yesterday.”

You hadn’t planned on telling him every detail of your personal hell, but he made it so easy.

You were never the best at thinking while under that gaze, it’s wrapped in old memories and hope, and it scares you just as much as it soothes you. He’s close, the scent of his aftershave and engine grease making you feel dizzy with the memory of each kiss, whisper, every reckless promise you’d both made once upon a time.

Rafe sequeezes your hand tighter, thumb grazing your knuckles. 

"Don’t be sorry. Not for that.” It’s so like him, and it nearly breaks you right there. All that quiet loyalty, he doesn’t even know how much he’s giving, he thinks you deserve all of it without question. “You don’t have to go back, y’know. Not if you don’t want to.”

This is real, and he’s right here, asking you to let him in, to let him be the one who pulls you from the darkness. The hardest part is, you know he would.

He’d fight the whole world if he thought it would keep you safe, if it meant you could stay. It’s terrifying, to even hope that you could have this, have him. 

You cover your mouth, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, you can hold it in, but a choked sob escapes anyway, desperate, in a way that embarrasses you. Your shoulders start to shake, and the tears just keep coming, slipping down your jaw and dripping onto your sweater, his.

You try to wipe them away with the back of your hand, but they keep coming, your breaths are turning into these broken gasps that make you feel exposed.

Rafe’s moving without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pulling you into his lap like he had last night. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to hurt you, and you let yourself fold into him, leaning against his chest, the most familiar place in the world.

He tucks your head under his chin, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, and as your tears soak into his shirt, he leans down, whispering, his breath warm against your forehead.

 “I got you. ‘m right here. Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t make you feel ashamed for being so sensitive. 

Instead, he brushes his hand up and down your back, whispering quiet reassurances, giving you all the time in the world. He waits until your sobs taper off, left with only the shudders and hiccupping breaths, and even then, he just sits there quietly, letting you be. 

Then, almost like he’s talking to himself, he starts,“So… y’know, been kind of busy these past few years,” he says, glancing away like he’s embarrassed. “Kept up with a lot of late nights in the shop. Got good at fixing engines—real good, actually. Think I could probably fix just about anything, even if it’s been beat up and run-down more times than you’d think possible.”

Rafe’s fingers trace along your arm as he talks, and you know why he’s doing this. He’s looking toward the window, most likely remembering each late night he’s spent there alone.

“Didn’t make much of it at first—just me and Jerry. But folks kept comin’ in, one by one, and eventually, we hired a few guys to help out.” He pauses, swallowing, “Guess it’s sort of a thing now.”

You feel your lips tug up and he must notice because his grip on you relaxes, and he lets out this almost bashful chuckle.

“Got a dog, too,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck like he’s telling you something ridiculous. “Well, he just kinda showed up one day at the shop, but he kept stickin’ around, so I named him Ace. Big, goofy mutt—probably not as tough as he thinks, but he likes to act like he’s protecting the place.” He shakes his head, “You’d like him, I think. He’d probably love you more than he loves me the second you showed up, little traitor. He sleeps downstairs."

“But y’know, no matter how busy it got, or how many things kept changin’… didn’t really feel like home.” He pauses, his hand moving to brush away a stray tear that’s found its way down your cheek, “I thought maybe if I just kept busy enough, I’d stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thought it’d get easier with time. But…” He trails off, like he’s confessing a secret. “Turns out it didn’t. No matter where I went, or what I did, it was always just there. Missin’ you.”

You can feel the soft rasp of his thumb against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” he clicks his tongue, tipping your chin up with a knuckle until your eyes meet his, blue eyes looking at you with a tenderness that almost makes you bawl again. “None of that. I told you, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” His gaze sweeps across your features, “You been through hell and back. I know that ain’t easy to walk away from, not like that.”

His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek while you ask him, “What if he… what if he finds me?” 

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there it is—that old, familiar fire lighting up in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d get any time someone even thought about hurting you, he’d rather throw himself in front of a train than let anything happen to you. 

“He’s never gonna touch you again, okay? Not as long as I’m around.” His voice is almost a growl, fierce enough that makes you believe him. “I won’t let him, I swear it.”

You can’t even speak. Your heart feels so full of gratitude, but you manage to force out a, “Thank you, Rafe.”

He pulls the hair back from your face, “You don’t gotta thank me,” he murmurs, “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”

You look up at him, fingers sweeping against his skin as you ask, “Tell me more? About everything? I feel like I missed so much…”

You attempt to keep your voice from quivering, but there’s this misery in your chest, a deep longing to know the parts of him you hadn’t been there to witness. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, and then he looks down, being reluctant.

“Yeah, uh… there was one time I went to your university,” he confesses, the words coming out hushed, he’s scared he shouldn’t be admitting this. “It was years ago, but… yeah. I went up there to see you.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” The word slips out in disbelief, and you lean in, “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I just… I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I could run into you, or—” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I was hopin’ I’d have the guts to actually talk to you. 

Your brain can’t help but conjure up, what it might’ve happened if he’d just walked across campus that day, to you. The two of you in that place.

You picture yourself, sitting on one of those worn benches under the big oak trees that dotted the quad, maybe with a book open on your lap that you weren’t really reading, because all you could think about was him. It wouldn’t have taken much—the way his heavy boots hit the ground, the scent of his cologne. Would you have jumped up and hugged him? Or would you have sat there, staring at him, wondering if you were somehow dreaming it all up?

It’s a fantasy, you know that, but deep down, you wish that had been your reality—the two of you fighting for each other instead of letting the world and distance pull you apart. It hurts like a bitch, thinking of all those lost years, all the things that could’ve been different if you’d both just been a little braver.

“Rafe…” you breath, and there’s so much tangled in that one word.

The years, the heartbreak, the distance—you don’t even know where to begin, and yet, you don’t need to. He looks at you as if he understands every unspoken word like he’s been waiting just as long.

“I didn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he coos, pulling you just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “It’s my fault, I was scared.”

You smile through the fresh tears gathering and he slants his forehead against yours, brushing one away with his thumb, his face close enough that you could count each freckle if you wanted.

“It’s okay."

“I missed you, so much.”

You hadn’t just missed him—you’d missed the way he made you feel.

Brave. Free. No matter what happened, it would be okay as long as he was by your side. He smiles, a little crooked like because he’s not used to hearing it, he feels like the lucky one here.

 “You’ve always been my girl, y’know that? Ain’t nothing gonna change that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Rafe’s slowly stitching up something inside you didn’t even know was still bleeding. You wonder if he knows that you're still shattered, that you’re not sure how to feel whole again, but you want to try, for him.

The way he talks tells you that he still can see you as the girl he fell in love with and it makes you hopeful that maybe she’s still somewhere inside you, waiting to be found.

Does he feel the same? Does he mean it, all this talk of missing you, of always coming back to you? Or is he just being kind, because he thinks you need to be treated like a wounded animal?

He’s got his own scars, things he’s carried, and he’s been hiding them just as much as you’ve been hiding yours. 

You wonder what he’s not saying, if he’s afraid of hoping for too much, like you are. Perhaps he’s holding you like this because he’s still holding on to that invisible string that’s kept you tied to him all this time. 

You close your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself breathe him in, feel him under your fingertips.

His lips pucker against your temple, “Don’t overthink, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

But realistically speaking, how long can you run for before the monsters in your nightmares catch up to you?

[p1eceandharmon1]

little moments of intimacy┊ p1harmony (ot6)

warnings: use of make-up┊fluff!┊fem!reader┊word count: 1652

a/n: i didn't really know how to name this post lol.

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➳ Keeho ┊ 윤기호

Keeho loves a good long bubble bath, and if he’s sharing it with you, it makes him feel like heaven. He doesn’t prepare those baths very often as they’re not that practical but, at least once a month, he would go all out to transform your bathroom into a romantic spot for you two to have a well-deserved relaxing night. Expect candles, rose petals, fancy bath bombs and music from Keeho’s previously-made playlist playing on the background. After tiring and stressful days, a moment like this is exactly what both of you need — resting in each other’s arms, not with anything sexual in mind, just wanting to unwind for a while. The water is at a perfectly warm temperature when you go in, making you both let out a sigh of content. He wouldn’t waste a moment to pull you close and hug you, closing his eyes and thinking he would melt at any moment because of how much pleasure he was feeling. After taking turns to soap and shampoo each other, you’d start playing with the bubbles around you and placing them on each other’s face, creating bubble beards and wigs. The room would be quickly filled with laughter, but you also enjoy moments of quiet talks as you lay in each other’s arms and share sweet nothings. You would stay like that until the water isn’t warm anymore and Keeho steps out first to grab a towel to wrap you in, not willing to let you be cold for not even a second.

➳ Theo ┊ 최태양

You are the first person Theo ever lets go near his well-organized closet, and also, the first person he allows to borrow some of his clothes. If you ever let drop that you think one of his jackets is cool, he’s already handing it to you, encouraging you to wear it next time. Or if he catches you admiring one of his necklaces, he’d immediately go behind you and move your hair to the side to put the piece of jewellery around your neck. Sometimes, he would forget some of his comfiest sweaters at your place, secretly hoping you would wear them next time he sees you — he wouldn’t be able to avoid the grin on his face if you do. He just can’t help thinking you look the cutest when you’re wearing something of his, and he always tells you he thinks his clothes fit you better than they fit himself. Even if it’s just a simple white oversized shirt he has lent you to sleep, he wouldn’t hesitate to say that you look beautiful. Your fashion styles are pretty similar, so he also finds your stuff cool, to the point he would ask you for permission to wear some of your items as well. If he’s honest, he loves when you go out wearing his clothes and vice versa, taking into account that your relationship is not public yet. It is a way to hint that you’re together and also a way to feel connected to one another when you’re apart. On times when he’s away on tour, he would take one of your sweatshirts with him, just so he can bury his nose in it and inhale your perfume to bring him comfort when he misses you the most.

➳ Jiung ┊ 최지웅

Even before dating you, Jiung was very into nail art and then, he would always compliment the designs you got every month. He didn’t know you did your own nails at home, so he was thrilled when he found out. You had a pretty decent set of tools, to be honest — from different types of brushes to a little led lamp, all of which made Jiung’s eyes lit up when you showed him. After a couple of times seeing you do your nails in awe, he would ask you to try and paint them for you. He would be incredibly excited throughout the whole process, which would start with looking through hundreds of inspo pics together until you find one you like. He would sit across from you and take your hand in his, smiling at how soft it is. He knows your skin is quite delicate, so he would be extra careful when filing your nails, always making sure it isn’t painful. It melts your heart seeing how concentrated he is in doing each nail perfectly and how he keeps holding your hand gently, almost as if it would break if he wasn’t paying attention. Once he’s done, your eyes widen at how good the result is — you know he has really good taste when it comes to nail art, but it seems like you got your nails done at a salon. He would blush and play it down after seeing your amazed reaction, and would agree right away when you offer to paint his nails as well so you can match. After that, he wouldn’t stop showing off his nails with a proud grin on his lips.

➳ Intak ┊ 황인탁

Every time you’re getting your make-up done to go out, Intak would be glued to your side from the moment you enter the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. He knows it takes you a while, so he thinks why not keeping you company — this way, he gets to do his favorite thing, which is admiring your face. Leaning onto the bathroom counter, he would be mesmerized by the whole process and he wouldn’t be able to keep his big puppy-like eyes off your features. He wonders how do you not get confused with so many products, brushes and steps to follow, so he keeps on asking you what each thing is for. He is truly impressed when you swiftly do your eyeliner, amazed by how sharp it is and how easy you make it look. He won’t shut up about how good it’s looking and how pretty you look, making you so flustered that you end up getting distracted, which makes him earn a slap on the shoulder. On days when you’re not in a hurry, you even let him try and put some of the make-up on you. You smile at how he unsuccessfully tries to hide his excitement, but he soon changes his expression into a full-focused one as he comes closer to your face, one hand holding the brush and the other softly grabbing your chin, to apply your blush. He’s seen you do it many times so he’s confident in doing it properly, and it actually surprises you how well he’s doing it. He doesn’t step back when he finishes; instead, he pecks your nose to not mess up your make-up and whispers that you look stunning one more time.

➳ Soul ┊ 白翔太

Shota used to get really impatient and pouty whenever you washed your hair, because that meant it would take you so long to dry and brush it properly. He would always grow tired of waiting alone and, not being able to stay apart for that long, he turned blow-drying your hair into a habit. Once you get out of the bathroom, your hair still wet and wrapped in a towel, he would be already sitting on the bed with the hairdryer in his hand, waiting for you to sit in front of him. Usually, he’s very playful when it comes to your hair, and he would spend hours playing with it and styling it in the weirdest ways possible, if you let him. But in times like this, you notice how he’s so much more gentle from the moment he unwraps the towel and turns on the hairdryer. He makes sure the air doesn’t come out too hot and doesn’t waste a second to start combing his fingers through your locks, being careful not to tangle them. He always lets his fingers linger for an extra second, not being able to hide how much he adores the softness and sweet scent of your hair. Little does he know that while he’s running his fingers through your hair, you’re trying your best not to fall asleep because of how relaxed it’s making you feel. Once he’s done, he comes closer behind you to press a kiss on the top of your head, and you turn around to pepper his face with kisses to say thank you, making him giggle.

➳ Jongseob ┊ 김종섭

You and Jongseob share a deep love for books and, at the beginning of your relationship, you found out that your taste is very similar, so reading together naturally became a usual activity for you. Whenever you two happen to have some free time, you would be laying together on the couch with a book in your hands, the only sound coming from your steady breaths. You would never be too far from each other — sometimes your hands would be interlocked, or he would have one arm around you making you partially lay on him, and other times he would rest his head on your lap. This would give you free access to his hair, so you always end up running your fingers absentmindedly through his locks, which gives him goose bumps. There are days when Jongseob comes home and softly asks you to read out loud for him, and you would never say no. Listening to your voice is his favorite way of relaxing after a tiring day, and he loves that he gets to stare at your face for as long as he wants while you read. He would hold you close and play with your hair as he keeps his loving gaze on you. You would pretend not to notice his eyes on you the entire time, not even when they lower to your lips. Not long after, he would steal a kiss, and then a couple more, each one longer and deeper than the other, until the book would be put aside and you would be fully focused on the make out session he had smoothly started.

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[renlyslittlerose]

prompt: "Wait, did I not tell you guys about that? Oops.." for obikin

I wasn't sure what to do for this prompt for a little while, so thank you for the challenge! (Genuinely, I appreciate it haha) 💖

---

“Should we wake him?”

“I… I don’t know. He didn’t give us direct orders to.”

“But he didn’t give us orders not to.”

“I wouldn’t wake him if I were you.” The clones turned slowly to look at Anakin as he sat on a packing crate in the middle of camp. Not glancing up from his datapad, he continued. “Obi-Wan wakes up exactly when he means to, not a moment too early or too late. And if you do happen to try and wake him, he’ll try and suffocate you while you beg for freedom.”

One of the clones shifted, his helmet knocking gently against his side. “Are you speaking from experience, sir?”

“Considering we share a bed most nights, yeah, it’s happened,” Anakin mumbled. “Some would say too often, but then again, I’ve been accused of never learning my lesson.”

The clones shared a look before nodding. They weren’t here to ask questions. In fact, that was one of the first lessons they’d been given by Captain Rex when they were assigned to the 501st: The less you ask about General Skywalker and General Kenobi’s relationship, the better off you’ll be.

There was even a poster in the barracks with the quote written on it.

“Thank you, General, for that… valuable insight into our commanding officer’s way of doing things.”

Anakin smiled then, a quick little thing, before his expression returned to focused. “Next time he goes to ‘rest his eyes’, wait a solid two hours before getting worried.”

—

“When was the last time you cleaned your room, Skyguy?”

Anakin sent Ahsoka a sharp glare, one she promptly ignored. Picking up a used caf cup from the rest of the mess on the counter, she sniffed the contents and immediately regretted all the choices she’d made that led her to this moment.

“I haven’t had the time. If you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been away for most of the last three months,” he mumbled. Opening the closet, he started rummaging around in a collection of black and brown fabrics, mumbling about how he swore he’d put the tools they needed in his room.

Ahsoka had half a mind to suggest they just go out and buy a new toolkit. They had a better chance of finding it in a scrapyard than the mess that was Anakin Skywalker’s room.

“You know we’ve got droids in the Temple who can clean this up for you,” she said idly. Stepping over a pile of datapads, she inspected the dead plant on top of the dresser.

“I don’t trust them not to throw out important things,” Anakin’s muffled voice called.

Ahsoka didn’t press the matter, knowing that Anakin’s tendency to hoard had come from a childhood where anything and everything could be useful. Instead she chose to judge Anakin for the pair of black underclothes that hung lewdly from a lamp.

“The least you could do is put your underwear away,” she said. Tilting her head, she realized the underwear was silky. “Ew, Anakin, do you really wear silk underwear?”

Anakin’s head shot up, curls a static mess atop his head. Whipping around to look at Ahsoka, she pointed to the offended pair with a wrinkled nose. With a speed that Ahsoka only saw on the battlefield, Anakin ran across the room, leapt over his bed, and snatched the underwear, almost knocking the lamp over in the process.

“Never took you as the type, Skyguy,” she teased.

“These are Obi-Wan’s,” Anakin said quickly. Seemingly completely oblivious to Ahsoka’s expression, he continued. “He thought he lost them, but clearly he just uh, misplaced them.” Letting out a sigh, he shoved them in his pocket. “He’s going to be so mad, knowing they were here all along.”

Ahsoka blinked. Did she want to know? No… no. She really didn’t want to.

“Did you… find the tools?” she asked.

Anakin shook his head. “Nope. Just gonna have to add that to the list of reasons Obi-Wan is going to give me the silent treatment.”

—

Skywalker and Mace skittered to a stop at the end of a hallway. Above them the sirens of the Separatist cruiser blared, blocking out the sounds of their heavy breathing. Off in the distance, Mace could feel the heavy footfalls of battle droids as they ran through the halls after them. They were closing in. They didn’t have much time.

“Which way?” Mace asked.

Skywalker stilled a moment, attention fixed on something Mace couldn’t see, before he nudged his chin down the hallway that went left. Relying on Skywalker’s almost umbilical-like connection to Kenobi, Mace followed behind, hoping that they’d find Kenobi before the droids found them.

It was supposed to be a routine scouting mission, with the three of them setting off in in opposition directions to scan the surrounding area, find the best way through the thick jungle, and re-converge at the camp with their data. Only Kenobi didn’t return, and with the patience that Mace had some to expect from Skywalker, Skywalker sped off in search of Kenobi. After a few firefights, one very talkative droid, and a couple of stolen Separatist starfighters, they found themselves in the belly of the beast.

They shouldn’t have been in this position in the first place, but then again, any time one worked with Skywalker and Kenobi things like ‘plans’ and ‘should’ and ‘normal’ went right out the window.

“Down here,” Skywalker said as they rounded another corner.

Stopping in front of a door, Mace kept lookout while Skywalker fussed with the locking mechanism. A sharp click soon followed, and Mace entered the room with his lightsaber drawn.

It was empty.

“He was here,” Skywalker said as he stepped inside. “They must have moved him.”

“Are you sure he was even here?” Mace asked as he glanced around the room.

Nodding, Skywalker left the room. “I can smell him.”

Following behind, Mace tried to bite back the question he knew he didn’t want answers to, but it slipped past his lips before he could stop it. “You can smell him?”

“It smelled like his cologne in there - Hapan cologne. He wears it all the time.”

“I… didn’t notice.”

“Really?” Skywalker asked distractedly. “It’s all I could smell.”

Mace wasn’t going to ask any further. It was better that way. Ignorance was bliss, and prevented culpability.

—

“Ahsoka, have you seen Anakin?” Padmé asked.

Ahsoka nodded and pointed down the hallway of the hotel. “I saw him head toward his room a couple of minutes ago. He said he was going on a break.”

A contingency of Jedi had been sent to act as security during a senatorial retreat. It was mostly formality - they were well within the boundaries of the Republic - but with the war advancing as it was, even the most well-guarded senators were beginning to worry. Padmé, for her part, felt a little more secure knowing that Anakin was present, even when he wasn’t directly next to her.

“How are the talks going?” Ahsoka asked, before Padmé set off down the hall.

Padmé shrugged. “Officially we’re not supposed to speak about the war, but unofficially there have been some talks between staunch supporters of the Republic with those who see the Separatists more favourably. I don’t know if anything will come of it, of course, but at least there is dialog. Sometimes that’s all you can hope for.��

“I see.”

“And how’s guard duty?” Padmé asked with a small smile.

“Boring,” Ahsoka said. “Master Obi-Wan keeps telling me that this is a reward, and I should take the time to relax. But it’s not relaxing - it’s boring.”

Patting Ahsoka’s arm, Padmé sent her a sympathetic look. A few years ago and she’d have agreed, but now Padmé was just happy to have time with her own thoughts for a few days. “When you’re relieved of duty, maybe we can find something more exciting to do together.”

Leaving Ahsoka to her drudgery, Padmé continued down the hall and turned the corner. 241… 243… 245…

247.

Anakin had given her a key earlier, telling her if she needed anything day or night she only come get him. She found it a little over-the-top, but that was just Anakin. Tapping the card against the reader, Padmé stepped in as soon as the doors opened and came across.

A scene.

That was the only way to describe it, really. A scene. A very, very intimate scene.

It wasn’t Anakin she found on the bed, but Obi-Wan, already half-undressed with his tunic opened to expose his flushed chest, his hair in an unfamiliar state of dishevelment, and lips parted as he let out a low, slow moan that swung upward the moment he saw Padmé in the door.

For a moment Padmé had no idea what was going on, until she saw where Anakin was. He was knelt on the floor between his Master’s legs, his head ducked, honey-brown curls caught in Obi-Wan’s thick fingers as he did something.

Padmé was certain that this was not some sort of Jedi ritual.

“I’m sorry,” Padmé squeaked out.

Anakin’s head whipped around to show off pouty red lips covered in spit and. Something. Just something.

This was all just something.

“Padmé!”

“Sorry!” She said again. Finally rediscovering how to use her legs, she turned around and hurried out the door and back down the hallway. She could feel her cheeks burning up, and her heart thundered in her chest.

She should have knocked. Even if Anakin wasn’t in there doing something with Kenobi, he could have been doing something with someone else. Or something with himself.

“Did you find him?” Ahsoka called as soon as Padmé rounded the corner.

“I did,” she said quickly.

Ahsoka’s eyes narrowed as she took Padmé in. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. Smoothing the non-existent wrinkles on her dress, she sent Ahsoka what she hoped was a convincing smile, but when she thought about what her lips were doing, she couldn’t help but think about what Anakin’s lips were doing. “I didn’t know Master Obi-Wan would be with him as well.”

Ahsoka winced. “Wait, did I not tell you about that? I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I should have knocked, regardless.”

“You didn’t knock?” Ahsoka asked, her eyes going wide.

Padmé laughed. Or tried to. It sounded hysterical even to her. “Live and let learn, my grandmother always used to say.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ahsoka repeated.

“It’s alright. No harm, no foul. Another expression my grandmother used to say.”

“Do you. I mean. Are you going to be okay?”

I will be, after I walk into the ocean. “I’m perfectly fine, Ahsoka. Next time I’ll knock.”

Ahsoka frowned. “Sometimes, even knocking doesn’t help.”

[perplexedflower]

Connection

Fandom: Gravity Falls.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Stanford Pines x Female Reader.

Type: One shot.

Words: 3,830.

Summary: Stanford Pines is anything but used to romance, but when the young woman he has fallen for confesses her feelings to him, it feels to him as though they were destined to be together…

Chronology: Late Season 2.

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I felt a little dizzy as my body began to tremble, but after one slow, deep breath, I regained my composure and walked out of the attic. After having spent so long, so much time, so many days debating with myself, I had finally made up my mind: that day was the day I would dare approach Stanford and confess to him everything that weighed on my mind. At last.

I made my way down the staircase and up to the vending machine, alone in the room; that afternoon was bright and sunny, thankfully for me, as all the others were spending their time outside the shack. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to walk in on me confessing my love to Stanford, and the sheer thought of such a thing happening was enough to bring knots to my stomach.

Still standing in front of the vending machine, I input the code to the basement on the pad, a code only the Stan twins knew better than I did, a code I typed in every day, a code that had become so important to me.

Come on, [Y/N]... You can do it. I motivated myself through thought as I watched the secret door open. You've prepared yourself for this day, for this exact moment... You can do it.

With the vending machine now retracted, I took a deep breath once more, sensing my nervousness rise as my stomach truly began to ache, my heart beating faster in my chest than it had ever before. For the second time, I found myself faced with a flight of stairs: I walked down each step, one by one, until I arrived at the elevator. With a slightly trembling index finger, I pressed the button that led to the last floor, which was home to the now-broken portal. While I waited inside the elevator, I continuously repeated to myself the speech I had prepared, the speech I intended to give to Stanford. And the second the elevator stopped moving and the doors slowly opened, I knew my time had come.

Seated on his chair, Stanford was pacing back and forth between all corners of the room, whether it was his desk, shelves, or even the ground, promptly standing up to grab some of his tools off the floor before he sat right back down. For but a moment, it was clear he had not yet noticed I was present in the room with him, until I took a few steps forward in his direction: then, he instantly recognized the sound of my footsteps and finally turned around to me.

From the other end of the room, he showed me a warm smile that made my heart flutter.

"Good afternoon, [Y/N]." He said cheerfully while he brushed the dust off his clothes with his hands. "How are you feeling today? Good, I hope."

"Good afternoon, Ford." I said back to him as I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could. "I'm fine, yes, thank you for asking. And what about you?"

"I'm doing great." He answered, still smiling. "In fact, I'm doing very well."

"Really, how so?"

"Well, I can't quite yet tell you much about it, but my current research is coming along nicely, to say it all." He told me with delight.

"Oh, that's fantastic news!" I exclaimed enthusiastically.

I stared at Stanford in the eyes, pretending to be jolly, when my heart rate was in fact racing.

"Oh, but enough about all that." He said as he took a step toward me while gesturing his hands. "Tell me, [Y/N], why are you not outside? I would have expected to see you out there, enjoying such a sunny day."

"You're one to talk, you know?" I teased him with a light chuckle. "But, as for me... Well..."

The old ceiling lamp above our heads emanated a low light that mixed in orange and red, which faintly reflected against the lenses of Stanford's glasses, making them sparkle just slightly.

"You see, Ford..." I started, the volume of my voice diminishing with each word. "God, it's just so hard to say it..."

As my hands began to tremble and awkwardly twist their fingers, he took yet another step in my direction, which brought him right in front of me.

"[Y/N], are you sure everything's all right?" He asked me with concern while he rested a delicate hand on one of my shoulders. "Is something the matter?"

To avoid his gaze, I lowered my head and stared at the ground, at my feet, just in front of his.

"Ford... There's something I have to tell you." I finally managed to say. "It's... really important... to me. That's why I'm here and not outside with the others."

While I spoke, I simply could not resist the urge to look down at Stanford's hand, holding my shoulder in place with a firm grip, yet without too much pressure; and the longer I stared at it, the longer I felt his touch on me, the more I could sense my heart pounding in my chest. I could tell my cheeks were progressively turning pink as I allowed my eyes to wander, leaving his hand to trace up his arm, detailing the outline of his muscles through the sleeve of his coat.

It's undeniable that the 30 years Ford spent stuck in-between dimensions have toughened him up... by a lot. I thought to myself. He's told me before that back when he and Stanley were little, he would get pushed around by other kids, even bullied. Then, growing up into adulthood, as a scientist and researcher, he never quite had a muscular physique, unlike his twin brother. But now, I look at him... and I can't help but feel a sense of pride seeing the man he has become.

I quickly pulled myself out of my thoughts and diverted my eyes from his arm, then cleared my throat before I looked back up at his face.

"I have to tell you that... I'm really glad that Stanley made the right choice to save you and bring you back here... and that Mabel decided not to press that button." I told him with genuine affection. "Stanford, I like you, and—"

"Oh, how sweet of you, [Y/N]." He exclaimed with a smile as he interrupted me. "I know it may not always seem like it, but I'm actually truly happy to be back, to be here, beside you all, even Stanley... And that includes you, of course. I like you too, [Y/N]."

With a grin still displayed on his face, he leaned forward and moved his hand from my shoulder to my head: his palm tousled my hair, after which he started to walk back to his desk, assuming our conversation was over and that he could go back to his work.

"T-Thank you, Ford, but you don't get it—" I said with a sad smile while I shook my head slowly, my eyebrows furrowed. "I like you, Stanford... I love you."

It felt as though my words echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, surrounding us wholly, resonating within our heads. He immediately stopped walking, his foot frozen in mid-air, and remained still, his back turned to me; although I could not see his face, I could feel mine growing hot with blush, an expression of conflicted emotions on my face.

"... Hum— You know what? Forget I said anything." I mumbled as I stared at his back. "I... don't know what came over me, but just— Ignore it... please..."

The more I tried to express myself properly, the longer I spent choosing my words, the more teardrops escaped my eyes, rolling down across my cheeks and ending their course on the ground.

"This... must sound like complete nonsense to you... I'm sure you're thinking I've lost my mind."

While I still stared at his back, still turned to me, Stanford still motionless, I took a blind step backward, then another.

"... I'm very sorry to have disturbed you, Stanford... You may resume your work, now."

The second I finished speaking, I promptly turned around and nervously pressed the button on the elevator: and as I stepped inside, I anxiously waited to hear him say something, anything, but he remained quiet. I pressed a second button, this time to order the elevator to go back up to the surface. After a second of silence that felt excruciatingly long, the two doors closed, and the moment the elevator started to move, I broke into tears.

I was still sobbing when, shortly after, I walked out of the elevator, climbing the secret stairs back up to arrive back into the room. I was too emotionally compromised to truly scan my surroundings, but I was still able to tell all the others were still busy, as the room was still empty.

I need... to be alone... I told myself. I need to find a place... somewhere, anywhere...

I knew the attic was out of the question, considering Dipper and Mabel could have very well been there, and so was the kitchen, given how much time Stanley spent in it; the only place that was left, the only place I could think of was the secret room Soos had discovered the other day, by pure accident. Once standing in front of the door, I gave it a soft push with my hand, too feeble to put any amount of strength into my movements. But as physically weak as I felt, I stepped inside the room without even an ounce of hesitation.

Once I was in, I closed the door behind me then took a look around the dim room, plunged into darkness, and, soon enough, my eyes spotted a couch: without a second thought, I made my way to it and sat down, bringing both of my legs onto the sofa. The temperature in the room was quite cold, which forced me to bury my face into the sweater I was wearing, a sweater Mabel had knitted for me. And as I sat in the dark, I let my tears flow, pouring out of my eyes like a river.

For a while, although I had no notion of how long it had been, I did not move from my spot, nor did I stop weeping, surrounded by my overwhelming thoughts in the midst of obscurity. That was, until I heard the door of the room open behind me, in such a slow and gentle manner it was almost inaudible.

Without sticking my head out of my sweater, I shook my head at the sound.

"I don't know who you are, but frankly, I don't care." I let out in-between two tears, my voice muffled. "Please... go away... I just need some time on my own..."

Despite my pitiful request, the person decided to walk in anyway, and I felt my heart twist into knots when I recognized the sound of their footsteps on the creaking floor, the sound of old, muddy boots. They continued, growing closer and closer to me, until they stopped, right beside me, and after but only a second, I felt his body sit down on the couch, just next to mine.

"[Y/N]... Please, listen." Stanford started in a tone so gentle it was almost a whisper. "You may think you've lost your mind, but you're far from it, trust me."

His voice and his words reached my ears and instantly enveloped me in a sensation of safety, of warmth, of comfort, and a part of me was already soothed, just listening to them, no matter how much I craved to be alone at that moment.

Though hesitantly, I slowly raised my head from my sweater, revealing the upper part of my face, though the rest was still concealed: and in an instant, my eyes were met with his, his gaze soft and affectionate.

"Because of... what you've told me, you see yourself as a freak... as some kind of monster. And you know this is something I can relate to, [Y/N]. I've had similar thoughts in the past, when I was a child, after other people would make fun of me for my weirdness, especially my polydactyly. But no matter how many times I got pushed around, I always— Well, almost always had my brother by my side, to remind me I should not be ashamed of who I am... Just like you have us."

Ever so gently, Stanford extended one of his hands to me, reaching down into my sweater to grab my chin between his thumb and index finger. And that one single gesture tore my heart in half.

I already know how all of this is going to end... Ford is going to comfort me, to try and make me feel better, but he's not going to bring up again my love declaration, he's going to ignore my feelings for him... He'd rather avoid mentioning it, finding it easier to pretend as if it never happened... and this tension between us would remain.

With my face still held by his hand, he stared deeply into my eyes, though it appeared his confidence was progressively fading away.

"[Y/N], I... I don't... quite know how to say this..."

His face turned pink as he broke eye contact with me, his eyes restless.

"I've never really... done this type of thing... ever, you see, so..."

But eventually, after looking for the right words for some time, he looked back into my eyes, this time with strong determination.

"I love you too, [Y/N]." He blurted out bashfully.

Upon hearing his words, my eyes opened wide and my heart stopped beating. I was already convinced my imagination had played a trick on me, unable to believe what Stanford had just said to be the truth.

"... This... is not something I thought I would say today, but I assure you that I mean it, no matter how unbelievable it may sound to you." He further confessed, his words heavy. "I've had feelings for you ever since the day I first made your acquaintance. I saw you for the first time and... found you... beautiful. I talked to you for the first time and thought your personality was wonderful. Then I saw how well you got along with my family, with Stanley and the kids, and... I felt something I had never really felt before."

He marked a pause, his voice slightly shaky and his face shifting from pink to red.

"... A-And, at first, I couldn't believe it was love, I put the blame on... on the fact that you simply had been the first woman my eyes landed on after 30 years outside of this dimension, but—... But soon enough, I had to be rational and face the truth... I understood I truly had fallen for you."

Although I kept quiet, I could very distinctively tell what was going through Stanford's mind, especially given the facial expressions he was switching between as he spoke.

"But I... I didn't say anything." He continued, lowering his eyes to avoid mine. "I didn't know how to properly apprehend these feelings, how to confess them to you... For a man my age, all of this shouldn't be a problem, but... well, my experience is close to none. I understand your own hesitation regarding your feelings came from our age gap, and, quite frankly, so did mine. I just couldn't find a way to let you know about mine without coming across as a pervert... So I decided to bottle it all up."

After his last sentence, silence reigned for a moment, and I understood his speech had finally come to an end; the two of us were now staring straight at each other, our gazes locked on, neither of us saying a word. Only then did Stanford remember he was still holding my chin, and only then did he realize his speech had gone on for much longer than he himself had intended, judging by the look on his face. His eyes suddenly opened wide, his cheeks still buried under a thick layer of blush as he let go of my face, visibly embarrassed.

"I-I'm sorry, [Y/N]— I said too much, didn't I?" He asked me, seemingly shameful. "I must have spoken for too long— You said you wanted to be left alone, so... I'll be going, now—"

He hurriedly stood up from the sofa as he nervously pushed his glasses on his nose. He promptly made his way to the door of the room, but before I could let him get too far away from me, I extended an arm toward him and reached for the bottom of his coat: as he felt my hand tug at the fabric, he turned back around and looked at me, at the single tear rolling down my cheek.

"Stay." I said in a whisper. "... Please."

Stanford's eyes remained on me, on my face, which was now begging for his presence, and he could feel it; all while staring down at me, he walked back to the couch and sat back down, this time even closer to me, close enough to wrap his arms around my body and bring it down against his as he lay back slightly. His embrace felt warm and secure, yet so overwhelming as well. With my face nestled in the crook of his neck, I closed my eyes and took multiple deep breaths, his natural scent soothing me further with each passing second.

As I listened to the sound of his heart beating faster in his chest, I felt one of his hands rub my back gently, shortly followed by a kiss he left on the crown of my head. Both of us found peace and tranquility within that moment, that moment of serenity and quietness; but the silence did not last for long, as I let out a heavy sigh.

"... I'm sorry, Ford." I said, my voice slightly muffled against his skin.

"What for?" He kindly asked while looking down at me.

"For... all of this. For having waited all this time to let you know how I feel, and for having made you repress your own feelings. Because of me... we've wasted so much time we could have spent... this way."

Stanford chuckled, a genuine laugh that made my heart skip a beat and turned the tips of my ears red.

"You don't need to apologize for such things, [Y/N]." He stated as he brought his hands down on my shoulders.

With slow and gentle care, he pulled me out of his embrace, just slightly, just enough so that he could look down at me, so that our faces could meet, so that he could show me his bright smile.

"You're not responsible for any of this, and if we follow your way of thinking, logic would have it I need to apologize too. But neither of us is at fault, here. So, please, don't burden yourself with guilt."

With a shy smile, I closed my eyes and nodded. When I opened them again, I was still faced with his loving smile, with his affectionate gaze; and, after but a brief moment of uncertainty and indecision, I slowly brought my hand up to his face and gently rested my palm on his cheek, which led to the blush on his cheeks intensifying. As my fingers drifted down along his jaw and then his neck, I tilted my head a little.

I've... never really been this close to Ford before... It might take some getting used to... But I get the feeling that won't be an issue.

Our eyes gazed deeply into one another as my other hand found its way to his torso, my palm slowly rising and falling along his heaving chest, along the rhythm of his heartbeat. One of his hands left my shoulders to hold my waist, while the other held the nape of my neck, his fingers delicately running through my hair. Our faces grew closer to each other, the air around us filled with anticipation and excitement, until we both tilted our heads and closed our eyes: our lips met and our embrace grew tighter, finally sharing together this special moment we had waited so long to see happen.

My hand on his neck moved to the collar of his sweater, which I grabbed passionately while I felt Stanford furrow his eyebrows, his lips sighing against mine, cherishing the moment as he held me against his body. But the moment inevitably came to an end when we both pulled away, slightly out of breath, slightly panting, in an atmosphere that had all of a sudden become heavy. The two of us were still nervous, even now that we had kissed, and I could tell Stanford was feeling particularly awkward: with a soft smile, I tugged at his sweater and leaned forward to leave one more kiss on his lips, catching him off-guard. After I pulled away, I stared into his wide-open eyes with love as I caressed his blushing cheek.

"That was wonderful, Ford." I told him enthusiastically in a reassuring tone.

While still smiling, I readjusted his glasses on his nose a little better, seeing as they had slightly slipped down during our kiss.

"For a man in his 60s who's barely ever kissed a woman before, you're quite a good kisser." I added, teasing him playfully.

My compliment made him chuckle, somewhat awkwardly but mostly with genuine affection.

"Well... Thank you, [Y/N]." He said while blushing. "You're... really good yourself."

My body imitated his and I felt the redness on my face intensify as I giggled lightly. Both of his hands traveled back down around my waist, which he grabbed firmly, though without applying too much pressure.

"Well... The afternoon is far from over, so why don't you and I go back to the basement?" He suggested happily, visibly excited at the idea of keeping this conversation going elsewhere. "I'll show you a glimpse of what I've been working on these past few days."

"I like the sound of that." I replied just as happily.

With the help of my hips, his hands moved my body to the side, freeing his so that he could stand up from the couch: then, as he stared down into my eyes, he opened the palm of his hand to me.

"Then, let's get back to work... Shall we, sweetheart?"

I felt my pulse accelerate greatly upon hearing him call me by such a pet name, but I did my best to keep my composure as I nodded and put my palm in his.

Hand in hand, Stanford and I walked out of the room and headed to the basement, where we spent the rest of the day together, exchanging more than just words, until the sun went down and the moon went up.

[spookykoolkat]

kinktober | the man in apartment 6a - j.m.

kinktober day three - dumbification

pairing: older!joel miller x younger!plus size!reader

wc: 9.0k

summary: your older, grumpier yet handy neighbor can hear everything that goes on in the comfort of your pink four walled bedroom, simply because shitty apartment buildings made the walls so thin.

warnings: 18+ ONLY! minors are NEVER welcomed. pervy!joel, creepy!joel, older!joel, JOEL IS WARNING IN HIMSELF LOL, mentions of self loathing, uncomfortable sex (not with joel), marijuana use, alcohol use, fingering, oral (f receiving), manhandling, degradation (slight), creampie/breeding, pet names (sweet girl, sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, dumb, stupid, daddy), a little bit of ass eating (whoops), raw penetration (p in v) *wrap it up pls*, aftercare

reblogs, likes and comments are very very appreciated!

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IT WAS A FRIDAY NIGHT, work was tired, and you needed to take the edge off with a fat blunt and a full glass of wine. it was so quiet in the apartment complex you lived in that you might be the loudest one there, since three of your neighbors are older than 50. 

so after you poured your bottle of wine into a glass, you turned your led lights under your coffee table on and the bulbs that are in your two lamps beside your couch. it was such a colorful scenery, you loved smoking and drinking like this with music or a movie on in the background. making sure to not turn the volume up too loud, or else joel would come knocking on your door asking you to turn it down. 

joel was your neighbor in 6a and to you he always seemed like he had a thorn stuck in his ass cheek. he was a bitter old man who seemed like he hated fun, or maybe he just hated you. 

but you didn’t care much. nothing was going to stop you from being you, being bubbly and optimistic. it makes no sense to you to sit solemnly and think about every wrong turn you’ve ever made, and yet it seems that’s all joel does. 

he was always on edge, noticing the way he would flinch meeting you as the two of you locked your doors and headed off to work. you watched him from your window when he walked into the complex up the stairs, and noticed how he always had his jaw and fists clenched, head whipping in every direction before seemingly slipping inside his apartment and locking up. 

it made you curious as to what made him so tense, so frustrated and even paranoid. you wished you were someone he could go to, to release all of his ugly emotions and thoughts onto you. maybe you were being young and naive, having irrational sex daydreams as you gathered your paraphernalia to roll a blunt. It was delusional, yes you knew that, but you couldn’t help but fantasize about your neighbor.

but you wanted him in every way. you didn’t care he was twice your age, and you didn’t care that he was about as introverted and mean as they come. he’s a real asshole. to you, you felt you were allowed these fantasies given he’d never be the type of man that would want you. i mean, you were young enough to be his daughter, and you weren’t so sure that he even liked bigger women.

shaking your thoughts of him, you hummed along to whatever song that was on your halloween playlist playing loudly. soon after it’s rolled, you spark it up and take hits of it as you throw your body back on the couch.

you feel at ease as you listen to your playlist and smoke your blunt, enjoying peace for a day. your hair was still wet from the shower you took, and your blunt was barely starting to form a good cherry when three bangs hit your door over the music that startled you. 

you take a few more hits trying to get the most out of your blunt and ash it out quickly, yelling a choked out, i’m coming!!, over the music. you get up with your wine glass, walking barefoot to the door and opening it as your eyes meet a broad chest in a button up black and gray flannel, buttoned over a plain white t-shirt. 

joel.

“uh, hey. what’s up?” you say, setting your glass down on your door side table. 

“you told me your toilet wasn’t workin’? didya need me to take a look?” he asked as he unsubtly soaked in your attire. shit. you completely forgot your piece of shit toilet stopped flushing. 

you noticeably had no bra on, and your tank top was resting at the curve of your waist with one strap off of your shoulder, showing off your plush body and midriff. he could almost see the hardening of your nipples when you opened the door. 

“oh, right. i thought you meant you could do it like, monday.” you said, wishing to just relax tonight. he shook his head and looked back over your body, before meeting your eyes. 

“i’m busy monday. it’s now or never,” he bargained with a hard tone and you rolled your eyes.

“of course, right, sorry. come in.” you said and moved out of the way to step inside your girly apartment. you went to your coffee table to grab the remote and turn the volume down a little on your tv. 

“the restroom is-,” you start to say and go towards it until he cuts you off. 

“i know where it is. i’ll be done in a bit,” he said coldly and you pressed your lips into a thin line. he renovated these apartments dumbass. 

“alright.” you said and let him go to the back hall to find the restroom, and you released a breath. 

you felt like you looked messy, you just got out of the shower and had no bra on, and didn’t have panties on either. you were embarrassed. 

it was a free night for you and he had to barge in. of course. you decided to grab your wine and sit down on the couch, eyeing the blunt wishing you could be smoking it right now. instead you sip on your wine and scroll on your phone for maybe thirty minutes until he calls out for you. 

“coming!” you replied a little too cheery, and walked to the back rooms to see him on his hands and knees trying to reach under the toilet with his tools sprawled out on your pink bath rug. 

joel tried to hide the smile that grew when he heard your eager voice.

“yeah?” you asked and blushed at his image. he looked so sexy with his eyebrows furrowed, even sexier looking so manly in such a pink room. His dark colored clothes made an exciting difference in your bathroom. 

joel quickly scaled you over, from your bare feet with black toenails up to your week old shaven legs, up your wide thighs, to the fat of your tummy and the curves of your breasts. 

“you think i can have me a water bottle?” he asked, and you smiled, completely unaware he was thinking of bending you over the sink and making you watch yourself take all of him.

joel had a teensy crush on you the second he saw you at his doorstep. 

you mustered up the strength to knock on two doors to be greeted by two elderly ladies, and introduce yourself as their neighbors while giving them cookies you baked for them. 

you figured it was the best way to gain their trust and familiarity as you were going to be living here for a while. and while it worked on them, you weren’t so sure about your last neighbor. you were nervous. you hated socializing and to introduce yourself as the new person in the area, but the last door you knocked on was one that truly ruined your day. 

the door swung open ferociously to present a tall broad figure with tan skin, eyes tired and hair all ruffled. you could tell he just woke up, and you instantly regretted it. the force of the door opening made you feel a gust of wind, and chills. 

you were taught it was common courtesy to introduce yourself when you’re new somewhere, though it didn’t seem he was happy to see you at his doorstep all cheery and energized.

“uh, hi, i’m your neighbor in 6C, i just moved in and i just wanted to introduce myself,” you said and told him your name, with a small smile. he kind of just looked at you blankly, adjusting his eyes to your figure and face. 

“i, uh i made cookies for everyone so, i thought i’d bring them by cus i just like to bake and i thought maybe it’d be a peace offering... it’s okay if not i just wanted to be nice,” you rambled looking into his brown eyes as you held the plate covered in foil out with your hands. he looked between the plate, you and next to him to look at the clock on his doorway table.  

you were nervous, tapping your fingers on the plate and biting the inside of your cheek. he was so handsome. so manly. 

“you’re knockin at my door at eight thirty in the morning ona saturday to give me some cookies?” he asked, making sure what was happening was real. it was a little comical to him, only seeing shit like this in the movies. but to him, you were cute. he knew he didn’t carry southern hospitality and kindness like most, like you.

“you don’t have to take them. just tryna be nice,” you mumbled and pulled your arms back, your texan accent almost as thick as his. 

“Mmhmm, well i don’t need no cookies this mornin’,” he said surely. it kind of pissed you off honestly. 

“forget about it,” you said and turned your head down, moving to the door next to his and opening it right before mumbling, “asshole,” and slamming your door shut.

you were just so cute, so lively that he was drawn to you. it was odd because joel’s taste in women usually ranged, but he’d never been so drawn to a woman who seemed so eager to take on the world everyday. joel wasn’t used to seeing people so happy to leave the comfort of their homes to go into the city and interact with people, he wasn’t used to people making small talk as you fetch the mail at the same time. but that was you. 

he would just shake you off, mumble words to get you to stop being so cheerful and kind. he didn’t want you to waste your time on him, he didn’t deserve your kindness. you heard the small comments. 

“so damn pink,” 

“ya have to hum all the way down four flights of stairs?”

“you ever not dressed in glitter and ponies?” 

which he over exaggerated, you just liked pink. you would ignore the mean comments, and you would force yourself to remember that he is a man of cutting down trees and building houses with his bare hands. whatever you think is manly, he is. he wore nothing but dark colors, denim, work boots, and still had the iphone eight which seemed like it was forced on him. 

but this is the first time he spoke to you remotely nice, and asked you for anything. 

“yeah, uh do you want like, ice or just room temp?” you asked a bit embarrassed, wondering if that was a dumb question to ask. and a small, very small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth but it was so slight you almost gaslit yourself into seeing it. 

“don’t matter sweetheart, whatever ya wanna get me,” he said and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing. 

your tummy just fluttered at the small pet name as you pushed yourself off the door frame and moved to the kitchen.

never did you ever think you would hear a word like that come out of his mouth when referring to you.

you grabbed a water bottle and grabbed some ice chips with a scoop to pour it into a tall thermos. you took it straight to joel, and he faced you as you leaned down a bit to hand him the cup. from your stance, he could practically see down your shirt but only stole a small glance. 

you couldn’t notice, you were just excited to do something nice for him. 

“you need anything else?” you asked with your hands behind your back, your chest poking out a bit more and the light made it easy to see your nipples against the cloth. 

“nah, i got all i need, you can go relax.” he said and went back to work as you walked off. 

you wondered if there was a softness to his voice as you sat back down on the couch, turning your music up a little bit but not loud enough to get bitched at by joel. you figured he’d might be here for a bit given his outbursts of cursing because something wasn’t working with him, so you grabbed your blunt and lit it again. this was your apartment. 

joel was frustrated enough from the stupid toilet. a bolt kept untightening every time he tried to flush, and it pissed him off enough but kept him busy as he smelled the scent of strong weed filling his nose. he knew he smelled it when he walked in, but now he can smell the smoke and hear your muffled coughs every once and a while.

he was actually a bit surprised, for some reason you didn’t seem like the type to partake. he knows in his days he did, so he wasn’t judging you at all, it just didn’t seem like something a girl like you would do. you seemed so… behaved.

he ended up managing to find the bolt he was looking for because it fell somewhere and skidded across the restroom floor. 

joel didn’t mind working on things for the neighbors in his complex, he was really the only one that was able to fix almost everything in sight. he was never bothered by it either, in the back of his mind he wanted to feel like he was needed. like he could do some type of good for people even if he was closed off and cold. his hands were godsend, and in many ways. 

but he’d always see things maybe the resident wouldn’t want him to see, like a box of condoms or a sex toy. it didn’t bother him, he’d just ignore it.

but here he was, still and frozen as he finally found the bolt laying on a pair of red panties that were laid on your floor like you just had these on. and you did. 

you managed to get all of your clothes in the hamper except the pair of panties you had on, you actually thought maybe it was in the tangles of your clothes. but no. there they were, and he was on his way to losing his mind. he couldn’t move, he just stared at the red high cut panties that even had a black bow on the trim. 

he couldn’t stop himself. before he knew it, he grabbed your underwear and almost inspected them quickly before taking them, pushing the fabric into his nose and breathing in your musk, and folding them to put in his back pocket. he felt drunk on you already. he knew it was wrong, he knew he was probably a sick man. but he needed something from you, anything. 

the opportunity showed itself, he just took it. 

now, he still smelled you lingering on his nose, and imagined what your pussy looked like puffy and red for him. he wanted to fill you up completely and fuck you until you were sore and throbbing, he wanted to see those cute little glossy lips of yours kissing the tip of his cock and taking it in your throat like a fleshlight. 

you were just perfect. so much for him to grab, kiss, and mark. he wanted your eyes to watch him devour you whole, and he craved to watch you break for him.

he knew he was a creep. he didn’t care. joel never acted on his desires and his pervy ways, until now, when really he wanted to do it all. whenever you came out to the mailboxes the same time as he did, he wanted to get his phone and sneak pictures of you, under your skirts more specifically. 

he was thinking of if you’ve ever fucked yourself here in this very restroom he’s crouched in, thinking of the way your leg would lift to rest on some vantage point, fingering your hole until you fought to stand upright again. he imagined you walking in a little white towel back to your room, drying off and getting dressed in front of him. his cock was throbbing at the image, pairing it with the image of the red panties he stole. 

he couldn’t work like this, not thinking of all of the ways he wanted to make you whine, make you squirm, make you cum. 

he finally managed to fix the problem after 30 minutes and flushing once to test, smiling at his success. it was always satisfying seeing something broken be fixed, he was a problem solver, he loved the challenge. he cleaned up his area and picked up his tools, putting them in the bag and fixing himself before he washed his hands and wiped them down with a towel, leaving the restroom to see you puffing a small roach of your blunt. 

“y’know you shouldn’t be smokin in here,” he said and you jumped a bit, exhaling the last bit of smoke and ashing it out in your ashtray. you just looked at him with a small smile, but realizing this is your apartment. he can’t tell you what to do. 

“oh, well i mean, i thought… i mean it’s my apartment, so,” you said as you blushed, feeling like you’re in trouble now. 

“don’t worry yourself, darlin’. i ain’t gonna tell on you,” he suggested and you blushed, somehow even more. 

“would you want like, a drink? the least i can do,” you said as you grabbed a dos equis from your fridge and walked up to him, handing it to him. he was hesitant at first, really in deep thought about whether he should accept this or not. was it opening a door? he hoped so. 

“thanks,” he said and took it from you, not looking at the green bottle at all. he put his tools down on the small table you had in your kitchen and followed you to sit on the loveseat on the right side of the living room. 

“it’s joel by the way, no one calls me mr. miller,” he said as he took a swig. you nodded and responded ohh, moving to drink more of your wine. you ended up changing your music to a horror movie and kept your eyes trained on that instead of his eyes. you felt him watching you, every breath you took, every blink, every lip bite. 

“so who lived here before me?” you asked to break the silence, looking to him from the movie. his eyes were already on you, you just met them. you figured you’d make some sort of conversation if he was going to sit there and drink a beer. who drinks together silently? 

“nother’ older lady, she was a good neighbor,” he trailed and drank from his beer. you quirked your eyebrows, drinking from the wine glass and keeping it by your side. 

“am i not a good neighbor?” you asked sweetly, genuinely curious. he refrained himself from getting up from his seat and showing how good of a neighbor you really were to him. 

“you are, just a little loud from time to time.” he admitted, more so talking about your unsatisfying experiences with the men you bring him. 

“am i? i’m sorry, i’ll try to keep it down,” you said softly, almost embarrassed and you looked at your fingers tapping on the rim of the wine glass. 

“s’alright, it ain’t too distracting.” he lied. of course it was distracting. he was begging to know what you sounded like when you were really enjoying yourself, how you looked under him and on top of him. how he imagined you in his room instead. 

“still, i don’t wanna be that neighbor that’s annoying,” you said and looked back up at him to where he’s sitting. “i feel like you hate me.” you finished. 

he doesn't blame you. he doesn't make it easy for people to know him, or make a nice impression firsthand. he kind of feels bad for making you feel like that. but he was just not that friendly honestly, not that nice and not that comforting. at least he felt he was. he didn’t know how to be. 

“it’s nothin’ personal,” he said and drank from his bottle again, letting his eyes trail over your body. you felt it, hell you saw it, and you still squirmed. 

“i prefer to be by myself.” he said and you nodded, but he was still watching you. 

“i see. i understand now, sorry for imposing most of the time.” you say with an apologetic smile, and he kind of smiled. it shocked you really to see any emotion other than anger and discomfort displayed on his face.

“you don’t bother me, not one bit.” he said to reassure you, but he wanted you to know you did far more than “bothering” him. you just smiled, blushing a bit at his confession.

“so is it just you living here?” you asked and saw his face look a little pained, and again you regret opening your mouth. 

“uh, no actually. i have a sixteen year old i sort of adopted. just me and my daughter.” he said and you were a little shocked. how did you never manage to see her? or hear her?

“she goes on her own a lot, friends places, parties. i know she can handle herself so, she has my number if anything happens.” he answered your internal questions. 

“that’s really sweet. i wished my parents did that. i kind of had to move away from them’ after i graduated. m’ not really on speaking’ terms with any of my family.” you admitted a little sadly, even though he didn’t ask.  you seemed as though you could talk for hours if no one shut you up. 

“i’m sorry to hear that,darlin’,” he said and continued to drink his beer until he finished it. 

“it’s fine, i’m a lot happier now than i was before.” you said with a small smile, and drank from your wine glass. joel was glad you took the attention off of him and his daughter, not asking any questions about his situation. he appreciated it. 

he just nodded, finishing his beer as you finished your wine and suddenly you were nervous. again. it was just you and him, in this colorfully lit room. you looked at him as he got up, and walked to the kitchen to grab his tools. no no wait wait you can’t leave, not yet. 

“thank ya for the hospitality, i should go,” he said coldly and you almost scrambled to your feet to step in front of him. 

“um, wait uh,” you tried to think of an excuse. anything. something to keep him here a little longer. he looked down at you, how flustered you were, how you looked like you were trying to come up with an excuse. you really even didn’t think it through, you were just acting on the pulsing in your shorts.

but suddenly, you got a bit insecure. you didn’t know joel’s type, and you wondered what the outcome would be of throwing yourself at him. 

“yeah?” he asked and tilted his head, curious as to what you had to say. truth is, he didn’t wanna leave either. how could he wanna leave when you looked so desirable right now? he couldn’t even feel bad that he was practically 20 years older than you, he wanted to ruin you. 

“um, nothing, m’ sorry.” you said. you admitted defeat. there was nothing you could’ve said or done to make him stay, at least that's what you thought. 

“have a good night,” you said and he repeated it to you. you walked him out, shutting the door behind him. 

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joel was still awake after his shower. not by choice. he was laying in his bed, checking the time on his clock that flashes at 2:30am, and back at the wall that connects the two of you. were you seriously this unaware at how loud you were? 

he was thanking god that ellie wasn’t home, so she wouldn’t be hearing any of this either. but he was also wondering if you were even enjoying yourself in the first place. 

after joel left, you felt this aching feeling that you couldn’t satisfy yourself so you just called a friend over. one that you really don’t know, and you don’t care about, but one that wanted to have sex with you just as bad as you wanted to have sex with joel. 

one thing led to another and there you are once again, laying in bed as this guy poorly ate you out and uncomfortably fingered you. it just didn’t feel right, and at this point you were hoping he was done. your fake moans rang through the apartment again, wondering if you were over or under selling it. to the lanky guy between your legs, you were selling it just fine. 

you even tried thinking of joel being the one sliding into you as this guy did, but you doubted he'd be this painfully terrible at sex. it didn’t feel enjoyable, it just felt like blindly jabbing at your cervix. not even 10 minutes later, that man is out your door and you're back in bed, feeling miserable with yourself. 

you wanted for once to have a good sexual encounter, constantly feeling ugly and used. these men didn’t even care about you and didn’t care if you were satisfied, and you hated yourself for it. the physical intimacy you wanted seemed like it was something you wouldn’t be able to find. 

you craved a man’s touch even if you hated it or not, maybe blaming it on your daddy issues or just blaming the fact that you looked for the wrong things in the wrong thing. you wanted comfort and protection and looked for it in sex. 

you wanted joel. you wanted him since you moved in despite him being a dick. you wanted to know how it felt to be protected by him, to be held by him, to be wanted by him. and you wanted it so bad, you started crying. loudly, at that. 

in the moment, joel felt like he was imposing on your privacy. he felt bad listening to your muffled cries like this, and he wanted to do everything he could to help you. he knew so little about your family situation, but to him you had no family. he never saw you with friends, he only saw you with a new man every week. he wanted to comfort you, to show you that he and you were more alike than you thought.

he heard it stop for about twenty minutes all of the sudden, and then something bump into the wall he was staring at. then, it started again.  

you just laid there after your shower, now softly crying and sniffling as you heard a soft knocking on your front door. you got a little scared, so you wiped your tears fast and slipped on the shorts you had on to go open your door. it was dark in the main room, only a small orange lighting shining in front of your windows. you even noticed finally that it was actually pouring rain outside.

“who is it?” you said a little loudly, too nervous to peek through the hole. you fiddled with your polished black nails before the person answered. 

“it’s joel,” he said and you paused. 

“joel?” you asked. 

 you quickly unlocked your door to open it enough to peek your head out. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked, looking up at him. you scanned over his attire, now barefoot and in a simple black shirt and pajama pants. his head was whipping right and left, seeing if anyone else was in the hall to see him. 

now, he was the one that was nervous. what was he doing here? what did he think was going to happen? if he played it right, everything he ever wanted. 

“can i come in?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck and you gulp, opening the door wider to allow his broad figure in your home. your eyes were trained down, refusing to let him look at you. 

“can i get you something? water?” you asked, still not facing him and turning a lamp on next to your couch and moving past him until he grabs your wrist firmly. you still, and you have no choice but to look at him with your bloodshot eyes. 

“i can hear, y’know,” he said, paying attention to your tear stained face as you slowly looked up to him. 

“hear? hear what?” you said unknowingly. 

“everything. i can hear the guys you bring home, i can hear you moanin’, i can hear you cryin’,” he said, pulling you closer to him. by now you were almost to his chest as he grabbed your other wrist and held you tight. 

“i-,” you began but you felt humiliated. you didn’t realize he could really hear everything, that he heard everything that transpired in your room tonight. 

“did he make you cry?” he asked grimly, his eyes dark and his stare serious.

he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt you, your breath just caught in your throat because you were nervous. nervous to admit to anything. 

“no, he didn’t, he didn’t do anything to me,” you said and looked down at his hands gripping your flesh. 

“it doesn’t matter. i’m just really sorry, i didn’t know that’s what you meant earlier. i’m sorry it won’t happen again.” you apologized with tears in your eyes. the guy who you fucked wasn’t even worth all of this embarrassment that flooded you. 

“then why’re you cryin, sweet girl?” he asked, moving his hand to your chin so you can look up at him. 

“i, it’s nothing, i’m sorry for waking you up,” you said and blinked your tears away, your hands falling to your side when he released you. you just stood there though, his hand on your cheek while his thumb rubbed circles into your face. 

“it ain’t nothin. he wasn’t makin’ you feel good? made you feel bad?” his southern accent was thick in this tone, but for some reason you felt at ease. better now that he was here. 

“he made me feel bad,” you were too nervous to lie, he already heard you through the wall. 

“i know, baby, i know,” he said. you really couldn’t move, the words coming from his mouth were insane to you. you couldn’t fathom the fact that he was talking like this, to you. his hands slid to grip your hips, to feel the way they curve into your waist, resting at the small of your back so that now you’re pressed against his body. 

“i never hated ya,” he said, his face getting closer to yours to where you could feel his breath on your lips. while your breathing was faltered and shaky, his was calm and collected. he wasn’t nervous anymore, he was determined. 

“actually, i think i like you more than i’d like t’ admit,” he whispered, moving his lips to your ear and your neck. 

“what are you talkin’ about?” you breathed. your arms just went slack, you didn’t know what to do with them, if you should finally touch him and feel his hard chest, feel his body the way he feels yours, or if you just want to accept that this is a dream. 

you finally move your hands to his waist and grip tightly onto his shirt, almost like if you let go you’ll fall. 

“i know you feel the same, darlin’. i can hear you, remember? i can hear you callin’ for me, moanin’ for me when you touch yourself.” your breath shook slightly and he smiled against your neck, moving his hands up your back. 

and the only thing you can say, that your brain can think of, is to apologize. 

“none of that, don’t do that. tell me sweetheart, do ya want me to make you feel good?” he asked, and you pulled his body closer to yours. 

“do, um, do you want to do that?” you were so unsure of all this. did he truly like you? did he truly find you attractive? you never failed to question men’s sincerity, was this just for pleasure or was this emotional? 

“my sweet baby, if i ever say no to you like that, i’ve gone fuckin’ senile,” he groaned against your neck. 

“y’know how many times i've thought about being between these legs of yours?” there was nothing else that could’ve made you as wet as you were right now, you heard the roughness of his texas accent, the lust mixing with desire. he wanted nothing but you. 

“been wantin’ t’ ruin those little skirts you wear. jus’ wanna watch you fall apart on my cock,” your eyes widened and you felt a pool of arousal coat your cunt. you’d never been talked to like this, the crudeness of his words sliced whatever tension there was, and you gave in.

his lips moved down your neck and to your chest as you pant against him, your body pressed into a wall near the hallway that leads to your bedroom and restroom. he pressed against you enough so you could feel the hardening bulge on your thigh and he could feel the softness of your breasts pushed into him. while kissing your neck and shoulder, he moved your hand to feel his hardness while grunting a bit into your skin. 

“you feel what ya do to me? you see how i get for ya?” he asked, and you whimpered a bit feeling how large he really was through his pajama pants. he pulled away from you a bit and looked down at his hand on top of yours, your own hand voluntarily softly massaging his cock. 

“fuck, sweetheart, you know,” he cooed, smoothing your hair down and grabbing the nape of your neck to crane it back, “you know exactly what that pretty face does to me,” 

he tilted your head to look at him, to be close enough to his face to feel his breath on your face. 

“tell me you want me, honey,” he said sweetly, looking between your eyes and your lips. you just kept your eyes on his while he examined you. 

“i, i want you,” you said in a whisper and blushed. joel smiled to himself, another smile you’d never seen, and slid down against your body and grabbed the back of your thighs, urging you to jump and instinctively you did. 

only he made you forget you were three times the size of a skinny woman. 

“joel, wait i’m too heavy for this wait,” you said but he stayed put, didn’t move, didn’t talk. he just stared at you. 

“ain’t no such thing as too heavy, princess, i’ll still pick you up and fuck you stupid,” he assured, playfully tapping your ass as he carried you all the way to your room, laying you on your back. you swore he could feel the pulsing of your cunt against his abdomen. 

he brought you to your room, dark and quiet with the help of your small lamp illuminating your face as he laid you down on your back, falling with you. 

“gonna let me see you, baby? let me see all of this,” he said lowly, crawling to straddle you and put his hands on your tummy, groping and massaging. 

“i-,” you said, out of breath already and joel smirked. he was loving you like this. so dumb and innocent for him. 

“you’re jus’ the sweetest little thing, baby,” he said as his eyes roamed your body. “gotta use your words, baby, let me hear that pretty voice, tell me what you want,” he said again. 

“touch me, anywhere, p-please,” you whimpered out enough and he hummed in satisfaction. 

his fingers creeped up your stomach, leaving a burn with their trail and acted like he was going to help you out of it, but instead he bends down and grips the center of your tank top with two hands and careful to not hurt you, but fast and swift, he rips the weak cloth in half. 

“what, joel oh-” you said and joel’s fingers wrapped around your throat with no pressure, and held you in place as his eyes trailed over your body again, his other hand roughly moved the two halves of your tank to either side. 

“what did he do that you didn’t like, baby?” he asked you as he stayed on top, playing with your breasts by squeezing and pushing them together, only thinking impurely about you. 

you couldn’t think of anything as he felt you up as he pleased, his calloused hands rubbing your smooth skin, tugging and pinching your nipples to watch them harden and extend just for him. 

“just,” 

“he, ugh,” 

he laughs. “can’t even talk while i play with these pretty titties? goin’ dumb already baby?” 

“mmmph,” you couldn’t muster any words. it was a new feeling, feeling lightheaded and only drunk off of joel. 

“please, fuck me,” you whimpered, moving your hands to play with his waistband and try to tug at it. but he stopped you quickly, never letting you even grab a hold of the fabric when he grabs your wrists. 

“need you to tell me exactly what you want, can you do that?” he asked you and you whined, squirming with his hands still locking you in place. 

you looked up at him, his eyes only on yours and his cock straining against his pajama pants. “fingers,” 

it’s all you mustered and he accepted it, moving down a little to move his fingers down into your panties and spreading your legs with his. his fingers immediately felt heat when he spread your cunt and moved down to your hole, teasing and prodding in your arousal. 

“baby’s so wet for me, yeah? you ever thought about me, honey?” he asked you as he looked between you and where his fingers hid in your shorts, waiting for an answer. you were a whimpering mess, soft breaths and pants falling from your lips with every touch. 

“mhm,” you mustered, clenching your eyes shut when his middle finger circled your hole and pushed his palm against your clit, “always wanted you,” 

if you weren’t so dizzy, you probably would’ve scorned yourself for saying that. but he was amused, moving his scruffy cheek to glide against yours and leave kissing on your neck. 

“thought about you too, pretty girl. just so damn cute all the fuckin’ time, couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how you’d look taking my cock,” you whined at his words, trying to shut your legs to stop the pressure but he just shook his head and pried them apart. your hands were tight on his wrist, begging him to let up as he fucks you with two fingers and uses your slick to rub circles over your clit. 

“r-really?” you asked through choked moans, your body lifting up to watch him finger you. he chuckled softly, “yeah, sweetheart. can’t stop thinkin’ about ya,” 

he pauses before taking your shorts and panties off quickly, spreading your legs further and throwing them over his own spread thighs you went back to gripping at your sheets, your body responding to every touch as he spread your cunt even more and spit on it. 

“you want me to fuck this pretty hole, baby?” he asked, watching your slick cover his hand as he curled his fingers inside of you. you were a mess, incoherent, making sounds and guttural noises as he brought you closer to your edge. all you could do was nod erratically and try to close your legs. 

“i’m gonna need you to cum for me then, sweetheart. needa’ see this little cunt cum for me,” he growled, his other hand pulling his pajama pants down, easily taking them off. 

“i, i-,” you choked, your chest tight as you watched him abuse your pussy and watched as his eyes flashed quickly. he managed to lift your lower half up in the air by your ass cheeks, bringing your core to his mouth and pulling you closer to him so he could taste you. 

“daddy,” you moaned as he pulled away with a harsh breath. 

“‘s that right? that’s what you like, baby? want daddy to make you feel real good? go fuckin’ stupid on my cock?” he taunted, his words making your stomach flutter and your clit throb. 

you whimpered a small yes, but you couldn’t think. you’d say yes to anything he offered. you’d take anything he gave you. he didn’t even have to ask, you wanted him to give you anything he wanted. he went back to lapping at your cunt, slurping up any of your juices that ran down your crack, licking at your unused hole that puckered for him. 

it was a new feeling, something no one had done but the way he lapped at both holes made your orgasm build ten times faster, and soon you felt it creeping down your shoulders and sending a cold chill down to your toes. it was blinding, the noises you made were yelps and gasps as if the air had been knocked out of you. 

your entire body shook within his grasp and his mouth never let go of your overstimulated bud, sending more of your juices to leak out of you nonstop. joel wasted no time to lick you all up and manage to strip naked, watching your body go through aftershocks of your orgasm and smiling. 

“pretty girl, such a fuckin’ pretty girl,” he cooed, crawling between your legs again and grabbing you by your waist, flipping you onto tour tummy and chest as he helps you move to steady yourself on your knees. 

“you’d let me do whatever i want to ya, ain’t that right princess?” his voice was like velvet, making you feel warm all over as you pushed your ass into his groin. you whimpered as you felt his hardness against your cunt and you wiggled your hips, making joel laugh a little and slap your ass. 

“so eager too, huh?” all you could do was nod into the pillow, using your forearms to fold under it and hold your head up. the arch in your back was exaggerated, but you wanted him to be able to get the best leverage on you. 

he gripped your hips tight like you were going to leave him, and spread your asscheeks to see both holes shining for him. 

“tell me you want me, can you do that for me?” he asked condescendingly and you hummed, drunk off him grabbing your ass to pull your cheeks apart and watch as they jiggle. 

“i want you,” you muffled, your voice not sounding recognizable. it was hoarse, from moaning and crying and was about to get even more raspy. 

“good girl, you tell me if you want me to stop yeah?” 

“no! please,” you clung onto whatever he was giving you, “i want it, all of it, please,” you cried for him. 

he spits down on your asshole and watches it slip down to your cunt, and he positioned himself at your hole as he keeps your ass spread apart for him. 

“so fuckin’ messy, such a sweet cunt for me,” he moaned as he pushed the head of his cock inside, making you whimper at the small stretch. you didn’t think he could stretch you anymore, until he sunk deeper into your hole and made you start gasping for air. 

“what baby? is it too much? can’t take daddy’s cock?” he taunted behind you as your weak arms went from under the pillow to trying to push his thighs back. unfortunately with your strength, it was no use and only gave him incentive to pin both your arms behind your back, right where your back arched. 

you could feel your drool leaking onto the pillow as he slid slowly into you, not stopping until you felt his balls hit against your cunt. your legs were already trembling from his sheer size, making joel put one hand on the fat of your hip to steady you and one hand on your wrists. 

he started to pull out again, just to slide back in and repeat the movement as he slowly started to speed up the pace. you could hear faint groaning and the sound of your slick gathering on his cock, the wetness being the only noise that was distinct. 

it was pain and pleasure balled into one as he kept gliding in and out of you, feeling your walls tighten and release around him the faster he went. you felt each thrust make your body lurch forward, pushing your face into the pillow as he kept his relentlessness up. 

“oh, baby you feel so fuckin’ good, so good for me,” he groaned. he grabbed both your wrists with his hands and yanked your body up off the mattress so that your breasts are exposed for him. he takes advantage of the space between you and bed, and pulls you even further up to press you against his chest. 

“keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me, makes me wanna ruin this little pussy even more,” he grinned against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you threw your arms back to grab onto his hair and head. you needed something to balance yourself now that you were standing on your knees, and being fucked into like you weighed absolutely nothing. 

“d-, fuck, i can’t,” you choked through a loud moan, one that made joel grunt as he fucked into you harder. he wasn’t doing small strokes, he was pulling out almost all the way and slamming back into you in a way that sent pain to your cervix, but pressure on your clit begging to be released. 

“can’t what princess? can’t think? i know baby, gettin’ fucked so good you can’t even talk,” he chuckled, moving his hand to grab at your breast and knead your flesh. his hands molded onto your body like they were made to fit you, but all your mind could focus on was the sound of his skin slapping against yours. 

joel knew you were going dumb already, not expecting answers from you as that would just be cruel. he wanted to make you feel good, and the way your spit covered your chin and your mouth fell open but hardly any noise was making its way out, he knew he was doing a damn good job. 

“hear that, baby? such a fuckin’ pretty mess, you like soakin’ my cock like that? so damn wet, so fuckin’ tight,” you couldn’t get enough of his words when he plucked at your nipple, teasing and pinching to get you closer and closer. 

“s-so big, m’ so full,” you cried and he smiled again, holding you closer than ever as he wallowed in your voice. 

“my baby’s full of me, full of my cock,” he repeated, never slowing down as he pulled out just to push all of him back into you at once. he was in love with how you felt, he even felt like he was losing his train of thought at you let out deep moans that made his cock jerk inside of you. 

“‘s okay baby, you look so cute all fucked out like this, can’t even fuckin’ breathe can ya?” he asked and you shook your head no, reminding yourself to unclench your chest so you could let in a good breath. he heard it, and rubbed up your chest to grip your throat, which elicited a harsh whimper. 

his other hand traveled down your body, past your larger stomach and reached down to your cunt. he used the slick between your lips after stuffing them in your mouth and started to rub circles over your nub, making you squirm and wiggle against his body. 

“uhn-uh, thought you liked takin’ my cock like a slut? take it, baby.” you couldn’t even move if you wanted to, wanting to fuck back on his cock and meet his thrusts. you were almost empty headed, words sounding like words but not being able to form them yourself. 

“there you go, take it all baby it’s yours,” he repeated as he watched you grab onto his arm that held you by the neck and let him ravage you like no other. he was the animal, and you were his prey. 

the feeling of his thick cock ramming you, splitting you open while he fingers worked your clit makes you throw your head back on his shoulder and shut your eyes strongly. it was blinding, the pleasure you felt that he inflicted, and you felt yourself clenching your entire body as your orgasm reached its peak. it’s all you focused on. his hands grabbing you everywhere, soaking you in as he pushed your thick body into his chest and managed to lay on his back. he let our body fall onto his and held you up like that, his hands spreading your legs as you tried to sit up on your hands. 

you couldn’t, of course, couldn’t even think about how he changed positions so quickly, or if you were too heavy for him. your body was limp as he held you open, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster as he fucked into you. 

“m gonna, j-joel, gonna cum, gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” you chanted in a strained whine, one that sounded needy for him. one of his hands lets go of your leg and rests his palm on your forehead, pulling you back to his shoulder so he can kiss along your jaw and neck. 

“cum for me baby, such a dumb fuckin' slut, taking my cock like you were made f’ it,” he was so insulting, so degrading, but the feeling of losing your autonomy so he can fuck you like you deserved made it even sexier for you. you didn’t know your neighbor felt this way for you, that he’d been wanting to feel you and have you like this. it was exhilarating and when you finally let go, when the ringing in your ears started and every muscle in your body tightened just to go slack again, you realized how much you’d been missing. 

you’d never been fucked to the point of silence, nothing but quiet moans and strained breathing falling out of your lips because you couldn’t think, and as joel holds you by wrapping an arm around the thickness of your tummy and letting you close your legs to alleviate the intensity, he whispers nothing but dirty things in your ear. the shaking never stopped, even as joel started to reach his peak. 

“such a pretty girl,”

“love watchin’ you go dumb on my cock,” 

“gonna fill this cunt with my cum, ya want that sweetheart?”

“can’t even talk, such a dirty fuckin’ whore,”

you were mumbling, blabbering, making noises that couldn’t even be registered as noises as his hips slammed against your ass lazily. you feel it the minute he empties inside of you because he holds you even closer than before, stilling your moving hips and you feel the heat of the white ropes that cover your walls. it was so dirty, so messy, so filthy that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were embarrassed after this. you were still mindlessly groaning, humming as your orgasm buzzed through your body and the feeling of his cum trying to push its way out. 

you both lay there, breathless, sticky and with joel still buried inside of you.

“i have… i have to get off,” you breathed out, coming back to the sense of reality. the air in your room felt cold, pricking at your skin like needles. the sweat didn’t help either. 

“no ya don’t,” he said, only to hold you tighter. 

“joel, i’m like crushing you,” you tried to wiggle out of his grasp and he just gave a quick slap to your cunt, making you jolt and still. 

“don’t be ridiculous, ya need me to show you exactly how strong i am or are ya gonna take my word for it?” he warned and you swallowed, blinking at the ceiling before you turn your head to look at the side of his face before he turns his head to look at you. still, the back of your head rested on his shoulder and your legs were between his.

“i can’t even move, joel,” you said in a smile and he laughed, leaning in to kiss your forehead and over your face. 

“i’ll help ya with that.” 

joel proved once again that he was strong enough to pick you up, because he carried you bridal style to the restroom and got a bath ready for you, joining in to help clean you up and massage your muscles. you were dazed, so entirely fucked out that you let him do whatever he needed to do with you to get you into bed. and he didn’t seem to mind, because after taking care of you he got to snuggle in the same bed he made you drool in. 

he let you cuddle into him all you wanted, wrapping your arms and legs around him to bury your face in the shirt he put on. even though it was your bedsheets and your body wash he used, he still smelled like joel. and it was all you needed, ironically the man you longed for to make you feel good was the man who stayed in 6a.

[theshiniestgemstone]

Maybe Y/n and Gideon break into the church after hours to have some fun ;) and almost get caught by security?

oh my goodness yessss. here ya go (thank you for the idea)

warnings: semi-voyeurism, munch!gideon, oral (fem. rec)

It technically started in the parking lot.

The summer air was thick with humidity with an abnormally warm night. The windows were fogged, the kind that used to make you laugh and drag your hand down like Kate Winslet in Titanic, but it eventually turned into just how steamy could you make it.

Gideon's hands were firm around your hips, his belt unbuckled lazily and his mouth chasing yours in desperation. You both should have been ashamed, really. Pawing at one another viciously as if you hadn't done the same thing this morning. And the night before.

Then you pulled back, just a little, breath catching, and asked.

"Do you have a condom?" You shook your hair out. "I don't have my purse."

He froze. Just for a second, but long enough for the spell to crack. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and he let out a sigh. It was so long and tired that it felt like it had come from years ago.

“…No.” His voice was low, wrecked, full of something that wasn’t just disappointment. Regret, maybe.

You swallowed, staring up at the ceiling of the car like it might offer answers. “Okay,” you said.

You wiped your mouth. "That's okay."

Gideon redid his belt, careful and quiet. You looked away, suddenly aware of the crickets outside.

Neither of you said anything for a beat. Then, casually, like he was mentioning a spare umbrella, he said, “I’ve got some in my desk.”

You turned to him, blinking. “In your desk?”

He shrugged, lips twitching like he didn’t quite want to smile but couldn’t help it. You laughed, low and surprised, your fingers brushing your lips. “Well, what are we waiting for then, Preacher Gideon?”

The two of you climbed out of the car, the night still humid, the church looming against the sky like something sacred and secret. He led you around the side, gravel crunching beneath your shoes, to a discreet steel door nestled behind a hedgerow. He typed in a code that beeped with each press, then a final chirp and a green flash.

He held the door open for you, the gentleman even now.

You passed him with a smirk, and just as you crossed the threshold, his hand landed on your ass, firm and deliberate. You squeaked and whipped around with mock offense, but he was already looking elsewhere, suddenly very interested in the fire exit map on the wall.

You shook your head, smiling anyway. “Unbelievable.”

Gideon unlocked his office door, tapping the lamp to the dim setting. The soft golden glow washed over the room, throwing gentle shadows across the bookshelves, the half-drunk cup of coffee on the edge of his desk, the old photographs pinned to his corkboard.

He crossed the room and opened a drawer, rummaging through a mess of files and mismatched pens. “Still here…” he muttered to himself. He pulled it out, holding it up in the light. "Bingo."

The second he set it on the desk, light, casual, like it was just a pen or a paperclip, things snapped back into place.

You were on the desk before either of you said another word, palms braced behind you on the polished wood, legs parting just enough for him to step in. His hands found your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft skin, and his mouth was on yours again, deeper this time, more assured. Less heat-of-the-moment and more we’re doing this now.

The desk creaked faintly beneath you, expensive and clearly not built for this kind of use, but you didn’t care. Neither did he. His hands slid under your shirt like he’d done it a hundred times, like he knew where to touch. You pulled at his belt as he took a deep breath.

And then he kissed you again, slower this time, like he meant to savor it, like he meant to make this more than just something stolen in the shadows of the night. His fingers danced along your waist, tugging your hips closer until you were flush against him, your breath hitching when he mouthed along your jaw, your throat, the hollow beneath your ear.

The foil crinkled behind you, a promise already within reach.

"Jesus Christ, Gideon, I didn't think you wanted it this bad," you huffed, feeling just how hard he was beneath your palm.

Gideon groaned, low and rough, the sound vibrating in his chest. “I’m not going to last,” he warned, voice fraying as his fingers gripped your hips. Then he was on his knees, like he was praying, like he meant it.

He dragged your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, baring you to the cold air and the heat of his gaze. You kicked them off carelessly, one foot bracing on the nearby chair for balance, the other hooking over his shoulder like it belonged there.

His mouth found you like he’d been dreaming about it, slow at first, exploratory, but it didn’t stay gentle for long. He groaned again the second he tasted you, like the heat of you knocked something loose in him. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue moved with increasing purpose, relentless and skilled, like he needed this to live.

You gasped, hips bucking into his mouth before you could stop yourself, your fingers diving into his hair for something to hold onto. The chair creaked beside you, your heel digging into it for leverage, but you barely noticed. Every nerve you had was trained on him, the way he moaned into you, on the sharp drag of his stubble, on the fact that Gideon was on his knees for you in his own house of worship.

You looked down and he was already watching you, eyes dark and blown and almost wild with need.

“Gideon,” you gasped, the name catching in your throat as your stomach tightened. “Fuck, don’t stop-”

He didn’t. He doubled down, one hand pressing to your stomach to keep you grounded, the other slipping between your legs to tease you where you were already trembling. You were so close, already cresting and he knew it.

Then you heard it.

Rustling. Footsteps. The subtle squeak of orthopedic soles on tile.

Your breath caught in your throat, panic wiping everything else clean. “Hide.” You shoved at his head.

Gideon looked up, confused, lips shiny and swollen. “You’re just para-”

“Now.”

You slipped under the desk with all the grace of a panicked raccoon, nearly knocking over a desk lamp. Your heart pounded like a war drum as you pressed your knees to your chest and tried not to breathe.

The door creaked open.

Gideon shot up straight like a kid caught shoplifting, his belt still undone. He slapped a palm flat against the desk to steady himself, accidentally flicking the condom off the edge and onto the floor near his feet.

“Oh, Gideon,” came the familiar, warm voice of Paul, the aging nighttime security officer. “You scared me.”

Gideon wheezed a laugh, too loud. “Yeah-yeah. Just, uh. Writing. Some… stuff. Sermon stuff. For tomorrow.”

Paul stepped inside, nodding, flashlight tucked under his arm like a baton. “Burnin’ the midnight oil. Good for you. Lord loves a hard worker.”

“Yup,” Gideon squeaked. He kicked the condom gently under the desk with the toe of his boot.

“Not a problem, Gideon,” Paul said, already halfway back out the door. But then he paused, turning slowly. “Also… your pants are unzipped.”

Gideon looked down. “Right. Thank you.”

Paul smiled with that tired kind of patience only church employees and kindergarten teachers really mastered. “And I can see your girlfriend under the desk.”

Silence.

“Maybe consider one closer to the ground next time,” Paul added. “More leg room.”

Gideon closed his eyes like he was praying for death. “Will do, Paul.”

Paul gave a cheerful wave, shut the door, and his footsteps faded down the hall.

You crawled out from under the desk like a creature reborn in shame, straightening your clothes as you stood. Gideon just stared at you, pale and wide-eyed, hair completely wrecked. He chuckled. "What now?"

You shrugged. "I'm already down here, so..."

His belt was still undone, zipper halfway down, the condom now sadly resting near the baseboard like it was too embarrassed to be part of this. You reached for him anyway, fingers curling around his waistband with intent.

[blueiscoool]

Gladiator Tomb and Mausoleum Found in Italy

A marble tomb believed to belong to a Roman gladiator has been uncovered in a newly discovered cemetery in the ancient town of Liternum, now part of Giugliano in Campania, Italy.

The find is part of a larger excavation revealing new details about daily life, burial customs, and the history of this once-thriving Roman settlement

Burials reveal generations of Roman traditions

Led by archaeologist Dr. Simona Formola, the team has uncovered more than 20 graves dating from the late 1st century BCE to the 3rd century CE. The site, which is about the size of a small classroom, includes various types of burial grounds.

Some bodies were placed in stone tombs, while others were buried in clay jars or covered with simple roof-shaped tiles. Many of the graves line the edges of the cemetery.

One of the most striking finds is a square-shaped tomb, measuring about three meters on each side, located in the center of a burial area.

The tomb was built using volcanic rock bricks arranged in a diamond pattern. Inside, small wall spaces held urns containing ashes, suggesting the site was used across several generations.

High-status graves point to wealth and care

Archaeologists also uncovered two high-status burial enclosures believed to belong to elite families. These spaces still show large sections of their original white plaster walls.

Later, red details were added, showing a shift in design over time. The careful decoration hints at the importance of those buried there.

Among the most notable discoveries is a marble grave marker bearing the name of a gladiator. The inscription suggests that Liternum may have served as a resting place for fighters who once entertained crowds in Roman arenas.

Other grave goods found include coins, oil lamps, and small containers. These everyday items help archaeologists understand the customs, beliefs, and social life of the people who lived in the area during Roman times.

A city shaped by roads and trade

Founded in the late 2nd century BCE, Liternum reached its peak between the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. A major turning point came in 95 CE when Emperor Domitian built the Via Domitiana, a road that boosted trade and brought prosperity to the colony.

The location of the cemetery has led researchers to reconsider the path of that ancient road. In Roman tradition, cemeteries were often built along main roads. Experts now believe the Via Domitiana may have passed closer to the site than previously thought.

“The territory of Giugliano is experiencing an extraordinary period of discoveries, first with the Tomb of Cerberus and now with this necropolis,” said heritage official Mariano Nuzzo in a statement to National Geographic Historia.

The findings offer a rare and detailed look at how a Roman community lived, worked, and honored its dead nearly 2,000 years ago.

By Nisha Zahid.

[kk095]

Olivia’s Unfinished Story

*Happy Friday, everyone! I wanted to try something a little different this time around. I hope you enjoy!*

Her name was Olivia.

She was the kind of woman you might overlook in a crowd- slim, fair skinned, with straight, light brown hair that she kept neat and cut to her shoulders. Her bangs sat just above a pair of green eyes that always seemed to be watching, not out of shyness, but observation. At 5'8, the twenty-eight year old carried herself with quiet poise, a strange mix of bookish awkwardness, and buttoned-up grace. Her wardrobe was sensible- cardigans and slacks, modest blouses, neutral tones. It wasn’t that she lacked style; she simply didn’t think anyone was looking closely enough to warrant the effort.

By day, Olivia worked a corporate job in a beige office on the twelfth floor of a building with too much glass and not enough personality. Her cubicle was tidy. Her emails were prompt. She was the type who remembered birthdays, who always signed her messages with "Best," and who brought her lunch from home in reusable containers labeled with masking tape. Her coworkers liked her well enough, though they never really knew her. She existed on the periphery- reliable, polite, self-contained.

But at night, in a small apartment with a flickering desk lamp and chipped mugs of tea, Olivia became someone else. She wrote under the name "S.R. Quinn," a pseudonym she guarded like a secret lover. Her stories- twisting, cerebral mysteries filled with unreliable narrators and haunted minds, had attracted a quiet, devoted following online. Some of her readers speculated about the author's identity, but she never gave herself away. Olivia preferred it that way. Her characters said all the things she couldn’t. They unraveled in ways she never allowed herself to. Writing, for her, was a kind of release- a hidden doorway she stepped through every night.

She lived alone, but it never really felt lonely. Her walls were lined with shelves full of books, and her laptop bore the fingerprints of a thousand edits.

She had routines: the same route to work, the same booth at the quiet café near her apartment, the same brand of peppermint gum always tucked into her bag. Sometimes, on the subway, she would look at the people around her and wonder who among them led secret lives, too. It comforted her to think she wasn’t the only one pretending.

There were things she still wanted to do. A novel half-finished. A mystery not yet solved. A character she hadn’t quite figured out.

She had no idea she would be the latest patient in our emergency department. Last night, that’s exactly what happened to Olivia.

The trauma bay lights cast a sterile glow across her pale skin, and her chest bucked beneath gloved hands performing deep, violent chest compressions. The monitor beside her beeped incessantly in arrhythmic protest, displaying a jagged line of ventricular fibrillation. Beneath it, a stack of empty syringe caps and torn vials spilled from the tray, scattered among crumpled wrappers and used IV bags.

She lay supine on the table, stripped barefoot and topless, her bare chest glistening with conductive gel under the harsh overhead lights. Her green eyes were wide open- glassy, unblinking, eerily serene. The endotracheal tube jutted from her mouth, hugging her pale lips, secured tightly with tape, and the soft hiss of the ambu bag filled her lungs with each squeeze. Her pants remained on, the dark fabric in contrast to the table. There were no bruises, no blood, no visible trauma. Just a stillness that didn’t belong in a room like this.

The rhythm of chest compressions played like a grim metronome, gloved hands stacked over her sternum, pushing deep and fast. Each thrust drove Olivia’s chest down in sharp, unnatural motions, her ribs caving beneath the pressure. With every compression, her chest recoiled slightly, the skin pulling tight before collapsing inward again. The force rippled outward through her torso, making her belly tremble faintly.

The defib paddles were pressed against her bare chest. “CLEAR!” Dr Lindsay called out.

Her back arched as the jolt surged through her, then fell limp again. No change. Someone stepped up to resume CPR. The rhythmic thud of gloved hands on her sternum resumed, tilting her motionless face slightly with each thrust.

After that unsuccessful cycle of CPR, the paddles pressed back down against her bare chest, gel smearing beneath them. “CLEAR” Lindsay called once again. A sudden jolt of electricity surged through the writer’s body. Olivia’s back arched sharply, her spine lifting off the table in a stiff, unnatural bend. Her legs jerk in response- one foot kicking upward involuntarily, the other twisting inward, toes curling hard. For a split second, both feet hover awkwardly in the air before crashing ungracefully back down to the table. Her soles, flushed pale from poor perfusion, land heel-first, the deep, wide, soft wrinkles of her size 10 soles visible before her body goes slack again, motionless except for the rhythmic force of compressions that resumed after.

Another shock was delivered. A gasp escaped Olivia’s lips, though it was more of a reflex than a sign of life. Another cycle CPR ensued. A dose of epinephrine. Gloved hands moved with rehearsed precision, voices sharp, clipped, and clinical.

“Still in v-fib, Linds.” Nurse Nancy informs, shaking her head. “No pulse.” Dr Jen the resident chimes in.

“I’m shocking again. Re-charging the paddles to 360. CLEAR.” Lindsay responded, Heather halting CPR and stepping away from the table.

KA-THUNK! Olivia’s body jumped. The flat, lifeless gaze remained on her face. Her expression was untouched by fear or pain, frozen somewhere just before the end.

The next shock came and went. Her body jerked with unnatural stiffness, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings. For a breathless second, she froze midair- fingers curled, toes flexed, then collapsed on the table once more, as if gravity remembered her all at once.

Chest compressions resumed, but not for long. For a moment, the room stilled- hands hovered, eyes glanced to the monitor. A flatline stared back at everyone, unbroken and absolute.

“No cardiac activity on the monitors.” Jen the resident informed, calm and even, like they’re noting the time of day.

Nancy leaned in, shining a penlight across both of Olivia’s eyes. Nothing. No flicker, no constriction, no reaction whatsoever- just the blank, glassy look of fixed and dilated pupils.

A quiet pause passed.

“She’s been down forty minutes.” Lindsay speaks, voice low but certain. “Let’s go ahead and call it. Time of death, 1:11am.”

The ambu bag was detached from the ET tube and set beside Olivia’s head on the table. Chest compressions stopped for good. Heather shut off the monitor, muting the flatline. The paddles were placed back on the crash cart, the ECG leads peeled away, electrodes discarded in silence.

Olivia had written dozens of stories. None of us knew that, of course. Not Heather peeling off her EKG leads, not Dr Lindsay logging her time of death, not Dr Jen placing the sheet over her body. In life, she had been anonymous. In death, she remained so.

But somewhere, tucked into online archives and under a username no one could now trace, there were worlds Olivia had built. Complex characters. Tangled mysteries. Paragraphs people had read and re-read and bookmarked to revisit. She had more to tell. But last night, her story ended right here in our emergency department.

[inf3ct3dd]

ellie headcanons pt.5!!!

warnings: nada

content: loser!ellie x reader headcanons

authors note : ellie dug a hole into my skull and moved in

⁃ against bags for no reason. like her pockets are constantly full of things. random receipts, money, headphones, EVERYTHING. she takes her pants of and they jingle cuz they're filled with COINS.

⁃ knows how to do a back bridge and just HAS to let everyone know. you're watching tv and she's just on the floor like "look"

⁃ i feel like shes the type of person to just start fully eating an orange in the middle of class. like ur listening to the teacher talk and you're just hit by the most aggressive wave of CITRUS from behind you

⁃ constantly fighting the air... like she's just in the kitchen punching and kicking at NOTHING just because. she's always coming up to you and like take punching you and doing her own sound effects like “PWAH PWAH WAM WAPOW"

⁃ jar hoarder 😞😞 every time you buy anything that comes in a jar she's keeping it. literally won't let you throw them away!!! you guys don't even have cups anymore, its just jars and mugs.

⁃ speaking of mugs, ellie has just as many stupid mugs as she does stupid tshirts. absolutely has a lot of garfield mugs be she LOVES GARFEILD

- would buy a dry-erase board for your fridge and leave u little notes and drawings

⁃ "Every single time I see you, I become horny like a triceratops" with a little drawing of a triceratops"

⁃ breaks into incoherent ramblings when shes sleepy... like insane hypotheticals

"what if our bed just completely exploded right now"

⁃ whenever ur on facetime and it gets quiet she just breaks out into song. not even like good, trying singing but BAD SINGING.

⁃ she does that whenever it's quiet !!!

⁃ is listening to music CONSTANTLY. her headphones are actually attached to her ears like all DAY she's listening to something.

⁃ HATES THE BIG LIGHT (iykyk) she lives for low/ natural lighting definitely has so many lamps and led lights

⁃ can never sit normal.... like she is not beating the gay ppl sitting weird allegations she sits so ODD

⁃ will spend literal hours in the pool. doing flips, pretending to be a mermaid, 'making up' her own tricks, she lives for it & !!!

⁃ refuses to dress right for the weather. it'll be like 90° outside and shes in a whole hoodie and jeans.

⁃ has the WEIRDEST subway order. probably puts banana peppers on her shit 😭😭 she swears its the best thing ever

⁃ love's campy comedy movies, esp lesbian ones and horror movies (but im a cheerleader, bottoms, scary movie, etc) also def loves coming of age movies

⁃ has a letterbox account and makes extremely thought provoking reviews

literally her

⁃ always taking candids of you, and they're literally her favorite pictures

⁃ every time she sees two things next to eachother she's like "oh my god it's literally us!!"

⁃ one time she crashed her car and it literally fully flipped over and she just crawled out of the trunk and called you like "you would NOT believe what just happened to me."

- absolutely a waffles girl she needs the texture she likes the CRUNCH

⁃ but like she also loves bacon pancakes. like she's obsessed w adventure time and she makes bacon pancakes ALL THE TIME and she sings the song while she makes them

- eats trail mix like all day....she buys the giant jars and you make fun of her cuz she "likes eating nuts"

⁃ the most secret swifty ever. like she refuses to let it be known but she fully sobbed when she listened to folklore for the first time

⁃ obsessed w those baby sensory videos. like she will literally be entertained for hours

⁃ LOVES the lego movies, esp lego batman

⁃ the MOST honest shit talker ever like you'll be like "yeah she's just a really bad person" and she'd be like "she's also like disgustingly hideous...

⁃ her search history isn’t even weird or gross its just…random. like she’s definitely googled “how do cotton candy machines work” before

⁃ family guy enjoyer.....

⁃ her cf story is like insanely long n its filled w random memes she reposts and insane ramblings

taglist!!!! if ur name is crossed i can't tag u :((

@syrenada @dinaissoprettyoml, @kingofmylastkiss @as2rid @greencacty @melissabarrerass @bratydoll @lov3lylotus @forelliesposts @echostinn @f3r4Ifr0gg3r @r3wbeef @leatheredhearts @mousymaven @mina-281@princessguardian444 @calystas-morning-tea @horror-whoree @slutshies @bearieio @mag-mfm @bubs-world @paran0id0blivi0n @sawaagyapong @bbygrIshelbs @gayh0rr0r @p|9ys @ellieslilsIvvt @dollietes @elliesmellsbadd @ibloom4u @ddreabea @beestar120 @brunettedolls-blog @girlwonderchloe @elliesgflol @maris-koffin @emonopolyman @iloveeyousblog @fr3sh-tragedies @ilovaffles @certifedcrybunny @elleatethat @baldph0bic @clouded-whispers @4rt3m1ss @saggykneecaps @swtsuna @ellesslutt @minixmel @yuyans-stuff @owmoiralover @thecowardwrites @lunascerebro @elliestrwbrry @iwantsoda @teeveegirl @dinasmoon @urnewghostfriend @k3ym4ra @bratzboydoll @ungodlyvenus @lav3nd3rhaze @scokslvoer @iloveunrealpeople @realwinehouse @nehemiahlicious @onedeaddreamer @teawithnosugar @r4t1ku5 @villainousbear @mentallymarriedtonatasharomanoff @gay4tiddies @uraesthete @lil-elliesgf @neighborhood-houseplant @sagessensationalstuff

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt,Iron,𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮:A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 2: A Quiet Place to Hide

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Trying to adapt yourself to your new environment, things seem to feel more than unnatural for your mind to process. Or remember.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +2.6K

⚠️Warnings: None.

A/N: Here’s Part 2! Please let me know what you think so far or maybe if you have any theories 👀

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The car ride was quiet.

Dean drove, fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every so often. Sam sat beside him with his laptop open, though he wasn't typing. Just watching the screen, lost in thought.

You were curled in the backseat, wrapped in the oversized hoodie like it was armor. The smell of  gunpowder and leather filled the car, strangely comforting. At some point, your head leaned against the window, eyes locked on the blur of trees and empty road rushing by.

Every bump in the road made your ribs ache, even with Castiel's healing. It reminded you that whatever happened, it had been recent. Brutal, real. And not over.

You were alert most of the road. But then tiredness cripted up your body and you fell fast asleep. About twenty minutes or so, you recoverd conscious, and started listen to the murmurs of the man in the front seat, who thought you were still sleeping.

Dean glanced at Sam. "... and she's still a quiet one."

"She's been through hell, Dean," Sam muttered. "Give her time."

''So, what do you think is it?'' he asked.

Sam ran a hand over his hair, staring at his laptop like he was trying to piece something together. "Could be a demon. Or some kind of witchcraft. Maybe even something new. She was terrified when we found her."

"She still is," Dean said quietly.

He glance back up at you, but he didn't noticed you were awake. The way your body tensed, even under the blanket; the way your eyes refused to settle too long on any of them, like you were always ready to run again.

Another hour passed before Dean pulled off the main road and onto a barely marked gravel path. You sat up a little straighter, pretending you just woke up.

"We're here," he said. "Don't worry. It doesn't look like much from the outside."

And he was right. The entrance was tucked beneath an overgrown patch of forest, hidden like some forgotten relic. A rusted metal door, half-covered in moss. But once they led you inside, everything changed. The bunker was massive. Cold stone walls, long halls lit with amber bulbs. It smelled like old books and gun oil. Like safety and danger, all at once.

You hesitated at the threshold, but Dean looked back and gave a small nod.

"You're safe here, deer" he said. The strange new nickname made your spine tingle pleasantly and your cheeks burned. "For real."

And you stepped inside.

Sam showed you to one of the guest rooms. Sparse, but clean. A bed, a small dresser, a desk with a lamp.

"We'll be in the library if you need anything," he said, and then hesitated at the door. "Or... if you just wanna sit with us. You don't have to talk."

The door clicked shut behind him.The silence there wasn't the kind that pressed on your chest, it was the kind that let you breathe.

You stood in the middle of the room for a long time. Then, slowly, you decided you wanted to sit on the bed.

But as you walked past the wall mirror beside the dresser, your eyes caught your own reflection. And they didn't let go.

You stood there, staring. The girl in the glass looked back, same face, same eyes you saw before on that motel's bathroom... but she felt wrong. Like someone else had worn her skin first. The hoodie swallowed your frame, the jeans stiff and unfamiliar. Your hair was drying in loose waves, still tangled at the ends.

You reached up, fingers brushing over your cheek. The faint bruises had already begun to fade thanks to Castiel, but the ache lingered in your bones.

You didn't recognize her. Not completely.

There was something... off. Like the clothes didn't quite belong on your body. Like your hair wasn't supposed to fall this way.

Your lips parted slightly.

You knew these things. Mirrors. Hoodies. Zippers and jeans. Motels. Hamburgers and fries. Cars. Electricity... You knew them, but in that moment, it struck you like thunder: you had no memory of using them. No image of ever putting on a hoodie, or brushing your teeth under a fluorescent bulb. It all felt learned, not lived.

What an utterly deranged creature you've become, you told to yourself.

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It didn't take long before you walked out of your room.

The bunker was quiet in a strange way, like the silence was listening. You followed the low hum of voices until you reached the library. Rows of books lined every wall, and a faint scent of paper and ink floated through the air.

Dean sat at the main table, boots propped up, nursing a beer. Sam was hunched over his laptop, scrolling through pages of lore. They both looked up when they saw you.

"Hey, deer" Dean said, lowering his feet and straightening up. "You feeling okay?"

You nodded slowly, arms crossed over your chest. Your eyes flitted across the room, at the books, the map-lined walls, the weapons pinned neatly along one side. It all should've felt alien, but oddly, it didn't.

Sam gestured toward the empty chair beside him. "Come sit. I've been digging into what might've happened to you."

You hesitated for a second before crossing the room and taking the seat.

"There are a few possibilities," he continued, careful not to make his voice too loud. "You weren't possessed. Castiel confirmed that. But there are rituals... spells... that can wipe memory or displace people."

Displace.

Your eyebrows twitched at the word. You weren't sure why, but it sat heavy in your chest.

Dean caught the flicker in your expression. "Ringin' any bells?"

You shook your head, but not fully. Because something in your brain did ring, like the soft echo of a bell down a long, empty hallway.

Sam exhaled. "We've ruled out demons. Maybe a witch. Could've been a hex or a curse. Some spells can force someone out of their body... I'm not sure yet. I was thinking another round with Castiel might help," he added gently. "He said he couldn't get much before, but now that you've rested, maybe he can see deeper."

You stiffened slightly. Not out of fear, just out of exhaustion. The thought of someone reaching into your mind again felt like handing over the last piece of yourself.

Dean noticed your hesitation and leaned forward, arms resting on the table. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, alright? But if there's something locked in there... maybe it'll help you get answers."

Your gaze dropped to the table. There was a chipped ring on Dean's beer bottle. You focused on it. Let yourself breathe.

Dean shifted, shaking his head.

"Okay, that’s all," he said, voice firm. "Not yet."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Dean's eyes were on you, softer, and then back to his brother. "Because she's not ready. Look at her. She's still bruised up, barely sleeping through the night, flinching at every loud sound. You wanna push her into reliving God-knows-what just because we're impatient?"

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but then looked at you, and closed it again.

Dean turned to you, his voice lowering a little. "You don't have to rush it. Whatever's locked in your head... it'll come back when it's ready. For now, you need to heal."

You held his gaze for a beat longer than usual. Something in his tone told you he'd been there before, in his own way. Lost, broken, trying to put the pieces back together.

So, you nodded.

Dean gave a small huff through his nose, relieved, maybe, and muttered, "Alright then. Who's hungry?"

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The kitchen was dimly lit, the hum of the old refrigerator the only sound at first. You sat on the edge of the counter, legs dangling, hands nervously twisting in the sleeves of your hoodie. Your back still ached faintly, but you were stronger today. Enough to follow Dean when he mumbled something about making food.

He didn't ask you to come. He just looked at you from the hallway, gave a small tilt of his head, and kept walking. You followed without thinking.

Now he stood at the counter across from you, sleeves rolled up, pulling ingredients from the fridge like it was a sacred ritual: bread, ham, mustard, cheese, pickles. He moved with surprising grace for someone so broad-shouldered, occasionally glancing your way as if to check you were still there. Still breathing.

"You don't look like much of a mustard girl," he said, raising an eyebrow as he opened the jar. "Too yellow. Suspiciously yellow."

You didn't smile, but your eyes flicked up toward him for a second longer than usual. That was enough.

He kept going, making three sandwiches in a line. "Sam's knee-deep in lore. Said he's not eating until he figures out if you're from this planet or not."

You lowered your eyes again, unsure how to feel about that.

Dean slid a slice of ham into place. "Don't worry, he means well. Guy's just obsessed with knowing everything. Me? I just want you fed."

Then, suddenly, a sharp BANG. One of the pipes in the wall let out a violent pop as it settled, echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.

You flinched hard, nearly slipping off the counter. Your heart raced violently, eyes wide open while trying desperately to identify the source of the explosion.

Before you even registered what was happening, Dean was in front of you, one hand steady on your shoulder, the other gently bracing your back to keep you upright.

"Hey, hey," he said quickly, voice low and grounding. "It's alright, deer. Just the damn pipes. This place makes more noise than a haunted house."

You were shaking, and you hated it. Your breath came short and fast, chest rising and falling beneath the hoodie like you'd been running. It broke Dean's heart.

He didn't let go right away, crouching a little to meet your eyes, his hands still holding you steady. "You're safe. You're okay." He hesitated, but then,  he whispered, "I'm here."

You stared at him, breathing through the panic. He wasn't afraid of your reaction. He didn't back away. He just... stayed.

After a moment, he stepped back; slow, careful, not wanting to make you feel cornered. He grabbed a glass of water, handed it to you without a word.

You took it with both hands, sipping it slowly.

Sam's voice floated from the library, somewhere deeper in the bunker. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Dean called back, not taking his eyes off you. "Just a noisy-ass pipe."

He turned back to the sandwich he'd been making for you, adding a slice of cheese. "No mustard," he said softly, more to himself. "Gotta earn that kind of trust."

You blinked. The water was cold in your hands. Familiar. Real.

Dean slid the plate toward you, nodding at the sandwich. "Eat what you can. You need your strength."

You hesitated. Then picked it up.

And for the first time, Dean saw it: the way your fingers wrapped around the bread, slow, like you were figuring it out again. The way your eyes didn't dart to the door this time.

He smiled, just a little. Then leaned on the counter beside you, picking up his own sandwich.

"See?" he said with a grin. "Told you I make a killer ham and cheese."

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Later that afternoon, the quiet of the bunker was broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional flip of a page from Sam's corner of the library.

Then, Castiel appeared.

His sudden arrival made you jolt. The trench-coated angel stood still for a moment, blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His head tilted slightly.

"She's stronger," he said simply.

Sam closed his laptop and stood. "We were thinking... maybe another look. See if anything's changed."

Dean was about to intercept for you. He saw your reaction for a simple pipe, he won't force your mind to begin examined like you were some kind of alien experiment.

However, Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes never left you, as he said. "Something has changed."

Dean frowned, arms crossing. "Meaning?"

Castiel stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Her aura. It's... different."

"Different how?" Sam asked, already grabbing a notepad.

"Older," Castiel answered, his voice lower now. "Worn, but not in the way of trauma alone. She carries the weight of another time. Like she's been touched by something ancient. Or taken from it."

You felt the air leave your lungs.

Castiel turned his gaze to you again. "There's something unusual about the way time clings to her. Like it's trying to remember where she belongs. Or when."

Dean looked at you sharply, and something like concern flashed across his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," Castiel said softly, "she may not be from here. Not just this place... but this time."

Silence. You gripped the edge of the table, that cold sensation blooming in your chest again. But now, it wasn't fear: it was recognition. That last word felt like a needle to your spine. Time.

You blinked. Not because it confused you, because it didn't. It made too much sense. The language in your head, the way you moved, the constant hum of recognition for things you shouldn't understand, like microwaves and light switches. You knew them. But it never felt like they belonged to you.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing between you and Castiel.

"Well, that's just peachy," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "So what are we talkin'? Time travel? Alternate dimensions? Freaky-ass time ghosts?"

"I don't know yet," Castiel admitted. "But the energy around her... she was moved. Not just physically. She was pulled."

You stared at the angel, your fingers tightening on the table's edge. Something about the way he said it made your bones hum with a memory you couldn't reach.

Dean noticed. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Hey. You okay, deer?"

You nodded, but it wasn't convincing. And he didn't push you.

Sam, meanwhile, was already scribbling notes, muttering about timelines and ancient rituals under his breath.

Dean turned back to Castiel. "Can you tell where from?"

The angel shook his head. "Not yet. The tether is fragile. If I force it, I could sever whatever is left of her memory. I need time."

Dean nodded, jaw tight. "Then take it."

Castiel gave you a long, almost apologetic look before vanishing with the familiar rustle of wings.

You sat still, feeling like the floor had shifted beneath you. You weren't from here. Not just the place, but the whole world. Maybe the whole century.

Dean was watching you. He didn't look scared. Just... thoughtful. After a moment, he stood, walked to the kitchen, and came back with the plate of cookies Sam had bought on some gas station run. He placed one in front of you.

"They're kinda dry," he said, shrugging. "But sugar's sugar."

You blinked at it. Then slowly reached for one, took a bite. Dean sank into the chair beside you, not touching his beer this time.

"You know," he said, voice casual, "my brother once got stuck in 1861. Didn't have showers back then. Guy smelled like horse for a week."

You blinked, surprised. Dean offered a small smirk.

"My point is... this crap? The weird, the time stuff, the magic... it happens. We deal with it."

You swallowed the cookie, then met his eyes.

You didn't spoke, not verbally at least, but somehow Dean understood your concerning through your eyes.

«You don't think I'm... broken?»

Dean snorted. "We're all broken, sweetheart. I'm just glad you're still standing."

And that—that—hit somewhere deep.

Because for the first time, someone wasn't trying to fix you.

Dean was just trying to see you.

NEXT PART

🏷️Tag list: @thej2report | @mostlymarvelgirl | @anniebannanie0315

[sincerelyhunnybee]

Seijoh 4 Bedroom Headcanons

a/n: no, not like that u little pervs. like what their actual bedrooms would look like around post time-skip. visuals included btw. enjoy <3

disclaimer: all photos were found on pinterest and none belong to me

oikawa

right after moving to argentina, he got a cute little one-bedroom apartment on a higher floor with a balcony.

he couldn't bring a lot from japan, so his place was bare bones, made him a little sad and lonely the first couple of months. the only decor he had were pictures/polaroids he put up using tape he bought from the corner store

once the athlete paychecks start coming in, he can buy more stuff to make his space feel more like a home like artwork and better lighting

speaking of lighting, he’d layer tf out of it. so not just a statement ceiling light but also clean, modern standing lamps and table lamps too. all have warm toned bulbs.

one of the most prominent things that can be seen around his place are plants! he became a plant daddy so quickly and was super pumped to see them grow. each morning is like a ritual with watering/misting them or moving them around so they can get sun. him taking care of plants gives him another purpose aside form volleyball. reminds him of when he was captain and taking care of his team.

sticks to a color palette of warm and bright tones of beiges, creams, whites, with some grey here and there to compliment the green plants.

you’ll spot a yoga mat and foam roller tucked in the corner

bedsheets are always crisp and 5-star hotel quality. and they smell amazing like lavender/citrusy

this diva sleeps with 10000 pillows bc he needs to feel like he's getting a hug every time he goes to sleep ;(

guys pls he's so touch starved and lonely at this point in his life he just wants someone to hold and sleep next too (maybe that can be u ;) )

iwaizumi

his room started off pretty bare since he had to experience how expensive going to school was in the U.S. plus he lived in a small dorm with little room for decor, made sure his place was close to a large gymnasium in tokyo

he’s the type to keep his space very clean and minimalistic sticking to dark, neutral colors as his palette. it serves to give off a calming and grounding effect that matches his personality imo

for sure has a neat, modest bookshelf filled with sports science books, anatomy guides and a few novels. resting on one shelf is a postcard from argentina that oikawa sent him.

he does not believe in the Big Light™️, only ambient and natural light allowed in his bedroom.

more about his decor, like oikawa he has pictures of his college days, old teammates and family. some plants like ivy and succulents also have their residence about his room. and lastly, a large, singular poster of godzilla that hangs proudly on his wall.

simple bedding, four pillows, matching dark sheets. smells of sandalwood/eucalyptus, he’s got a firm mattress tho :o[ bc it’s better for the back

due to his profession he’s very busy but always makes time to exercise so there are dumbbells and resistance bands safely stored beneath his bed

iwa’s space reflects his disciplined lifestyle but also reveals someone who is sentimental towards his friendships and memories. his bedroom is a place where he can unwind after a long day while staying connected to his passions :’)

matsukawa

his room just looks cozy and effortlessly cool to match his laid-back personality. like he just threw shit together and it worked out perfectly

dark color palette of deep greens, blacks and browns. his decor brings in some complimenting color like red, purple, and yellow

unlike iwaizumi and oikawa, his room is messier but not terrible. his bed is usually unmade and maybe a sweatshirt will be draped over a chair, water cup/bottle collection on his desk. it’s for sure a very lived-in space

the ambiance is lovely, like a perfectly curated nest, the softest, worn sheets and pillows that smell like bergamot and cinnamon paired with soft fairy lights or LED light strips and low music playing in the background, sleeps comes naturally here

blackout curtains are a must, they almost always cover the window in his room so you can really never tell what time it is but that’s fine because he works weird hours at the funeral home and he likes to sleep <3

he’s a gamer™️ imo, so he’s got a nice setup on the desk next to his bed, probably does streaming on the side or always talking to his friends on discord. i just know he’s diamond in valorant and a viper-omen main teehee

honestly his room is entertainment central, fuck a living room. he’s got a decent record player speaker to play his loud ass music, tv to fall asleep to movies/shows, and even a rubix cube he’s solved multiple times with a hidden snack drawer to top it off, you’ll never be bored here

decor consists of some manga volumes, figures/collectables, trinkets (he’s a trinket guy), a lego set and maybe one (fake) plant, and a tapestry blanket hanging on his wall

hanamaki

imo he’s totally a trust fund baby so not just his room but apartment as a whole is just very well styled

he has a fun and eclectic way of decorating with a beautiful harmony of bright whites and greys paired with accents of pastel blues and some pinks

his fashion is peak so he has some pieces on display on a rack with pairs of shoes that he spent a little too much money on smh

has a trendy low platform bed with a very soft duvet, lots of pillows and a gag gift stuffy from mattsun and the sheets hold the sweet, fruity smell of his room spray representing his never ending sweet tooth

the lighting is also heavily ambient and natural but he has a ceiling light that can have the brightness adjusted, light color and tone changed to fit his mood

his “work” space is really just for him to be on discord with mattsun and other online friends on one screen and updating his fashion blog on another. cute junk decorates his desk like a half-drawn doodle, a thrifted lava lamp, and a rubber duck oikawa got him at the ¥100 store in high school

like mattsun, his room is a little messy but more so in an organized chaos way, like he has a piles of PR boxes he has to go through and review in the corner next to his beanbag chair, laundry he has to put away and a stack of magazines in an upcycled crate

makki is the unemployed friend on a tuesday doing some random side quest, one of which is he’s always adding/removing decor from his space to always keep it fresh but there are staple pieces that must remain and they are usually ones with sentimental value (always related to his friends)

much love to @heiayen and @qichun for contributing and letting me yap abt in discord <3

[11vein]

Hello! 11vein, this is my first time sending you an ask so I hope I am doing this properly! Anyways—

I want to know what inspired you and everybody else in Team 6x11 to choose to set the story of Qualia Automata in Iraq, out of all the Middle-Eastern countries. Like, I know that Carbon Monoxide on your team is Iraqi, but still, my question remains that why Iraq specifically? I’m not Iraq, but I live in an Arab country and, from my observations of cross-cultural representation, countries like the UAE and Iran and Saudi Arabia, as examples, are usually represented more often in stories set in the Middle East. So I was wondering why you folks chose Iraq as the setting for the story of Qualia Automata, and I’ll be glad to hear how you were inspired to do so as well. Tell me all about what brought the team to the decision. Reply back soon, please!

i wish i could say we had an elaborate reason to make QA's story based out of a futuristic iraq, but it was kinda spontaneous haha. we were deciding the ethnicity of tamari and went with iraqi because some of the members knew someone who was iraqi (carbon monoxide) who we could consult for further ideas. this later led to them being added to the team :) i asked carbon for further input: "while i can't speak for why the team chose to make tamari arab initially, i can say that i haven't seen too many experiences related to my specific ethnicity depicted in media, and it's something i've been wanting to work more towards. iraq occupies an interesting place in american culture, i feel; most americans know of iraq ofc and know of the iraq war, but if u were to ask a random person on the street, they likely wouldn't be able to tell u much about the country outside of that. my family had to escape as war refugees when i was extremely little, but i'd very commonly fly back home to spend long vacations with extended family. i'm very intimately familiar with the effects of war, it was fundamental to my development and my identity as an iraqi person. infrastructure was still ruined from bombs dropping, streets were destroyed or not maintained at all, power would very routinely go out and i vividly remember need to grope around in the dark for flashlights and fighting with my cousins for the limited supply of lamps, and that's all stuff that was YEARS after the actual conflict. not to mention all the generational trauma, the metaphorical and cultural scars that war creates that has ruined people and families.the first-hand accounts of war from the perspectives of my mother and older siblings were extremely harrowing.

when i first moved to america, it shocked me how little people knew about iraq, how deeply-embedded imperialist propaganda was baked within the fibres of american culture. a lot of people i'd met were completely ignorant to this thing that shaped everything about me before i was even born, that blew me away.

qualia automata of course isn't ABOUT the iraq war, it's set years afterwards and it was never meant to really reflect any sort of real-world historical events. but i put a lot of myself and my family into these characters, and just by virtue of me being iraqi and helping write iraqi characters, i've seen war refugees from my country comment on how they relate to what's being represented. fayrouz in particular was the character i had the biggest hand in shaping, and she's someone who's deeply-molded by generational trauma, and the attitudes iraqi women had to adopt in order to survive during such awful times being passed down throughout the years. it's the type of thing only other people with these experiences would be able to immediately point out, but i'm always happy when people do

that and i think it's very useful to just write about iraqi people as, well, people. there's a stigma around arabs especially, but like i said before iraqis occupy a very unique space within american culture, so i think it helps normalize these cultures and experiences by just, having characters exist as they are!"

[the-indigo-symphony]

Gonna be the change I want to see in the world today. Time to talk about astigmatism.

So people usually know astigmatism from that one "astigmatism versus normal vision" post about artificial lights (like car headlights or street lamps) having a lot of extra glare if you have astigmatism – something which makes it hard to actually see the object causing that light, especially at night. Which is true! But that's not all astigmatism is.

Astigmatism is a visual condition (problem with your eyesight) in which your eye isn't as round as it should be, and as a result, light isn't reflected into your eyes the right way. This makes your vision blurry – and unlike farsightedness or nearsightedness, it's blurry at all distances! This also results in seeing a lot more "glare" or "haze" from artificial lights, which is what inspired those comparison pictures I mentioned earlier. This causes a lot of problems at night, when there's no natural light to help out your eyes, and you have to rely on artificial light to get around or just... do things in general.

Can you guess what other common situation also involves a lot of artificial light, which means it may be harder to navigate if you have astigmatism?

That's right! Using any type of screen also means staring directly at a lot of artificial light, and let me tell you, ouch! The strain that puts on your eyes when you have astigmatism is not fun! Using a screen when you have astigmatism is a lot more difficult, and I've gotten plenty of headaches from doing so. This is what led me to seek help, since it was causing me to struggle in classes I was otherwise keeping up with just fine. If you struggle with seeing/reading/understanding things when they're on a screen, but everything seems fine when you look away from the screen, you may wish to consider asking an eye doctor about astigmatism.

A more well-known sign about astigmatism is the "overlay" we see all the time. The best way I can describe it – and the way I described it at my eye doctor appointment – was that it's like everything you see has been duplicated, shifted over a little, and made half transparent. (There's a great video by Antonio the Optometrist on YouTube with examples!) This was my second big sign that I had astigmatism, and let me tell you, seeing the world without that overlay is wild! It took me some getting used to. Especially when it came to suddenly being aware that I now had much better perception of where the edges of things were.

"But wait," you might be saying. "Does that mean astigmatism can be treated?" Yes! You can get glasses specifically to help with astigmatism – and if you already have glasses, you can get the adjustment for astigmatism added into your next pair! Other than that, it can help to strain your eyes less – use more natural light, turn down the brightness on your screens, and use physical media over digital media more often. Also, maybe don't drive at night as much, assuming you do. Just as a practical habit.

Astigmatism is more than just "street lights have a starry glare to them", and I know of plenty of people who didn't think they had astigmatism because they chalked up that glare to just the natural reflection of light from their glasses, not knowing there were more signs they could have been on the lookout for. So, I hope this helps somebody out there – even if it's just knowing more about what astigmatism is!