#and old sewing machine for everything else

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Does anyone know anything about replacing light bulbs on sewing machines? I have a Viking Selectronic 6570 and the light bulb just burned out It was my grandma's machine, and I did not even know it had a light for like a solid year of using it. Then it had to get a fairly major repair, and the shop replaced the light bulb, which was a surprise when I turned on the machine for the first time! That shop is unfortunately on the other side of the country from me, and the light is extremely useful when I'm doing super precise sewing

[lemongrad]

Its a Singer model 12, from 1882!

This machine is in excellent working condition, complete with original bobbin winder and 'coffin' lid.

[vincentbriggs]

@once-a-polecat replied to your post “My uncle's friend asked if I wanted this machine...”:

So do Whites have the same parts availability as Singers? I see them around for a fraction of the price, I’ve just been holding out for a Singer because the parts are relatively easy to source. I’ve seen some really lovely White machines tho! I bet yours is going to look stunning when it’s cleaned up. That cabinet is {chefs kiss}

​I don't know, I haven't looked into it because mine's not missing any pieces and still has all 6 bobbins.

I think that as long as you can verify that it has all the parts, and at least one or two bobbins, it probably won't need any new ones.. ever? The little rubber ring on the bobbin winder and the treadle drive belt degrade after a few decades and need replacing, but you can easily buy those, and everything else is highly unlikely to break from regular use.

The one thing I was worried about was accidentally stripping the screws while taking it apart for cleaning, and there was one screw that I didn't quite have the right size of screwdriver for and it started to look a bit ehhhh so I just didn't take that part off. It wasn't one of the really gunky ones anyways, and I did my best to clean around it, and may try again someday if I get more sizes of screwdriver. So I'd advise making sure you have all the right tools before starting and slathering all the stuck bits well in kroil (what the guy in a video I watched yesterday used) or wd-40 (what I used) or some such loosening thing.

It seems like it's very hard to find new bobbins, especially since there are different styles of shuttle and the bobbins are not interchangeable. Mine's a boat style and my bobbins wouldn't work in a bullet style from a couple years later.

While cleaning this thing it hasn't even crossed my mind to wonder where I'd find replacement parts because, well, what could possibly break? Nearly every single piece is cast iron or steel, and it's already been used SO much that the decals on the bottom are almost completely gone just from the amount of fabric that's run over it.

As mentioned in the previous post it's about 140 years old, was owned by a woman who made her living sewing on it for many decades, and it still works just fine! I haven't got the bobbin winder cleaned up yet and it's still off the cabinet, but I couldn't resist trying it out with just the hand wheel (using one of the bobbins that was wound long before I was born) once I got all the bits back on and yeah! Perfect stitches right away!

As long as it's kept well oiled it's just gonna keep on chugging along indefinitely.

Are you seeing these White machines in person at secondhand stores and such? If you can check to make sure they have bobbins and that no pieces are missing, I'd say grab one! Maybe keep some reference pics of working ones so you can look and see, or even better see if you can make a stitch with it before buying it, and presumably if it can do that even slowly and gunkily then it'll just need cleaning like this one did.

By all accounts they're REALLY good machines! I'm super excited to try mine out properly, and to post more about all the features. It has a lip around the bottom of the needle bar so that if some oil drips down it won't get on your needle! Genius!! Why doesn't every machine ever have that?! It's also fairly quiet AND you can adjust the bobbin tension right in the middle of a seam without disturbing the sewing or taking the shuttle out. Incredible.

The manual for mine says "The Best in the World" on it, and while that's just a normal Victorian thing to say about a product, I'm not about to argue with them. There are a few little things that I like better on Singers, such as the quality of the hinges that hold the machine to the cabinet, and the way the presser foot attaches, but all in all this White VSII is extremely goddamn good so far and I have no doubt that once I get the bobbin winder cleaned up it'll also work perfectly!

So yeah, GET ONE!

[runariya]

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 1

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: a lot of fluff, a little bit of lying, good natured 'manipulation', size difference, JK has tentacles, self-doubt, minor wound that needs to be stitched, mentions of bonding, doubt, again lying, kissing, smut (only superficial in this part), lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.8k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 2

You think you might settle here, let your restless stitching hands finally find their rhythm on this planet where the air is soft and the light through the windows of your little shop lands like golden thread across the floor. It feels right, this place, Euphonis—a world you once stumbled upon like a loose button in a drawer, an afterthought, but now it glows in your mind like the warm thrum of a needle through fabric. The shop is everything you’d imagined and more, dressed in rustic charm, the old wood floor beneath your feet creaking like a whispered conversation, a relict of the lives it has seen, the weight of Seraphenti footsteps heavier than your own feathery steps. No need for a bell at the door, no chime to herald each customer; the groan of the boards will sing their entry for you, a music of its own.

You’ve been a seamstress for as long as your memory stretches, threading your way through worlds in search of something like home, always with the same soft hope in your chest, the same search for people who need your craft. Zyntis and its inhabitants had seemed promising once—their tails awkward in standardised clothing that never quite fit—but your style had no place there, and so the doors of that shop closed, the dream dissolving before it could begin. And then, by some strange luck—or maybe fate—, you found yourself here, among the Seraphentis, creatures of ethereal beauty, their four tentacles making clothes ill-fitting and frustrating, begging for someone with your hands, your skill to fix what never quite sat right on their otherworldly forms.

And now you're here, here with your thread and your scissors, ready to stitch together lives just a little better, one custom piece at a time, easing the small burdens of misfit garments, making life smoother—seamless, you think with a soft smile.

Late in the afternoon, the shop is quiet, only the rhythmic whirr of your sewing machine filling the small room, your small fingers guiding the fabric beneath the needle with every beat of your heart. You're working on a dress for yourself, something soft and simple to soothe the days behind and look forward to the days ahead. The fabric is delicate, like a promise, and you're so absorbed in its flow that you don't hear the front door until the floor itself betrays the presence of another—footsteps, nearly silent but for the familiar creak beneath their weight.

You stop, hands stilling the machine as you lift your gaze and stand up without much thought, and there—there stands a Seraphenti in the middle of your shop, framed by the light like something out of a dream. Your breathing comes to a sudden stop, not for the first time, at the sheer beauty of these beings, but this one—this one is something else entirely. His face holds you, every line and curve more perfect than any sculpture, his dark eyes deep as midnight, lashes long and thick like the edge of a brush dipped in ink. His lips, rosy and gleaming, part slightly when he sees you—when he realises you are not what he expected, a human, let alone one as small as you, much shorter than any Seraphenti, standing before him in a tailor's shop meant for his species.

You feel his surprise, she him staring unsure at you, but you also feel his warmth, his curiosity. The corners of your eyes crinkle into a smile, the kind that stretches wide and genuine, your teeth flashing in welcome as you call out to him with your soft, cheery voice, "Hello, welcome! What can I do for you?"

It’s as if your words break a spell. He smiles back—radiant, confident in a way that catches you off guard for a second, though there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel at ease. He steps forward, his tall build filling the room, and you have to tilt your head back so far that you almost laugh from the sheer height of him.

"Hi," he says with a dialect, his voice rich and warm. "I was hoping to have my shirt customised… if that's possible?"

"Of course!" You can't help the excitement in your voice—he’s your first customer here on Euphonis, and that alone makes you practically beam. You gesture towards the small podium you’ve had specially made for your size, a donut-shaped stand meant to let you reach your taller clients with ease. „If you’d come with me, I just need to take your measurements."

He follows you, but pauses when his right foot lands on the podium, eyeing the contraption with a look of mild confusion before you giggle and explain, "Oh, the donut’s for me, not you. Just step into the middle."

Realisation dawns across his handsome face, and a high-pitched laugh escapes him, shaking his broad shoulders. He looks down at you, and suddenly you both burst into uncontrollable laughter, cracking up like it’s the funniest thing in the world. You hold your stomach as your side begins to ache, tears prickling at your eyes as you try to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry," he manages between laughs, wiping away tears as well. "It's just… brilliant."

"No, no need to apologise!" You smile, cheeks aching from the shared moment. "It's fine, really."

You both manage to calm down long enough for him to step into the circle, and you climb onto the podium behind him. Despite the elevation, he towers over you still, and the two of you exchange a look in the mirror—your heads tilted in different directions as if caught in some ridiculous dance move. The sight is too much; you both burst into laughter again, leaning on each other to stay upright, wheezing without restraint.

When all the laughter finally runs out of your systems, he straightens, offering you a playful smirk. „You know, I’ve always been one of the taller ones."

"Really?" You quip, pretending to be shocked. "I never would have guessed."

His eyes light up, the sparkle of amusement never leaving as he says, "I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"I'm ___," you reply, meeting his gaze in the mirror once more. "Nice to meet you, Jungkook. Now, let’s get those measurements, shall we?"

You begin your work, tape in hand, as you move around him, tracing the lines of his strong frame, marvelling at the way his body seems to have been carved by some masterful sculptor. Each muscle is defined, even beneath the fabric of his shirt, and you focus hard to keep your hands steady, to keep from letting your admiration spill over into something too obvious. Every so often, you catch him watching you in the mirror, a soft smile playing at his lips, his dark eyes warm and knowing as if reading your mind, though he says nothing—just lets you work.

When you reach his back, the challenge becomes clear—his tentacles rise at your approach, like a loom adjusting its threads to some unseen hand. They stand tall and tense, alert and protective, sensing your presence but unsure whether to trust. You reach out slowly, letting the back of your hand hover near them, allowing them to ‚sniff‘ you, in a way. Slowly, reluctantly, they relax, draping back down, though they remain distant, uninterested in interacting with you. You can’t help but feel a small pang of disappointment—Seraphenti tentacles are usually more curious, more playful—but Jungkook’s seem reserved, almost dismissive.

Still, you carry on, finishing the measurements with care, even as a quiet sadness lingers in your thoughts. "We’re done," you say, the words soft as you both step off and out of the podium, heading towards a dresser that you use as a counter, and jot down the remaining notes.

Jungkook hands you his shirt from a small backpack you hadn’t noticed before. “When can I pick it up?”

“Three days?” you suggest, hoping to give it the time and attention it deserves.

“That works for me,” he says with a nod, and you scribble the pickup date on a small slip of paper, passing it to him along with a smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say, handing him the receipt. “See you in three days.”

“Thank you, too, ___,” he says, his voice softer now, a touch of warmth lacing his words as he leaves your shop.

And just like that, the door closes behind him, leaving you alone again in the soft light of the afternoon, your heart fluttering silently in your chest.

Three days after your first encounter, Jungkook returns to your shop. The wooden floors creak softly beneath his weight as he steps inside, and despite knowing he’s coming, the sight of him still sends a ripple through you, as if the world itself bends gently towards him. He’s all smiles and easy charm, his presence large enough to fill the room but never overwhelming. You hand him his shirt with a small sense of pride fluttering in your chest, neatly wrapped in tissue paper and a cute little sticker holding its edges. You’ve sewn every stitch with care, crafted every seam with precision, and when he leaves with a grateful smile and a wave, you feel light as air, like you’ve woven a thread of connection to a customer that might just hold.

But the next week, he’s back. You hear the familiar creak of the floorboards and turn to see him holding the same shirt, this time with an apologetic frown lining his beautiful face. There’s a tear where you made your customisation, a delicate seam pulled apart. You feel a knot of dread form in your stomach, tightening until it’s nothing but uncomfortable. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the shirt from him, running your fingers along the damaged thread. You apologise profusely, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and promise to fix it at no charge. He reassures you—says it’s not a big deal, that things like this happen—but you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve failed him.

You spend the next few hours painstakingly re-stitching the seam, checking it over and over to ensure it holds. It’s perfect when you hand it back, and Jungkook thanks you warmly, that familiar smile returning to his face as he leaves. Still, something gnaws at you, a quiet voice at the back of your mind whispering doubts into your ear.

Then he returns again.

And again.

Each time with the same shirt, each time with a small tear, a rip where you’ve sewn. Your heart sinks deeper with every visit, each one like a tiny unravelling of the confidence you’d worked so hard to build. You start to dread the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet, the sight of that perfect face marked with apology. Your hands shake when you work now, the thread slipping from your grasp more often than it used to, and the needle seems to prick your skin more than it should, small beads of red appearing where your focus falters.

By the time he comes back for the seventh time in three months, the weight of it all becomes too much. The sight of him walking through the door feels like a final thread snapping, the tension that’s been building in your chest pulling so tight that it finally breaks in two. You’ve tried your best, given it everything, and still, you’re failing miserably—still, your work isn’t enough. You can feel the tears already welling in your eyes before you even greet him.

The door shuts behind him with that same familiar groan of wood against wood, and you’re already pulling the apron from your waist, the knot in your stomach so tight it hurts.

“Jungkook,” you say, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes a step closer, holding the shirt loose in his hand by his side. “What? ___, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, the words coming out before you can stop them, tumbling over one another like loose yarn spilling from a spool. “I don’t know why it keeps happening. Every time I fix it, it just—breaks again. I don’t understand. I’ve never had this problem before. Maybe my work isn’t… maybe I’m not…” You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks now, your hands shaking as you press them to your face, trying to hide the wave of emotion washing over you. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Jungkook’s face falls, and suddenly he’s in front of you, his free hand hovering just above yours as if unsure whether he should touch you or not. “___, no, please don’t say that. It’s not—”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you continue as your hands fall limply to your sides, your voice breaking as you choke out the words. “Every time you come back, it feels like I’ve failed. I don’t know why the thread keeps breaking, why I can’t make it work. It’s like every time I stitch it together, something inside me frays even more, and I just… I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in panic, and he quickly closes the distance between you, reaching out to gently take your miniature hand in his big one. His touch is warm, his fingers curling around yours with a softness that paralyses you momentarily. “No, no, it’s not you. ___, it’s not your work. Your stitching is perfect. It’s me—” He stops, inhaling deeply, his eyes darting around the shop for a moment as if he’s gathering the courage to say something. Then he lets out a burdened breath, looking back at you with a pained expression. “I did it. I—I damaged the shirt on purpose.”

You blink up at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “What?”

“I damaged it on purpose,” he repeats, his voice low and apologetic, like a child confessing a misdeed. “I—I just… I wanted to keep seeing you.”

You think you might faint, your mind struggling to process his words. “You… you tore the shirt… on purpose?”

Jungkook nods, his face and ears burning with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just—after the first time, when I saw how careful you were, how much you cared, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I didn’t know how else to see you again, so I—” He gestures helplessly to the shirt in his hand, offering it to you like if it were the culprit, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I kept damaging it. A little more each time, just so I’d have an excuse to come back.”

You stare up at him, unblinking, wondering if you imagined his confidence or not. But still, there are equal parts disbelief and something else that settles within you—something that feels strangely like relief, like the loosening of a knot that’s been pulling tight for months. The silence between you stretches, Jungkook’s nerves flaring, as your mind is still trying to catch up with everything he’s just said.

“Why?” you finally manage to ask, your voice small, barely more than a whisper.

Jungkook meets your eyes, his expression softening as he takes a deep breath. “Because… I like you,” he admits, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting too long to be spoken. “I liked you from the moment I walked in here the first time. I didn’t know how to ask you out. I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same, or that you’d think I was ridiculous, so I—well, I made up reasons to keep coming back. To keep seeing you. But it’s not because you’re not good at your job—you’re amazing at it,___. It’s because I didn’t want to stop seeing you.”

His confession washes over you like a warm shower after a long exhausting day, the self-doubt that had been festering inside you slowly dissolving under the gentle flutter of his words. You take a breath, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks as you search his face, looking for any sign that this might be some kind of joke or misunderstanding—but all you see is sincerity, and a nervous kind of hope.

“I…” You falter, still trying to wrap your mind around everything, but there’s a warmth blooming in your chest now, a quiet happiness that wasn’t there since Jungkook came back with the damaged shirt. You look down at your hands, still held gently in his, and let out a small, breathless laugh. “You tore your shirt… just to see me?”

Jungkook nods, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Pretty stupid, right?”

A laugh escapes you, soft but genuine, the tension in your chest finally releasing. “Maybe a little,” you admit, looking up at him with a small, flirty smile of your own. “But… kind of sweet, too.”

His eyes brighten at that, relief flooding his expression as he squeezes your hands gently. “I’m sorry, though. I should’ve just… told you. I didn’t mean to make you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, wiping away the last of your tears. “It’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t great thinking I was losing my touch, but… I guess I can’t be too upset. Not now that I know why.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, the quiet between you no longer heavy with doubt. It’s strange, how quickly everything has shifted—how the world has gone from tipping over to balancing out again in a way you hadn’t expected. You take a breath, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

“So… what now?” you take a breath to shush the shyness away, feeling a soft warmth settle in your chest as you meet Jungkook’s eyes once more.

Jungkook’s smile widens, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as he gently tugs you a little closer. “Well, for starters, I’ll stop tearing my clothes on purpose,” he laughs quietly. “And maybe… we could try seeing each other outside of the shop? If you’re interested, that is.”

Your small heart skips a beat at his offer, and for the first time in months, the doubt inside you is nowhere to be found. You nod, a beaming smile on your face as you look up at him. “Yeah,” you say softly, “I think I’d like that.”

And just like that, you love story with Jungkook begins.

It's been months since you and Jungkook started seeing each other. Since that day he walked into your shop with his torn shirt, a thread of connection was spun between you, and what started as something delicate, tentative—like a stitch holding two fragile fabrics together—soon grew into something much stronger, blossoming from strangers to friends, to finally, without much fanfare, to a couple. You’ve gone from quiet cups of coffee shared in the mornings, the smell of roasted beans lacing the air between you, to nights spent curled up together on his sofa, the noise of the world fading away, leaving just the warmth and quiet intimacy of kisses. You’ve woven yourselves securely into each other’s lives, slowly, stitch by stitch, until the fabric of your days has become so interwoven that it’s hard to remember what life was like before the other.

There’s an ease to your relationship now, a rhythm you’ve both fallen into—domestic moments that feel as familiar and comforting as the soft creak of old wood beneath your feet in the shop. You cook together, hands brushing as you pass ingredients back and forth, Jungkook’s arms sneaking around your waist to tease you, pulling you closer just for the joy of feeling your body near his. You help each other with mundane tasks—he rearranges your bolts of fabric while you pin a garment to a mannequin, and in turn, you fold his laundry as he hums some quiet melody under his breath.

But not everything in this tapestry is perfect. There are pulls, tangles in the threads that remind you of the things you can’t control—the Seraphenti tentacles that constantly test for bonds, seeking to see if they align with others, exploring compatibility in ways that no words could, to merge together and never be able to part again. You’ve learned this since the beginning, understanding that his tentacles are almost their own beings, extensions of him yet with wills of their own. It’s natural for them, simply biology, to seek connections, to sniff and sense, and while you try to remind yourself that this is simply part of who he is, it doesn’t stop the sharp tug of fear when you see those tentacles reach for someone else, when they can’t seem to even recognise your presence. It made you feel a little nervous but had never truly been an issue in your relationship—until now.

You are standing in line at a fast food stall, a simple joy, the scent of fried food and warm spices lingering in the air, when everything you silently feared catches up with you, when the sky above is bruised with twilight, such as your soul soon will be. 

It starts as one of those easy moments that feels like the perfect stitch at the end of a long day—a moment of peace, of completion. But then, a female Seraphenti joins the line next to your stall, her silvery skin catching the fading light like a needle glinting in the sun.

You feel the change in Jungkook before you even see it. His body tenses, his movements growing hesitant. You look up and see his tentacles rising slowly, drawn towards hers as though pulled by an invisible thread. Your heart skips a beat, then begins to unravel, that quiet sense of peace fraying as you watch his tentacles move closer towards hers with instinctive curiosity. They hover between them like two stray threads, exploring, seeking a bond, and your chest tightens, painfully so. You try to swallow the bitter knot of jealousy that forms in your throat, but it just can’t go down, too raw, too sharp.

Jungkook’s face pales beside you, and you can see the silent dread and panic in his eyes. He glances at you briefly, as if to reassure you, but it does nothing when his eyes tell. You stand there, frozen, the world around you tilting again, as your eyes focus solely on the quiet, delicate dance of their tentacles. They move closer and closer, testing, curious. And the worst part is that this isn’t some conscious decision of his—this is simply biology, a force stronger than either of you. But knowing that doesn’t stop your heart from sinking like a stone in a bottomless well.

Time seems to stretch and elongate like a spool of thread unwinding too quickly, and the tension becomes unbearable for you. The female Seraphenti seems uninterested in anything but the exploration of the menu ahead, her tentacles floating lazily in the air, waiting for the connection to either solidify or break apart. Jungkook watches with a grieving expression, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, but then, with a sudden, vicious snap, his tentacles attack hers, which recoil with equal ferocity, as Jungkook lets a breath of pure relief escape his body.

There’s a soft gasp from the crowd around you, eyes drawn But it’s short-lived, as the gasps of the crowd around you is heard, Jungkook winces, and you notice immediately that one of his tentacles is curling back toward him, wounded. You’re at his side before you even think, your hands brushing against his arm as you whisper, “Let’s go home.”

He nods, his face still pale, and together you leave the stall behind, walking in absolute silence. His injured tentacle hangs limply, the fabric of your connection feeling threadbare, frayed by what just happened. You can feel it—both the physical pain in him and the emotional sting in yourself, the wound of knowing that his tentacles sought something with another, even if it didn’t take root.

Back at his flat, the quiet is almost suffocating you as Jungkook glances at you with eyes filled with relief, shame, and something you can’t quite place. He sinks onto the sofa, his movements defeated, and you immediately fetch the small first aid kit from his bathroom. And still, Jungkook only watches you in silence as you kneel beside him, your hands gentle as you begin to clean the small cut on his tentacle. There’s a strange sort of comfort in this—tending to him, mending the damage like patching a torn garment. But underneath it all, there’s a sadness that you can’t shake, something threatening to break everything fully.

You move carefully, your fingers working with the same precision you use when sewing—steady, practised, almost automatic. His tentacles, usually so independent, seem to allow your touch this time, curling slightly but not retreating. You feel their warmth under your fingers, the living pulse of them, and for the first time, they seem to recognise your presence not as something to ignore or push away, but as something to co-exist, if only just.

As you prepare the needle to stitch the small tear, you try to lighten the mood, though the weight of earlier still hangs between you both. You glance up at him with a faint smile and joke, “I’m sorry I’m missing the nurse outfit. Would’ve made this whole thing more convincing, don’t you think?”

Jungkook looks down at you, his confusion evident. “A nurse outfit?”

You laugh softly, though the sound is fragile like your nerves, thin like thread worn from overuse. “Yeah, you know. Nurses—like the assistants to doctors. They take care of people when they’re hurt. Stitch them up, give them medicine, that sort of thing.”

He frowns slightly, thinking it over. “Like a healer’s apprentice?”

You nod, threading the needle carefully, the familiar rhythm of sewing calming your nerves slightly. “Sort of. They don’t do the magic or the rituals, but they do everything else. They’re the ones who actually keep people alive most of the time.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch into a small smile, though there’s still a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You’d make a good nurse,” he says quietly. “Or a healer’s apprentice.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I’ll stick to tailoring for now. But thanks.”

The silence that follows again is filled with unsaid words and emotions. You finish stitching the wound, tying off the thread with careful fingers, but as you do, the lingering ache in your chest only grows sharper, the tentacles again retreating from you in an instant. You place the needle aside and sit back on your heels, exhaling slowly as you try to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers suddenly, his voice full of sorrow. “I hate that this happened. I hate that you had to see it.”

You glance up at him, and the raw sincerity in his eyes makes your heart twist painfully. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, it might shatter you whole. “I know it’s just… how things are. But that doesn’t make it any easier.” You lower your gaze, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up behind your eyes. “It’s hard not to feel like… one day, your tentacles are going to decide I’m not good enough. That there’s someone else out there who fits you better.”

Jungkook’s expression saddens even more, and he reaches out, his hand finding yours, even if it’s the only thing searching for you. His fingers are warm and big, as he squeezes your hand tenderly. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, though you know its a lie. “They don’t decide everything. They’re curious, yes. But they’re not the ones who get to choose who I love.”

You know he’s lying, you know he’s only trying to mend what’s broken. “But what if they do? What if one day, they find someone else and—”

“I’ll fight them,” Jungkook interrupts, his voice resolute. He looks at you with such conviction, such certainty, that for a moment, you almost believe him entirely. “If they ever try to pull me away from you, I’ll fight them. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

His words hang between you, like the final knot that holds the end of a stitch secure, binding it in place so it won’t come undone. And though there’s still doubt lingering in your heart, there’s also a quiet hope you want to follow blindly.

You manage a small smile, though your voice trembles slightly when you speak. “I hope that’s true,” you whisper, now lying to yourself as well. “Because I want you too. More than anything.”

Jungkook leans closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin like the brush of soft fabric. “It is true,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I promise.”

Jungkook then kisses you slowly, tenderly, like he has so many times before, but now there’s a sadness, a longing beneath it. You can feel it in the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath is restricted, the way his touch lingers longer than usual. It’s in the soft pull of his mouth, the way his fingers hold you like he’s afraid you might slip away. His fear, his desperation—they seep into the kiss, bitter, and you taste it with every breath, every trembling press of lips.

He pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, holding you close, as if your bodies can protect each other from the truth untold. Your hands find their way to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair—soft, silken strands flowing between your fingers. His hands glide up from your thighs, tracing your spine, pressing you closer as they move higher, over your back, until they reach your neck, cradling it with a touch that is both tender and desperate. He holds you like you’re the last solid thing he can grasp in a world that’s threatening to crumble.

The kiss deepens, turning heated as the desperation between you grows. Your fear mirrors his, gnawing worry that clings to your being, tightening in your throat. You can’t stop thinking about the possibility of losing him—of waking up one morning, still wrapped in his arms, only to have him slip away from you without warning some hours later, taken by a bond you have no control over. The thought haunts you, lingers in your mind as your kiss becomes more frantic, more painful. It’s like you’re both trying to escape the fear, but the harder you cling to each other, the closer it seems to get.

Jungkook lifts your small form effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom without breaking the kiss, his steps hurried, like he’s trying to outrun something. When you finally reach the bed, your hands are on him, frantically pulling at his clothes with shaking hands as he pulls at yours, both of you desperate to strip away the layers separating your skin. You kiss him harder, desperate to forget, to lose yourself in him, to forget the race against the clock that neither of you wants to see.

You can barely savour this moment, the moment that should have meant everything, that moment when you finally allowed your bodies to connect in the only way possible. You don’t even stop to take in the sight of him—the way his body is revealed to you, inch by inch, until he stands before you completely bare. You don’t take the time to marvel at his beauty, the strength of him, the way he seems to tower over you with his sheer size. All you can think about is the sadness, the dark cloud that lingers over this moment, threatening to suffocate any joy you might have felt. You barely even register the difference between your bodies when he finally presses into you—his size, the way your body stretches around him, the sharp sting of pain that follows. It’s all distant, muffled, like you’re watching it happen to someone else, detached and numb.

But Jungkook’s eyes, they’re wide, filled with sorrow and longing, and his voice breaks as he whispers, over and over, a chant of reassurance that he’s trying so hard to believe. “I love you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.” He repeats it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times will make it true, will make the fear disappear.

But the words only echo between the slap of flesh, but you can’t find the strength to respond. You want to—want to tell him you love him too, that you’ll never leave, that you’ll fight for this with everything you have—but the cloud has taken hold, and the words stick in your throat, unable to escape. Instead, you stay silent, letting his words fill the space between you, hoping they’re enough for both of you, even as doubt and sadness weigh heavy on your chest.

And when you both reach that moment of release, it feels hollow—beautiful on the surface, but fragile beneath. The euphoria that should have filled you instead leaves you feeling emptier than before, breaking your heart even more. You lay there with him, tangled in the sheets, your bodies pressed together, but it’s as though a chasm has opened up between you. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. This isn’t how you imagined your first time with him, how you thought your love would feel.

Instead, all you’re left with is the silence that follows and more tears in your eyes than you can hold back. You wonder if this is your new reality—living each day with the constant worry that he might be taken from you. You wonder if the love between you might not be enough to keep you together in the end. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at him again without that pang of uncertainty and sadness.

You wonder…

masterlist • 2

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for part 2 and eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024

[leveragehunters]

Back in ye olde small phone days, I had this little pouch that clipped to my backpack strap and it was so great - my phone and transit card (and mini Maglite, chapstick, earphones etc) were right there! No having to dig them out of my pack! But all joy is fleeting and when I upgraded my phone, it didn't fit. No more convenient pouch.

Except fast forward to now, in possession of both loom and sewing machine, and it hit me that I could just...make one that did fit. So I did!

I wove the cloth on the rigid heddle out of 4ply merino/silk and the bands on the inkle loom out of 8/4 cotton, grabbed some quilting cotton for the lining, and sewed them all up into a little zippered pouch.

A band runs up the back with a clip that clips to the D-ring, and I sewed velcro to the side bands to wrap around the strap and secure it in place. It holds my phone and everything else, right where I need them, and I'm so chuffed!

[furiousgoldfish]

To all of you who are feeling behind on survival skills, worried you won't be able to succeed in life because you're not allowed to learn/not able to learn, I want you to know that some basics are extremely easy to get once you're able to try it on your own, or even just have one person explain it to you.

When I ran away from home, I didn't know how to cook, I wasn't allowed to learn, and first month or so, I was preoccupied with just learning how to cook. What I learned was that it was far more easy than my parents ever made it seem. If you're trying to cook just for proper nutrition and not make some fancy meals, most of what you have to do is heat the groceries, and salt them. If you cut up some vegetables and put them in water an add salt, you will have a soup. If you lay them on a tray and put them in the oven, you've made food. You can put stuff in a pan with some oil and stir it on heat and you have a meal. For basic eating, it can be really that simple. I also was able to pick stuff up just from my roommates, who would happily answer my questions, and a lot of people out there will happily explain to you how they make a certain food, and of course, there's video tutorials for specific meals, if you want to make something more complex. Once you have absolute freedom in the kitchen, you will pick this up rapidly.

I have never used a washing machine prior to running away, and then one person showed me once how to use one, and that was that. I was washing-machine certified after that. I gained extra knowledge about cleaning it on the internet, and some people randomly had tips for me about it. I learned to handwash later as well, and that works good too.

I've struggled at the beginning, to find easy and cheap ways to get stuff; the most common way to get things is to go to the store, but I didn't have a lot of money, and buying things was too expensive for me. I've since discovered just where to find the second-hand markets, how to get people to give me their old clothing so I never have to buy any, how to temper with stuff I have so I wouldn't have to buy anything, at this point I even know how to fix shoes and sew my own stuff. I've fixed blinds on almost every window in here, without even knowing how, I just dismantled everything and figured it out. I've put together closets and lamps. I've learned to open up my own laptop and change the parts inside, I've even changed the screen on my own, by watching a video on how it's done. I've learned how to repaint walls, how to tend to plants, how to maintain a living space. Often I'd see someone else who is able to do these things, and just ask. People who are not parents have no reason to gatekeep this information, and they proudly told me how they do it.

I've learned to organize my stuff to the point where I'm able to easily clean a big mess, and I don't get overwhelmed with things anymore. I've had to do some reading on the internet to figure out the situation with finances and economy, and I also asked some people, got wildly different answers from every person. When I have the opportunity to chat with someone who has a specific job, I ask them about what they do, and have them describe to me how that field of work functions. It gave me insight into a lot of inner workings of society that were previously a mystery to me.

I was able to figure this all out while having zero faith in myself; I believed I was stupid, incapable of survival, honestly thought I would be dead within few months. I was reading army survival guides so I could survive in the wild if I ever got homeless. I was learning even without believing that all of this would help me, it's only now looking back at everything that I understand how much knowledge I gained just from trying it and doing it in every possible way until it clicked.

The most complex for me, were the social skills, since I'm still easily scared of people. But I am slowly making progress on that and finding better ways to deal with people's behaviours. Being curious works well because people love when someone is curious about them and shows interest in what they do. It's been a revelation that outside of my home, I really can just ask any question I am interested about, and will usually get some kind of an answer, and not 'how do you not know this already'. Outside of abusive homes, you're not expected to know everything, without ever being told.

While survival skills and independence are deeply forbidden in an abusive situation, being out of one will practically guarantee you that you'll get them. Sometimes you'll be forced to learn some stuff like cleaning and cooking and you'll have no choice but to learn, and it will become easier the more you do it. But nobody will make you feel bad for not doing it right the first time, there will be no punishment, no berating, you're free mess it up any amount of times, without any consequences. I would say that maybe you wasted some time and effort, but no time or effort is truly wasted when you're learning something; rather it takes that time and effort to learn. But it's not painful, it's not shameful, it's not forbidden anymore. You can learn a lot of things at your own ease and convenience, without worrying about someone's opinion on what you're doing. You can also learn dumb things and never be criticized or called out on it, you can do absolutely ridiculous stuff that brings you joy and no harm is done.

I know feeling behind sucks, and it feels shameful and horrible, but the good news is that you can catch up very quickly, and not only that. If you really want to have a lot of survival skills under your belt, and you keep learning, you will soon know more than most people do. You can out-do any person out there if you have a passion for it. I had people who were telling me how to do basic stuff, surprised at me knowing more than they knew, just months later. It's a great feeling!

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

Crave.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

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A/N: This started out as an Halloween prompt but morphed into something else entirely.

Today is my birthday. I never really enjoyed celebrating birthdays but this time I wanted to celebrate by gifting you one of my favourite things in the world.

So please enjoy this little fic about desperate whiny subby Jake.

I really can't help myself, as much as I adore mean dom Jake, my heart always leads me to picture him as an absolute whiny mess of a good boy.

He makes me want to ruin him.

This was hardly proofread, sorry for any mistakes.

Join the taglist here

Word count: 4.9K

Pairing: Jake x female!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+ONLY, graphic sexual content, oral (m!receiving), anal play, rimming and digital penetration (m!receiving), toys, sub!jake.

Summary: You were mad at each other. What was the worst thing that could possibly happen?

________________________________

The sound of an old western playing on the TV in the living room was starting to get on your nerves as you tried to wrap your head about what you were planning to do.

Jake was sprawled on the sofa, freshly showered, with a throw blanket around his legs and his guitar on his lap.

He was strumming a lazy tune, taking turns between watching the TV and observing you as you worked and gradually lost your mind over the crazy project you had embarked upon because of him.

Jake knew you were fairly talented with the sewing machine, thanks to your grandmother who had taught you everything you needed to know to fix your own clothes.

So he had asked you if you could try to fix his beloved blue jeans that he hardly separated from.

He was basically asking you to perform an extreme rescue operation on them. They were so tattered and torn that you were afraid you would have to toss in the towel and admit defeat.

But Jake had become so attached to them that you really didn't want to let him down.

You had to try at least.

That's why you had spent the entire morning driving around and shopping for any kind of supplies you needed, to perform an action that would have made Doctor Frankenstein jealous.

You had spent the afternoon stitching and unstitching fabric and changing your mind about almost everything you did.

Now the sky was dark outside, your hands were starting to cramp and your fingers hurt from the amount of time you had pierced yourself with the needle. You were starting to lose your mind and on top of that you were starving.

Everything seemed to irritate you the further you went on.

The ticking of the clock on the wall, the buzzing noise of the fridge, the drip of the sink you had never managed to fix were driving you insane the more frustrated you became with the fabric.

But what infuriated you the most was in fact Jake.

He kept staring at you as if he wanted to say or do something. And he had been acting like that the entire day.

In the morning, you had woken up with his needy scorching hot body wrapped around yours and his lips on your neck. You were about to abandon yourself to him but then your eyes had fallen on the alarm clock. You were already late for your errands so with a heavy heart you had to push him away and get dressed quickly.

He had been pouting and huffing ever since that moment, like a child feeling neglected because his mum didn't buy him candies.

He got dressed in silence and even rejected the simple breakfast you offered him, slamming the car door and sighing loudly

When he understood that his behaviour wasn't having his desired effect with you, he decided to plot something else.

You saw the little smirk on his lips the moment the two of you entered the shop.

He disappeared.

You paid his absence no mind and asked the shop assistant about the fabric you were looking for and she motioned you towards a large table completely covered in rolls of said fabric in different colours and shades.

As the shop assistant showed you a roll of what you thought was the perfect choice, you felt Jake’s presence behind you.

He pressed you against the table with his hips, almost imperceptibly for anyone to notice but enough for letting you feel him, hot and hard against your ass.

You were about to ask him what he thought about that fabric when you felt his breathing close to your ear and shivered as he spoke with his raspy voice.

"I don't like it. It looks cheap" he whispered pressing his hips a bit more against yours and then pushing away altogether, succeding in distracting you and leaving your mind completely blank.

He made you turn three different shops completely upside down before deciding what he wanted. And in all three of them he acted like a little brat, pressing himself against you any chance he got and whispering filthy things into your ear that made you blush in front of the shop assistants.

"I wish she wasn't there, so I could press you against this table and make you scream and clench around this neglected cock of mine, angel" he whispered just as you were about to pay for the fabric.

"But maybe she enjoys watching," he continued.

That caused your card to almost slip from your hands and him to snicker in your ear at your clumsiness.

He even had the courage to reprimand you in front of the cashier.

"Careful angel. Here, take my card" he said, handing the cashier his card and succeding in making your blood boil.

So you decided to play his own game and do what irritated him the most.

You kept ignoring him.

Until now, that you needed him to try on his jeans and maybe make the final arrangements.

You had tried a different thing, since mending the rips was impossible without it showing.

You had basted a different layer of jeans fabric, in a slightly darker shade from the original light wash, covering almost the entire leg and creating a contrast that looked great in your opinion.

"Jake, can you come here for a second, please?" You called him from the kitchen.

He huffed and rolled his eyes before slowly placing his guitar on the sofa and standing up, coming into the kitchen and crossing his arm waiting.

You tried your best not to scoff at his behaviour but your hands were hitching for grasping his shoulders and pining him against the wall.

"What?" He asked you as if he really didn't want to be there.

You ignored him and went on as if you hadn't noticed his pout.

"Just try these on for me, I need to see if this fabric is well basted to the leg" you said motioning to the jeans you were holding.

He looked you in the eyes for a few seconds and then, with his eyes still boring holes into yours, he untied his black sweats and let them fall on the ground.

He stepped out of them and then took the jeans from your hands, slowly pulling them up for you to see.

When he had them on, a little smile broke the pout he was still wearing and you felt the tension in the room ease a little.

"Do you like them?" You asked observing how well they fitted him.

"Yeah, I think I do," he told you and smiled.

You noticed a little flaw in the way the two fabrics were basted on the inside of his knee.

"Just, let me check something" you said more to yourself than him, placing a hand on his tummy and pressing him gently against the wall behind him, before dropping to your knees in front of him.

Your fingers slowly reached the inside of his knee and brushed over the fabric.

He gasped and shivered at your touch as if he wasn't expecting that.

You looked up at him, worried.

He wasn't meeting your eyes, his jaw set.

You resumed what you were doing.

You noticed that the problem had affected most of the stitches in the inside of his leg so you turned around to grab the pins to fix it.

Your hand started to make its way upwards on the inside of his thigh towards his crotch.

He tensed at your touch and groaned when your fingers squeezed his muscle.

"Jake, what's wrong?" You asked a little worried.

"Nothing" he answered all too quickly for you to believe him, but you didn't say anything.

You resumed your work and inched your fingers further up his leg.

This time he whimpered and whispered your name.

Your eyes fixated on his face, scrunched up as if he was in pain and then moved downwards, finally becoming aware of the fact that his jeans were becoming tighter and tighter for him.

He twitched in his pants as he saw you were looking right at his crotch.

"Fuck, please" he whispered.

Again, you ignored him.

You started to unstitch the temporary white thread you had used and started to adjust the fabric with your pins.

At some point your fingers slipped and you accidentally stung him on the inside of his thigh.

He whimpered and his hands reached for you. One wrapped around your wrist and the other landed in your hair, caressing you gently.

"Please angel, please" he whispered.

"What do you need, Jake?" You whispered back looking him in the eyes.

"Please, i-it's been all day" he begged, almost whining, desperate.

You pitied him and broke your resolve.

You had tortured him enough.

After all, those big brown doe eyes of his had always been your greatest weakness.

He looked and sounded desperate and you wanted to make him feel good.

You kissed his clothed tummy and you felt his body relax.

His eyes fluttered closed and he whispered a little plea as you lifted his shirt to kiss his soft skin, just underneath his navel.

Your hands pressed on his thighs and you kept nipping and suckling a path down his tummy making him shiver.

You unbuttoned his jeans and slowly slid them a bit down his legs, just enough to expose the grey boxers he was wearing underneath.

His hands quickly reached up to get rid of that item of clothing but you stopped him immediately.

You grasped his wrists and made him place his hands on the wall.

"Keep your hands there, baby. If you move them you are getting nothing." You whispered back looking him in the eyes.

He groaned and tried to complain but all it took was a look from you to stop him.

He realized you meant business.

You tugged at his jeans to bring them further down, to his knees, and then licked a stripe from his navel to the edge of his boxers, before letting go of his shirt to cover him back up.

Then your gaze moved lower and took in the extent of his arousal.

He was undoubtedly hard and straining in his boxers. You could see the outline of his erection pretty clearly.

At that moment you decided to torture him a bit further.

You moved your head closer to him, not enough for your lips to touch him but enough for him to feel your presence and warmth very close.

He begged you again in less than a minute.

He was so needy.

"What's gotten you so riled up, baby?" You questioned letting the elastic band with which you were playing snap against his tummy.

He shook his head and cursed but didn't answer.

He wasn't going to relent.

Unexpectedly you pressed your lips against his covered shaft with a quick peck and he almost doubled over with a groan and grasped your hair with his strong fingers.

You immediately detached from him with a glare that had him apologizing and pressing his hands back against the wall with a defeated sigh, giving you full control.

You pressed your parted lips against him again and moved them gently upwards causing the fabric to drag against him and making him groan.

You reached his head and he cursed when your lips wrapped around him, but still the fabric separated you from his skin.

You sucked at him gently and his hips threatened to push away from the wall but he stopped himself.

You kept your lips there and sucked at him, swirling your tongue against him and wetting the fabric.

A big wet darker spot formed where your saliva was dampening the fabric.

"Fuck, angel" he whimpered and you moved one of your hands from his hip to his upper thigh, caressing the dip between hip and crotch.

A little whiny sound left his lips before he could restrain himself and bite his lips and your hand moved lower.

Your thumb caressed his clothed shaft as your lips kept sucking at his head making him lose his mind excruciatingly slow.

A little sheen of sweat was starting to cover his forehead and he was biting his lips so hard trying not to moan out loud.

Your tongue found the little special spot right under his head that made him tremble and finally you heard his voice, unrestrained and raspy as he moaned.

"Please" he begged already out of breath and you stopped again.

"What got you so worked up, lover boy?" You asked again as your thumb kept stroking up and down his covered shaft.

"N-nothing" he groaned blushing wildly, but you were having none of it.

Something was blocking him from saying what it was.

You stopped the movement of your thumb and he cursed, looking at you absolutely desperate.

"C'mon, baby, tell me, you know you can tell me anything" you whispered.

He shook his head and groaned when you gently grazed your teeth against his tip.

"Angel" he whined, dragging out the word.

"Just please, stop torturing me" he whispered and you started dragging his boxers slightly down.

But then you stopped.

He groaned as you let the fabric end back against him with a loud snap, making him hiss.

"Tell me" you whispered with your lips grazing his erection.

His eyes met yours. Burning and fiery.

"No," he said harshly.

He wasn't going to relent.

So be it.

Your nails dug in his hip and he cursed.

Then your hands trailed lower and he smirked, thinking you were going to give him what he wanted.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Just when you were about to free him from the confines of his boxers, your hand retreated once again, making him curse.

You didn't give him time to do anything because your mouth enveloped his clothed tip and sucked hard, almost making him lose balance.

One of your hands snaked downwards and started massaging his taut balls through the fabric..

He moaned your name loudly, his voice echoing in the room.

You could feel your panties sticking to your skin but every cell of your body was focused on him and his pleasure.

You kept your lips around his tip and with the thumb of your other hand you started caressing his shaft, rock hard and so hot.

"Angel" he warned you.

He was close. His gritted teeth and tense abdomen made you almost feral.

"Think about that forbidden thing you are so adamant about not telling me, baby" you ordered him and his hands squeezed into fists as he bit his lip letting his head fall backwards, exposing his sweaty neck.

You started flicking your tongue on the little spot right under his head, moaning to let him feel the vibrations of your voice against himself and that was it.

"No. Wait…" he tried to say but it was too late.

Before he could stop himself he reached his climax, slamming his hands hard against the wall and coming undone right in his boxers.

The sounds leaving his lips were sinful and made goosebumps raise on your skin.

You felt his warmth spread beneath the wet fabric of his boxers and shivered in need.

He slowly came down from his high and groaned, taking a good look at the state he was in.

"Fuck angel, really?" He complained with a little smirk, "You really made me come in my boxers?!" His incredulous tone made you chuckle.

"I figure I did, lover boy" you whispered and made the wet fabric snap against his hips one last time.

You stood and tried to walk towards your room to get him something clean to wear but he stopped you with a firm grasp on the back of your neck, pinning you to the wall and leaning close to your ear to whisper something.

"You plague my mind all day. And all night too. I dreamt about you doing unspeakable things to me tonight. That's why this morning I was so hard and needy." He bit your bottom hard lip before continuing.

"But all you could think about were those damn pants and you rejected me to go look for a stupid fabric." He rasped into your ear, making you shiver.

"Do you really wanna know what kept me awake tonight and plagued my mind the entire day?" He went on before kissing you passionately.

You nodded and bit his lip back, making him groan.

He pinned you more against the wall and sucked your lobe into his mouth before pressing his lips to your ear and starting to speak.

"I had a dream that you used that damn vibrator I gifted you a couple of months ago to make me come. In my dream it was so messy and hot that I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. When I finally decided I wanted to do something about it you woke up but we had to leave. But I kept imagining it, angel. Fuck I'm imagining it right now." He groaned and pressed his forehead against yours.

Your mind was in overdrive.

"Let's do it. If you want it I want it." You whispered back, shaking lightly.

You were lying. You didn't want it.

You needed it.

You needed to admire him unraveling in front of you.

You had imagined it countless times. But now you wanted to see it with your eyes.

His lips parted in surprise and then he smirked.

"Don't tell me you had already thought about this." He chuckled and you blushed.

"Who knew that my little shy, silent girl had such a dirty mind" he said smugly, laughing.

You pressed your hands on his chest and pushed him backwards until he reached the table.

Then you quickly turned him and pushed his hips against the table with yours.

He cursed.

"Let's see who is going to be the last one laughing, baby" You whispered in his ear from behind.

"Don't you dare move" you ordered him and he groaned but stayed put as you disappeared.

When you came back he was in the same position as before, with his hands on the table and the jeans still around his knees.

One of your hands reached forward and stroked his chest, feeling his sweaty damp shirt, bunching it up and pulling it away from his body altogether.

You started placing little kisses on the junction between his neck and shoulder and when you reached his shoulder you bit down hard.

He arched his back slightly and you pressed him further into the table.

Then you brought the hand you had on his chest downwards keeping the other hidden behind his back.

When you reached his dirty boxers you finally snaked your hand inside and wrapped it around him. He was quickly hardening again and still damp with his previous arousal.

You decided it was time to free him so you bent down behind him and dragged both boxers and jeans down and off his body.

He sighed but gasped when before standing back up you bit down hard on one of his plump ass cheeks.

When you stood, you slowly dragged the black silicone toy you had in your other hand slowly up and down his spine and hips before wrapping both arms around his waist and flicking the toy to life in front of him.

"Are you sure you want this?" You asked, dragging the toy up and down his abdomen every time closer to the place where he needed it.

"Fuck, yes I need it angel." He groaned when both of your hands reached between his legs.

You stroked him a few times with your free hand before trying the toy on him.

When it touched the base of his cock he tensed and growled arching his head backwards.

He almost lost his balance when unexpectedly you moved the toy down the underside of his shaft and made it graze the spot right under his head.

He moaned so loud that you felt a shock wave of pleasure curse through you.

He almost doubled over and gasped for air like never before.

You abruptly stopped.

He cursed and begged you to go on.

You had an idea.

"Jakey, baby, I want you to press your hands on the table and bend forward a little." You whispered in his ear before kneeling behind him.

He obliged, a little confused but shivered when he understood what you wanted to do.

You grabbed his erection gently and started stroking it downwards as he leant his body against the table.

He tensed when you put the tip of the toy right against his balls and little breathy whines started leaving his lips as you combined that with the slow and steady stroking of your fist.

"A-angel, fuckfuck just like this" he moaned.

You started placing little wet kisses on the back of his thighs and goosebumps raised on his skin.

It wasn't the first time you two indulged in such forbidden activities.

So when you asked what he wanted he was quick to answer.

"Your mouth, please angel" he groaned, leaning more of his body against the table.

You wrapped your lips around his tip and moved the toy to graze that little spot behind his balls that made him scream.

"Ah fuck me" he groaned.

You started kissing and licking his balls as you stroked his length with the tip of the vibrator. He was slowly losing his mind, the sounds leaving his lips were becoming louder and louder.

You caught him off guard by licking a slow stripe from the underside of his balls to his hole and he cursed, arching his back.

He slammed his hands on the table and groaned loudly.

His groans morphed into unbridled moans when you kept licking at him, feeling his muscles flutter under your tongue as the hand holding the toy moved gently up and down his length.

He started shaking when the rhythm of your licks picked up and you started pressing the tip of your tongue a little bit more inside him.

You almost lost it yourself when you looked up to the wall in front of you.

Thanks to the perfect placement of the oven, you could steal a look to him while staying behind him, the reflection the glass of the oven door was sending back to you was an image of pure bliss.

He had his eyes closed and his lips parted in ecstasy, his head slightly leant backward exposing his sweaty biteable neck that you had marked so many times.

When the vibrator touched his balls his brows tipped up and he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan, but when you slowly stroked his length and pressed the toy right on the underside of his head his lips parted in a grimace, exposing his teeth. He looked almost in pain, but the sound that left his lips was absolutely far away from it.

He was experiencing the utmost pleasure. His legs were starting to shake.

He whimpered when you brought him to the edge and stopped abruptly, parting from him.

You stood, turned off the vibrator and he panicked.

"Wait, wait, please angel please…" he blabbered, his desperate words overlapping.

You pressed your front to his back and grasped his hips.

Then you brought one of your hands to his throat to silence him and keep him in place.

"Jakey, baby. You have been such a good boy for me." You whispered into his ear and he cursed under his breath at the nickname.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you need." You went on.

"I want your fingers. Inside" he whispered without any shame, shaking with need.

You kissed his ear and praised him again.

Then your hands moved to his wrists making goosebumps raise down his arms.

"Bend over the table, baby" you whispered into his ear.

One of your hands reached to his back and gently pressed him to the wooden surface.

He groaned at the coolness of it and gasped when your lips met the spot between his shoulders blades, and started trailing kisses down his spine.

When you reached his lower back you couldn't contain yourself.

You grasped his plush ass and he chuckled but hissed when your palm connected with ot, looking at how his supple skin giggled.

"What was that for?" He said, sounding a bit vexed.

"For fun baby" you answered and licked a bold stripe against his hole.

"Fuck" he cursed.

You circled his hole repeatedly with the pointed tip of your tongue and then sucked, feeling him flutter and clench beneath your lips.

"Fucking hell" he cursed.

He jolted forward when, unexpectedly, you turned on the toy and placed it right at his hole, keeping it there.

He moaned loudly and his breathing turned ragged when your hand resumed stroking his length.

When you stopped again, he almost sobbed.

"Shh baby, I'm about to give you what you want" you reassured him.

You opened the little bottle of lube you had brought to the kitchen with the toy and wetted one of your fingers before circling it to his hole.

"Still ok with this baby?" You whispered and he answered immediately.

"Yes angel please. Make a mess of me" he whispered and groaned.

It wasn't the first time you touched him there, you had already used your tongue on him a few times but this was the first time he had actually asked you to use your fingers to penetrate him.

You started pressing a finger to his hole incredibly gently and you almost moaned at the way his body started enveloping your digit.

He was panting now. The rising and falling of his glowing body almost made you lose your mind.

You had managed to press your finger inside of him to the knuckle and started moving it in and out of him.

He tensed his body and whimpered, letting a long drawn out breathy moan leave his lips when you turned on the vibrator and pressed it to the little spot right behind his balls.

"A-" he tried to say but you completely shattered his thoughts when you sucked his balls into your mouth and pressed the toy against his frenulum.

You let go of his tensed balls and listened to the beautiful symphony of his heavy breathing, moans and whimpers.

You experimentally curled your fingers downwards and he screamed your name, almost losing balance.

His knees buckled and his back arched. You felt his muscles flutter around your finger and you almost came untouched right there.

You slowed the rhythm of your finger but he didn't want that. He started pressing his hips back against you quickly.

He tried to warn you again, but you didn't give him time.

Your finger curled a bit more sharply against the forbidden spot inside of him while you simultaneously kept the toy down the length of him. The length of it, so similar to him, allowed you to keep it pressed entirely against him, from his tip to his balls, making him let out a loud string of curses and moans.

You moaned too and without thinking bit down harshly on his ass cheek.

He completely lost himself at that. The invisible thread tethering him to reality broke and he unraveled beautifully in front of your eyes.

His body started shaking violently and his knees buckled. He kept his balance only thanks to the table or he would have crumbled on the floor.

His arched back was a sight to behold together with his dampened hair sticking to his back as he threw his head backwards in pleasure.

The sounds leaving his lips were heavenly and absolutely unrestrained.

They were going to haunt your every living moment and plague your most forbidden thoughts.

His come coated your hand and the black toy you were holding.

You turned it off and let it fall on the ground without any recollection of it. You were too enraptured by what had just happened.

His breathing started to calm down only after several minutes.

You stood and hoped he was ok.

You circled the table and saw that he had his cheek pressed to the table and his eyes closed, his hands still closed into fists.

His hair was a mess, sticking to his skin and damp with sweat.

You caressed him and he purred.

"Are you here with me, lover boy?" You asked and he chuckled.

"I think I just got my soul ripped from my body, my little naughty angel" he said, his voice raspy and spent.

He sounded so sexy that he made you want to do what you had just done all over again.

_____________________________

Taglist: @gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jessicafg03 @doodle417 @hellowgoodbye @ejoygvf @jaketlover @jakekiszkasbabymama @objectsinspvce @indigostreakmorgan @witchofendora @myleftsock @gretavanshmeat @gretasfallingsky @giraffehippy @jennasometimesreads @katiegvf @sinarainbows @laney_gvf @themorningbirds @starcatcherchords @lipstickitty @meetingthestardust @joshskittytickler @livkiszka @twistedmelodies @ignite-my-fire @gvfmarge @writingcold

[thebettybook]

(Chapter 2) A Spin on an Enchanted Tale

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, fem!reader, Gabriella O’Hara, Lyla (Lyla’s a human in this AU)

Chapter 2 summary: My Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader AU inspired by Disney’s Enchanted (2007). After taking Miguel O’Hara (a 31-year-old single dad who doesn’t believe in fairytales) up on his offer to stay in his home, reader (a princess cosplayer in their late 20s) wakes up to a somewhat-new life with Miguel and his adorable five-year-old daughter Gabriella

Warning: None, an all-fluff story, enjoy~

Spanish used (I used SpanishDict): Papá (Dad); Buenos días, Papá (Good morning, Dad); Gracias, Papá (Thank you, Dad); Porque eres, mi solecita (Because you are, my lovely sunshine); Mierda (shit)

Chapters: Ch 1 | Ch 2 {below} | Ch 2.5 | Ch 3 {in progress}

The buttery rays of morning autumn sunlight slipped through the curtains and danced onto your form, gently waking you up. You cracked an eye open and turned over to grab your phone from the nightstand.

It’s…only six a.m?!

You put down your phone and let out a groan, fighting the urge to go back to bed and pull the covers over your head.

It was one of those rare days where your body would wake up too early on its own, and it was probably because you subconsciously remembered that you were staying in someone else’s home.

You made your way to the window, parting the curtains and lifting up the window.

The chilly Monday air greeted your skin, but you didn’t mind it. The faint beeps from taxis and chatter from people throughout Nueva York below filled your ears. Even though you should be used to the entire city being awake 24/7 by now, the hustle and bustle of Nueva York never ceased to amaze you.

What do I do now?

You couldn’t just go downstairs and make yourself breakfast; it felt wrong to use Miguel’s kitchen as a guest. You weren’t even sure if Miguel wanted you to eat breakfast with him and Gabriella.

He seemed pretty skeptical of you last night, which was understandable, so it was probably best to try to stay out of his hair as much as possible. Especially since you were now staying in his home for free.

Breakfast can wait; I can buy something in that cafe across the street later. You had $200 in your bank account—not enough to rent an apartment, but enough to buy yourself meals for the next week or two.

And with that, you nodded to yourself and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

In the bathroom, you couldn’t help but jump a bit when you saw your reflection in the mirror. You almost forgot you were wearing Miguel’s comfy t-shirt and sweatpants. I need to change out of these.

After brushing your teeth and taking a shower (and re-wearing Miguel’s shirt and sweatpants since you had no clean clothes to change into), you made your way to the folded pile of clothes Miguel gave you last night that you put on the study desk by the window.

T-shirts, dress shirts, sweatpants…None of these, as nice as the materials of Miguel’s clothes were, were suitable for you to wear as day outfits.

Your fingers then paused on a sky blue cotton dress shirt. You took it out of the pile and held it up to your body, the end of the shirt reaching way past your knees.

A lightbulb went off in your head. I can make a dress out of this!

You set the dress shirt down on the desk and went over to your suitcase, taking out your bag of sewing supplies and beloved sewing machine.

“Chip,” you practically sobbed, hugging your ivory sewing machine with the sewing supply bag on top as you lugged both to the desk. “At least I have you with me.”

“Chip,” which you affectionately called your sewing machine, came from the sewing machine’s brand “Chip Sewing Brand Inc,” though you liked to think “Chip” stood for:

Costume Making

Hemming

and Everything In Between

for Princess Cosplayers

After setting Chip down on the desk, you sat down on a sleek black swivel chair in front of the desk. You smoothed the cotton fabric of the shirt across the desk before taking out pink fabric scissors from your bag.

An upbeat, incoherent tune escaped from your lips in a hum as you spent the next few hours cutting, pinning, seam ripping, folding, sewing, and hemming.

With how big Miguel’s dress shirt was on you, you were able to cut some extra scraps from the shirt. There was one part of the shirt that you especially wanted to save for later: the left breast pocket that had a crimson spider logo embroidered on it. The pocket gave you the idea to incorporate it as one of two lower side pockets on your dress.

As you turned to the left to set aside the shirt scraps, the corner of your eye caught a movement by the window. A pigeon fluttered its gray and periwinkle wings, landing on your windowsill.

“Hello, there,” you smiled at the pigeon, who cooed at you in response. “You’re welcome to stay and watch me sew if you’d like.”

You could call yourself crazy for talking to a pigeon who couldn’t understand you, but your smile only grew when the pigeon stayed on the windowsill and looked at you as if to wait for you to continue sewing.

Your hums, the pigeon’s coos, and soft whirs from your sewing machine soon filled up the room. You spent about the next half hour sewing on shoulder straps and using the other scraps from the shirt to make and sew two pockets on either side of the dress just below your stomach area.

“And…done!” You turned off your sewing machine and took the dress off the table. Before you could get up to go change out of Miguel’s pajamas and into your new dress, you noticed a flock of fluttering movements on the windowsill.

There were not one, but five pigeons on the windowsill now, all cooing in unison.

“I see you’ve brought your friends,” You cocked your head to the side at the first pigeon, or at least you thought it was the first pigeon that came to your windowsill. You weren’t really sure; they all looked the same. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go try on my new dress.”

You rushed into the bathroom and slipped out of Miguel’s pajamas, folding them neatly and setting them aside on the marbled vanity before slipping into the dress.

A smile bursted on your face once you saw your reflection. The dress-shirt-turned-dress boasted a sweetheart neckline and shoulder straps that you tied into bows on your shoulders. The pockets (with one pocket having the former shirt’s crimson spider logo embroidery) also added a cute touch to the dress.

For a dress that was made in two-ish hours, it hugged all the right places while still being comfortable and easy for you to move in.

“All in a morning’s work,” you grinned at yourself in the mirror, turning around to see the dress at different angles.

Oh! Speaking of mornings… You adjusted a bow strap on your shoulder before darting out of the bathroom to pick up your phone on the desk.

…I need to text Nancy.

Nancy, the owner of the princess party cosplay business you worked for, was the type of boss who was kind and understanding but also no-nonsense when it came to business.

After you typed and sent a message to Nancy about losing your apartment and asking for extra princess party cosplay job opportunities, you placed your phone into one of your pockets.

You then turned around, noticing the five pigeons that continued to rest on the windowsill.

“You’re all still here? I suppose you all liked that song I hummed earlier, huh?”

The pigeons answered you with a collective coo that sounded like a “yes” from them, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“All right, I’ll sing it again.”

You began to sing the song from earlier, trying your best to keep your voice soft in an effort to not wake Gabriella and Miguel in case the walls were thin.

The song you sang was a princess song with lyrics about being happy while doing whatever task you were doing, and it was always your go-to song every time you worked on a new sewing project.

The pigeons joined in on your singing with their cooing, and you began twirling around in your new dress while the pigeons bobbed their heads.

You became so immersed in singing with the pigeons that you didn’t hear the doorknob of your room turn. The door opened just enough for a certain five-year-old to peek her head into the room.

“Good morning, Princess Y/N!” Gabriella flung the door wide open, running over to you and encasing your legs in a big hug.

You halted your singing and bent down to greet Gabriella. “Good morning, little one!” you returned her hug, noting how adorable she looked in her light blue unicorn-print nightgown and pink bunny slippers. “Did you just wake up?”

“Mhm, I wanted to see if you were actually here! And I’m glad that you are!”

It was impossible for you to not smile more at Gabi’s words. Despite all the uncertainties and events since yesterday, you found yourself truthfully replying, “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

You straightened up with Gabriella, and she tugged on one of your hands. “Princess Y/N, can you help me brush my teeth? Papá isn’t awake.”

You took out your phone from your pocket and checked the screen, which read 8:10 a.m. You didn’t know when Miguel usually woke up, but from what Gabi just told you, it sounded like he usually woke up earlier.

“Are you going to school today, little one?” You let Gabi lead you out of your room and into the hall to the main bathroom.

“Yeah!” Gabi hopped onto a little stool in front of the sink area, and you flipped the light switch of the bathroom on. “I’m gonna tell my friends that I’m friends with a really pretty princess!”

“Aw, I’m flattered,” you gushed, putting a hand to your heart. “Now, can you show me where your toothbrush and toothpaste are?”

Gabi nodded, pointing to a gold toothbrush holder by the sink. You noticed two toothbrushes: one sparkly rainbow toothbrush for kids, and a larger blue-and-red toothbrush with a Spider-Man logo.

“That’s mine,” Gabi pointed to the sparkly rainbow toothbrush. “And the Spider-Man toothbrush is Papá’s.”

You couldn’t help but quirk an amused grin at learning that Miguel had a Spider-Man toothbrush, of all things. He pegged you as the type to have those boring gray toothbrushes.

“Ok, I’m going to show you how to put toothpaste on your toothbrush,” you took Gabi’s toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste from the toothbrush holder. You opened the cap of the toothpaste tube and then held Gabi’s toothbrush and the toothpaste tube in front of you. “Watch carefully.”

Gabi nodded vigorously. You squeezed a centimeter of toothpaste onto Gabi’s toothbrush, leaving some empty space on the toothbrush for Gabi.

“Ooh, I wanna do it now!” Gabi held her hands out to you as if you showed her how to make a unicorn out of clouds or something.

You handed her the toothbrush and the toothpaste tube, and made your way behind her to support her small arms with your hands. “You don’t want to squeeze the toothpaste out too hard, or a ton will come out and we don’t want that.”

Gabi nodded, adorably poking her tongue out as she concentrated on squeezing the toothpaste onto her toothbrush. The toothpaste made a little toot! sound as it came out from the tube, making the both of you giggle. “Look, I did it!” Gabi held up the toothbrush to you.

“Great job, little one,” you returned her smile. “Now I’ll help you brush your teeth.”

You made your way to stand next to Gabi, and you looked into the oval mirror in front of the two of you. “You want to brush your teeth like this,” you mimicked small circle motions with your hand in front of your mouth.

Gabi copied you, brushing her teeth. “That’s it,” you nodded, and Gabi beamed up at you with a mouth now full of minty toothpaste.

After helping Gabi to finish brushing her teeth, you tidied up the sink and Gabi hopped off of the stool. Just as the two of you were about to exit the bathroom, footsteps approached the door and the door opened to reveal Miguel.

The Miguel before you was a Miguel who looked completely different from the put-together man you met last night.

This Miguel wore a plush navy robe over a white t-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. His chestnut waves clung to his forehead and stuck out in all directions, and his feet were adorned with giant pink bunny slippers that matched Gabriella’s.

“¡Buenos días, Papá!” Gabi ran over to Miguel, hugging his legs. “Princess Y/N helped me brush my teeth!”

Miguel blinked as if he was just waking up, before addressing you with barely a glance. “Thanks, but I got it from here.”

“Of course,” you awkwardly shuffled out of the bathroom, feeling like you overstepped a boundary by helping Gabi brush her teeth. Miguel didn’t even cast another glance your way as you made your way to your room.

He’s probably just being protective of Gabi. You nodded to yourself as you went into your room and perched at the edge of your bed. We’re all still strangers to each other, after all.

You gave a half-smile to the five pigeons who still lounged on your windowsill before taking your phone out from your pocket to scroll through job sites for any extra jobs you could apply to.

You kind of lost track of time as you searched and bookmarked job opportunities, because about fifteen minutes later, Gabi stumbled into your room once more.

The child was now dressed in a white uniform polo t-shirt, a knee-length khaki skirt, and rainbow unicorn socks. Miguel followed behind her, still in his robe and with his messy hair. In his hands were a hairbrush and a sparkly hot pink hair tie.

Instead of going to you, Gabi ran over to your windowsill. You were surprised that the pigeons weren’t alarmed and simply stayed on the windowsill as Gabi marveled at them.

“Gabi insisted that she wanted me to do her hair here,” Miguel explained. His hickory orbs landed on you for the first time this morning, but instead of his eyes landing on your face, they landed on your outfit. “Wait, is that my shirt?”

“Yeah, I woke up early and didn’t have any clean clothes so I decided to make a dress out of one of the shirts you gave me. I hope that’s ok.” You shyly stuck your hands in your dress pockets, feeling self-conscious.

“Uh…yeah. That’s ok. Remind me to teach you how to use our laundry room later,” Miguel averted his eyes from yours rather quickly. His eyes then landed on the five pigeons still resting on the windowsill. “Pigeons?”

Miguel strode over to the windowsill, waving his hand to shoo away the pigeons (who flew off into Nueva York with annoyed coos) before shutting your window.

“Aw, Papá,” Gabriella whined, turning around to look up at Miguel. “The pigeons wanted to stay! You should’ve seen them sing with Princess Y/N.”

“Sing?” Miguel’s thick eyebrows lifted, before furrowing in doubt as he turned to look at you.

You simply stared back, confused on why he seemed confused. Surely singing pigeons weren't the most odd things Miguel had encountered in Nueva York.

Instead of saying something about how singing pigeons didn’t exist, Miguel cleared his throat and turned back to a disappointed Gabi. “Uh, well, maybe they’ll come back later.”

A smile formed on your lips at Miguel’s attempt to make his daughter feel better. Miguel then surprised you once more by repositioning himself to sit criss-cross on the floor.

“Princess Y/N, sit with us!” Gabi hopped into Miguel’s lap and patted the empty floor space next to Miguel.

“Alright,” you chuckled, though you hesitantly made your way off the bed and to Miguel and Gabi. You crouched down, sitting and leaving a pretty good chunk of space between you and Miguel. However, Gabi took your hand and pulled you closer to her and Miguel.

He didn’t say a word, his hands full with the hairbrush and Gabi’s hair. The sparkly pink hair tie rested loosely between his lips. As if it came second nature to him, Miguel gently and expertly brushed Gabi’s thick brunette hair and gathered it into a neat ponytail.

“There you go,” Miguel planted a kiss on top of Gabi’s head after securing her ponytail with the hair tie.

“¡Gracias, Papá!” Gabi tilted her head up to kiss Miguel’s jaw, and you wanted to melt then and there at how cute the father and daughter duo were. Gabi hopped off of Miguel’s lap and made her way over to you. “Princess Y/N, how do I look?”

“Like the prettiest princess in all the lands, little one,” you gave Gabi a wink as you stood up, not caring if your princess compliment would elicit an annoyed huff from Miguel or something.

What you didn’t expect, however, was to see Miguel stand up with a soft smile on his face as Gabi beamed even more at receiving your compliment.

“Did you hear that, Papá? Princess Y/N called me the ‘prettiest princess in all the lands’!” Gabi threw her hands back in the air as if you just made her day.

“Porque eres, mi solecita,” Miguel stated as if it was an undeniable truth. “Wait here with Princess Y/N, I’ll go get ready and then I’ll make us all breakfast.”

You let out a surprised “pfft” at Miguel calling you “Princess Y/N” as he made his way out of your room and into the bathroom in the hall. Before you could turn to Gabi, a voice made you almost jump.

“Miggy, Gabi, I’m here!” A woman’s voice, which sounded nothing but fun and playful, rang from downstairs.

“She’s here!” Gabi crowed, taking your hand and leading you out of your room once more.

“Who’s here?” You didn’t even have time to blink as you let Gabi lead you to the top of the staircase. The child let go of your hand, running down the staircase and into the arms of the mysterious woman who stood in front of the elevator that led into the penthouse.

As you descended the staircase, you got a better view of the woman. She looked around Miguel’s age yet had a fun sense of style. Her chestnut bob, transparent pink heart sunglasses, tan boots, and cream mink coat worn over a white blouse and khaki slacks all complemented each other. In her hands was a paper bag with small grease stains at the bottom.

From the way Gabi enveloped the woman in a big hug, and the way the woman called Miguel “Miggy,” you couldn’t help but wonder if the woman was Gabi’s mom, and/or Miguel’s partner, or…

“Auntie Lyla!” Gabi calling the woman “Auntie Lyla” broke you out of your thoughts.

“How’s my favorite O’Hara doing?” The woman, Lyla, gave Gabriella a huge squeeze.

“Great! Papá and I took a princess home with us!” Gabriella beamed up at Lyla.

“Oh?” Lyla winked at Gabi as if Gabi just told her that Gabi got a new princess toy or something. Lyla then caught sight of you a few feet away at the foot of the staircase. Her eyebrows flew up in genuine shock. “Oh!”

“Hi,” you tentatively made your way towards the two, extending a hand to Lyla. “I’m Y/N, a princess party cosplayer, and I’m staying with Miguel and Gabriella for the time being.”

You were nothing but surprised when Lyla gave you a strong handshake but had the kindest smile on her face. “Nice to meet you! I’m Lyla, a long-time friend of Miggy’s, but I like to call myself the cooler younger sister he never had.”

Lyla seemed fun and sassy and you liked her already. Lyla seemed to like you already, too, from the way her smile turned into a wide and mischievous grin. “So Miggy finally found somebody, huh?”

Your eyes practically widened out of your sockets. “Oh! No, no, no, it’s not like that,” you waved your hands, shaking your head profusely. “I just met Miguel and Gabriella last night, and Miguel was kind enough to let me stay here.”

“Ohhhh,” Lyla blinked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. “How did you all meet?”

“So kind of a long story, but I got kicked out of my apartment for being behind on rent after coming back from working at a children’s party in princess cosplay,” you let out in a rush, barely believing that all that happened to you in less than twenty-four hours. “I was sitting on a bench and suddenly this little one came up to me.”

“Yeah! I found Princess Y/N!” Gabriella rested her hands on her hips proudly.

“I’m sorry about you getting kicked out, that sucks,” Lyla expressed her sympathy to you before her curiosity took over once more. “Wait, how did Gabi find you?”

“Well from what I learned yesterday, she ran off from Miguel when they were getting ice cream,” you answered, absentmindedly pulling one of the slipping bow straps back onto your shoulder.

“You did?!” Lyla’s eyes widened in shock, turning to Gabi before holding out her palm for a high-five. “Nice!”

You laughed as Gabriella—who didn’t really understand—high-fived Lyla anyways. Before you could talk with Lyla more, the sound of footsteps making their way down the staircase filled the living room.

The three of you looked up to see Miguel, who looked more put-together now than he did a few minutes ago. His chestnut waves were gelled back, making his thick eyebrows and sharp jawline look more prominent. He was dressed in a form-fitting white dress shirt tucked into gray slacks.

“Don’t encourage my daughter, Lyla,” Miguel frowned, though his attention was on the navy tie he was fastening around his neck as he reached the foot of the staircase. “And what are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too, Miggy,” Lyla propped one hand on her hip. “Did you forget I was taking Gabi to school today?”

“Huh? Since when?” Miguel mumbled, his frown deepening in confusion as his eyes snapped up from his tie to look at his friend.

“Since you told me last week that you would need to go to work a bit earlier today for an important meeting,” Lyla replied in a “duh” tone. “So you asked me to take Gabi to school today.”

Miguel’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw went slack. His eyes then flew down to his watch. “8:45 a.m., mierda,” a curse word slipped from Miguel’s lips, and Lyla instantly used her hands to cover up Gabi’s ears.

“Breakfast,” Miguel mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need to make breakfast.”

“I got you covered on that,” Lyla held up the paper bag in her hands. “I bought breakfast bagel sandwiches! They were selling four for $4 so I got four. Thought four would be too much but now it seems perfect.”

Lyla winked at you, and you shot her a grateful smile. Lyla seemed like she’d be a good friend, and you hoped that you would get to know her more.

“Perfect, thank you,” Miguel walked into a little study room near the kitchen to get his things.

“Auntie Lyla, can you please help me tie my shoes?” Gabi took her lavender light-up sneakers from the shoe rack and sat down on the floor.

“Of course,” Lyla sat down on the floor across from Gabriella to tie her shoes.

You sat down next to them, watching as Lyla tied the shoelaces on Gabi’s shoes. “Can I ask you something, Lyla?” you rested your face in your palm.

“Yeah, shoot,” Lyla finished tying up Gabi’s shoes and stood up, making you and Gabi stand up as well.

“How long have you known Miguel and Gabriella?” Your question was one of genuine curiosity.

“I used to work as Miggy’s assistant for years until I started my own fashion magazine company, though I’ve been helping him out here and there with Gabi ever since she was born,” Lyla gave Gabi a loving side hug. “Wait, you’re into fashion, right?”

Before you could answer “yes,” Miguel came back to the three of you with a brown leather satchel crossed over his torso and Gabi’s pink princess school backpack dangling on one of his arms.

Lyla took that as a cue to hand two breakfast bagel sandwiches to you, one for you and one for Miguel.

“We’ll eat these on our way to your school, ok?” Lyla winked down at Gabi, who nodded up at her aunt.

“Walking while eating can be dangerous,” Miguel grumbled at Lyla as he bent down in front of Gabriella, helping her put on her backpack.

“She’ll be fine, Miggy,” Lyla waved her hand dismissively.

“Remember to—,” Miguel began.

“—cross the streets safely, look both ways, I know, I know,” Lyla rolled her hazel eyes at Miguel. “You know I’d never let anything bad happen to Gabi.”

You knew Miguel was overprotective of Gabi, but now you were seeing more instances of how much overprotective he could be of his only child. It made sense a bit to you, since it seemed like Gabi was Miguel’s only constant family member.

Miguel let out a huff before planting a soft kiss on Gabi’s forehead. “Have a good day at school, ok? After I pick you up and we eat dinner, I’ll take you out for ice cream like I promised.”

“Yay, ice cream!” Gabi’s warm brown orbs glittered at the mention of ice cream. She lunged forward, hugging Miguel’s neck. “Bye, Papá!”

After a few seconds of hugging her father, Gabi let him go and ran over to you.

“Bye, Princess Y/N!” Gabi threw her arms around you as you bent down at eye level for her. “I wanna get ice cream with you and Papá after dinner!”

“Have a fun day at school, little one,” you gently booped Gabi’s nose with your free hand while your other hand held the two sandwiches. Your action made Gabi giggle as if she was sprinkled with fairy dust.

You were too occupied with saying “bye” to Gabi to hear Miguel and Lyla chat with each other, until you glanced up and saw Miguel shooing Lyla into the elevator with a mildly-annoyed expression on his face while she had a mischievous smirk on hers.

“C’mon Gabi, let’s go,” Lyla called to Gabi as she stepped into the elevator, ignoring Miguel. “Your dad’s being grumpy since he hasn’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“Bye Papá, bye Princess Y/N!” Gabriella waved to you and Miguel and ran into the elevator to join Lyla. “Make sure to eat breakfast, Papá! It’s the most important meal of the day!”

You made your way to stand next to Miguel, the both of you waving to Gabi and Lyla before the elevator doors closed.

“I usually tell her that,” Miguel hummed, his eyes soft. “And somehow it’s now the other way around.”

“She’s a good kid,” your own gaze was soft as you and Miguel continued to look at the closed elevator doors.

“She is,” Miguel replied with all the love and pride for his daughter.

You then turned your head to Miguel. “So, uh, do you want me to stay here until you and Gabi get home? Or if you want me to get out of here while you’re at work, I can just walk around the city and look for another job or something.”

“You won’t be able to get into this building again if you go out, come back, and I’m not there,” Miguel made his way over to the shoe rack and bent down on one knee to put on his black dress shoes and tie the shoestrings.

“Ah, right,” you stayed put. “So should I just stay here then?”

You weren’t sure what you could do in Miguel’s home by yourself other than eat the bagel sandwich Lyla gave you, wait for Nancy to text you back, and look up more jobs on your phone.

Plus, you couldn’t even wash your clothes until Miguel taught you how to use his laundry room.

“You can come with me to work,” Miguel looked over his shoulder to you while securing his shoestrings before straightening up. “I’ll get my assistant Ben to help you find a job somewhere.”

“Huh? Are you sure?” Despite your shock and confusion, you went over to the shoe rack to slip on your sneakers. You also felt curious about finding out about Miguel’s job from the way he mentioned he had an assistant.

Miguel nodded, pressing the button next to the elevator. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in.

You scurried into the elevator, the two breakfast bagel sandwiches in your hands. “Here,” you handed one to Miguel. To your surprise, he took it but placed the wrapped-up sandwich in his satchel.

“I’ll eat it after my meeting,” Miguel brought his left wrist up to look at his watch again.

You peeked at his silver watch, which you noticed was a state-of-the-art smart watch with a gold-and-orange screen. On the screen read the time: 8:51 a.m.

“You sure?” You blurted, concerned for Miguel but also not wanting the lengthy ninety-nine-floors-down elevator flight to ensue in painfully-awkward silence.

Miguel’s eyes flitted to you, and before he could open his mouth, a rather angry rumble erupted from his stomach.

The two of you averted your eyes from each other, Miguel doing so to pretend his stomach didn’t make such a noise and you doing so to save him any embarrassment.

However, you found yourself speaking up once more.

“Miguel, I don’t want to overstep, but like Gabi said, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” you gave him a tiny smile. “Plus, we have some time. There’s still like…eighty floors left.”

He looked at his watch again, and you peeked over to see that it was now 8:55 a.m. Miguel let out a sigh of frustration, but he dug his hand into his satchel and took out the breakfast bagel sandwich.

“I should’ve chosen a shorter building to live in,” he grumbled, before unwrapping the sandwich and biting into it.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, before unwrapping your own sandwich. Miguel let out a huff, but his lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile.

50…30…The elevator ride down to the lobby was still long, and while you and Miguel both ate your respective breakfast bagel sandwiches in silence, it was a comfortable silence.

MIguel finished his sandwich by the time the elevator descended to the 20th floor, and you were just about done with your sandwich as well. You then turned to Miguel in an effort to start some more conversation. “Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Miguel raised a brow at you.

“Did you…sleep well last night, Miguel?” You noticed that the eye bags he had under his eyes last night were completely gone, and his entire face seemed a bit more relaxed now.

“Huh? Oh,” Miguel blinked as if he didn’t expect you to ask him that. “…Yeah, I did. Did you?”

Your eyes widened a bit in surprise; you weren’t expecting Miguel to ask you that, or ask you anything, really. “I did, too. I ended up waking a bit early but it wasn’t because of the bed or the room or anything. Everything in the room is just wonderful.”

In an effort to voice your appreciation to Miguel for him letting you stay in his home, you didn’t realize you sounded optimistic and dreamy like a princess.

“Wonderful,” Miguel murmured. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you cocked your head to the side, not even aware that your action made you look more princess-like.

“Do you always sound like a princess or is it just to keep an act for Gabi?” Miguel rested his palms on his hips.

“Do you always sound like a pessimistic man who wears pink bunny slippers and owns a Spider-Man toothbrush?” You shot back without thinking, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Look, I’m just saying that I appreciate it when you do it for Gabi, but you don’t have to keep up that act around me when Gabi’s not here,” Miguel crossed his arms in front of his chest, mirroring your stance. “And for the record, Spider-Man toothbrushes are cool.”

“It’s not an act, it’s called optimism.” Instead of mirroring his furrowed eyebrows and mouth set in a straight line, you raised your eyebrows a bit and shot Miguel a smirk. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Miguel opened his mouth as if to make a comeback, but the elevator interrupted him with a Ding!

You waited, expecting for Miguel to step through the elevator first so that he could rush to work while you followed him. Instead, he stepped forward to the side.

“After you,” Miguel reached an arm out between the opening of the elevator to keep it open for you. His gentlemanly gesture shocked you, especially since he basically accused you of being fake five seconds ago.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you decided to give him a quick and comical curtsy in an attempt to get back at him before you stepped through the elevator.

You made your way to the glass exit doors. Miguel strode up to you as you tossed your sandwich wrapper in a trash can near the door and he followed suit. He then placed a hand on the handle of the exit doors, but before he could push through them, he looked at you.

“Are you ok with speed-walking?” Miguel asked you.

You arched an eyebrow. “Sure, I’m wearing my sneakers. Are we going to speed-walk to the subway?”

“No, we’re going to walk to my workplace since the building I work at is just a couple of streets down,” Miguel replied before opening the door for you. “We don’t have time for curtsies.”

“I wasn’t going to curtsy this time,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest once more as you made your way outside.

Before you could look back at Miguel and blink, he strode past you. Thankfully, before you could register what happened, your feet followed after him.

So much for being a gentleman!

You speed-walked into the street that led out of Miguel’s apartment complex and the others surrounding his. Miguel was a few feet further ahead, and you were thankful he was as tall as he was so that you could see him and follow him.

As you sped past pedestrians and street vendors, you barely heard them shout at you to get out of the way or to check out their merchandise.

“A sunflower for the beautiful lady!” An elderly male florist selling bouquets in the open street held out a single sunflower to you.

“Oh! Thank you, but I can’t accept that for free,” you stopped in your tracks.

“Nonsense, these are going to wilt soon,” the elderly florist gave you a kind smile. “I’d rather give them away than have to throw them away.”

The sunflower, warm as sunshine with its golden petals, as well as the florist’s kindness, made you feel hopeful to find a way to continue living in Nueva York. As you took the flower from the florist and opened your mouth to say “thank you,” your eyes caught sight of Miguel walking back to you.

“What are you doing?” Miguel narrowed his eyes down at the flower in your hands as if it was laced with poison.

“The kind florist gave it to me,” you held the flower close to you indignantly.

The florist held out another sunflower to Miguel. “And one for the beautiful lady’s beau.”

Your and Miguel’s heads snapped to each other and then to the florist at the same time.

“Miguel’s not my—,” you began.

“They’re not my—,” Miguel blurted at the same time, before shaking his head. “Let’s just go.”

“Thank you for the flowers!” You gratefully took the sunflower that the florist offered Miguel before walking up to Miguel’s side.

Miguel glanced at the two sunflowers in your hands before fixing his gaze straight ahead. “You know you can’t accept things for free, right? Especially in Nueva York.”

“I know that,” you let out a sigh of exasperation at Miguel. “It’s just that the florist told me they’d rather give these flowers away than throw them away because they’re wilting soon. I think it would be a shame to see such pretty flowers go to waste, too.”

Miguel looked at the sunflowers again. “Gabi’s favorite flowers are sunflowers,” Miguel’s voice, which previously had an edge of stress, grew soft once he mentioned his daughter.

“I can give her one when she gets home,” you hummed, smiling even more at the thought of giving Gabi a sunflower. You put the two sunflowers gently into one of your dress pockets for safekeeping.

Miguel’s face softened a bit, and he pointed down the street. “We’re almost there.”

You weren’t great at memorizing the many streets, districts, and boroughs of Nueva York, so you wondered how it was possible Miguel’s workplace was only a few streets down from his apartment complex.

All you knew was that the area surrounding Miguel’s apartment complex had one side that led down several streets to an area with restaurants and shops, near where Miguel and Gabi met you last night.

And the other side, where you and him were headed, you weren’t too sure. But as you were greeted with corporate skyscrapers, you were beginning to have an idea.

It wasn’t long before the two of you reached the front of a silver skyscraper with sky blue glass panels. The building, with its state-of-the-art pointed architecture, was so tall and imposing that it reminded you of Miguel in a way.

The building was also so famous even you knew what it was. You whipped your head to Miguel as the two of you walked up to the front doors. “You work at Spider-Society HQ?”

Spider-Society HQ, based in Nueva York, had risen to fame in recent years as an innovative company focused in the scientific fields of genetics and physics.

You didn’t know anything about the company other than that, and now seeing the discreet crimson spider logo on the doors, you realized it was the same one on your dress pocket from Miguel’s shirt.

How did I miss it? You looked down to your dress pocket that had the building’s logo on it. To be fair, science companies and their logos were never at the forefront of your mind.

Miguel scanned the screen of his watch on the key panel. The green light on the key panel indicated its recognition of Miguel, and soon the building’s front doors slid apart with a gentle hiss!

He straightened his tie before stepping into the building with you. You quickly noticed that Miguel exuded an air of professionalism and even regality—like a king ready to take on the weight of his kingdom.

“Technically, I’m the Chief Executive Officer of Spider-Society HQ.”

🍓 Strawbetty’s notes: If you read all the way to here, I give you a 🎃 cuz it’s Halloween season lol. Also thank you to @animusicnerd for proofreading this chapter throughout the two months I’ve been writing it 🫶

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[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling Ch. 13 - Falling

You try to find a way to repay Joel for all his kindness. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-12 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 5.9k 

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

For a change, you wished you’d paid more attention to your mother. 

She’d tried to teach you how to sew. She’d tried to teach you plenty of times. She had this antique notion in her head that you should know how to embroider shit, that you should be able to repair your future husband’s shirts and socks and jeans and make your future babies little onesies. She’d tried to teach you to hand stitch and use a sewing machine and every time you counted the seconds until you could go do something - anything - else. Ride horses, play music, read. Hell, math homework sounded better than stabbing yourself in the finger with a needle for no damn reason. 

Besides, with a Wal-Mart in every town, who even needed to sew anymore? 

You regretted that at the end of the world.

You’d had to figure it out when you were living on your own in the wilderness. You’d traded for more clothes and the things to keep them in good working order but that didn’t get you far when you couldn’t actually sew. The first repair you made didn’t hold well and you had to redo it again and again. Eventually, you could at least keep your clothes functional without wasting your precious few materials but you’d never done a particularly nice looking job. The stitches were never the same size or evenly spaced and doing any kind of design was completely out of the question. 

You wished it wasn’t though. 

“Ow,” you muttered to yourself, stabbing your thumb with the needle yet again. You sucked the bead of blood off your fingertip. “Fuckin’…” 

You were going to have to call it good soon otherwise you’d never actually finish this damn thing. You’d already spent far too much time on making something as simple as a guitar strap out of canvas, flannel and denim from the scrap pile and leather from saddle bags damaged in the raider attack. If you’d actually bothered to learn how to properly sew, you were certain that you’d have finished the fucking thing weeks ago. And that it would look much better than it did after all that extra work. 

But at least it was useable. And it looked like something Joel would like. Or you thought it did, anyway. You hoped it did. 

It was, in fact, hard to figure out what to give someone at the end of the world. It’s not like you could go to the mall and browse and, while you were closer to Joel than you were to any other person in town, you didn’t know him intimately enough to know things that he deeply longed for or needed but wouldn’t get for himself. Even though you were starting to think you wanted to know him in that way. A thought that made your heart flutter and head get light. 

But you’d watched him play guitar enough that you thought he wanted a strap for his guitar and you were pretty sure he didn’t have one. So you’d gathered the materials and started piecing it together, just making up everything as you went along. It’s not like you had a pattern or much of a plan to speak of. You just found ways to make even cuts, pinned it all together and did your best to make it look like someone besides a clumsy toddler had sewed the damn thing. 

Overall, you were pretty happy with how it was turning out. Had turned out. It was done now if you could just stop fucking with it. You held it up, looking it over, eyes catching on every flaw in the stitching. 

“Think he’s gonna like it?” You asked no one, an old habit that was hard to break after spending years with almost no interaction with other people. “Fuckin’ hope he likes it.” 

You’d tried to make it something special, something that would speak to Joel somehow. The outer layer of fabric was a subtle plaid flannel, one like he wore so frequently you figured he had to like it. The underside was thick, sturdy denim, the leg of a pair of pants that had one side shredded by barbed wire while the other was left intact. You’d brought the scrap leather around the bottom and even burned Joel’s initials into it using nails that you’d shaped into the letters yourself. 

You’d found Tommy working on building something in town one day and you picked up a few bent nails off the ground. 

“What’re you tryin’ to get away with?” He called after you as you headed back home. “Know you’re itchin’ to cause trouble…” 

“Makin’ a voodoo doll so I can fuck with you when you’re not around,” you replied. “Needed somethin’ sharp.”

“You would,” he laughed. “Gonna get you back one of these days, Bambi!” 

“Lemme know when you got the brain power for it, Miller!” 

It took a surprising amount of force to bend the nails into the right shape but you got them eventually, the M in two parts because doing that many bends in one piece of metal wasn’t going well. Then, you heated them up and burned the letters into the leather, ignoring how your hip itched where you’d been branded years earlier as you worked. You anchored the ends of the fabric into the leather and added loops to hook onto the guitar. 

You still felt strangely nervous as you wrapped the guitar strap in paper and tied string around it even though you knew you’d done everything you could and it wasn’t going to get any better. The strap was holding together well, the stitches were at least in fairly straight lines if not equally spaced and evenly sized - and you doubted Joel would even notice things like that - but it still made your chest tight. It had been a long time since you’d given someone like Joel anything at all. But you wanted to. 

The night he’d returned from hunting Simon, he’d walked you home with his arm around you, holding you to his side. His knuckles were bloody and bruised as he pressed his nose into your hair. When he went to leave you on your porch, you caught his wrist and held him there, feeling his heart beat below your fingertips. 

“Stay,” you said, knowing you were all but begging him not to leave but you didn’t care if it was pathetic. You didn’t want to be far from him. You didn’t want to try to rest without him. “Please.” 

He slept next to you again, his damaged hand gently cradling your face in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest so close to yours comforting you enough that you could relax for the first time since you’d watched him ride away. 

You weren’t sure how to repay him for that kindness. 

It didn’t help that you weren’t sure what you were to Joel, what he was to you. It was the end of the world, after all, labels seemed silly at a certain point. Besides, what did you call someone you sometimes shared a bed with but were too afraid to go into their house? Whose touch you longed for but just the thought of him undressing you made you very nearly panic? Who you wanted to be around all the time but couldn’t bring yourself to tell the things that hurt you most? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure what he’d want to be, either. 

But you wanted to give him something. You had for weeks, wanted to do something after for letting you play his guitar, for helping you through the pain of finding your home burned to the ground, for giving you who knows how many shirts now, for being a good and decent man in a world where it seemed like there weren’t any. 

Then, he’d saved your life. Again. And killed the men who’d tried to hurt you, the man who’d possibly sold you out to the people who had taken everything from you, to keep you safe.

You couldn’t repay all that. You wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

So you finally finished the fucking guitar strap. 

Joel opened his front door before you’d had a chance to knock and smiled. 

“Hey,” his eyes were so soft and the edges of them crinkled when he smiled like that. “Was just about to make some tea, want some?” 

“Sure,” you said, trying to smile back but you weren’t sure you managed it, your heart in your throat. You thrust the small, paper-wrapped package forward and stared at his chest instead of his face. Or you tried to, anyway. You still glanced up at him and caught him frowning, brows scrunched together in question. 

“What’s this?” He asked, taking it from you and turning it over in his hands. 

“Nothin’ crazy, don’t get excited,” you stuck your hands in your back pockets. “Just somethin’ I thought you might need so I made it…” 

“You made this?” He asked, smiling again as he held the package up. You nodded, cheeks getting hot. 

“Like I said, It’s nothing crazy…” you muttered, clenching your jaw as you looked off the porch, anywhere but directly at him. 

He properly stepped outside, going for the stairs and sitting on the top one. You sat next to him, your nerves calming a little bit now that you were in this more familiar setting. You’d still never been inside his house but you were starting to want to. Want to go behind closed doors with him, be truly alone with him in his space, be that close to him, know him that well. 

He unwrapped it slowly, pulling it free of the paper, a confused frown on his face at first before he gently, almost reverently, unfolded it. 

“You made this?” He asked quietly, looking at you with raised brows. 

“Yeah,” you shrugged awkwardly. “Look at it too close and you wouldn’t need to ask that…” 

“This is incredible,” he cut you off, running his fingers over his initials in the leather, a sense of almost awe in his voice. “I love it, this is…” 

He looked up from the guitar strap to look at you for a moment, his eyes ranging over your face. 

“Would… would you let me try somethin’?” He asked. 

You weren’t sure if you could speak, your heart in your throat. Instead you just nodded. 

He reached one large hand forward slowly and gently took your cheek in his hand before pulling you - slowly, gently - toward him, until his face was aligned with yours. You froze, your breath catching as his lips pressed softly into your temple. It took you a moment to remember to actually breathe and you took a shaky inhale as he held you close, his mouth against your skin. 

He pulled back as slowly as he’d touched you, looking over you again like he was waiting for you to bolt. Which, you figured, was a fair thing to worry about, given your track record. But instead of relief at the distance, you resented it. He was only inches away but it was too far now. Your head dropped to his shoulder, the skin he’d just kissed pressed against him as you moved closer until your whole body was against his side. 

That was better. 

“Really love it, Sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb running over the leather again. “I’ve been wishin’ I had one of these and this is so much better than I could have hoped for. Thank you.” 

“Glad you like it,” you said, staying close to him.

“Not some occasion I don’t know about is it?” He asked, voice light, teasing. 

“You’ve just done a lot for me,” you shrugged. “Wanted to do something for you. And I realized that I’ve known you the better part of a year so there’s a good chance I missed your birthday.” 

He chuckled. 

“Haven’t missed that,” he said. “Don’t really celebrate it but… didn’t miss it.” 

You frowned. 

“You should,” you said. “Celebrate it, I mean. When is it?” 

“September 26th.” 

“Oh shit,” you laughed once, darkly. “Yeah, alright, can see why you might not want to throw a party.” 

He laughed a little. 

“Yeah, hard to want to celebrate the worst day of your life,” he said. He paused for a moment before he pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. “When’s yours?” 

“November 1st,” you said. “It was great when I was a kid, my parents let me stay home from school so I could be out late for Halloween. Always ate too much candy with my friends the night before and then spent the day of with my horses.”

“Little different now,” he said. 

You laughed and pressed closer to him. His arm went around the back of you, his hand going to your hip, holding you to his side. 

“Just a bit.” 

You sat there with him for a moment, just listening to him breathe, the birds chirping in the trees nearby. It was comforting, the sound and feel of his existence. 

“Should go get the guitar,” he said quietly. “Try this out.” 

“In a minute?” You asked, adjusting slightly to see part of his face while still being pressed against him. 

He was quiet for a second before you felt his lips in your hair again, his nose nuzzling against you. 

“Course. In a minute.” 

You stayed like that for what felt like a while, quiet and tucked against him, his thumb slipping below your shirt to brush the skin at your hip. You closed your eyes and breathed deep, focusing on the breeze on your skin, the heat of Joel at your side, the woodsy musk of him, the sound of the wildlife just out of reach. It was like you could feel everything within you, the way your lungs moved, your heart beat, your blood flowed, in tune and safe with Joel beside you. 

Eventually, you sat up slowly and opened your eyes again, the side that had been against his feeling oddly cool with the space between you. 

He turned to face you and leaned into you, his forehead against your temple, his nose brushing your cheek. He took a deep breath against you before sitting up again. 

“Right back,” he said, voice oddly gruff. 

He took a little longer than he usually did to get the guitar but, when he came outside with it, the strap was attached. He went to drape it over you but you leaned into the railing of the stairs, stopping him. 

“It’s for you, you have to be the first one to use it,” you smiled. “That’s the rule.” 

He smiled back, making his cheek dimple. 

“Alright,” he put it on and sat down, admiring the leather and running his thumb over the stitching on the flannel before looking at you. “Any requests? I’ll play if you sing.” 

You thought for a moment. 

“Know Just Like Heaven? The Cure?” 

You hummed a little. He laughed. 

“Yeah, know that one,” he said. “Just gotta swear you won’t show me up with it when I give the guitar over.” 

“Promise,” you smiled. 

He tapped out the time on the body of the guitar and then started to play. You just listened for a moment, all but forcing him to loop back around on the intro before you came in with the lyrics. 

“Show me how you do that trick…” 

Joel handed the guitar over after one song, before you were really ready for him to. You liked making music with him, there was an intimacy to it that you hadn’t found in anything else. You’d never done much of that in the past, never wanted to perform so never taken up with a band in your youth. Your music had always been just for you. Joel was the first person you’d ever known that you wanted to share it with in that way. 

He chuckled when he handed the guitar off to you and you frowned at him. 

“Promised you tea,” he said. “’Sides, rather hear you play for a bit.” 

He joined you on the porch again later, you just playing whatever chords popped into your head, no real melody to it. Joel put the cup of tea beside you and sat on the step below you, stretching his legs out, leaning back against the railing and closing his eyes. It looked comfortable, so you did the same, facing the other way so you could look at him, the shadows and filtered sunlight from the leaves of the nearby tree dappling over his skin. 

You liked to look at Joel. You hadn’t ever really had the excuse to do it for a long period of time before but it was easy to fall into it now that you had the opportunity. Your eyes traced over his face, the creases around his eyes, the arch of his nose, the graying hair and beard, his features soft and relaxed as he sat, arms crossed, listening to you play. 

For a second - a split second, one that you doubt you’d have paid much mind to even just five years ago let alone before the world ended - you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to put the guitar down, find your place on this thick legs, lean your body against his and press your lips against his own. You wanted to feel his mouth on you, feel him breathing, slip your tongue past his teeth and see just how he tasted. You wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair and hold him against you and find out where his hands would find a home on you. 

You froze for a moment, a thrill of fear running up your spine the second you actually processed what that would mean. That you’d be that close to someone, that out of control of your own body. It made your chest get tight. Joel opened one eye, frowning a little. You’d stopped playing without really realizing it. 

“Everything OK?” 

“Fine,” you said, looking down at the guitar. Looking at him was apparently dangerous. “Can I ask a favor?” 

“Course.” 

“If you don’t got other shit to do tomorrow afternoon, I need to take a few of the new horses out and try to open ‘em up in a less controlled environment,” you said, absently plucking quiet notes on the guitar. “Could use another set of hands. If you’re up for it.” 

Joel smiled a little. 

“Make you a deal.” 

“Really gonna try and barter?” You raised your brows. 

“Movie night tonight,” he said. “You go to that, I’ll help tomorrow.” 

“What movie?” You frowned a little. 

“Pretty Woman, I think.” 

“Pretty Woman,” you snickered. 

“What?” 

“You’re gonna go watch Pretty Woman?” You were skeptical. “Just on your own if I don’t go, you’re gonna go watch Pretty Woman.” 

“Maybe I will,” he smirked. “Before you agree, you gotta actually sit down for it. We can sit at the back and I’ll be there but no standin’ back against the wall.” 

You made a face. 

“Bambi.” 

“Fine,” you groaned and kicked his thigh lightly. “Gettin’ to be just as bad as Tommy, making demands and shit.” 

He laughed a little, the arm closer to you going to rest between your calves, his hand finding your knee and he closed his eyes again, a small smile on his face. Your heart beat a little faster.

“You were going to help me even if I didn’t go, weren’t you.” 

He shrugged. 

“Never know now, will ya?” 

You laughed a little and took a sip of tea before going back to playing. 

Joel put his arm around your waist to walk to movie night and it stayed there as people milled around, picking seats. 

“Want to sit away from an aisle or next to one?” He asked, holding you to his side. 

“On an aisle,” you said quickly. That would make it easier to run. If needed. Joel just nodded toward two seats on an end and let you pick first. You took the inside one and Joel took the seat on the aisle, draping his arm over the back of your chair and, as the lights dimmed, you sank against his side, your head going to his chest. For a moment, before the movie started, you could hear his heart beat. You could have sworn it got faster when his nose brushed against your hair. 

***

Seeing you with Ares made Joel nervous. 

Consciously, he knew it shouldn’t. It wasn’t the horse that was the problem before, it was Simon. And Simon was no longer an issue. Joel had made sure of that. Ares was just another animal and you were nothing if not an expert with animals. 

But it was still a thing that had damn near killed you. And watching you saddle him up, pet him, speak in that soothing voice to him made Joel uneasy, his stomach knotting as he clenched his jaw. 

“You’re sure he’s ready for this,” Joel was skeptical. You gave him a look and he ground his teeth a little. “Look, I know he’s had problems…” 

“He was just stubborn,” you reached up and gave the massive horse’s head a scratch. He leaned into your touch, his large head nudging your chest. “He knows we’re on the same side now. Don’t you?” 

The horse dragged a hoof along the stable floor and you smiled. 

“See?” You looked at Joel, your face bright and open, always looking your most relaxed around animals. “We’re good.” 

You had Joel ride a calmer mare, Cassiopeia, while you took Ares. You led a third horse, Hera, behind you and Joel watched as you took a deep breath as the two of you left the town’s walls and headed out into the wilds. 

“Promise not to laugh at me?” You asked, your smile broad under the shadow of your straw cowboy hat now that the two of you were about a mile out of town and truly on your own. You had on one of Joel’s shirts, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and the bottom of it tied around your waist in the heat. 

“Can’t help it if you say somethin’ funny,” he half smiled at you. You ignored him.

“Any time I work with more than one horse, I always want to do Roman Riding,” you crinkled your nose as you said it and Joel frowned. 

“I don’t know what the fuck that is.” 

You laughed and shook your head a little. 

“Forget that you weren’t a cowboy before,” you said. “Just seem like you would have been. It’s trick riding, where you ride two or more horses at once, side by side, each foot on a different horse.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel shook his head and smiled. “Was your hobby tryin’ to get yourself killed?” 

“Sometimes,” you smirked. “One trick is called a suicide drag after all…” 

“It’s a miracle you survived to the end of the world,” he said. 

You laughed. 

“And just think, that’s the only riding my mother was OK with me doin’,” you said. “But it worked out. That’s the only reason I was able to get up on Samson the day he threw Ellie and who knows what would’ve happened then. Been a while but I remembered how to get on a runnin’ horse.” 

Joel looked at you for a moment. He’d brought you to Jackson to save your life. He hadn’t expected anything more from you except to survive. But instead you’d become a part of the fabric of life there, your work with the horses essential to the survival of the place he’d come to love. 

You’d become essential to him, too. This core piece, he’d realized, something that couldn’t be pulled away without critical damage. 

It had been so long since Joel had felt anything like this for a woman. Most of his life, really. 

Before the outbreak, his life has revolved around his daughter. He worked more than he wanted to give her a good life and, when he wasn’t busting his ass at a job site, he just wanted to be with her. Friends were already too much of a time commitment let alone a girlfriend. There were occasional lovers, a few casual dates and sex or even just a woman he picked up at a bar on nights Sarah spent at a friend’s, a woman who wasn’t interested in anything more than a night of satisfying sex. He hadn’t been looking for love and it certainly never jumped out and bit him in the ass. 

After the outbreak had been worse. 

He had no desire to want anyone, care for anyone at all let alone love them. He fucked women when they offered - the world was over, why deny yourself what little pleasure there was left in it - but the thought of feeling something for anyone was horrifying. 

Tess changed that. He’d come close to loving her that way, or he thought he had, at least. He’d cared about her more than he had anyone else but he was never able to love her, not in the way he thought he should have been able to. He wasn’t stupid, he saw what she felt. But any time he even considered falling into that with her he’d shock away from it. Falling was the exact word to use, something that he’d have no control over and could kill him when he hit the bottom. He’d stood on the edge of that cliff with Tess, caring enough to want to jump but too afraid to do it. And then she was gone because he’d failed to hold up his end of the bargain. He’d failed to protect her. 

You were different. Maybe it was because you appeared in his world after he’d loved Ellie. Maybe you were so inevitable that he’d have fallen regardless, tripped over that cliff’s edge and plummeted toward the bottom, all but welcoming what he’d find there. He hadn’t intended it, hadn’t wanted it but you were just… you. Beautiful and brave and smart and so damn alive in a world that, for so long, had been so dead. He hadn’t been able to help it and, once he’d started falling, he couldn’t stop it any more than he could stop hurdling toward the ground after tumbling off the cliff. 

And he was in it now. The incident with Simon in the barn had proven that, the fear that gripped him stronger than anything he’d felt in so long. It was worse than when his own life was under threat, far worse, akin only to what he’d felt when he knew Ellie had been hurt. What had been an amorphous thing hanging on the edges of his consciousness was suddenly clear and at the forefront: He loved you. Without meaning to, he loved you. Without wanting that kind of connection with anyone, he loved you. Without thinking that would ever be possible, he loved you. He would do anything and everything for you if it would keep you safe, make you happy because he loved you.

But there was a sense of guilt with it, too. You hadn’t told him what happened to you but he could hazard a guess. You didn’t want to be touched - though you said you liked his touch - but touching you was sometimes all he could think about doing. Ranging his hands to feel every inch of your skin - you would be soft, he knew you would be so soft - and pulling you close to him to kiss you. Really, properly kiss you, taste you, have you tight against his body as he swallowed every delicious moan and whimper you let slip from you. Fuck, he wanted that. He wanted it so much it was almost painful. 

He was starting to think that you wanted it, too. The way you fit yourself into his arms, the way you’d guided his hand to your body, the way you relaxed into his lips when he brushed them against your skin. But Joel couldn’t ask you for more. Not when it could hurt you. Even if he wanted it, even though sometimes that felt like all he wanted, what you wanted was more important. 

“Challenge for you, Miller,” you smiled, almost smirking, watching him as you pulled him out of his own head. 

“Shoot.” 

“Race you,” you said. “Out to the trial head and back to where we tie out the third horse.” 

Joel looked at the distance, probably half a mile round trip. 

“I’ll make it interesting,” your voice had a teasing edge to it. 

“You’ve got my attention,” he smiled a little. 

“If I win, you have to make me more of those chips,” you said. “Say… four times. Whenever I want.” 

“And what do I get if I win?” He asked, brows raised. 

“What do you want?” 

You. 

He didn’t say that. 

“Two movie nights, two bar nights,” he said. “Have to sit down for the movies and dance at the bar.” 

You scrunched you nose for a second. 

“You drive a hard bargain, but done,” you said, slipping off Ares to tie Hera off. Joel smiled a little, watching you. You climbed back on the horse and settled into the saddle, cracking your neck and loosening up your arms. “Ready to lose to a girl?” 

“Don’t think there’s much shame in losin’ to you, all things considered,” Joel laughed a little. “But don’t matter, not going to lose.” 

You patted Ares’ neck and shook your head a little before adjusting your grip on the reins. 

“Ready,” you said, staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed, your horse in alignment with Joel’s. “Set. Go!” 

You shot forward, Joel half a second behind you. He pushed Cassiopeia faster, harder, but it was no use. You were just better. There was a lag between Joel’s action and Cassiopeia’s reaction, time for her to understand what he was asking of her. But that didn’t seem to exist with you and Ares, his movements and yours in perfect sync. 

He caught a glimpse of your face just as you turned to run back the other way, smiling like you were having the time of your damn life, eyes wide open and eager instead of cautious and afraid. 

You, smiling and happy and secure, had quickly become Joel’s favorite sight in the world. He’d seen it the night before at the movie, too. It took some time, your body stiff against his for the first half hour or so. But, after a while, you relaxed into him, smiling and laughing and making snarky little observations in his ear and he’d do anything you asked of him, anything at all, to make you feel that happy and safe all the time. 

You reached Hera a few seconds before Joel, bringing Ares about to watch him close the gap. You just shook your head, pulling your horse alongside his, facing the opposite way. 

“You let me win!” You shoved him playfully. 

“No I did not,” he laughed. “You beat me fair and square I’m afraid.” 

“Damn,” you were still smiling, leaning forward in the saddle to pat Ares’ neck. “And here I wanted an excuse to go with you to the bar.” 

The two of you led the horses down trails at first, their first time going through anything but open land with a person on their backs, and then moved to winding through the woods off trail. You switched out horses regularly, each of them disconcerted by navigating the more crowded, natural environment while taking commands at first. But you got them to be more comfortable with it and, by the end of the day, they were taking your commands just as easily as they did in open country. 

“Trade me,” you said, dismounting from Ares. Joel frowned. 

“Sure it’s a good idea…” he began but you waved him off. 

“He’s fine, Joel,” you laughed a little. “Really. Wouldn’t let you get on ‘em if he wasn’t safe.” 

“I get thrown off this damn horse…” He got off Hera and went to Ares, standing so close to you in front of the horse that he could feel you beside him. 

“Then I’ll watch however many movies you want,” you looked up at him, teasing. 

“Alright,” he sighed, offering the larger horse his palm. He sniffed it, skeptically, paying closer attention to you than to Joel. 

“You know him,” you said, voice soothing and soft, dragging your nails gently over the underside of Ares’ long jaw. “He’s a friend, he’s good, we can trust him…” 

Joel watched you, almost feeling like he shouldn’t, like he was intruding on a private conversation with a dear companion. But even if he were, he wouldn’t have been able to tear himself away. He loved what you were saying too much to turn away from it, his heart swelling with it. You trusted him. Of everyone left in this godforsaken world, you trusted him. 

Ares pressed his velvet muzzle into his hand. 

“Good boy,” you kissed the horse’s massive head and took better hold of the reins, turning your attention to Joel. “See? He’s harmless. Hop up.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel smiled - couldn’t help but smile - and climbed onto Ares. 

You were right, Ares was fine. You took over Hera and led Cassiopeia as the two of you worked your way through the forest back to a trail and, eventually, back toward Jackson. Ares responded well to Joel’s commands, calm and trusting, nothing like the horse that you’d cautioned him against touching so recently. You’d done just what you’d said you’d do, made it so he would be a good, reliable mount for patrol, no longer the wild creature he once was.

The two of you were almost back to the trail when your face fell. 

“Joel?” You said, the tension obvious in your voice. He rode alongside you and you nodded toward a tree. There was a clean, clear x cut, about shoulder height, into the trunk. Like someone marking a location. “Look like something anyone from Jackson might do?” 

“No,” Joel shook his head, brows drawn together. “No, it doesn’t.” 

You looked at him, the relaxed joy he’d seen in you all day entirely gone. 

“We’ll report it,” he said, nudging Ares a bit closer to you, as close as the horses could really get. “Get a team out here…” 

“We don’t want to check it out now?” You asked. Your whole body was stiff. Hera stomped her feet below you and she chuffed unhappily. 

You were afraid. 

“No,” Joel said. “We’re not equipped to go huntin’ anyone down. We go back. Nothin’ that says they’re here now, not going to risk you. We go back, tell Tommy, make sure we’re equipped to handle whatever it is.”

Your eyes searched his, wide and vulnerable, and he wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close. Close enough that he knew you were safe. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, holding your gaze. “I promise. I’ll keep you safe. Promise I will.” 

Next Chapter

A/N: Eeeeeeeeek!

Y'all. They are so close. I promise. Next chapter ramps everything up and I've been looking forward to writing it for a while now. I hope you'll enjoy reading it, too!

Thanks for sticking this story out! I know it's been a hell of a slow burn but I've loved getting to settle Joel and Bambi into this comfortable place and building their trust and relationship before we move on to the next part.

I do have an updates blog. Follow and subscribe for post alerts to get an alert whenever I post a new chapter! I promise I won't spam ya!

I so appreciate you all being here and I love you more than words can express. Thank you thank you thank you!

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[darklydeliciousdesires]

Improper - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

Ahhh, this took me back to my youth, besties, writing the experience of a first time with a first love! So yes, as I mentioned yesterday, this features a young!Luca, he and reader both losing their virginity to one another ahead of their wedding. Because they're naughty. Haha! Enjoy :)

Words - 3,750

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

He was always the handsomest boy in school, with the darkest hair and the most irresistible, peridot flecked eyes, the Italian blood running through his veins giving him something extra where appearance was concerned. Nobody else looked anything like Luca Changretta. He was tall, too. Even at twelve when you both left the classroom behind, but god, what four years did to that handsome boy, turning him into the most gorgeous young man you’d ever laid eyes upon.  

He knew it, too. Knew what he had. Knew he looked more like a twenty-year-old than a kid of sixteen. Knew there were grown women in their early twenties who – as they put it - ‘wouldn’t half give that Changretta lad a run for his money, I can tell you!’ as they viewed him with lust in their eyes, their improper thoughts spoken in hushed whisper. After all, for a lady to speak that is wholly uncouth, but you could scarcely blame them. He is magnificently handsome. 

Luca doesn’t want them, though. His desire only has eyes for one. You.  

Mills & Floss is a small factory operation right on the boundary between Small Heath and Bordesley Green, where you’ve found work as a sewing machine operative. From seven in the morning until four in the afternoon, your fingers feed delicate fabrics into a sewing machine. Curtains, tablecloths, cushion covers, everything relating to home furnishings. It’s tedious work, but it’s a wage, a few vital shillings to go towards your mother’s pot at the end of every week to pay your keep.  

In your household, you either worked or you married. The latter was going to happen, too, your parents and Luca’s arranging everything, a summer wedding scheduled for that year of 1896. With just weeks to wait, it will be simply wonderful; no longer seeing him under the supervision of a chaperone, free to do whatever you want with the boy who has enamoured you completely.  

What you want above all? Well, it’s what all young people wish for secretly, beneath the veil of modesty and properness. As it turns out, you will receive it much sooner than your wedding night, too.  

“’Ere! Your young man is waiting for you outside, (Y/N)!”  

Your head shoots up from where you’ve been retying your bootlace, the boom of Victoria, the loudest of the sewing machine operatives reaching you from the window she peers out of. Bustling over to her side, your grin widens in an instant to see your love there, the women all cooing softly as they notice the rosy blush flushing your cheeks.  

“No chaperone either, ooh! Now there’s a thing!” Elsie, a girl of your age whispers, all the women giggling. 

You wave a dismissive hand. “There is bound to be one. His cousin will be milling around somewhere, he always is.” Indeed, your meetings with Luca are always supervised, that supervision usually coming in the form of both of your parents when the families meet for dinner, or Fabrizio, Luca’s cousin, who watches you both like a hawk should Luca call to court you away from either of the family homes.  

Even a simple stroll around the centre of Birmingham, or a visit to the park to spectate at the band stand, and you must be escorted by a third.  

It is a surprise to have your love meet you from work, even more so that when you peer into the street below, there is no sign of Fabrizio. You were expecting them both a little later to call upon you at home, Luca mentioning something about a walk to the local boating lake.  

“He’s probably gone to buy cigarettes.” You decree, feeling a little uncomfortable about the connotations of it, your love waiting for you with no chaperone in sight. What would people think? Moving away, you collect your little lacy shawl and wrap it around your shoulders, lifting your dress as you take the stairs down to the bottom floor, past the rows of sewing machines now come to a still, the factory about to close for the day.  

“Afternoon,” Luca greets you with casually, chewing on a matchstick nonchalantly, removing it to take your hand and kiss it. “You look beautiful, as always.” 

Oh, his charm. He’d be insufferable with that little slither of arrogance, if he wasn’t so damned cute with it, too. It's the little hint of boy there still lurking within the tall, gorgeous young man that sets your heart to flutter every single time.  

“Thank you,” you smile, “and you appear to be missing a cousin.”  

The way his lips curl into a grin has your insides melting. He never fails to make you swoon. “I am. Do you want to know what else I’m missing?” he asks, loosely draping his arms around your waist. 

“Go on,” you urge. 

He leans to your ear, fingers teasing a little circle over the boning of your bodice. “Parents at my house. They’re out until later tonight, Angel is god knows where, so I have an empty house and beautiful girl I want to take back to enjoy it in.”  

Your gasp has him laughing softly. “Luca! You don’t mean...” 

“I do.” He continues to laugh as you take his arm, walking away from the factory. “You need to stop with that prim and proper demeanour. When Fabrizio left us alone last time, the way you kissed me said loud and clear exactly what you wanted.”  

You can’t help but tease a little in the face of his cockiness. “And what do I want, Luca?” 

“Me,” he begins, leaning in close, “naked against you, pushing my nice, thick cock right up into your...” 

“That’s enough!” A slap hits his chest, your love laughing loudly. “At least in public.”  

Those words put a definite spring in his step as you walk towards the horse tram stop. Luca’s house isn’t too far, but with an added urgency to return, a faster means of transportation than mere feet upon cobblestones is required. He pays for you both while you greet the two beautiful, black shire horses with a stroke upon their velvety muzzles, climbing aboard to sit at the rear.  

The tram moves off after a few more people have climbed aboard, and for the entire duration of the journey, you are beside yourself with nerves and excitement in equal measures. Sex before marriage is scandalous, shocking behaviour, definitely not to be partaken of. Your love is not the type of man to be so dissuaded, though. He’s rebellious through and through, and that in itself makes it all the more exciting.  

You’re about to go and partake in something very enjoyable; the reality that you both know you shouldn’t be doing it only adds to the thrill. As does the fact that he sits with his hand rested upon your thigh, fingertips gently squeezing.  

“I can’t wait to take this dress off of you, peel away your underwear and kiss you all over, my sweet amore,” he whispers, kissing the side of your neck, making you shiver as you try not to grin. There’s an older woman sitting nearby, looking at you both with utter distain for such public displays of affection. “And I do mean all over.” 

To kiss him right now would be enough, but hearing how he wants to place his mouth all over you has heat gently misting your skin, the confidence he shows over what’s about to happen adding to the heady rush. He’s never done it before, or at least if he has, he fibbed to you when he said that he hadn’t.  

He speaks with all the confidence of a man who has enjoyed a woman, though, and goodness how it turns your senses inside out. It makes you feel daring and full of zest, enough to take your fan from the small bag you carry and flick it open, giving yourself a liberal wafting before holding it in front of your face, boldness ensnaring you, pulling him into a heated kiss behind it.  

Those kisses have you tingling between your thighs, his tongue nudging and swirling with yours, pulling away from him before it gets a little too heated. You shan’t disgrace yourself publicly, although the move did attract a few negative eyes. All except for one lady, surprisingly the most elderly upon the horse tram, who chuckles to herself as you blush a little.  

“Oh, ‘tis young love!” she admonishes the whispers of the other passengers. “Leave them be, for heaven’s sake!” Shaking her head, she turns to you. “These pompous women here, acting as if they never kissed a boy behind a fan. I certainly did when I was a girl.” She then stands, smoothing her billowing skirt, ready to alight. “Enjoy your afternoon, my darlings.”  

“We will.” Luca chimes brightly, nudging your side. Oh, he truly is pure devilment. Those women still view him with utter distain, your love smirking, eyeing them back with defiance until they look away. They’ve picked the wrong lad here, if they wished for him to feel shame. You’re quite certain that Luca doesn’t know the meaning of the word.  

Four stops later and you are climbing from the tram, taking his arm once more and walking a little further up Coventry Road, towards the townhouse the Changretta family call home. It is a stark difference to your own residence, your family not poor but not as wealthy as his, your home above the pub your parents run much less spacious. Luca even has his own bedroom, a foreign concept to you entirely, having to share with your younger sisters.  

That bedroom is where he takes you after entering the empty house, removing your boots at the door as per Luca’s mother’s wishes, passed on through him. The anticipation ramps up with every step you take up the steep staircase, your heart thrumming as the nervousness of it winds through your belly.  

Entering the room, you glance around, taking in your surroundings. The bed is actually a double, Luca having told you that already, that he enjoys spreading out as he sleeps so nagged his mother into it. It’ll be coming with you to your new home once you are married, along with all the dark, carved wooden furniture. Vincente and Audrey have been very generous in purchasing a little back-to-back for you to begin married life in, and you cannot wait until you are carried over the threshold in your wedding dress. 

The only dress on your mind at the moment is the one your love’s hands smooth over as he stands behind you, fingers pattering over the fastening of your bodice as you remove your shawl, feeling the lacings binding you tightly begin to loosen. He pauses, and you feel him stiffen a little. He’s never undressed somebody before, of course.  

Turning to him, you reach behind yourself, loosening the fastenings further, allowing you to wiggle yourself free of the tight restrictions, pulling the ribbon that ties your underskirt as well, the masses of fabric pooling in a froth around your ankles as you step from them. His eyes ink with lust at seeing you there before him only in undergarments, your hands still toying, unhooking your brassiere before revealing your breasts to his hungry eyes.  

“I think the rest should be easy enough for you to take off yourself,” you speak, reaching for him.  

His hands roam over your skin for the first time, and your heart pangs a little to feel them tremble against you, a little slip in the bravado he’s show so far. Unless those shudders are excited energy. Perhaps a little of both as he steps nearer, nuzzling you softly before his mouth covers yours.  

The kisses you share are urgent, but not frantic, building steadily as you move with him to the bed. He sheds his jacket, your hands taking up the task of undoing his tie and shirt, the movements all a little awkward as he removes your undergarments. Seeing what lies beneath his clothes is a sight that you shall never forget, a beautiful, lean body ridged with slender muscles, smatterings of dark hair flecking his chest and belly, his light olive skin celestial soft and blemish free.  

Your hands explore him, nails softly grazing, your lips pressing kisses against his chest. His skin is hot, sumptuous in feel, shaky hands wandering as you finally dare to lower your gaze. Oh, wow. So that’s what a cock looks like, swollen and hard, begging for your hand as it bobs a little. You’ve no clue what on earth to do with it, but the grasp and gentle tug as your fingers close around it pulls a soft groan from him.  

He remains standing as you seat yourself on the edge of his bed, your hand running from the base to tip of him, tongue licking over the line of dark hair running down from his navel. A shy smile spreads across your mouth, tongue circling his navel, watching the way his hips tremble. You have him at your mercy, and the brand-new sensation of sexual power over him is a strong current that runs right through you.

“If you wanted to put your mouth where your hand is, I wouldn’t stop you,” he speaks, voice deepened a few octaves, that gravelled rasp making your cunt twitch.  

Humming a chuckle, you flicker a lick over the head of him, his breath catching in his throat. “I bet you wouldn’t.” Participation is learning, you figure, guiding that silky skin covered steel to your lips and closing them around the head, sucking gently, his knees almost buckling. A little more pressure has him panting, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling the combs that keep it in its neat updo free to tumble, groaning as he watches himself vanish in your mouth.  

“Fuck,” he grits, the cuss making your insides tighten pleasantly, “that’s so fucking good.” His praise spurs you, pausing to trail your tongue all over his hardness, your nails gently grazing his chest. You can feel his heart pounding hard, excitement that you are the one evoking such tingling over your bones as your eyes find his.  

“I love the way it feels in my mouth. It’s bloody beautiful. I’ve heard the girls at work call them ugly, but yours isn’t.” You praise, licking the head with a little flicker, his moans deepening so much, you do it again. Trembles wrack his muscles, goose pimples rising over his skin, his hips beginning to sway back and forth, cusses falling from his mouth upon every groan until he pulls away suddenly, pushing you back onto the bed. 

“Feels too good. Don't want to be spent before it’s even begun.” His lips meet yours, his body pinning you down into the bed, the heat of his skin wickedly beautiful as it presses to your nakedness. Hands and mouths wander, the exploration so shiny and new, flocks of butterflies blooming into flight in your belly, his mouth delivering keen kisses to your neck.  

You inhale a sharp breath to feel the heat of his mouth suck upon your nipple, Luca shifting off you a little, access to stroke your body granted as his hand lowers, your thighs parting. That first stroke through your folds causes the breath to hitch in your throat, his lips finding yours, both panting against the kisses you share. You almost feel shame at how wet you are, a little embarrassed at the keenness your body shows, but the way his fingers feel as they glide over the silky petals of your cunt quickly diminish that.  

He plays with you gently, each stroke lowering, a finger breaching you. You feel beautiful to him, slick and hot, heavenly upon the inside as your walls pulse upon his finger, adding a second, slowly pushing them back and forth. The pleasure of it darts hot beneath your skin, the sensation of a part of him within you, the intimacy of it, stroking his face as your hips buck up against his touch. On instinct, his fingers curl a little, and it sends lightning flickering up your spine, whimpering as he kisses your neck, his mouth descending as his body shifts down the bed.  

His eyes shine with arousal as he finally reaches your sex, his fingers replaced, steering a firm lick between your folds. You whimper, that first contact so good, your legs close tightly around his head. 

“Sorry,” you offer as he pushes them apart, Luca laughing quietly against the slick wet of you. 

“At least I know you like it.” There’s an upside to being clamped between two thighs, you suppose. Another lick gilds you, sends warmth rushing over your skin, especially when you feel his tongue nudge at your little bud, your back arching as you gasp. 

“There,” you pant, practically writhing before him. “Oh, right there!” 

He seeks it, the tip of his tongue snaking back and forth, smiling as your reaction delights his ears, those sweet moans and cries like celestial music. He can’t get enough of how you feel against his mouth, the taste of you intoxicating as he laves thirstily, sucking, kissing your tender nub, tongue flicking over you, your nails trawling his scalp as he gives you exactly what you crave. The nectar of your cunt floods his tongue, and it makes his heart skip a beat, the intimacy of it, how much it arouses him to have his mouth all over your most sacred of places, the noises it draws from you making his cock throb. 

“You taste beautiful.” he murmurs, arms winding beneath your thighs, gripping them, treating your aqueous slit to long, firm licks, evoking quivers that shiver you from head to toe. He grants no clemency from the hypnotic beat of his tongue over your bud, tasting your hot, pink folds with swirls and flickers as you gush onto his lips.

You twitch against each lick, every carefully administered circling of his hungry tongue, your hands gripping his slender shoulders, your hips keening against the utter glory of what his mouth conjures. He draws cusses from you as you pant, your body spasming so hard as he begins to suck your bud that you’re unsure if your response is of pulling away or shunting closer, crying out as you’re eaten with ruinous gusto.    

He’s certainly thriving on doing this, and lord, how it shows. 

He has you beginning to spark against each well-placed lick, his mouth making you tighten, your walls in full clench, only sated by the arrival of his fingers into your slick, raking firmly, a smile playing his lips as he watches you tremble.    

The heat of his mouth has you literally melting for him, Luca panting against your dewy folds as he assails your clit with firm circles, driving out pleasure from the very root of you, skittering through you as your hips purl and flex, the waves of your release washing over you ceaselessly, leaving you a panting, shaking wreck. So, that’s what it feels like to come for somebody. Goodness, it felt like absolutely nothing else you could ever compare it to.  

Pulling his head from between your legs, you fight for breath, your love leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses up your body until he’s claiming your lips once more. Reaching between you, he positions his cock at your still fluttering opening, nuzzling you sweetly, pushing until he slips in with ease.  

Your body tenses for a second, expecting pain. You’ve heard that the first time hurts, but you feel absolutely nothing even remotely close to discomfort at taking him inside you, stroking one another tenderly as you kiss, your mutual gaze so loving and fond.  

“Ahhh, fuck. You feel incredible,” he groans, stroking your face. “Does it feel okay? Not hurting you, am I, amore?”  

His care touches you deeply, running your fingers through his soft, dark hair. “No, you feel perfect. You and your beautiful cock.” you chirp, making him laugh softly, that chuckle turning into a groan as he pushes a little deeper, filling you. The warm pool of syrupy heat bathing his cock sends little shocks skittering through him, the feel unlike anything else, ecstasy raining comets to burn his blood as those same little hails of light flicker through you.  

It's a sensual, blooming rush of pleasure, your arms entwining one another, your bodies moving a little awkwardly together to begin with until the rise and fall is met with perfect sync, his mouth placing tender kisses at your neck. Every ridge of his cock scraping against your tender walls feels wickedly decadent, pleasure coiling tightly, his body quickening as you wrap your legs around his slender waist, nails digging into his back. 

“Oh my god, yes, fuck me!” you wail, clutching on around him as he pounds you into the bed, head lowering to suck your nipple with a deep, gritty groan. The heat of it burns like a furnace, that pleasure winding ever tighter as you feel yourself escalating, your nails grazing down his back as your spine-melting release rushes like a spring breeze over your nerves. It’s white hot and consuming, feeling his cock twitching as his teeth clamp on your nipple and he floods your cunt with cum, leaving you dizzy and panting.  

It feels like your entire body is a garden bursting into bloom beneath him, the sweetness of your release still tingling through you as you kiss him, feeling his cock gently twitching within the snug clasp of your sodden cunt. Oh, how you can barely wait to be his wife, and enjoy what you just did with him whenever you want to. You must admit, though, the fact that you shouldn’t have done it was half the fun of having sex with him in the first place.  

Still, nothing can take the sheen of it away. That sheen lasts right up until your wedding day, hardly able to wait until he carries you across the threshold of your new home, placing you down in the lounge.  

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he sighs against your neck, unfastening your wedding gown. 

You can’t help a little sarcasm. “Oh yes, those three weeks truly were an eternity, weren’t they?” 

“Shut up,” he chides, slapping your bum. “Of course, they were. I knew how good what I had waiting for me was.” 

It’s even better the second time around.  

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Fun fact a doctor shared with me when they learned I'm a quilter: it's a very healthy hobby.

Most of my time is spent standing because I have to press seams. With foundation paper piecing, I use a hand presser (looks like a rolling pin on a stick) because the paper curls and warps under heat. Machine sewing involves a lot of shoulder and arm usage. Cutting fabric uses even more, and I cut a lot more when I use foundation paper piecing. I use a wall in my bedroom as a design wall, and it results in stretching and reaching. Getting up and down from my chair, plus all the standing when pressing and cutting fabric, works out my legs.

When the doctor asked about how my body feels when I'm working on quilts, she also asked if my heart races. It does! I get very excited when working on a quilt, and occasionally frustrated, but my heart is hardly at rest. Just thinking about working on quilts gets it going. They told me it's something they would call light cardio, especially for someone like me. I have moderate to severe asthma, and doing more than light cardio (speed walking for example) results in my asthma acting up. So this? It gives my heart a good workout.

I also exercise my brain, especially with the planning and focus. They mentioned quilting, and the arts in general, have been proven to help delay and even prevent dementia.

Making quilts also helps treat anxiety. Does making something big cause you anxiety? Then go small. Before I started using medication to treat my ADHD, I made a lot of smaller things because Instant Gratification is very nice. Now that I'm on medication, big things are significantly easier to work on because I don't feel the mental itch for NOW NOW NOW.

I also apply everything I learned as a macrame artist, painter, and poet, when I make my quilts. My family can see the influence in the work, especially the other quilters. The doctor explained this helps me retain my memories, and again exercises my brain.

Next time someone has the audacity to tell you making quilts is a lazy hobby, invite them to join you. Have them do as you do. My husband has never once called it lazy because he knows it's not, but someone else did. So I told them to join me for the work. They left with very sore shoulders and feet, and apologized later with a gift of a mini jelly roll (for the uninitiated: it's a precut bundle of fabric that's 2.5 x 42 inches, and a full roll is 40 strips).

I highly recommend getting a couple relief mats if standing for long periods of times causes you pain. I have one because of pain. My feet are so highly arched only about 20% of each foot is on the ground when I'm standing, my lower back has a permanent arch that prevents me from ever touching my toes (I haven't been able to touch my toes since I was about three years old; my dr suspects some of my lower vertebrae are fused, but we need x-rays to verify), and my knees have always been brats. My sewing days are only about 3-5 hours because all the standing has my back screaming at me. Before my relief mat, it was a max of three hours.

Making quilts is hard work, both mentally and physically. It's 100% worth it though!

[outlastrabbit]

Could I request Eddie Gluskin and a male s/o that sings with him please?

Reader Sings with Eddie Gluskin

You were wandering the vocational block as a variant, feeling almost at peace as a rare silence washed over this part of the asylum. You crept through the dark, looking over the old sewing machines when you heard a deep, rich voice sing…

“When I was a boy, my mother often said to me…” The man’s voice was charming and almost soothing, singing that old song you knew too well. “Get married, son, and see how happy you will be…”

You glanced around the dark room, trying to pin where the man was. His voice was coming from next door, and was slowly getting closer. It was a big risk, but you felt compelled to sing along.

“I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find…who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind.” You sang back.

A silence fell back upon the vocational block. The singing man from the other room stopped in surprise to hear you sing along with him. The deafening silence was soon broken by the sound of his heavy footsteps, and he sang again…

“I will have to look around until the right one I have found.”

The singing stranger’s massive figure soon emerged from a dark doorway, revealing to be Eddie Gluskin. Your eyes widened as they met with his piercing blue ones, that grin still present on his scarred face. You couldn’t bring yourself to say something as he continued to stare creepily at you. Before you realised what you were doing, you finally opened your mouth again to sing…

“I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old dad.”

Eddie’s grin only widened as he slowly approached you, singing back… “she was a pearl, and the only girl that daddy ever had.” He sung in a now thin, excited voice.

Suddenly, you were all he saw. He was blind to everything else as he stalked towards you in the dark. The sound of your singing, your pretty eyes and your soft looking skin… he wanted it all.

And he was gonna take it.

[kvroii-arts]

And here is my 1950s Singer sewing machine. This is also an old photo, but she was missing her bobbin, although I think she had nearly everything else. Like the others in my collection, she is a hand crank sewing machine.

[its-in-the-woods]

The Woman Who Couldn’t Die Part 10

master list

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Original Character

Synopsis: An eerily familiar call rang into the woods. Her whole body stiffened at the call, the missing digit on her left hand screaming like they were fresh.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning: This is based on Fallout expect typical horror as well as: Blo0d, G0re, Death, Bodily injury, mentions of SH, death, drugs use, soft!cooper, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, Dead dove,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

*here we are ten chapters in, think we've hit our halfway point.

*lots of angst, can't say there won't be more

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By the time they found the small shack to hole up in the sun was nearly gone, the Ghoul kept himself busy making a fire. Trying his best not to think too hard about his breakdown with Jade, avoiding the emotional turmoil that had been ringing in his ears. No amount of chem was going to take the edge off of that. Jade hadn’t said much, just walking beside him, heading west. Her words banging around his head, ringing the bell over and over. 

It had been too many years since he had let someone in, too many years of walking this place alone. All for it to be turned upside down by this tiny killing machine, who liked to hold his hand, and lean into his side. Who refused to back down from just about anything put in front of her. He had half a mind to try and knock her out, and leave. The thought of leaving her here was worse. How do you leave someone? How had he ever left anyone? He was getting too old for this bullshit. At least the fire was going, maybe some warmth and light would make the future look less bleak.  

Turning to look at Jade he saw that she had dug out a sewing kit, a small knife, and metal tweezers on a somewhat clean piece of cloth. His brows furrowed at the sight, wondering what the heck she had planned for the evening. He’d never been much of a masochist, even in this world.

“What’s that for?” The Ghoul gestures at the layout of implements. Jade looking back at him confusion written in the lines of her face. 

“You got shot several times, I figured I could dig them out for you,” Jade said, moving over so he could sit beside her. “It’s got to hurt.”

He stood for a moment longer, before looking down at his chest, there were, in fact, a dozen new holes. He had felt it when the bullets had impacted him, but after that, it was just numbed by the chems like everything else. 

“Ahh-” He sighs, sitting beside her, the fire providing enough light for her to see what needed doing. “Usually the bullets come out on their own. Or I dig them out when they get itchy.” 

Jade’s mouth fell open, eyes narrowing at him.“They just come out on their own?” 

The Ghoul shrugs, pushing his jacket off, dropping the bandoleer on the ground beside him. Noticing how her eyes followed the movement of each piece, trying not to think too much about how it made his teeth clench. “Yah, the Ghoulification process speeds up regeneration. So the shrapnel comes out eventually.”

Her brows scrunch, her eyes going to his vest that was dotted with holes. “Would it heal faster if they were taken out?”

She wasn’t going to let it go, Cooper sighing as he nods, if the shrapnel was out they'd be healed by morning. He still didn't move to remove any clothes, he doesn’t have to. Jade is moving watching him with those brown eyes. Her hands work surprisingly well considering she is missing two on one side. He’d needed to return the favor and check the stitches on her hand. Stim-pak worked incredibly well, but she had still lost two fingers. His stitch job was good, and they should heal fine, but it didn't hurt to check.

“There is nothing pretty under there,” The Ghoul swallows, his heart pounding in his chest as she pushes the vest open, moving to work on the button on the worn blue shirt underneath.

“I would be sorely disappointed if there was,” Jade jested, the firelight making the yellow in her eyes sparkle. The Ghoul’s skin itches to get up and walk away from this situation, to ignore the way his stomach got hot as she moved the clothes off of him.  

The Ghoul stops her on the third button, “I mean it Jade, I’ve been walking around this world for a long time.”

Jade carefully grabs his hand, moving it away from the other buttons, and placing them on the dirt beside him. Continuing to undo the rest, she doesn’t flinch when she peels it open. He’d expected some kind of reaction, something that would make it easier for him to push her away. Instead, she looked more curious than not, his skin underneath isn’t as red, more a marbled mix of tans, pink, and deep red streaks. A patchwork of scars covers his chest, dotted with many new holes. Her fingers run over each, eyes never straying from the work ahead of her. 

His mind wandered to that night she had crawled onto his lap to dig radroach guts out of his nose hole. How she had pressed her body against his, the way she had looked down at him before kissing him. How he’d taken off like a bat out of hell, leaving her there in the dirt. Yet she was still there, reaching for tweezers to work out the shrapnel. 

Cooper dug into his bag and pulled out a small flask of moonshine he kept for occasions like this. Taking a swig he offered some to Jade. She took a small sip, looking directly at him without flinching, before going to work. 

It hurt like a son of s bitch, Jade was careful doing minimal cuts, mostly using the tweezers to grab metal and fabric out of the holes. The Ghoul had less nerves, skin hard and calloused, but the cutting still hurt. Her hands worked steadily as if this was a nightly ritual. He wondered how many times she’d sewn herself up over the year. The Waste is awful, but most still squirm at the sight of bleeding wounds, not Jade. Jade never seemed bothered by anything, wise and hardened well beyond her years. 

Each wound would bleed, Jade instructing him to hold a clean piece of cloth against the hole, before going to the next one. The Ghoul does as she asks, even if it wasn’t necessary. She was bound and determined to care for him, and at the end of the day, he really didn’t mind. He couldn't remember the last time someone took the time to make sure he was okay. As she pulled out the final piece, Jade reached for the sewing kit. 

“No need for stitches, it’ll be closed by mornin’.” The Ghoul states, tossing the cloth onto the fire, before starting to button up his shirt. 

Jade stops him, her hand firmly on his chest. Eyes glancing up at him, he can’t help how he licks his lip, she is pushing him back down. He ain't stopping her, watching as Jade crawls onto his lap, looking down at him. Feeling the weight of her thighs on either side of his hips, the flush of her face made his whole body heat up. Could feel the heat radiate from the center of his body, making him yearn to feel just how hot she was. His hands go to rest on her covered thighs, as her fingers push the material further off his chest. Trying not to move, to not take her the way he wanted to.

The tiny shack they were in wasn't being heated by the fire anymore. Jade leaned down to kiss him again, her lips pressed against him as her fingers moved over the wreckage of his body. Cooper opened his mouth just enough to suck her lip into his, Jade keening, her hips rolling as he licked at it. He tried not to react, letting her set the pace for whatever the hell they were doing. Could feel the way he was reacting, her hips grinding down as she felt him underneath her. Her tongue teases inside his mouth, it felt so good, too good.

The Ghoul pulls away, chest heaving from the sweet taste of her on his tongue. “Jade,” He tries to warn her, but she is more than a little persistent. “Stop.”

He can’t do this, it’s too much, despite the fire brewing in his stomach, he couldn’t let her continue. Being what he was, who he was, they were already in a dangerous spot. There wasn't even a proper bed for either of them. He’d drawn a line, kissing, cuddling, holding hands. Sure. But being intimate, he wasn’t going to cross that. Not here, not in this shitty little shack. Jade might have been made in this land, but she deserved something a little nicer than this. 

“I told you,” Jade said quietly, “I am not a child, you don’t get to make choices for me.” 

Cooper looks away, his hands still lying on her thighs, her hands still warm on his chest. His words were lost somewhere under her fingertips. 

Jade nods, lips tight as she looks away, moving off him. To lean her back against the wall. She looks defeated, bags under her eyes prominent in this lighting. She looked both older and younger at the same time. The Ghoul immediately regretted pushing her away, but at the same time, he didn’t. Whatever was going on between them, now was not the time to move that forward.

“It's okay.” She says quietly, fingers rubbing over the bandage of her hand. “Probably safer not to.”  

He sits up, feeling strangely empty without her at his side. He wants to button up his shirt but doesn’t. Jade had pulled out a sweater making a makeshift pillow from it, before rolling away from him. Her back turned to him feeling like a slap to the face. A slap would have been better than this. Cooper wants to touch her desperately, to pull her back against him, to say he was sorry. That he just needed more time or something. 

Instead, he kicks the fire out. His hand moves to grab his inhaler, they falter and he drops them. Rather he reaches for his jacket instead and covers Jade. She thankfully grabs it and pulls it around her, as he sits beside Jade staring into the black void of the space. 

***

Jade wakes to the early morning light, her sleep having been restless without the comforting heat of the Ghoul. She rolls onto her back, staring at the hole-filled ceiling, at least it hadn't rained on them.  She pushes herself up, doing her usual stretches checking that all her bones and joints are still moved. It's just light enough for her to see what she was doing, the sun’s red rays cutting through the green leaves outside the building. 

Satisfied, she lets herself look around the space more. It was empty of any sign of the Ghoul, beside his jacket that had covered her. Letting out a huff she shoves her sweater into her overflowing pack. Before taking a swig of water as breakfast, pushing herself onto her feet. Jade draping the jacket over her arm to give back to the scar-covered asshole that was her companion. 

Slowly moving herself outside, joints still aching from the ordeal and endless walking. Jade figured that the Ghoul was probably outside sucking chem or checking the path for any activity. Rounding the corner of the shack she checks the narrow pathway, the outside is just as empty as the inside was, Jade looks around the whole building twice just to be sure. He isn't there. Looking left and right trying to see if he is off in the distance somewhere. Nothing. Her heart twists as if she has been stabbed. Mind reeling at the realization that she was alone, the Ghoul was gone. 

Jade is paralyzed with fear, heart trying to bang its way out of her chest. She’s paced up and down the walkway a dozen times now. Nothing. No signs of him, the ground too hard to leave tracks. The birds were too loud to hear footsteps. It all felt so wrong. The morning light is now bright enough to see everything around her.

“Okay Jade, got to pull yourself together,” She says to no one, “How far could he have gone?”

Pacing twice more Jade is torn as to which direction she should be heading. Go back to the crossroads and go south? Would he have gone back that way? She had no idea how far she was from anywhere. This was the furthest she'd ever traveled, it wasn't like she could pull a map out of thin air. The Ghoul had always known these things, he had probably walked these paths hundreds of times considering how old he was. 

A panicked voice in the back of her head screamed that she was being dumped on the side of the road. Jade forced herself to stop moving and really think. Had she been duped? Even after traveling together for two weeks, would he dump her on the side of the road?

“So do I go that way? Do I hole up here? Go back?” None of the ideas appealed to her, none of them made a lot of sense either. 

Why would he leave her here after everything they'd been through? He had ample opportunity to ditch her. The Ghoul could have left her for dead a dozen times, there was no good reason for him to disappear. 

Jade’s mind wandered to the bounty, she'd seen how upset he was last night. The way he'd pinned her and kissed her like he'd never get to again. Tears pricked at her eyes, she wiped at them angrily. Hoping that he hadn't left her out of some form of chivalry, trying to put her out of danger. Which sounded just like something that stupid asshole would do.

An eerily familiar call rang into the woods. Her whole body stiffened at the call, the missing digit on her left hand screaming like they were fresh. The woods silence had her hair standing on end, as gooseflesh rippled over. The creature. Another call, the ringing echoing in her ears. It was coming from southeast of where she stood. Looking ahead of her, Jade realized with a twisting stomach that she needed to head west. She could not risk running into it again, Jade needs to leave. Now. 

Jade stood unsure of what to do or where to go. Her whole body screaming at her to stay. Even though she knew she didn't have a choice. So she heads in the opposite direction of the sun and the scream. West. Their body protested as Jade started to move as fast as she could away from whatever it was. 

***

The Ghoul stood in the doorway staring at the empty space confused. Jade was gone, he’d searched the area, and called out her name several times. There were no signs of struggle, but that didn’t mean shit. She’d taken her stuff and took off, or worse someone had taken her. He kicked some rocks at the thought, feeling stupid that he’d left her here alone.

“Fuck.” The Ghoul breathes out, “No, she’d have fought back. Woulda put up a struggle.”

Rubbing his gloved hands over his face he sighs, realizing that she probably left when she woke up and heard that damn thing shrilling out its call. Or maybe she was just fed up with being turned down by him and took off. He grits his teeth, despite everything he knows, somewhere in the hollowness that is his body, Jade won’t have just left. Staying wouldn’t have been wise either, moving was the best choice. Jade was smart, he just now needed to catch up to her. 

***

The Ghoul had left hours before the sun had come up, after Jade had sat on top of his lap he hadn’t been able to sleep. He also refused to wake her just because he couldn’t shut his eyes for more than five minutes. So he had left, deciding to go back to the crossroad to see if his instincts were tingling in that direction; it had bothered him that Jade hadn’t sensed it when he did. She wasn’t a Ghoul, but she often felt the same things he did. Maybe it was medication, even if it had been a few days since she’d had any. 

As he stood there looking south, the sun starting to light up the endless sea of green, the Ghoul wasn’t feeling much of anything. He was about to turn and go back to tell Jade that he was wrong. When everything went silent. The long eerie call of the creature shook the earth underneath his feet, the distinct sound of trees parting ringing out along the sun's rays. He stayed long enough to try and see if it was close, when he saw nothing he’d turn and go back. Determined to keep putting a large space of distance between him and whatever that thing was. The Ghoul desperately needed to get him and Jade out of this forsaken place. 

***

Jade had started to cry, she wasn’t sure exactly when, but at some point walking along this dust-barren dirt road a damn had broken, She rubs at her eyes feeling ridiculous for the tears that fall. It wasn’t just because she’d left without the Ghoul, it was tears for everything that had happened over the last two years. She missed her Mom, her Dad, her Brahmin, she even missed the old drafty house. Swallowing she did her best not to make too much noise, the last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself. So they rolled down her face, into the dirt and grim from travel making her eyes sting. 

She felt stupid, but Jade couldn’t stay and she couldn’t go towards it either. Instead, she just had to walk away. Maybe she’d stumble across a town, do bar work, or maybe grow things. She rolls her eyes at the thoughts like she’d last a season growing anything. What Jade wanted was the Ghoul, to have him show up, and catch up. To keep being her companion, and teaching her how to bounty hunt.

Pushing her finger against the side of her nose she shot snot onto the ground, it was a gross habit but at least she could breathe now. She wiped at her eyes, pushing down the rest of the sorrow, nothing good would come from the tears. Adjusting her bag she kept moving, even if her footsteps frustrated her. They were loud and uncomfortable. Her mind wandered to the first few days with the Ghoul, and how grumpy he was about everything. How she was sure he’d have left her once they hit the town. Her heart ached at the thought, that crooked grin, the way his eyes shone first thing in the morning. Or during the night as the fire cracked, leaning against his warmth.

She clenched her fist against the straps of her bag. Cursing her own sappy nature feeling like she had made another bad choice in a string of bad choices. Jade’s head is too muddled to make sense of any of it. She kicks at some rocks watching them fly down the road. Listening to it clatter, the noise bouncing off the trees. Almost stopping when she thought she heard her name. Jade kicks another stone down the road, maybe a creature would jump out and eat’er least she won’t be alone anymore.

Jade

This time she did stop, feeling her pulse speed up. It couldn’t be, right? Turning she initially saw nothing, then far off through the filtered light of the trees she saw the unmistakable outline of the Ghoul. The unmistakable outline of that stupid hat and long jacket.

“Jade,” He hollered at her, Jade freezing in place as she heard her name for the third time.  Wondering if maybe this was all a messed-up dream.

He was moving quickly, stride nearly kicking up dirt as he moved towards her. Jade finally found her feet and started to move back towards him. Briefly, wondering if she should draw her weapon and shoot his ass. Not that it would do much, she’d witnessed his regeneration abilities firsthand. The shot would probably piss him off more than anything. Maybe she wanted to piss off, wanted him to snap a little, instead of being this unemotional mass of stone

He was in front of her before she had a chance to pull out a weapon. He stops a few feet away from her, chest heaving under the many layers of clothing. She could make out his eyes, the stupid hat in the way of his face as always. 

“Jade,” He said again, voice fused with warmth around her name as he moved forward, Jade’s body shaking as his arms caught her. Dragging her against his chest. “Fuck, why'd you run off on me.”

Jade pushed back tears burning her eyes, “Me? You’re the one that was gone this morning.”

The Ghoul’s eyes narrowed, “I went t'check on the southern path. To see if we could go thatta'way.”

“So you just left me in the shack? That thing started howling again.” Jade cusses out getting right up into his face. She was pissed, this whole ring around the rosy bullshit was getting old. 

“T'was in the middle of the night,” The Ghoul huffs back, not backing away from her advances. “You can’t see in the dark.”

“So you tell me you’re leaving!” Jade hollered back, not caring what came out of the woods, "You don’t just walk away, what was I s’pposed to do wait to get eaten?”

The Ghoul threw his hands up, “I don't know, maybe the dude who dragged you across a goddamn hallucination-inducing forest would come back for you?”

Jade folds her arms over her chest, still glaring back at him, “This isn’t the first time you ditched me.”

Letting out a breathe, looking away from her, the Ghoul's face tightened with anger at her dismissive, but true, words, "Fuckin christ Jade,” 

“I don’t know who the fuck Christ is, but I am not fuckin'im,” Jade was nearly vibrating with anger at this point. He could make up all the excuses he wanted to, but he had still left there alone.

The Ghoul’s head tipped back, a real laugh rolling out of his chest at her comment. Jade was taken aback by the laughter, her anger breaking at the genuine noise. 

“What the fuck you think is funny,” Jade tries to glare at him, but fails, a smile touching the corners of her lips. 

“That’d think Christ would fuck you, I hope some preacher is rollin; in his grave,” The Ghouls smiles, his shoulders relaxing, before he places a finger under her chin and looks right at her. “I am sorry.”

Jade is surprised by the words, looking at him, and feeling like he is being truthful to her. He was sorry, the pain flickering at the corner of his eyes as he watches her. She leans against the leather gloves, soft against her face, the feel softening her even further. 

“You’re right,” He whispers, “Should have woke you, told you I was going.”

“Promise me you will tell me next time,” Jade says equally as quiet, her hand touching against the wrist of his hand that was cupping her face.

He nods, “I promise. Also. Don’t leave me. Kay?”

Jade nods, before wrapping herself around him, not caring anymore that she was now sobbing into his chest. The last two weeks had tested every bit of her, and right now she needs to let it out. The Ghoul hesitated, for a moment, before holding her against him. His hand rubs at the back of her head. She is not sure how long they stay there, but the Ghoul’s shirt is soaking wet, and her face is covered in fluids.

The Ghoul pulls out a mostly clean rag and carefully cleans her face. His brows furrowed as he does so. She sniffles a little, feeling better now that it's out of her system. He tucks the rag away, Jade tries not to think about when the last time it was cleaned. 

He leans down cupping her face with his hands, before leaning down to kiss her, Jade is taken back but doesn’t pull away. If this was the way he said sorry she wasn’t going to complain. He broke away, leaning his forward against hers. 

“Thought I’d lost you,” He whispers against her, eyes closing before he moves away. 

Jade hates him a little for moving, but she lets it go, following behind him, never more happy to see that stupid coat billowing behind him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Eleven

*likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. It helps more people find me <3

@pixelatedprofilepic @hiddlebatchedloki @toogaytofunctiondangit @dionneroyal49 @dichromaniac

@whatsorceressisthis

[starakex]

Costume Tetris: Storing stuff when you have no storage space

I just cleaned up my cosplay storage space recently and really optimized it down, so I thought I'd share a couple of tips on how I maximize the world's tiniest closet to somehow store most of my costumes, tools and materials.

So disclaimer: despite what I've just said, unfortunately not everything is in the one closet. I've got almost 15 years of cosplay stuff in my teeny tiny home to cram down, so some things end up elsewhere. I try to keep all my crafting materials and tools in this closet, as well as most costumes, with a priority to those currently in rotation for the year to be worn. Some of my tools are in small bins under a desk, and whatever other costumes that don't fit are bagged, folded and squeezed in the corner of another closet where they can occupy otherwise unusable nooks and crannies. My sewing machine is stored with other house tools so I don't risk clobbering myself on the head pulling it off the shelves.

The most important function of this space is easy access to anything I need ASAP, so garments, accessories/props, fabrics, makeup and the majority of my tools are stored inside. Let's take a look!

This closet can be broken down into 5 parts; the top shelf with bags of bulky costumes, the left shelves with compartmentalized bits in boxes and bags, the suspended fabric shelf containing materials and pieces of current craft projects, the garment bags on the right, and the big ol' bins on the bottom. The whole thing is graced by an IKEA LED Bar that I can either plug into an extension cable or just slap my Power Bank on if I'm lazy. (I'm lazy.) Either way, I'm never in there long enough to need a more permanent solution for lighting.

1. Bag Your Bulky Costumes!

This one is my favorite. I have a couple fursuit-type costumes now, and I found that Ikea has some really nice bags that work super well for storing bulkier, weirdly shaped pieces. In my case, each bag contains the equivalent of a mini-partial (Head, Tail, Paws), and they all feature handles that make it easy to grab-n-go the whole thing in one swoop. It keeps them out of dust's way too, which is a huge concern of mine. I'd likely store armor builds in these bags, if I actually still made those, with a bit of silk/gift paper in between the pieces to prevent the painted foam from sticking together. These bags can be stored out of the way, which prevents more fragile costume pieces from being crushed and warped over time. I think many types of bags could work for this purpose, but my favorites are Ikea's Görsnygg and Knalla. As a bonus, they have little spaces where you can put a little picture of the contents!

2. Box your bits!

Not much to say on these, as it's pretty self-explanatory; Sort your stuff into smaller boxes so everything stays together. My tip here is to get creative with the boxes you use; not everything can be solved with a slew of matching plastic bins from the dollar store! To really maximize the space (and my wallet), I also use a lot of repurposed containers, like these old jewelry chests, and takeout containers (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle!) Avoid cardboard if possible; they don't do much to protect your items from mold or pests. If that's all you have, it's better than nothing as a temporary storage solution until you find sturdier options.

In this picture, I've got all my electronics in a sturdy old jewelry case, a fragile half-mask and a bunch of print cotton in dollar store bins, and a bunch of ribbons and bias tapes in some old plastic takeout containers. I then jam some bulky crafting materials in the awkward space under the clothes bar since nothing else currently fit into the space.

3. Free Up Your Desk!

So making a cosplay is often a long process. In most cases, it takes more than a day, and if you're anything like me, your lack of space extends to more than just storage. I work on my dining table or my work desk and I need those to eat and work. In my case, my fabric bin (we'll get to that) is harder to access, so I've got a hanging organizer shelf on the clothes bar with a lot of spaces to sort different pieces over. Unless I'm painting something or working on a very large piece, I can just cram everything in there out of the way to pull it back out when I get back to working on the costume. It's super versatile; I also store some spare storage bags and my apron in there, and if it's a convention day I can set everything up to be easily found in the morning as I get ready. It won't work for everyone, obviously, but it helps me keep my space organized so I don't have to sacrifice eating on a table for a month.

4. Garment, Garment on the Wall

These ones are also self-explanatory, to be fair. A Garment bag, for those unfamiliar, is a protective fabric of plastic sleeve you slip over a hanger to protect the garment inside. There's different sizes available, and many of them zip on the front. Some cosplay pieces are just best stored this way, especially if they don't risk stretching the fabric out from gravity while hung up. Whenever possible I try stuffing every fabric piece of a costume in there, using multiple mix-and-matched hangers if needed (On the left bag here, there's a large coat and two undershirts on one hanger, and pants and a sash on a second hanger with integrated clothespins. The entire costume without accessories!) In the picture below, there's an entire Monster Hunter armor in one bag, with the flat armor pieces hanging out at the bottom of the garment bag.

You can get really optimized with this storage option; just be mindful of the total weight of everything you're storing this way, as plastic hangers will bend under too much weight (or, tragically, your bar might give under too many costumes. I've heard some stories)

5. Big Bins for Big Storage

Large plastic bins are the workhorse of my storage. The leftmost one under the shelf contains all my fabric, folded and rolled to take as little space as possible. When you're this limited in fabric space, I recommend buying versatile fabrics that can be easily reused, selling or donating extras you haven't found a use for in years to other cosplayers, and, if you're particularly short on space, planning your next costume in such a way you can make a dent in your leftovers by using them up. The other bin contains pretty much every accessory of prop for every costume I have in the house, even the currently unused ones. After having accidentally lost or crushed one too many item due to improper storage, this is my favorite way to store all those weird costume bits. This is where Cosplay Tetris comes in.

The Bin contains a whole slew of boxed, bagged and free-floating items crammed in as neatly as possible. There's props. There's accessories. There's wigs and hats. There's entire garments in there, too. In a lot of cases it's repurposed shipping bags and takeout containers all over again. The key to avoiding damage is filling up the space between bulkier or fragile pieces with soft items like those wigs or garments. Some examples:

Certain costumes are simple enough that storing them on a hanger in a garment bag would be overkill. Enki Ankarian's robes are easy to iron, so the entire costume is smashed into a shoe bag from Ikea. I also have a ridiculously heavy robe for another costume that would stretch and warp if stored on a hanger, so bagged and binned it is, too.

I have a whole slew of very small props (under 10cm wide) stored in old takeout containers, with silk/gift paper to prevent the more fragile paint jobs from getting scratched up. Little jewelry or weird pieces like Madoka's Soul Gem get further stored in smaller boxes inside to really protect them.

As most of my wigs use little to no hairspray to style them, the majority of my wigs are just stored in bags. I have a box on the shelves dedicated to storing all my wigs, but some of the unstyled ones end up in the accessory bin as padding, saving some space in the wig box for more fragile hairstyles. Here I jammed Ingo's wig and accessories into the hat so that it would keep its shape in the bin while really maximizing the space usage.

Finally, I keep an itemized list of every single item in this bin as a quick reference, that way I can tell where everything is at a glance. The list gets updated whenever something is added to this storage.

6. So, What's Next?

At the end of the day, this is about as optimized as I can get with the space I have. There are some other ways to gain some space, of course (I store a couple of costume pieces in with my regular clothes, like binders or plain shirts or sports underlayers), but as some point you will inevitably run out of space. At this point, the only solution is to empty it out a little.

I gave some tips for making a dent in the fabric stash, and the same can be applied to unused materials like EVA Foam or Worbla or Upholstery Foam, but at some point you're probably going to have to part with some of the older costumes to make space for the new ones. And that's okay! I'll admit it's a bit easier for me when the costume is damaged beyond repair, or I just no longer fit in it. You can, obviously, sell them on secondhand cosplay groups, or donate them. Unfortunately sometimes parts will be so damaged you might have to just throw them away, but that doesn't mean you have to throw the whole costume out with it! Keep whatever's still wearable and either sell/donate those individual parts or repurpose them for another costume, if possible (this is usually easiest with things like wigs or plain garments)

I hope this weird impromptu tour of my cosplay closet can give some storage ideas to those who, like me, don't have a proper dedicated workshop for the hobby! (Lord knows that's probably most of us in this economy)

[pollenallergie]

18+ only!!

do not interact if you’re under 18 years old!

I personally disagree with the headcanon that Eddie can’t cook. In fact, I think that man passed Home Ec. with flying colors in high school. Most of the Hellfire guys took shop class because they thought it was more manly or badass or whatever the fuck, but not Eddie. Eddie needed to learn to sew because Wayne sucked at it and the old lady two lots over was getting real sick of him asking her to use her frail, arthritic fingers to sew yet another goddamn patch on his vest or his backpack or whatever else he wanted to decorate with the logos of his favorite metal bands. Glenda was a sweet lady, of course, and she loved Eddie like he was her own grandson, but even her kindness had its limits. So, he took Home Ec. Plus, he kind of underestimated it and thought it would be like way easier than shop class.

Turns out it was actually insanely more difficult because while Jeff and Gareth got to spend forty-five minutes a day working on bird houses and toolboxes, Eddie had to learn how to operate a sewing machine, create a household budget, change a dirty diaper, and, oh yeah, make like three different kinds of sauce from fucking scratch. Labor intensity aside, Eddie oddly thrived in that class. I mean, he took to the sewing machine like a champ and he made a mean roux for mac and cheese. Not to mention, Miss Bowman absolutely adored him.

That was her first year teaching at Hawkins High, having just graduated college, so she was already plenty nervous. However, it got much, much worse when the, at the time, 16-year-old metalhead, who smelled like a well-used ashtray, sauntered into her class fifteen minutes late and very clearly stoned out of his mind. Imagine her surprise when that same kid expressed a genuine interest in learning how to keep track of household purchases and sharpen a kitchen knife. Unbeknownst to her, his fascination stemmed from the fact that 1) being able to keep track of financial transactions would be super beneficial for him as a rookie pot dealer and 2) the kid liked sharp, shiny things. So, in her blissful ignorance, Miss Bowman actually kind of developed a soft spot for the misfit, much like a little kid might for a scrappy alleycat.

Not to mention, due to him genuinely wanting to learn how to do some of this shit, Eddie rarely showed up to class late or less-than-sober after that first day. He even began to enjoy that class a little bit; the teacher was nice, she didn’t hate him (which was rare), and most of the kids in the class were pretty accepting of him once they realized that he was pulling a stable A-. In fact, the future head-cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham, even directly asked him for help with her sourdough starter once; which he thought was pretty cool (and also terrifying).

A couple years down the line, his impeccable home-making skills would come in handy when he finally managed to snag the person of his dreams, you. In fact, your first date with Eddie involved him making an elaborate feast of spaghetti in doused in a delightful, homemade bolognese sauce with a side of homemade garlic bread (Eddie made the bread from scratch and everything) and some wine (that he definitely did not steal from a liquor store two towns over because Eddie would never do that), lighting some candles, turning on some soft music (one of Wayne’s old country records; the only one that Eddie figured wasn’t too twangy), and setting tiny kitchen table like it was a fancy table-for-two at some pricey restaurant in the city. It was perfect and, honestly more than you’d ever expected. When he asked you out, you expected a simple movie date or maybe going to watch some band who was not nearly as good as Corroded Coffin play at local bar together, not an amazing home-cooked meal and a night alone with a shaggy-haired, doe eyed aidoneus. It’s safe to say that the pasta wasn’t the only thing that got saucy that night, if you catch my drift. Eddie gave you a taste of his other homemade sauce, if you know what I mean.

So yeah, Eddie Munson can cook. The man is a fucking wiz in the kitchen.