#edit: I forgot it was fingers AND toes

[confetti-cat]

Each, All, Everything

Words: 6.5k

Rating: PG

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love, Romantic Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A retelling of Nix, Nought, Nothing.)

The giant’s daughter weeps, and remembers.

—

She remembers the day her father first brought him home.

It was a bit like the times he’d brought home creatures to amuse her while he was on his journeys, away on something he called “business” but she knew was “gathering whatever good of the land he wanted”. Her father had brought back a beautiful pony, once—a small one he could nearly carry in one huge hand. One for her, and not another for his collection of horses he kept in the long stables. She wasn’t as tall as the hills and broad as the cliffs like he was, so she couldn’t carry it easily, but she heaved it up in both arms and tried nonetheless. (And—she thought this was important—stopped trying when it showed fear.) She was gentle to it, and in time, she would only need speak to it and it would come eat from her hand like a tame bird. She’d never been happier.

(The pony had grown fearful of her father. Her father grew angry with anything that wasted his time by cowering or trying to flee him. There was a terrible commotion in the stables one day, and when she sought her pony afterward, she couldn’t find him. Her father told her it was gone, back to the forest, and he’d hear no more of it if she didn’t want beaten.)

(There was a sinking little pit in her stomach that knew. But when she didn’t look for the best in her father, it angered him and saddened her, so she made herself believe him.)

The final little creature he brought one day was so peculiar. It was a human boy, small as the bushes she would sometime uproot for paintbrushes, dressed in fine green like the trees and gold like her mother’s vine-ring she wore. He seemed young, like her. His tuft of brown hair was mussed by the wind, and his dark eyes watched everything around him, wide and unsure and curious.

When he first looked at her from his perch on her father’s shoulder, he stared for a long moment—then lifted a tiny hand in a wave. Suddenly overwhelmed with hope and possibilities (a friend! Surely her father had blessed her with a small friend they could keep and not just a pet!), she lifted her own hand in a little wave and tried to smile welcomingly.

The boy stared for another long moment, then seemed to try a hesitant smile back.

“This,” boomed her father, stooping down in the mist of the morning as he waved away a low cloud with one hand, “is what I rightly bargained for. A prince, very valuable. The King of the South—curse his deceitful aims!—promised him to me.”

“He looks very fancy,” she’d said, eyes wide in wonder. “How did the king come to give him to you, Father?”

“How indeed!” the giant growled, so loud it sent leaves rattling and birds rushing to fly from their trees. He slowly lowered himself to be seated on the weathered cliff behind him and picked up his spark-stone, tossing a few felled trees into their fire-basin and beginning to work at lighting them. “Through lies and deceit from him. When he asked me to carry him across the waters I asked him for Nix, Nought, Nothing in return.”

The little boy shifted, clearly uncomfortable but afraid to move much. Her father scowled, though he meant it as a smile, and bared his yellowed teeth as he laughed.

“Imagine his countenance when he returned to find the son he’d not known he’d had was called Nix, Nought, Nothing! He tried to send servant boys, but I am too keen for such trickery. Their blood is on the hands of the liar who sent them to me.”

Such talk from her father had always unsettled her, even if he said it so forcefully she couldn’t imagine just how it wasn’t right. Judging from the way the boy curled in on himself a little, clinging meekly to her father’s tattered shirt-shoulder, he thought similarly.

“Nix, Nought, Nothing?” She observed the small prince, unsure why disappointment arose in her at the way he seemed hesitant to look at her now. “That is a strange name.”

Her father struck the rocks, the sound of it so loud it echoed down the valley in an odd, uneven manner. He shook his head as he worked, a stained tooth poking out of his lips as he struck it again and again until large sparks began alighting on the wood.

“His mother tarried christening him until the father returned, calling him such instead.” He huffed a chuckle that sounded more like a sneer, seeming to opt to ignore the creature on his shoulder for the time being. “You know the feeling, eh, Bonny girl?”

The boy tentatively looked up at her again.

The fire crackled and began to eat away at the bark and dry pine needles. A soft orange glow began to creep over it, leaving black char as it went. With a sudden, sharp breath by her father, a large flame leapt into the air.

“It is good that she did so. He is Nix, Nought, Nothing—and that he will remain.”

—

Nix Nought Nothing grew to be a fine boy. Her father treated him as well as he did the prized horses he’d taken from knights and heroes—which was to say that the boy was given decent food and a dry place to sleep and the richest-looking clothes a tailor could be terrified into giving them, which was as well as her father treated anything.

Never a day went by that she was not thankful and with joy in her heart at having a friend so near.

They spent many days while her father was away exploring the forest—Nix would collect small rocks and unusual leaves and robin’s-eggs and butterflies, and she would lift him into high trees to look for nests, and sometimes stand in the rivers and splash the waterfalls at him just to laugh brightly at his gawking and laughing and sputtering.

Some days she wished she was more of a proper giant. She wasn’t large enough for it to be very comfortable giving him rides on her shoulder once he’d grown. She was hesitant to look any less strong, however, so she braided her golden curls to keep them from brushing him off and simply kept her head tilted away from him as they walked through the forests together.

He could sit quite easily and talk by her ear as they adventured. Perhaps she would never admit it, but she liked that. Most of the time.

“I’m getting your shoulder wet,” he protested, still sopping wet from the waterfall. He kept shifting around, trying to sit differently and avoid blotching her blue dress with more water than he already had. “I hope you’re noticing this inconveniences you too?”

“Yes,” Bonny laughed. “You’re right. I hope there’s still enough sun to dry us along the way back. Father won’t be pleased otherwise.”

“Exactly. Perhaps you should have thought that through before drenching me!” he huffed, but she could hear the grin in his tone even if she couldn’t quite turn her head to see it. He flicked his arm toward her and sent little droplets of water scattering across the side of her face.

Her shoulders jerked up involuntarily as the eye closest to him shut and she tried to crane her neck even further away, chuckling. Nix made a noise like he’d swallowed whatever words were on his tongue, clutching to her shoulder and hair to steady himself.

“You’d probably be best not trying to get me while I’m giving you a ride?” Bonny suggested, unable to help a wry smile.

“Yes. Agreed. Apologies.” His words came so stilted and readily that she had to purse her lips to keep in a laugh. As soon as he relaxed, his voice grew a tad incredulous. “Though—wait, I can’t exactly do anything once I’m down. Are you trying to escape my well-earned retaliation?”

“I would never,” she assured him, no longer trying to hide her smile. “I’ll put you in a tree when we get back and you can splash me all you like.”

Somehow, his voice was amused and skeptical and unimpressed by the notion all at once.

“Really? You’d do that?” he asked, sounding as if he were stifling a smirk.

She shrugged—gently, of course, but with a little inward sense of mischievousness—and he yelped again at the movement.

“Well, it would take a lot of water to get a giant wet,” she reasoned. “I doubt you’ll do much. But yes, for you, I would brave it.”

He chuckled, and she ventured a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Bonny and brave,” he said, looking up at her with a little smile and those dark eyes glimmering with light. “You are a marvel.”

It would probably be very noticeable to him if she swallowed awkwardly and glanced away a bit in embarrassment. She tried not to do that, and instead gave him a crooked little smile in return.

“Hm,” was all she could say. “And what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m Nothing.” The jest was terrible, and would still be terrible even if she hadn’t heard it numerous times. “But you are truly a gem among girls.”

If by gem he meant a giantess who still had to enlist his help disentangling birds from her hair, then perhaps. She snorted.

“I don’t know how you would know. You don’t know any other girls.”

“Why would I need to?” His face was innocent, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth and mischief. “You’re the size of forty of them.”

The noise that erupted from her was so abrupt and embarrassingly like a snort it sent the branches trembling. She plucked him off her shoulder and set him gently on the ground so she could swat at him as gently as she could—careful not to strike him with the leaf-motifs on her ring—though it still knocked him off his feet and into the grass. He was laughing too hard to seem to mind, and she couldn’t stifle her laughs either.

“Well, you are really something,” she teased, unable to help her wide smile as she tried futilely to cast him a disapproving look.

That quieted him. He pushed himself to sit upright in the grass, and looked out at the woods ahead for a long moment.

“You think?” Nix asked quietly.

She smiled down at him.

“Yes,” she laughed softly. “Of course.” When he looked up at her, brown eyes curious, she held his gaze and hoped he could see just how glad she was to know him. “Everything, even.”

A small smile grew on his own face, lopsided and warm. He ducked his head a bit and looked away from her again, and embarrassment started to fill her—but it was worth it.

It often weighed on her heart to say that more than she did. She supposed she was the type of person who liked to show such things rather than say them.

She had a cramp in one of her shoulders from trying to carry him smoothly, but the weight on the other one—and on his—seemed far lighter.

—

She remembered the day her father came home livid.

She couldn’t figure out what had happened. Had he been wounded? Insulted? Tricked? He wouldn’t say.

He just raged. The trees bent under his wrath as he stamped them down, carving a new path through the forest. He picked up boulders and flung them at cliffsides, the noise of the impacts like thunder as showers of shattered stone flew in all directions.

She was tending to the garden a ways off—huge vines and stalks entwined their ways up poles and hill-high arbors made from towering pines, where she liked to work and admire how the sunset made the leaves glow gold—and suddenly had a sharp, sinking feeling.

Nix was still at his little shelter-house at their encampment. Her father was there.

Dread washed over her.

“Riddle me this, boy,” her father boomed, in the voice he only used when he wanted an excuse to strike something. “What is thick like glass and thin as air, cold but warm, ugly but fair? Fills the air yet never fills it, never exists but that all things will it?”

There was silence for a long moment.

...Silence. The answer was silence. Her father was trying to trick him into speaking.

Her hands curled around the bucket handle so weakly it was a surprise she didn’t drop it. Her father could crush him if he felt he had the slightest excuse.

Hush, hush, hush, her mind pleaded. Her hands shook. For your life and mine, hush—

There continued to be silence for a moment—and then, Nix must have answered. (Perhaps in jest. He tended to joke when uncertain. That would have been a mistake.)

There came the indescribable sound of a tree being ripped from its roots, and the deafening thunder of it being thrown and smashing down trees and structures.

Her whole body tensed horribly, and all she could see in her mind’s eye was nightmares.

No, she thought weakly.

Her father kept shouting. But not just shouting, addressing. Asking scathing rhetorical questions. She felt faint with relief, because her father had never wasted words on the dead.

I should have brought him with me. The thought flooded her body and left room for nothing else but dread and regret. I could have prevented this.

The stables were long and broad and old. Once, they had housed armies’ steeds and chariots. Now, they were run-down and reinforced so nothing could escape out the doors. The roof was broken off like a lid on hinges at intervals so her father could reach in to arrange and feed his horses.

Her father had seen no reason to keep the stalls clean. When one was so packed with bedding it had decomposed to soil at the floor level, the horse was moved to the next unused stall. There were so many stalls that she barely remembered, sometimes, that there were other ways of addressing the problem.

“The stable has not been cleaned in seven years,” her father boomed. “You will clean it tomorrow, or I will eat you in my stew.”

She couldn’t hear Nix’s response, but she could feel his dread.

Her father stormed away, more violently than any storm, and slowly, after the echoes of his steps faded, silence again began to hang in the air.

That night, it was hard to sleep. The next morning, it was hard to think.

She did the only thing she could think to do in such a nervous state. She brought her friend breakfast. His favorite breakfast—a roast leg of venison and a little knife he could use to cut off what he wanted of it, and fried turkey-eggs, and a modest chunk of soft brown bread.

When she arrived with it, he was still mucking out the first stall. There were hundreds ahead of him. He was only halfway to the floor of the first.

“I can’t eat,” Nix murmured, almost too quietly to hear and with too much misery to bear. “I can’t stop. But thank you.”

The pile outside the door he’d opened up was already growing too large. Of every pitchfork-full he threw out, some began to tumble back in. He was growing frustrated, and out of breath.

Why would her father raise a boy, a prince, only to eat him now? Her father was cunning; surely he’d had other plans for him. Or perhaps he really was kept like the horses, as a trophy or prize taken from the human kingdoms that giants so hated.

Was this his fate? Worked beyond reason, only to be killed?

Pity—or something stronger, perhaps, that she couldn’t name—stirred in her heart. A heat filled her veins, burning with sadness and a desire to set right. Would the world be worthwhile without this one small person in it?

No.

This wouldn’t end this way.

She called to the birds of the air and all the creatures of the forest. Her heart-song was sad and pure—so when she pleaded with them, to please hear, please come and carry away straw and earth and care for what has been neglected, they listened.

The stable was clean by the time the first stars appeared. When she set Nix gently on her shoulder afterward, he hugged the side of her head and laughed in weary relief for a long while.

—

She remembered the lake, and the tree.

“Shame on the wit who helped you,” her father had boomed. He’d inspected the stable by the light of his torch—a ship’s mast he’d wrapped the sails around the top of and drenched in oil—and found every last piece of dirt and straw gone. Had he known it was her, that she could do such a thing? She couldn’t tell. “But I have a worse task for you tomorrow.”

The lake nearest them was miles long, and miles wide, and so deep that even her father could not ford it.

“You will drain it dry by nightfall, or I will have you in my stew.”

The next morning, soon as her father had gone away past the hills, she came to the edge of the lake. She could hear the splashing before she saw it.

Nix stood knee-deep in the water, a large wooden bucket in his hands, struggling to heave the water out and into a trench he’d dug beside the shore.

When she neared him and knelt down in the sand, scanning the water and the trench and the distant, distant shoreline opposite them, Nix fell still for a moment. She looked at him, hoping he could see the apology in her eyes.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head miserably.

“Thank you. But even if we both worked all day, we couldn’t get it dry before nightfall.” He gave her a wry, sad smile, full of pain. “The birds and the creatures can’t carry buckets, I’m afraid.”

It was true. They could not take away the water.

But perhaps other things could.

She stood and drew a deep breath, and called to the fish of the rivers and lake, and to the deep places of the earth to please hear, please open your mouths and drain the lake dry.

With a tumult that shook the earth beneath them all, they did. The chasm it left in the land was great and terrible, but it was dry.

Her father was livid to see it.

“I’ve a worse job for you tomorrow,” he’d thundered at Nix as the twilight began to darken. “There is a tree that has grown from before your kind walked this land. It is many miles high, with no branches until you reach the top. Fetch me the seven eggs from the bird’s nest in its boughs, and break none, or I will eat you before the day is out.”

She found Nix at dawn the next day at the foot of the tree, staring up it with an expression more wearied than she’d ever seen before. She looked up the tree as well. It seemed to stretch up nearly to the clouds, its trunk wide and strong with not a foothold in sight. At the top, its leaves shone a faint gold in the sunlight.

“He is wrong to ask you these things,” Bonny said softly. Her words hung in the air like the sunbeams seemed to hang about the tree. There was something special about this place, some old power with roots that ran deep. “I’m very sorry for it.”

“You needn’t be,” Nix assured her. His countenance was grey, but he tried to smile. “But thank you. You’re very kind.”

She looked up the tree again. Uncertainty filled her, because this was an old tree—a strong one. Even if it could hear her, it had no obligation to listen. “Will you try?”

He laughed humorlessly. “What choice do I have?”

None. He had none.

He could not escape for long on his own—he could not be gone fast enough or hide safely enough for her father not to sniff him out. The destruction that would follow him would be far more than he would wish on the forests and villages and cities about them.

She, however, bit her lip.

She slipped the gold vine-ring off her hand, and rolled it so that it spiraled between her fingers. It was finely crafted, made to look like it was a young vine wrapping its way partly up her finger.

“This is all I have of my mother,” she said quietly. “But it will serve you better.”

Before he could speak—she knew him well enough to know that he would bid her to stop, to not lose something precious on his account (as if he weren’t?)—she whispered a birdlike song, and pleaded with the gold and the tree and the old good in the world to help them.

When she tossed the ring at the base of the tree (was it shameful that she had to quell a sadness that tried to creep into her heart?), it writhed. One end of it rooted into the ground, and suddenly it was no longer gold, but yellow-green—and the vine grew, and grew, curling around the tree as it stretched upward until it was nearly out of sight.

Nix stared at her with wide eyes and an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it made her ears warm.

She smiled slightly and stepped back, tilting her head at the vine.

“Well?” she said. He was still staring at her with that look—some mix of awestruck and like he was trying to draw together words—and it made her fold her arms lightly and smile as she looked away. She quickly looked back to him, hoping faintly that her embarrassment wasn’t obvious. “You’d best hurry. That’s still a long way up.”

He seemed to give up finding words for the moment. Nix glanced up the tree, now decked with a spiral of thick, knobby vine that looked nearby like uneven stairs.

“Give me a boost?” he asked with a bright grin. “To speed it up.”

She laughed and gently scooped him up in both hands. “A boost, or just a boost?”

He beamed at her. “As high as you can get me,” he declared, waving an arm dramatically.

She laughed and shook her head. ”Absolutely not. Ready?”

Nix nodded, and she smiled thinly and poured all her focus into a spot a good distance up the tree. With a very gentle but swift motion, she tossed him upward a bit—and he landed on his feet on the vine, one shoulder against the bark, clutching to the tree for support as he laughed.

“A marvel!” he shouted down to her as he climbed. “Never forget that!”

The sun was nearly setting when he descended with the eggs bundled in his handkerchief. He was glowing.

He triumphantly hopped down the last few feet to the ground.

A moment after he landed, a soft crack sounded. He froze.

Slowly, he drew the bundle more securely into his arms against him and looked down. There, by his foot, was a little speckled egg, half-broken in the grass.

She put a hand over her mouth. Nix clutched the rest and stared.

A grievous pain and numbness slowly filled her heart, and she knew it was filling his too.

His shoulders began to shake, and his eyes were glassy.

“Well,” he laughed weakly. ”...That’s it. That’s... that was my chance.” The distress that overtook him was like a dark wave, and it threatened to cover her too. He only shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for—for helping me.”

For everything, she didn’t give him a chance to add. He was looking at her with the eyes of one who might say that. She couldn’t afford to be overcome with the notion of saying goodbye now.

��No,” she said. Her voice was quiet, at first, but it grew more resolute. “It won’t end this way.”

He blinked up at her, still clutching the other eggs to his chest. She looked down at him, then across the stretch of forest to their home.

Without a word, she gently picked him up and set him on her shoulder. Her jaw tensed as she strode quickly through well-worn paths of the forest, walking as fast as a horse could run.

Once home, she set him down. He was still looking at her questioningly. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she hoped he couldn’t see the anxiousness rising in her and battling with the excitement.

“I will not let him have you,” she announced firmly. The trees and hills all around were witness to her promise. “Grab what you need. We’ll leave together in the hour.”

—

She‘d barely had time to fix her hair, grab her water flask, and decide it would be best this time of year to go south.

Her father’s footsteps boomed closer across the land.

—

They fled.

They ran, and ran, and struggled and strove, and she called for the help of anything she could think of that would have mercy on them.

Her comb grew into thorns, her hairpin into a hedge of jagged spires. Neither stopped him. Her dress’s hem was in tatters and sweat poured from her brow when they were finally safe.

Her flask lay behind them, cast down and broken, its magic used up.

Her father—her father—lay stretched out motionless in the flooded plain behind them, never to rise again.

—

There was a tiny spark of hope they had that they clung to. A hope of a future, of restoration, of amending the past and pursuing peace—of a life worth living, perhaps far, far away from things worth leaving behind.

(“I’ll go to the castle,” he’d said, his voice brimming with nerves and hope and uncertainty and sadness and an eager warmth. It made her heart try to mirror all those emotions alongside him. “I can tell my mother and father who I am. I’d still recognize them, even if they don’t know me. They’ll take us in, I’m sure of it.”)

He set out into the maze of village streets, assuring her he’d ask for directions and be back promptly. She stayed back by the well at the edge of the town so not to alarm anyone, too exhausted to go another step, but full of hope for him. She would wait until he returned.

(And wait. And wait. And wait and wait and wait and dread—)

The castle gardener came to draw water, and—as if she weren’t as tall as the small trees under the huge one she sat against—struck up a conversation with her about the mysterious boy who’d fallen unconscious across the threshold of the castle, asleep as if cursed to never wake up.

(The spark didn’t last long.)

—

She remembered when he could move.

“Please,” she whispered, as soft as her voice would go. “Please, if you can hear me. Wake up.”

(“Oh, dearest,” the gardener’s frail wife had murmured to her when the kind gardener brought her home to partake of a bit of supper. “I’m afraid they won’t let you in as you are. Would you let me sing you a catch as you eat?”)

The gardener’s wife was frailer by the end of it, but her heart-song could change things, like her own. Instead of towering at the heights of the houses, she was now six feet tall by human reckoning, and still thankful the castle had high halls and tall doors.

(Their daughter, a fair maiden with a shadow about her, had watched from the doorway.)

Nix Nought Nothing lay nearly motionless in the cushioned chair the castle servants had placed him in. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was in a deep sleep.

He was still smaller than she was, but not by much. He seemed so large, or close. She could see details she’d never noticed before—his freckles, the definition of his eyelashes, the scuffs and loose threads in his tunic.

The way his head hung as if he could no longer support it.

She held him gently—oddly, now, with both her hands so small on his arms and an uncertainty of what to do now—and wept over him. She sung through her tears, her heart pleading with his very soul, but to no avail. He did not wake up.

He didn’t hear her—likely couldn’t hear her. All around him, the air was sharp and still and dead. Cursed.

Still, her heart pleaded with her, now. Try, try. Don’t stop speaking to him. Remember? He never stopped trying.

“You joke that you are nothing," she said, with every drop of earnestness in her being. "But I tell you, you are all I had, and all I had ever wished for.”

There was power in names. She knew that. But was his even a proper name? It really wasn’t—though it was all he had.

It was all she had as well. She had exhausted everything else close to her. There was nothing left to call on, to plead with, but him.

“Nix Nought Nothing,” she said softly. “Awaken, please.”

Her voice, no longer so resonant and deep with giant’s-breath, sounded foreign in her ears. It was mournful and soft like the doves of the rocks, and grieved like the groan of the earth when it split.

“I cleaned the stable, I lave the lake, and clomb the tree, all for the love of thee,” she said, her voice thickening with tears. A drop of saltwater fell and landed on his tunic, creating another of many small blotches. “And will you not awaken and speak to me?”

Nothing.

—

She didn’t remember being shown out of the room. Her vision was too blurred, and her mind was too distraught and overwhelmed. The next thing she could focus on enough to recall was that she was now seated on a stiff chair in the hall. Someone had been kind enough to set a cup of water on the little table beside her.

The towering doors creaked softly behind her, and at last, someone new entered. She looked over her shoulder, barely able to see through the dry burning left behind by her tears.

A man and a woman stood in the door. They were dressed in fine robes, and looked like nobles.

"What is the matter, dear?" the woman asked, looking over her appearance with eyes soft with pity. She came close, and her presence was like cool balm, gentle and comforting. "Why do you weep?"

The gold roses woven in the green of the woman's dress swam in her vision as she dropped her gaze, unsure what to say. These people seemed kind. But were they? Would they send her out from here, unable to return to him?

They would be right to do so. She was a stranger here, and Nix could not vouch for her like he'd planned.

"No matter what I do," she finally said softly, "I cannot get Nix Nought Nothing to awaken and speak to me."

In one moment, only the woman stood there—in the next, the man was beside her. The air was suddenly still and heavy like glass, and it felt as though there was a thread drawn taut between them all for a moment.

"Nix Nought Nothing?" they asked in unison, their voices full of something tense and heavy and sharp. When she looked up, nearly fearful at the sudden change in their tone, their faces were slack and pale.

Something stirred in her heart. Look. What do you see?

Green and gold. Their wide eyes were a familiar warm brown.

—

Now, things are changing.

According to the servant who'd been keeping an eye on him, all from the kingdom had been offered reward if they could wake the sleeping stranger, and the the gardener's daughter had succeeded. It was a mystery how it had happened—by whom had he been cursed? Her father? Then why could she not wake him, but a maiden from the castle-town here could?—but now, with the King and Queen hovering beside her and unable to stay still for anticipation, no one cared.

The gardener's daughter was fetched, and bid to sing the unspelling catch for the prince. (Prince. He was a prince, while she was a ruffian's daughter. She kept forgetting, when she was with him.) It was a haunting one that grated on her ears, as selfishly-written magics often did—and as if bitterness still crept at the girl's heart at the sight of all who were here, she left as soon as it was finished.

Nix Nought Nothing awoke—he awoke! He opened his eyes and sat up and looked at her as if seeing the sunrise after a year of darkness, and how her heart leaps high into her throat at the sight—and true to form, only blinks a few times at her as he seems to take her in before coming to terms with it.

"You look a bit different," he remarks, tilting his head slightly. "Or did I grow?"

She chokes on a snort.

"Hush," is all she can say. What had been an attempt at an unimpressed expression melts into a wavering smile. "Are you done napping now?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but a grin creeps onto his face before he can. He snickers. "Have I slept that long?"

"Nigh a week," the Queen says—and when Nix turns his head and sees her, his eyes grow wide. The Queen's smile grows broad and wavers with emotion, and the King's eyes are crinkled at the edges, and shining. "It has been a long time."

Her own father had never shown love like this—like the way Nix tries to leap from his chair at the same moment his parents rush to hold him, all of them laughing and sobbing and shouting exclamations of love and excitement and I-thought-I-would-never-see-you-agains. So much joy rolls off of them that she thinks she could have stood there watching forever and been content.

The first thing he does, after the first surge of this, is turn and introduce her to his parents, who had barely finished hugging him and kissing him and calling him their own dear son.

"This is the one who helped me," Nix says, already gesturing to her in excitement as he looks from her to his parents. "She sacrificed much to save me from the giant. Her kindness is brilliant and she blesses all who know her."

She tries not to look embarrassed at the glowing praise as Nix comes and stands beside her as he recounts their blur of a tale to his parents.

"Ah! She is bonny and brave," says the King. By the end of Nix's stories of their escapes, they're smiling warmly at her with such pride that she dips her head and smiles.

Nix Nought Nothing glances sideways up at her and raises a brow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"I've tried to tell her that," he agrees. "I don't think she's ever believed me."

She purses her lips and glances down at him. "I'll believe it the day you believe you are not nothing."

"Alright." Simple as that, he folds his arms and raises a brow at her. "I believe it. Fair trade?"

"Fair enough," she decides, with a crooked little smile. He beams, as if she's done something worth being proud of, and looks to his parents, who indeed look proud of them both.

"We would welcome you as our daughter," the King declares heartily, and both the Queen and Nix brighten, which makes her too embarrassedly fixated on the thought of family? Starting anew? to register what comes next. "Surely, you should be married!"

Nix looks at her, arms still folded, his eyes twinkling. There's something hopeful in his eyes that makes her certain this diminutive new heart of hers has skipped a few beats.

"Should we? Surely?" he asks, as if this is a normal thing to be discussing.

She works her jaw and swallows a few times, unable to help how obviously awkward she still likely looks. A flush tickles her face, and the queen seems to put a hand over her mouth to smile behind it.

"I... don't... suppose... I would mind," she manages, and—with those bright eyes so affectionate, and on her—Nix starts snickering at her expression. It's rude, but so, so warm she can't mind. She only discovers how broadly she's smiling when she tries to purse her lips and glare at him but is unable to. "Oh, go back to sleep!" she chides, too gleeful inside to truly mind, even as she makes a motion as if throwing one of the chair-cushions at him.

"Never!" he declares, pretending to dodge the invisible pillow. He makes broad gestures that she presumes are meant to emphasize how serious he is about this. When he stands straight and tall and sets his shoulders, she thinks that the boy she's explored the forest with really does look like a prince. "I have my family and my love all together in safety at last. We have much to speak of, and much time yet to spend with each other." He's a prince, but of course, he's also still himself. He immediately gets a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and puts a hand to his chest nobly as he does what he's done for as long as she's known him—jokes, when his emotions rise. "I shall never adhere to a bedtime as long as I live!"

My love, her heart still repeats every time it beats—as payback, likely, for her calling it diminutive. My love, my love, my love.

She doesn't let it out, for she doesn't know what it will do. But the words weave a song within her, so vibrant and effervescent and strong, brighter and clearer than any she's had before.

"I am glad to see you are certainly still my dear son," the Queen says, her own eyes twinkling. "I'm certain you both need fed well after such a journey. Come, perhaps you both can tell us more of it as supper is prepared."

They fall into an easy tumble of conversation and rejoicing and genial planning, and her heart is so light she thinks it must be plotting to escape her chest.

On the week's end from when she brought him here, Nix Nought Nothing and his family welcomes her into their home. It feels natural. It feels warm, and homey, and so pleasant and right that she often has to stop tears of weary joy from welling up as she considers it all.

Once upon a time, she thought she'd known happiness well enough without him. She had known what it was like to be without a friend, and without love.

Now, it’s hard to remember it.

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[cherryredstars]

Can you make a dbf (dads best friend) miguel where there at a family reunion and miguel cant resist not fucking you before anyone notices you two are gone.?

Ps. I love your stories🤭

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Sexual Touching, Slapping, Gagging, Spitting, Implied Age Gap

Summary: Did you really think he forgot your gift?

A/N: Another request that two different people wanted LMAO. Thank you for reading my stories, love!

Word Count: 1.5K (Not Edited)

Four years.

It had been four years since he had last seen you. Of course you had been home within those four years, but Miguel was always too busy to drop by and catch a view of you before you’d eventually fly back out of state for university. But now, you’re here. To stay this time. And when Miguel got the invitation from your father for a party celebrating your return, who was he to decline?

Maybe not seeing you for those four years was a blessing in disguise. The second he had walked out to the backyard, your dad had instantly ushered him to you. You were talking to some old friends that you had kept a long distance connection with, turning around when your father had called your name. Miguel was a sucker the moment you had turned around, a dazzling smile on your face. His breath had stilled when you leaned up on your toes, turning your head slightly to press a kiss to both of his cheeks in greeting. The joyful tone you had said his name in had him practically purring. Cute little you who was about to enter the realities of adulthood staying by his side to chat and pester him like you were still in high school. Always a fucking tease.

And the day kept on getting better and better. You always seemed to be hovering somewhere near him. Always came up to him and your father for seemingly the tiniest things. He didn’t fail to notice the small glances you had given him across the yard. Could feel your eyes straying to him every now and then. You were always in his peripheral vision. Almost like you wanted his attention. And when you had come over to him asking him to help you get some things inside to help replenish the snack table, he had to hide his smirk by taking a sip of his beer. 

It wasn’t long until he had you pinned in your childhood bedroom, cheek pressed against the door as he cooed in your ear, “Oh my poor baby. Missed me, hm? Couldn’t keep your greedy little eyes off of me.”

You could only whine, wiggling your hips as you felt his hard on pressing against your ass. Miguel groaned against your ear, grinding into you. He couldn’t help the wicked smile as you let out pleased sighs and desperate whines. His teeth tugged on your earlobe, causing you to gasp. 

“What is it, amor? What’s with your little fit?” He whispered hotly into your ear. You only huffed, pressing your hands against the door to push yourself harder against him. Unhappy with the attitude, Miguel stopped the slow rutting he was doing against you. The desperate ‘please!’ you whispered instantly lifted his mood. 

His hand slid down your back, snaking to your front. You move your forehead to press against the door, mouth hanging open as you look down to watch his hand slip through the front of your pants and into your underwear. “I think I know. Upset I didn’t get you a welcome home gift, my greedy baby?”

You almost collapsed against him when his fingers grazed over your slit, gathering the arousal spilling from you, “Almost forgot how much of a spoiled brat you are. You want a gift, I’ll give you one.”

You gave a desperate cry as Miguel pressed his fingers harder against you, your hips bucking. Miguel chuckled darkly, his other hand beginning to under your pants and pull them down. As he did so, he grazed the wet spot in your underwear, making your cheeks flame. His eyes darkened as he began to pull your underwear down, the soft flesh of your ass being revealed to him. Miguel hummed at the sight, giving it a firm slap that had your back arching. He rubbed the reddening skin, cooing down at you. 

He kept one hand on your ass, rubbing it in his large hands as his fingers left your slit. His fingers were sticky with arousal, heavy with your scent. It made him impossibly harder, his cock twitching in his pants. His fingers went back to you, circling your hole before he stuffed them in. You cried out at the sudden stretch, your hips moving to try to get away from him. It only encouraged him to give your ass another spank. 

Your nails clawed at the door, making a dreadful squeaking noise as Miguel pumped his fingers in and out of you rapidly. You can hear the noise of his palm hitting against your body as he works his fingers, causing you to whine loudly. Miguel’s hand was quick to leave its place on your ass cheek, slapping it over your mouth. 

“Shhh, baby. You don’t want me to take away your gift, do you?” Miguel hissed and you rapidly shook your head no. 

Miguel cooed at your quick obedience, rewarding you with a kiss to the back of your neck that made you melt into him. You could feel Miguel’s finger pressing into that pleasurable spot inside of you, and your hips bucked as you felt your orgasm approaching. But before you could reach the peak, Miguel’s fingers left you. You cried against his hand, your hips wiggling to try to get back that stimulation. Miguel laughed meanly at you, his hand slapping down on your ass, leaving a wet spot from his drenched fingers. 

You could hear the sound of fabric and a belt, hearing Miguel's relieved sigh when he freed his leaking cock from his briefs. You tried to turn your head to see, but your body stiffened as Miguel’s belt slid into your face. His hand left your mouth, the taste of leather filling your mouth. Your body stifled when you felt the buckle, feeling the belt tighten around the back of your head to keep it in place. You whined against it, the sound being effectively muffled. 

Your body jumped again when you felt a wetness slide down the hole, gasping as you realized Miguel had spit on you. Your wiggling hips only made it drip further down your skin. You heard Miguel spit again, but instead of it landing on you, he worked the saliva up and down his cock. After the saliva coated his cock, he pressed the head of it to your opening. You wasted no time rubbing yourself against it, earning a moan from the both of you. While one of Miguel’s hands held his cock in place, his other hand went to grab your wrists and hold them against your back. The only thing holding you in place was your forehead pressed against the door and your two legs. 

Slowly, Miguel pushed his cock into you, making you cry out. Wet noises filled the room as he slid further and further into you, your walls sucking him in. Miguel let out a groan as he bottomed out, his hand coming to grip your wrist as he stared down at where the two of you met. He gave you an experimental thrust, chuckling as your legs almost gave out. That experimental thrust was the only warning he gave you before he pulled out to the tip, and snapped his hips all the way to the hilt again. You screamed against the leather belt as he did it over and over again, giving you deep punishing thrusts. You body shook with the force of it, and the door rattled as he kept fucking you into it. You can feel yourself pulsing and twitching as he adjusted his angle to hit your gummy spot, that sweet orgasm building up inside of you again. 

You can feel tears rushing from your eyes, and the only reason you had not collapsed to the floor was Miguel’s tight grip holding you up. Around your gag, you screamed Miguel’s name, your body convulsing as that orgasm ripped through you. Miguel grunted as you came, his orgasm quickly approaching. You sobbed as his thrusts didn’t stop hitting that sensitive spot, the overstimulation getting to you as another orgasm built up like a raging fire. Miguel let go of your hands, reaching to the front of you to give your sex a mean pinch that had you exploding again at the same time his seed began to spill inside of you. Miguel let out a dragged moan as he stilled, his cock twitching inside of you. 

You panted heavily as Miguel undid the belt around your head and began to pull out of you. You whined as he left you, feeling an aching hollowness inside of you. Another whimper left you when you felt his cum begin to seep from your hole, a protest on your lips as he quickly slipped your underwear up to you so you could spill it into your clothing. The wetness was uncomfortable, feeling it continue to leave you. Miguel only chuckled as he readjusted himself, watching a dark patch beginning to form in your underwear.

“Welcome home, kid.”

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

[missdaytonawrites]

liar • a. anderson

summary - manny and abby find you alone one night and take you back to the stadium, abby does everything in her power to swallow her feelings about you. even if it means pushing boundaries and lying. (enemies 2 lovers w/ abby's mean ass.)

WC - 4k

cw/tw - 18+ MDNI, post!outbreak abby, mean!abby, afab!reader, talk of guns and infected, seriously abby's unreasonably bitchy, talk of alcohol, abby cannot tell the truth to save her life, dom/sub dynamics, hurt/comfort kinda??? fingering (r! receiving) getting caught (if u squint girl, not really) apologetic!abby. slightly, every-so-barely, for a literal split-second... sub!abs, (mainly sub!r tho..) spitting, tribbing ooooh, abby smokes cigarettes, so does r! apparently, little bit of fluff, i kinda hate the ending?? maybe a pt. II to this will happen idk don't ask lol.

A/N - ..heeey people... here it is!!! i recently (like two days ago recently) gained a pretty serious injury on my pinky toe and i've been literally bed-ridden so i had no choice but to get this out. i love this song, i've heard this song live, this song is so request-this-is-based-on coded so!!!! (*edit* nonnie if u see this i hope u love it mwah) i kid you not i started writing this on the two-hour drive home from the paramore concert and i've just now finished it. i'm super personally proud of this and i will say -- YOU 100% HAVE GOT TO, LISTEN TO THE SONG WHEN YOU READ. with most of my other fics, it's really optional but for this?/!:?):!; put headphones in, turn this song on loop, AND THEN READ!!! it will completely enhance the fic. thanks 4 readin as always, love you crazy bitches.

"love is not an easy thing to admit, but i'm not ashamed of it."

this was fucking gross, the dirt was cold and wet. bordering on mud status and now seeping into the cloth of your shorts & t-shirt as you lay into the earth. you were tired and just needed some rest before you continued on. the old abandoned house you had been using as shelter became over-ran with some infected while you were out one day. so it was back to the forest floor for now.

gross, cold, and wet. the way she had found you, curled up and fast asleep on the ground, she almost wished that she felt bad. she didn’t though, instead for a split second she forgot manny had been following behind her as she took the barrel of her gun to press into the side of your face. she pressed in a little harder and you shot awake at the feeling of something touching your teeth through your cheek. your eyes fly open and they’re met with two shadowy figures above you.

one is a lot larger than the other, the one who had been poking you with the gun crouched down to get a better look at you. through her inspection, manny could be heard behind her muttering something about “we can’t just leave her here, abs.” abby didn’t really care for what he was saying, instead she was silently cursing herself for the emotion that began to crowd her train of thought. abby had toughened herself up enough so these sorts of things wouldn’t happen. she, or the rest of the WLF couldn't afford any emotional attachments. abby didn't need to be going out and developing crushes on sleeping beauties in the woods. yet here she was…

maybe that's why she grew to detest you so severely. treating you so harshly so her mask didn't slip, it was the only way for her. especially the night they found you. she couldn’t even begin to fathom how badly she wanted to just grab you up, take you back to clean you off and keep you safe with the rest of them. instead, she shook you (and manny’s new found excitement, like they found a stray puppy) off, pulling her gun away from your face and stepping about eight feet far from you to speak with manny.

it was back and forth the entire time, manny weighing in all the pros while abby lays out all the cons. true childish banter begins to ensue and abby begrudgingly agrees to bring you back with manny, claiming he’ll “deal with any consequences.” they walk back over to where you lay, awake and pissed. you had just started to fall asleep for fucks sake, “look, you’re coming with us. don't argue and just be grateful that it's we who ran across your ass and not some raider." abby sighs then pinches the bridge of her nose, you would like to argue but the darker haired one looks rather excited for you to be coming, so you bite your tongue for now.

it had been six months since that night… six months of falling in love with your new life at the stadium, six months of manny becoming the closest friend you’ve ever known, six months of training.. six months of a total cold shoulder from abby. you didn't even know if you could call it that, lord knows she never spared her snarky comments towards you at dinner or when the two of you got paired together on runs. always saying something about how you never do anything right, then carrying on while she tells you all the reasons they should've just left you there in the forest to rot.

you take on each day with your head high, trying not to let abby bother you. even if you couldnt seem to crack her fucking issue with you, reminding yourself that everyone else enjoys you and is glad you joined them. especially manny, he was a great pal, always sitting with you at dinner and reading with you. one night he had pulled you out of your book and talked you into having a drink with him, so you did. the two of you passed the bottle back and forth all night, intoxicating yourself enough to blab about abby.

“i just don’t fuckin’ get it, i guess.” taking another swig, you chuckle and hand manny the bottle back. “maybe i just see myself differently than she does.” he looks like he’s thinking and before he can say anything you start again, “does she talk about me? i mean, have i done anything to her that i’m just oblivious to?” manny doesn't say anything, just throws back whatever is left in the whiskey bottle and looks at you sympathetically.

“she doesn't really talk to anyone about things like that, maybe you did.. nobody will ever know.” you sigh and cross your legs. you and manny enjoy the silence for awhile before there’s some shuffling to the side of you two and then just like magic, there’s abby. rearing her mean little head like she heard you twos conversation. much to your chagrin, she did and as she takes her seat next to manny she whacks his shoulder and grumbles something along the lines of “couldn't save any for me..?”

abby's presence captures all of manny's attention while she talks him into going to grab another bottle, you sit uncomfortably and slightly tipsy as she finally convinces him. he gives you a little salute before heading off, leaving you and abby alone. you feel the liquor drop like an anchor in your stomach and your eyelids become heavy, you suddenly aren't sure how much longer you wanna stay.. where did she come from? if she was listening, why? you could have sworn manny said everyone else was out for the night..?

you’re so deep in thought that you don't notice abby has moved closer to you, and has been slowly muttering in your ear this whole time. it isn’t until she is literally snapping her fingers in front of your face, that you pull yourself out of your trance. when you turn to look her in the eyes, you notice just how close she had gotten. taking a sharp breath she starts again, even slower this time, like you wouldn't understand if she were to say it any faster. “i don’t see you differently, i see you for what the fuck you are… n’ i can’t say i’m the biggest fan”

you swallow and feel as if you’ve shrunk beneath her very gaze, “keep my fucking name out of your mouth, got it?” subconsciously scooting away from her, you nod quickly and avert your gaze. she snaps again, and your eyes shoot back to hers. “say it. tell me that you got it through your goddamn head,” and she moves closer. “now!” you squeak out a shaky “got it!” before standing and making your exit. on your leave, you can hear abby laugh at the situation from down the hall.

she has never taken something that far before? you can’t even recall a time she’s been that close to you before. guilt starts to float around you like a cloud above your head. you cannot believe you let her bother you so much that you left without saying a “good night.” or “thank you!” to manny.

flopping face-down on your cot, you conjure an idea; you rummage through all of your belongings to find some pen and paper. you write manny an explanatory note and let him know a little about what happened.

finishing up your letter, you can faintly hear him and abby laughing from your room.

“ah, abs.. you’ll have to get over yourself and tell her eventually.” he sighs and you can hear abby hiss at the thought. “nah man, i’ve already-” and then you remember how shes made you feel before, you decide you’re done eavesdropping and suddenly decide to no longer give manny the piece of paper you had been writing him. crumpling the note, you throw it at the wall and lay down to read.

an entire two weeks pass, you can confidently say you’ve not once thought about abby. her lack of kindness fails to phase you as the days pass. you’ve stopped eating with the group, opting for meals in your room instead. you’ve only really talked with manny only enough to ensure you and abby aren't partnered up for anything. it was smooth sailing for another two weeks, a whole fucking month passes and you cannot believe she’s really left you alone. you honestly didn't think she was capable, but alas, she hadn't even barely looked your way. you can’t help but let your mind race before you sleep about why? was she respecting your request? had manny scolded her? you remembered what manny had told you and settled with the fact that you’d never know.

one night, as you make your bed and pack your bag for the week, there's a quick rasp of knuckles on your door. “heeeeey! i know you’re in here, let me in.” manny, and he sounded drunk. unlocking the door and rolling your eyes, he stumbles in and flops down on your freshly made cot. “we have got to taaaalk..” he hiccups and rolls over to face you, “i need to know, please-” burping and then bursting out in laughter he rubs his eyes and sits up. “what reeealllyy happened that ni-ght.” you didn't think you could roll your eyes back any further than they did at that very moment, practically dismissing him you say: “i don't know what you’re talking about, what night?” burping, he looks at you like you’ve lost it, “c’mon, don't do that. i just want to know if she's telling me the truth…”

in that moment, your head whips around and you’re sure your eyes bugged out of your head. “the truth? what did she say happened?” manny matches the shocked expression on your face for a split second and then erupts in laughter, you worry for what he’s about to say. “look, don’t let this- this, don't tell her i said this.” swallowing and moving closer to him, you sit on the cot with manny while he tells you this extravagant story all about what “happened” that night.

apparently, that night, you told abby to her face that you thought she had a problem with you. apparently, on that same night you also caught an attitude with abby and got in her face. apparently, you stormed off in a drunken rage after allegedly jumping all over her case.

furious, you were so fucking mad. there were simply no words in the goddamned english dictionary to fathom how angry you were with her. she lied! right through her teeth! to manny of all people! about you! there was no holding back anymore, returning to the moment, you spare no gory details as you tell manny what really happened. to say the least? he wasnt very happy, you told him you were scared of her and didnt say anything sooner because you swore to “keep her fucking name out of your mouth.”

the conversation sobered manny up enough for him to apologize on abby's behalf and then exit rather quickly, leaving you to go to bed. you just can’t justify falling asleep, though. not until you make a plan, to your knowledge abby has no reason to be treating you the way she is; the only thing to do now is talk to her. you can be civil, at this point you just need to know why. so in a futile attempt to sleep, you rehearse with yourself what you’re going to say to abby tomorrow.

you wake up to bright sun, bam, right there in your eyes. you practically hiss and you turn away from your window, regaining your vision when your senses are flooded with an overwhelming scent of pine… you thought you were having a stroke, so you sit up and take in your surroundings. upon further inspection, and the realization that you’re definitely not having a stroke, you look around your space and low and behold..

there’s abby. hair falling loosely about her shoulders, still in her pajamas, sitting there just as annoying as the sun. you see her and glare, the tone of your morning immediately shifts and you turn away from her the same way you did with the morning light. grumbling something at her about how she needs to leave and how you two would do this later. you thought your point had been made until she grabs your arm and stops you from laying back down.

“look, i seriously can’t do this anymore.” she pulls you hard enough that you’re sitting up again. “i feel so fucking guilty, i don’t think i could even put it into words.” you almost laugh in her face, actually. “can’t do what anymore, abby? walk around and spew nothing but hate for me?” you realize how close she is and you reach out to shove her. putting some distance between the two of you, she opens her mouth to speak again but you interrupt her. “is it the whole lying to manny thing that made the guilt finally kick in, anderson?”

she returns to her spot in the chair on the far side of your room and sits, she chews her cheek while you rub your eyes. “don’t got anything to say now, huh?” she looks at you like she wants you to finish.. so you do. “i told you to go away, abby. we could’ve handled this later.” she stands up and walks over, sitting and occupying the empty space on your mattress next to you.

“i can’t keep living like this. fuck, fuck!” she shouts and stands, wiping her hands on her forehead. “i don’t know how to do this, and you aren't making it any easier.” you are genuinely astonished, in utter disbelief that she’s the angry one and that you’re gonna have to spell this out for her. “how about sorry? maybe go tell manny yourself that you are a fucking liar?!”

in that very moment, smoke might as well of blown out of her ears like a damn cartoon, “yeah. a liar.” she huffs and sits again. “lied to manny, lied about wanting you to keep my name out of your mouth.. lied about hating you.”

your jaw dropped, mouth literally hanging open as she continues, “i don’t know why, there’s no excuse. i am so fucking sorry.” she moves closer to you and puts her hand on your arm, gentler this time. “i haven’t said this to anyone in years, but i think i love you.” gazing down to her hand on you, then back up to her eyes you swallow the lump sitting in your throat. you don’t know what to say.

“abby, i,” you sigh and chew your lip, “i wish i knew what to say, this is all-” and then her hand moves up, silencing you when her thumb swipes over the expanse of your lips and then rests at the corner of your mouth. she leans into you and offers you two more words, “don’t talk..” then closes the gap between you two.

your lips are like heaven, everything she could have ever wanted. every night when she would fall asleep dreaming of them, this is it and more. she feels like she is fucking floating. she doesn't know what to do with her hands; they tangle in your hair, slide and touch your arms and then come up to cup your cheeks while she pushes into you impossibly further.

she breaks the kiss every now and then to mutter an “i’m sorry.. m’so so sorry, baby.” pulling away completely to admire you. she’s panting so heavily as she goes to pull your tank top up and off, immediately ducking down to take a nipple into her mouth. the cool air of your room hits you, head rolling back and around when you peer down at her, she locks eyes with you. pulling off you with a pop, she comes back up to kiss you again. except this time, its not a makeout, just short desperate pecks all over your face while she hurries to get your shorts off of you.

you help her out and shimmy out of them, completely bare, you fall back on your elbows and spread your legs for her. she lets out a low whistle and shakes her head, chuckling as she whispers, “goddamn foolish to deny myself of this..” bringing her middle and ring finger to rub circles around you.

she moves them down and pushes the two into you, twisting and curling them against your walls. you gasp and drop your head again, hands balling up into fists. abby notices your open mouth and kisses you again, pushing her tounge into your mouth and really fucking kisses you. her free hand rolls your nipple and then wraps in your hair, exposing your neck for her to suck and bite. “pussy’s so good..” whispering against your neck, fingers still fucking you while crude sounds bounce and echo off your walls.

she pulls her fingers out and hovers them over your clit. she looks down at your dripping center, wets her lips, and then looks back at you. “may i?” she asks and brings her fingers to her mouth to taste. her eyes knock to the back of her head and she brings her fingers down to rub you some more, “god, please let me, baby”

while you barely manage to moan out a response abby has already wondrously found her way down to your core, latching herself to your clit. she groans into you while your hips instinctively buck into her mouth. as if the sensation of her devouring you wasn't enough, her fingers plunge into you. writhing beneath her, your hands find a home in abby’s hair; and if her head weren’t literally between your legs, you would have stopped to comment on how soft her blonde locks are.

abby continues to fuck you with her fingers when all of the sudden, her mouth is pulling off of your pussy and delving into your lips yet again. the contact has you whimpering and an unfamiliar heat sizzles in your lower belly. you pull away from the kiss in attempts to speak, but to no avail as she simply just follows you back and keeps kissing you. “don’t run from it, baby.. don’t run from me.” she pulls away from your face and drives her fingers into you, fast and mean and determined.

your breathing quickens and you’re suddenly so much more aware of the way she's leaning over you, the darkness in her eyes, the way she’s heaving as she watches your body react to her touch. you’re close, so, so indescribably close to the edge; just about to explode beneath her when.. knock knock knock!

“abs?! you guys in there?” manny, banging on your door to innocently check the status of you two’s “making up.” abby’s eyes flicker down to yours and her free hand flys to her own lips, pressing a single finger to them, hushing you. “i got this, stay quiet.” she whispers and gives you a peck then clears her throat. “yeah man! we’re all good, just talkin’!” she shouts at him, never once slowing her pace while your orgasm just bubbles within you.

manny laughs, “cool, cool. just wanted to make sure you aren't like.. murdering her or anything.” abby laughs this time, murdering something else for sure, and lets him know you two will be out soon enough. you hear his footsteps trail off, and without a second to think, abby’s kissing you again. you whine against her lips and she coos, practically begging you to cum on her fingers.

“let go, give it to me baby, please.” your legs spasm and she chuckles, bringing her thumb to your clit as you gush onto her fingers. hips circling and following the movements of her thumb while you ride it out, abby watches in amazement. she removes her fingers from you as you come down, and makes quick work of her own bottoms. discarding them on the floor, she grabs one of your legs for leverage and swings one of her own over your torso. positioning her pussy right over your own, she trails a line of kisses down your calf and to your knee. resting her forehead against your leg and huffing when she finally grinds down into you.

your mouth falls agape, and you reach to touch her; any of her. her arms, her hips, her chest. gasping while she bites the meaty part of your calf, you buck into her and she throws her head back at the increased friction.

“such a good girl, y’know that..? so fucking good..” her hips rut back and forth and sweat drips from her forehead and runs down your leg. looking down at where the two of you connect, abby spits on to the both of you and fucks you harder. she’s the one to whine this time, so fucking pent up from living with you for fucking months and not already doing this. guilt starts to grow heavy in her stomach again and she whimpers then kisses your ankle, folding your leg to rest against her shoulder. she looks down at you and cups you face, clit still rubbing against you. “m’sorry.. fuck.” she grips your face harder and her pace quickens, incoherently mumbling out apologies and you feel your second orgasm start to swirl.

you shush at her and move your own hips quicker to keep up, “no, no abby, please..” she throws her head back again and her hands move to grope at your tits, you look up at her with forgiving eyes. nodding, as if to telepathically tell her that it's okay. that you want this and that you forgive her, she nods back and groans as loud as you’ve ever heard. you lightly tap her bicep and bring her back to the moment. whimpering, “gonna cum again, abs, please..”

she breathes and nods her head again, “m’almost there baby, almost..” sniffling, she really pushes down into you and her hips falter just slightly. “want you to cum with me, ‘kay?” she keeps fucking herself against you and you tremble, trying to move with her but you’re too lost in pleasure.

she winces and bucks her hips criminally fast; ushering you, and herself, to finally let go. she pants and sweats above you, her own orgasm crashing into her while you cling to her for dear life. pathetically writhing into her as you begin to unravel yourself. melting back into the bed sheets as she rides the both of you through your highs. her hips begin to slow and she’s kissing up and down your leg again. nudging her nose against your thigh, with a finalizing and triumphant breath.

you slowly creep back into reality and feel abby's weight shift off and away from you, just barely noticing her shimmy her shorts back up. she wobbles out of the room and returns with a damp towel, wiping the two of you down. she lets you lay and rest while she digs in her shorts pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, she takes one out and lights it, and then crawls into bed with you.

she tucks you under her arm and wraps your blanket around you both, taking a long drag from her smoke and flicking the ash somewhere to her side. exhaling and turning the cigarette towards you, she slides the filter between your lips and lets you get a good pull.

it stays this way for a while, quiet and still. wrapped up in eachother, you two finish the smoke together and she puts it out right on your concrete floor. she pulls you in even closer and kisses your head. you sigh and close your eyes, saying it back for the first time, “i love you too, abby.”

jeeeeez, editing this was sooo headache-flavored. anyway! happy reading! wish me a decent recovery, and also?? lmk if you guys want a more in-depth story behind my fucked-up toe or pictures for that matter lol!!!

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐏𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐲 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre!outbreak joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn

word count: 3.1k

summary: Months after the move you're trying to paint again. But you lack the motivation to do so. Thankfully, Sarah comes over and keeps you company until Tommy and Joel come over to pick her up.

warnings: brief themes of grief, tommy radiating younger sibling energy and being a menace, fluff

a/n: thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed the prologue and a special thank you to @pedrito-friskito who edited the chapter, love you! 💜💜💜

prologue || chapter two

The dust lingers in the air, a constant reminder of what once was. You see flecks of it dancing in the beams of light that pour through the window, illuminating the room with a hazy glow. The smell of dust permeates every corner, fills your lungs. There are still boxes stacked in your room. Some of them waiting to be unpacked and some of them waiting to be filled. 

Looking through your grandfather’s old knick-knacks had been a harder task than you thought. You found pictures, lots of them. From his past, from his now. You even found a picture of yourself from when you were a kid; laughing in the sun with mud all over your face. You had promised him the perfect garden. At the end of the day, it was far from it but he still said that it was. 

Your fingers clench around the brush you’re holding. An hour ago you decided to use the grief to make something of it. You had a heaping amount of black and red paint poured onto the pallete, untouched. 

You shake your head, agitated. You really shouldn’t be wasting paint. It’s not like you can afford to continuously buy supplies. 

You’re staring deeply into the blank canvas when a loud knock jars you back to reality. You can feel a burn in your eyes, taunting you for the wasted hour spent sitting idly without so much as a brushstroke to show for it.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumble under your breath while heading to the door. Your eyes linger on the window, it’s a clear day out, which now you decide to point all your anger at. If it was raining, it would be different. You would have the proper ambiance to be inspired. 

Without looking, you open the door, your eyes immediately dropping to the girl standing on your porch. “Sarah?” 

“Sorry for barging in,” she says with a sheepish grin. “I forgot my keys and dad isn’t home yet. Can I come inside?” 

Dad. Joel. 

You blink before smiling. You take a step to the side as a wordless invite. She steps inside with grace, her shoes blinking pink and purple. It’s hard to stifle a giggle, which earns you a quizzical look from her. 

You point to her feet, “Nice kicks,” 

“Oh,” her eyes lit up, leaving her heel glued to the hardwood floors, she lifted her foot. “Aren’t they cool? Azra offered we trade shoes for the day.” 

"Veeery nice," you nod, but as Sarah turns to head further inside, you clear your throat. "Shoes off," you remind her.

“Right, sorry.” 

You make your way to the kitchen, Sarah follows closely behind, taking off her blinking shoes as she goes. You stretch up on your toes and open the cupboard, searching for Sarah's preferred brand of tea. 

Since you moved in and formed close bonds with the Miller family, both Tommy and Sarah have been regular visitors to your home. You enjoy their company. It was nice to talk to people instead of obsessing over your muses that had clearly abandoned you.

You pull out the box of apple cinnamon tea and place it on the counter. Joel never stops by. You only see him whenever he comes over to pick up Sarah and that’s pretty much it. Sometimes you send cookies via Sarah and the next day she would tell you he enjoyed them. You aren’t quite sure if Joel is just reserved or if he just didn’t like you that much, but no matter what it is, the rest of the family seems to enjoy your presence. Which is all a neighbor could ask for. 

The staccato drumming of Sarah’s fingers against the wooden table pulls you back. You turn on the kettle, a soft steam filling the kitchen. 

“Your uncle Tommy is going to stop by too,” you say, leaning back and crossing your arms. “I’m assuming you’re dad is with him?” 

“Yeah, but it’s pizza day today so my dad will probably force them to stop by the supermarket to grab some stuff,” she lets her head fall onto her hands and adds. “If he doesn’t forget, that is. You should join us,” 

The water comes to a boil, forcing you to turn away from her. You place two tea bags into comically large mugs (the ones that make both Tommy and Sarah giggle, which brightens up your day) and pour the steaming water into them. You place one of the mugs in front of Sarah and slide into the chair beside her, watching as she wraps her nimble fingers around the purple mug. 

“I’m a busy woman,” you tease. “I need to work and stuff,” 

“Coffee shop?” 

“I’m off for the day,” 

A mischievous glint glimmered in her eyes, her smile widening into a cheeky grin. “Date?” 

You snort into your tea, waving your hand dismissively. Sarah raises an eyebrow at that. The girl has quite a sharp intuition. If you were being completely honest, it made you nervous some days.

“Nah, I just need to work on my paintings. I haven’t managed to paint a single stroke. It’s frustrating,” you stop and take a sip, the fruity flavor makes your taste buds come alive. “Very annoying,” 

“Maybe just paint something else or sketch something you like,” she states nonchalantly. “Take a break from the main thing, do a side quest,” 

“Sometimes I do that, but I really need to get a grip. I’m gonna end up working at the coffee house forever, or I’m just going to have to risk starvation,” 

“Don’t worry. We’ll take you in, feed you,” 

Teenagers. You shake your head with an amused smile, “What am I? A dog?” 

“A friend.” 

You still at that, fingers curling around the hot mug, it burns to the touch. Sarah starts to look around your house as if what she just said just now wasn’t ridiculously sweet. 

She hops off the chair and starts to wander with her mug nestled between her palms. Taking a sip, you smile into the porcelain rim, your heart beating fast. 

When you first moved here, you were scared to be alone. That you wouldn’t be able to make any friends. After your grandfather died and left you the house, you had half a mind to not make the move. It was nerve-wracking at the time. But ironically enough it was your grief that spurred you to take the leap forward. 

Sarah slows down, reaching the bookshelf. The one you have in the living room isn’t really that impressive, mostly put there for decor. She pushes a succulent out of the way and allows her fingers to trace the smooth spines. “You have a lot of children’s books,” 

“What can I say, I’m a kid at heart,” you observe the bookshelf next to her. She isn’t wrong. A lot of Roald Dahl books, which are followed by a series of Nicholas and the Gang books. “If you want to see my more serious stuff, we can check the one upstairs.” 

“I’m good,” Hooking her fingers around Matilda, she pulls the paperback out of its home. She flips it over and scans the back. “Can I borrow this one?” 

“Sure, be my guest. That’s one of my favorites,” 

“Living in a house full of dumb-dumbs sounds like my life story,” 

“Oh, believe me, your dad is much smarter than he looks,” the sigh you let out attracts her attention, eyes flitting back to you. “And so is your uncle. Also, Matilda’s parents are kind of assholes,” 

“Woah, spoilers.” 

Another knock at the door. Compared to Sarah’s slow, more careful ones. These knocks sound eccentric, hitting the wood as if the person behind it is out to break it. 

“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah guesses, rolling her eyes but smiling. “My dad’s probably with him,” 

She’s spot on with her guess. Sarah peers from your side, looking over both her uncle and dad. Tommy shoots you a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Joel stands tall right behind him, his arms crossed, he greets you with a small smile and a signature head tilt. 

“Hello boys,” you say, returning the nod and smile. “Do you guys wanna come in?” 

Joel lifts a bag of groceries, “Pizza day,” 

Sarah’s ears perk up at that, her eyes wide with disbelief, “You didn’t forget!” then she narrows her eyes, sticking her bottom lip out. “Who are you and what did you with to my dad?” 

“I had to remind him,” Tommy chuckles, nudging his shoulder into Joel’s. He holds your gaze. “But I’m here for you, beautiful,” 

“My hero.” 

Joel scoffs with a half grin and gestures his head towards Sarah, “Get your things. Let’s get going.” 

All Sarah has to do is lean to the side and grab her backpack from behind the door. Joel waits for her below the short set of stairs, one hand in his pocket, eyes flicking between you and Tommy. He seems impatient, almost. 

Tommy brushes past you while Sarah takes her first step over the threshold. At that very moment you feel suspended in time, your eyes finding Joel’s for a brief moment until Sarah comes into view. He slaps a hand over her shoulder and smiles at you. Sarah is still holding the book as she waves you both off. 

When you close the door, Tommy is already in the kitchen, rummaging through your fridge. “You have nothin’ to eat,” 

“I thought we could order out,” you offer, your gaze falling to the blank canvas. Tommy moves his entire upper body out of the fridge and slams it shut. 

“You have anything in mind?” 

You don’t have to think long for an answer. 

“You know what? I think I’m craving pizza.” 

The thing about Tommy Miller is that he’s a good listener, paired with quite the mouth. 

He can talk for hours. You always comment on how that was his superpower; there RE no awkward silences when Tommy İs near. He’s also ridiculously intuitive, which makes you think Sarah got it from him. 

You two are sitting on the couch with crossed legs and facing each other. Your knees press together as he tells you about his day, munching on the last slice. He’s telling you how the concrete deliveries got delayed, which meant that the rest of their schedule got fucked. His words, not yours. Joel was furious, apparently. You never would’ve guessed. He just looks tired all the time.

“By the way,” he says, swallowing and reaching for the glass of bubbling coke. “If you were cravin’ pizza so much, we could’ve gone over to Joel’s. Eat some of that good homemade shit,” 

Picking up the empty pizza box, you place it on the coffee table and push it with the tips of your fingers. You don’t know how to answer him. Your brows furrow, and when he sees it, worry crosses his face. 

A bitter chuckle drops abruptly from your lips, “I don’t think Joel likes me very much,” 

“What?” Tommy sounds positively horrified. If anyone heard, they would’ve thought you said something along the lines of your mother dying. “Nonsense. He adores you. Why would you even think that?” 

Your eyes drop to the cushions you sit on. You feel the brush of his knuckles ghosting over your cheek, prompting you to meet his gaze. His eyes are a soft brown, a shade lighter than Joel’s. 

“Hey, you can talk to me. Did he do something to make you feel like that?” 

“N-No,” you slowly shake your head, your pulse throbs under your skin. “I just…I don’t know. It seems like he’s wary of me, like I did something wrong once and he’s expecting it to happen again,” 

He sighs, his palm now fully cradling your cheek. You can’t help but lean into his touch. “That’s just Joel for you. He’s got a fair share of weight on them shoulders—I’m also probably not a big help to him. Always getting into trouble,” 

“I know for a fact that Sarah and Joel love you very much,” you have the need to remind him, and his eyes light up at your words. The skin under his hand burns. “Besides young siblings are always trouble, I would know since I’m the younger one as well. It’s character.” 

He blows a raspberry into the air. His hand falls from your cheek and takes refuge over his lap. “Some character,” he utters under his breath, shooting you a playful gaze. “You want me to talk to him?” 

“Please no,” you laugh, slapping him on the shoulder as you get up. “That would be super embarrassing,” 

“Sometimes you need to tell that stubborn dog to behave,” his voice reaches you in waves, his socked feet following you to the kitchen. You dispose of the boxes, start to prepare him, and you some late-night tea. 

“He is behaving,” you reply, feeling his presence behind you. “I just get into my own head sometimes. Don’t worry about it.” 

Your hands are still above the kitchen counter when you feel his warm breath fanning the back of your neck. You watch his fingers curl around the edge, his chin not quite pressing but lingering a couple of centimeters above your shoulder. 

“Anyone who doesn’t like you is a grade-A idiot, just sayin’” his voice is a low echo in your ear. He’s not physically touching you, but it feels as if his entire being is consuming you by just being so close. The click of the kettle parts the silence. “The water’s done.” 

You’re surprised when you turn and find that there’s actually quite a bit of space between you still. You could’ve sworn that his body was only a breath away. 

Tommy steps closer, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. He has a lazy, yet adoring, smile on his face. Your legs start to tremble, a habit you found you did whenever you were in any kind of confrontation. 

Now, there isn’t really anything to confront, so you blame the crackling of tension between you and him. You take a breath and your chest heaves.

You hold your breath when you notice he’s starting to inch closer, gorgeous browns dropping to the flush of your lips. You don’t pull away. But you don’t lean in either. You’re like a deer in headlights, shocked by the sudden beam of brightness. 

“Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper. You swallow, your muddled mind finding it difficult to string the words that might or might not form a coherent sentence. 

Tommy has always been a close friend. A confidant. Someone you can call in the middle of the night with noquestions asked. You know for a fact that he can be a flirt. And this quality of his cheered you up from time to time—like when he calls you beautiful or praises you in any shape or form. But you’re quite not sure you want to breach the limitations of a platonic relationship. 

Suddenly you feel his lips on your cheek, pulling back as quickly as he leaned in, he releases you from the cage and grins at you. 

“Gotcha.” 

“Excuse me?” Your mouth feels like sandpaper and your throat dry. You swallow and watch him sit on a stool across from you. His fingers grip the peaking part of the stool head between his legs, he looks like a toddler. 

“I’m just doing my thing, being a troublemaker. Just like you said,” he hunches forward, eyes looking up to you between dark lashes. “It’s character, right?” 

“Oh fuck off, Tommy Miller,” 

“You know I’m not above accepting that offer, right? It’s been a while.” 

You roll your eyes and turn on the kettle again, the steaming water now probably tepid. 

“What would you do if I actually kissed you?” 

The question lingers in the air and uncomfortably presses into your skin, you lack the air to take a breath. You don’t dare to look at him. Gaze stubbornly watching the button of the kettle to pop, signaling you that the water is boiling. 

“I don’t know Tommy,” you answer honestly and press a palm against the heating surface of the kettle. “I don’t know.” 

You hate taking out the thrash. 

You don’t know why. When you were a kid, it was your dad who took it out and that would always be accompanied by a series of complaints. His habit of talking to himself and to the inanimate objects around him had passed on to you. The night air chills your skin, a shiver shuddering up your spine while you struggle to keep the trash bag in the air with one hand. Your nails begin to tear the plastic and you start to walk faster. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter, arm cramping. “Come on, just a little further,” 

When you reach the container, you lift the bag with a heave and do a small little hip wiggle at the small victory. 

Turning around you see Joel watching you with a wide smile. 

You’re stunned into silence, arms and legs tingling at the thought of how stupid you must’ve looked. He’s holding a trashbag of his own. Red flannel accentuating his narrowing hips perfectly. He cocks his head to the side when you continue to stare. 

“Are you always this excited after throwin’ out the thrash?” he asks, humored by your reaction. 

While you think of an answer, he takes wide steps and throws out his own trash. Joel then turns to you, the only thing separating your bodies being the white picket fence. 

“Let’s just say that I was happy it didn’t rip while making the trip,” 

He nods while pressing his hands into his thighs, “A worthy thing to celebrate.” 

You shift from one leg to another. The conversation you had with Tommy the night before echoes in your head worry clouding your chest with the question ‘did Tommy say anything?’.  But you assume not when Joel takes a step back, palms sliding down his jeans like a nervous tick. 

“Well then,” he clears his throat. “See you later neighbor,” 

You lift your hand to wave, an early smile starts to curl over your lips. However, your half-uttered goodbye is cut short by the absurdly loud growl of your stomach. 

Ah fuck. 

Joel stills. Your cheeks and the tips of your ears burn. His eyes drop to your arms that are now wrapped tight around your stomach, then he lifts his gaze back up to meet yours. 

“You wanna join us for dinner?” he asks, he pronounces every word slowly, reminding you of the way you whisper to animals that you don’t want to scare away. “Sarah’s makin’ her special burgers,” 

“Special?” you ask back, ignoring the fact that you’ve become a charity case in a blink of an eye. “What makes them special?” 

Hand sliding into his pockets, Joel gestures with his head for you to come over. 

“Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?” 

[haitani-maki]

╭◦•◦❥•◦α∂σяιиg уσυ

•18+ MDNI Shikaba Yotsurugi x Fem!Reader

◦TW: fingering, orgasm, squirting, overstimulation, dacryphilia, petnames(pretty girl, good girl), maybe I forgot to mention something...

•English is not my first language (Not edited, may contain errors)

One of Shikaba's favorite things is fingering you. He loves how stupid you look with just his fingers.

Shikaba loves how your juicy pussy makes a mess, leaving his fingers creamy, your juices running down his hand, the sheets beneath you soaked with your squirts. How sticky you make his fingers, creating a web between them.

His favorite is fingering you in public, you having to control yourself, pretending Shikaba isn't finger fucking you under the table.

Shikaba is nasty when it comes to you. He loves how he can leave you on the edge, he loves how he can control your body using just his fingers, he loves how you squirm beneath him due to the overstimulation he caused in you. Shikaba can't get enough of it, he'll finger you every chance he gets.

Sometimes when you're about to cum, he'll stop, only to hear you whimper. He wants you to beg, tell him how much you need him and how good he makes you feel, after that he will give you what you want, using his fingers and then his dick. Making you cry because it's too much - "Wasn't that what you wanted, pretty girl? Come on, be a good girl, give me one more." - You looked even more beautiful crying as his fingers worked inside you, repeatedly touching that sensitive spot inside you.

"One more, please?" - It's your second of the night. It's always like this, Shikaba asking for one more after the first, one more after the second and one more after the third.

Shikaba become ruthless and cruel when he wants to make you cum over and over again

The lewd sounds of your pussy, squishing and cumming around his fingers, sucking them back in whenever he pulls out of you, sounded like music to Shikaba. He will use as many fingers as you can handle, manhandling your abused pussy and making you whimper - "Shikaba, I feel so full." - And he smiles, loving to hear how you feel. Shikaba can do this for hours if you let her, mistreating your abused hole and sometimes slapping your swollen clitoris. He can't help it, his addiction to you is worse than any drug he could use.

"Shikaba, I'm so close, please, please!" - You beg him to make you cum again, no matter how much you say it's too much, he's already proven you wrong and you always want more - "Good girl, one more for me, you can do it." - He praises you, hitting exactly where you need it.

Your orgasm hits you intensely. Making you cry, your legs shake and your toes curl in the sheets, vision blurry while you look at him, electricity shooting through your veins, your nerves on fire.

Shikaba continues thrusting into your swollen pussy, you try to hold onto his arm, but it's useless. He is determined to take another one from you.

Shikaba leaned over you, placing kisses where your tears fell, praising you and whispering how much he loves seeing you filled with his fingers, how beautiful you looked cumming and how much he loves you, trying to distract you with how overstimulated you are feeling.

Your head was spinning, only moans and confused words came out of your mouth

"My pretty girl, you're doing so well. You've got another one in you, right?" - Shikaba's warm breath on your ear making you shiver

You shake your head frantically, feeling Shikaba thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy harder.

Your eyes rolling back, screams leaving your mouth, you continuing to shake since your last orgasm.

Your lips form into an "O", releasing a silent moan, you squirt, covering Shikaba with your juices and leaving the sheets wetter than they already were.

He looks at you, letting out a satisfied sigh, in love with you and the mess between your legs.

Shikaba felt his own body tense, cumming just at the sight of you being a mess for him. He didn't care about that, only you mattered.

He slowly removes his fingers from inside you, hugging your body that was still convulsing a little, calming you down and praising you for giving yourself to him, for being a good girl and telling you how well you did.

Shikaba always rewarded you well by taking care of you after leaving you a mess for him. A beautiful crying mess with legs shaking from the orgasms he caused you, letting out sly moans or screaming his name. It was what his good girl deserved for doing so well♡

©Reblogs are welcome, do not copy or translate

[badnoahmens]

4am

Noah Sebastian x reader

A/N Do yourself a favour and watch this quick scene from the TV show ‘Dave’, it was the kind of thing I was going for, but just at a different time and place, and just less sad. Thanks!

4:07 am. The dim glow of the alarm clock illuminated the room just enough to make out silhouettes of the furniture. There was the low hum of the wind outside that was the soundtrack for this winter night. There was a chill in the air that made the thought of leaving the comfort of your bed seem almost impossible, but as you rolled to see the vacant spot next to you, you couldn’t help but wonder where Noah was.

Tentatively, you slip one foot, then another, from the cave of warmth you have created, and tip-toe lightly to the door that was slightly ajar. From around the corner you could see light, growing stronger the closer you walked down the hallway. As you turn the corner, you could hear a tune, being played repeatedly, over and over again. It would start, sometimes play for 10 or so seconds, before starting again. Each time it played there were slight changes to the pitch of a note, altered to best suit the melody being played.

A sigh escapes you as you know exactly what has happened. Once again, Noah, your boyfriend of 6 years, has allowed himself to be all-consumed by his music yet again, staying up until ungodly hours trying to perfect his craft. You step around the corner, seeing the profile of Noah, who looked like he was in a trance-state with eyes fixated on the screen, headphones adorned over his beanie with his hair poking out at the bottom. He was still dressed in the same clothes as the day before, a long-sleeve white t-shirt and a pair of black jogger pants, although now it looked like they were wearing him instead. He was slouched over, hands moving ever so slightly with the flick of the mouse or a stroke of the keyboard. Bags hung under his eyes, and his eyelids looked heavy. You could almost see the reflection of the screen and the colourful bars from Logic Pro X in his eyes, like he was hypnotised by it.

His hand raised and adjusted the headphones that were blocking out any sound other than his current project, long fingers grazing some of the buttons on the side and shifting them so they fit more comfortably. Without looking to his side, he reached over towards the door, closer towards you, as he hovered his hand in the air in search of what you assume was his guitar. You could see it, it’s long neck laying against the couch behind him. He still absentmindedly waved his hand trying to locate the guitar, but it also looked like he forgot what he was doing. His arm dropped with a slight thud to land on the desk next to him. When his arm retreated, he hung his head and rested it in one hand, the other slipping off the headphones and then joining to support his hidden face, now behind his palms, with elbows leaning on the desk and nudging the keyboard away from him.

You heard him huff, and decided you needed to step in, otherwise he would keep going until he dropped dead. With a very gentle step forward, you place a hand gently on his shoulder. He tilts his head up and you finally get to see his full face, and it was worse than you had thought. The poor man looked like the lights were out inside, but somehow he was just sleep-walking his way through this editing process. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in weeks, and this album was always on his mind. It made you wonder how it wasn’t making him go crazy, but then again, with what you saw in front of you, maybe he wasn’t far off. When he looked into your eyes he almost looked guilty, like he felt bad for what he was doing. You give him a small smile and walk closer, this time both hands snake their way around his chest as you stand behind him. You rest your chin on his shoulder and lean into him, and he does the same back to you. It was so comforting the way that he responded to your touch. Your hands interlocked over his shirt, and one of his hands came up to intertwine with yours. Still no words had been spoken, but you knew that he needed you there for just a moment.

“How is it sounding?” you ask, and he strains his neck to the side to look at you with a puzzled look on his face. You guess he was expecting you to be upset, or even mad at him, but how could you ever.

“Uh, I think this track is nearly done. I switched up some of the melody so now it has a panpipe, and have a listen to this harp track I put in…” his fingers flicked over the mouse again, and the colourful bars zipped past on the screen right back to the start of the song. He tapped the space bar, and leant back in his chair. As the tune began to play, you slipped around and sat atop his lap, swinging legs over the side of his chair and curling up onto his chest.

One of his hands held your back, and the other rested on top of your knees, tapping along with an imaginary click-track that you are sure was playing non-stop in his own mind.

It was a new song, one you hadn’t heard yet. You thought you had heard them all by this point, but this one took you by surprise. It was slower, more drawn out, and it took its time to build up and work through the first verse.

“I haven’t heard this one before” you whisper, as though not to interrupt the song playing.

“I only made it today,” Noah responded, a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry”.

“Did you really just apologise? For doing something you love? And maybe staying up a little late because you want it to be perfect?” you look at him with an eyebrow raised, hands knotted behind his neck.

“I’ve got an idea” he says, reaching over and grasping a second pair of headphones. He delicately places them on your head, tucking your hair back so that the headphones sit snugly. He picks up his own headphones again while skipping back to the beginning of the song. It starts delicately and quietly, and before the melody begins Noah starts speaking into his microphone.

“What if we add a little adlib to the start?” he spoke, and you saw the little bars indicating it was recording on the screen jump up and down.

You lean forward and reply, “what kind of thing are you thinking of?” It was a little startling hearing your own voice reverberated through the microphones, and you could pick up just the most subtle hint of a pitch corrector to make your voice sound more fluid.

“I don’t even know,” he said through a smile. His eyes were drooping, half closed and you could tell he had an idea but his brain wouldn’t let him process it.

“What if we just talk?” you say, starting to speak in a sing-songy voice. Noah starts the song again, and starts a new recording.

“You know that it’s 4am…. and you are here with me…” he spoke, elongating some words to match the tempo of the beat.

“No place I’d raaaath-er be” you sing, “but what is this soooong about?”

“Why don’t you fiiiind out,” Noah sings back. Somehow even in his state, at this hour, and even with just talking, he manages to hit perfect notes.

“Is it a haaaappy one?” you ask, still trying your best to not sound too forced, but when you were comparing yourself to Noah’s vocals, there wasn’t any chance of sounding good.

“It’s aaaabout us” he responded, “so it’s the best- song- I- have- done.” Drawing out the last part of his sentence, timing it perfectly with when the tune began to change.

You lean back into Noah’s chest, the headphones pushed against his chest distorting his shirt just enough so the tattoos on his chest were a little more exposed. He rested his cheek on the top of your head, almost nudging the band of the headphones with his nose.

As the two of you listen to the rest of the song, and you really started listening to the lyrics, you couldn’t help but smile and feel a warmth inside you grow beyond measure. It was a story being told, your story. The one of how you met, how Noah was so nervous to talk to you he actually avoided it. He had told you about this long after you started dating, and how he kicks himself now because of it. The story continues, describing his perspective of when you started spending more time together. He talks about the thoughts in his head, the doubts he believed, thinking he wasn’t good enough for you. There was even mention of the time where he let those thoughts win and you had to convince him otherwise.

It was a raw and rare insight into his mind, and what a beautiful and scary place it must be. Knowing only little of what he had been through before you met, you knew his trauma from his past still haunted him today, and you did everything in your power to try and keep those ghosts away.

You were caught up in your own thoughts while still listening to the song, in a little bit of disbelief at the sudden vulnerability he was willing to share with the world.

“That’s beautiful” you comment, wiping a tear away that you hadn’t realised had formed.

He lets out a half laugh and glances back at the screen, scrolling along through the tracking of the song. “It’s been a lot of work, but it’s getting there. It took me a long time to try and find the right words. Album number 4 has to be my best work yet” he comments. You know more than anyone that he is his own harshest critic, and the pressure he puts on himself is more than anything else you have witnessed.

“Do you think maybe, now with something new added, stepping away from it for a little while will help? Come back to it with a fresh view?” you ask, being very careful to choose which words don't sound demanding.

“Maybe you’re right” he commented, making a few more final clicks to ensure that his project was saved, before switching off the screen. A new and comforting darkness fell in the room, and you slowly stood up from Noah’s lap. He reaches up, and wraps his decorated hands in yours. You tug a little, and he listens, standing up next to you. You start to walk out of the room, and he blindly follows you, feet falling a little clumsily and you think he is starting to fall asleep standing up. You guide him back to the bedroom, pull the covers off and give him a gentle shove. He falls back and chuckles as he does, head hitting the pillow for the first time in a while. It wouldn’t be rare for him to just not come to bed some nights, sleeping on the couch that was in his studio, and sometimes even at the very desk you found him at.

As you walk around to your side of the bed and climb in, you can just make out the outline of his face. Your finger delicately traces the sides of his cheeks, down and across his chin, back up and along the bridge of his nose, and then your fingers intertwine with his hair, smoothing back some of the locks and pushing his beanie off his head. He was humming, enjoying the touch. It didn’t take long at all, less than 30 seconds, and his facial expressions relaxed, mouth hanging slightly ajar, and breathing pattern falling into a steady rhythm.

He fell asleep so quickly it made you think that if you hadn’t gone to him, he would have been there all night, either awake or with his head on the desk. You loved that he loved his work, that he was so passionate about what he did, but it came as a curse too. No one knew how hard he worked, no one knew how much his own judgements ruled his life. So you did everything in your power to help him, be by his side, there when he needed you, even if he didn’t even know it himself.

[dilftaroooo]

a lil something for my black gorls bc apparently every reader in this fandom is fair skinned </3

oh lord ghost turns into holy spirit bc of how much he worships u and yo body goodness gracious (i am so sorry father god 💀🧎🏽‍♀️). got carried away. p.s. yall i haven’t written anything in a hot minute so this small thirst might be raggedy as hell (my coochie was doin the thinking)

tags: smut + afab reader + ghost loves you sm + just as much as u love him + finger lickin good pussy eatin + body worship + slight dumbification + i was planning on making him rough with u but then i went soft :) + p power + piv sex + barely proofread + im so sleepy i’ll probably edit the format later + forgot how much i fucking hate tumblr’s editing antics.

You had lost count already. How many times you came to be exact. Has it gone up to Two? Three? Yeah—three. At least that’s what you think. Well—you suppose thinking is starting to become more and more of a rare luxury considering the state you were in—dazed and stupid. Eyes decorated with a red glow from the tears that spilled from them along with a glossy sheen that finished the look.

Subtle hints of wet mascara slid down the apples of your cheeks as Ghost’s fingers delve deep within your wet entrance. His digits were more than acquainted to the slimy ridges that lived inside of you. He graciously pets your most sensitive spots with the utmost care, making your pussy scream as his moist lips kisses your bothered clit as though he’s cooing it to sleep. His tender nature juxtaposes the foreboding gleam of his skull mask and dark eyes drowning in war paint.

It’s those eyes. The ones that made you shiver and whine whenever they catch sight of you. The ones that glare under dim, yellow lights when you inevitably made him jealous. Enough to make them turn green. The ones that form crescent moons whenever he reminds you how much he loves you (the mild appearance of crow’s feet adorning the outer corners). Those eyes—

God, those big fucking eyes.

Sweat makes your melanin coated skin glisten, emitting a warm glow that send tingles up Ghost’s spine. He can feel the goosebumps covering his body as you inadvertently arch your back, pushing your warm sex up against his upper lip, making him groan into your sensitive nub. Your core tighten once more, your pedicured toes stretched across the apex of his back, polish chipped and damaged from irritation, the power of your orgasm jolting you with a hot flash.

Now it's your fourth time.

Brown areolas raise up and down from your big breaths, in the process of coming down from that high you’ve encountered just a second ago. But Ghost doesn’t know rest as he gorges your nipple in his mouth, adoring the quick yelp escaping your lips.

“Ah, Ghost…” You say with kind fragility. Your palms lightly tap his shoulder. Not telling him to stop but telling him to slow down. It was too much. His hands caressed your naked curves. He loved admiring your body. Taking the time to relish just how gorgeous you really are—from head to toe:

Your cornrows styled in intricate parts, freshly layered with the tropical smell of coconuts. Skin gleaming with the overly used shea butter that rarely missed a day off your body. Lips full and plump and coated with that cherry chapstick he loves to taste. Your breast were round and soft to the touch. And your pussy—Fuck, that pussy shined with your juices. Juices he created from fucking you silly with his fingers.

Ghost wasn’t a religious man. He never was. But of all the possible religions out there, your pussy was the one he worshiped the most.

He loved this pussy. Kneeled for this pussy. Prayed for this pussy.

Your being was his shrine and your name was his mantra. He couldn’t get enough of you and your light touches and gentle praises. Ghost couldn’t find more ways to thank you for your existence.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop and utters a voice lower than you’ve ever heard him use, “I need you, love.” You don’t take long to nod with evident fervor. Languidly aiding him in unbuckling his pants and releasing him from those tight restraints.

“I need you,” He repeats. “need that soaking wet cunt.” His Mancunian accent is thick and laced with desire when his mouth spewed that last word. You let go of a wanting mewl before spreading the dark, puffy lips that lead to your sopping wet hole. Just what he wanted.

You both moan in unison as you both get what you want. His hand engulfed yours and you’re quickly reminded of how big he is. His fingers are long and thick. Your legs twitch as you remember how they feel rubbing inside you. He leisurely finds his way deep in your sex. Your tightness pains him in the way that he likes. Leaning down to grunt into your ear, nose filled with that familiar coconut scent, you clench around him when his teeth bites down at the shell of your ear.

He loves you. He loves you so much—your hair, your eyes, your lips, your smile, your voice, your taste, your scent. You’re wonderful. Breathtaking. Beautiful. So so beautiful. He’s so glad he has you. That you’re in his arm moaning so prettily for him. And its almost unbelievable to him that you think of him the same way he thinks of you.

Once your breathing gets heavier and his thrusts gets sloppier and your eye starts twitching, you both finally succumb to the hot rush of pleasure. You don’t object to his heavy weight toppling over you after he fills you up (you encourage it with a hug despite how heavy he is). It feels good—laying like this. So intimate. You pet the back of his head taking in his warmth. Time passes before he slowly looks up at you, his eyes the same temperature as both of your bodies meshed together, and he suddenly states,

“That’s your fifth one, doll.” And you can’t help the quiet snicker that leaves you before giving him a playful slap to his arm, telling him to shut up. You somehow manage to catch a small glimpse of him rolling his eyes beneath that inky mask of his. This was intimate indeed. You finish off the night with a kiss to his forehead and you felt your heart flutter when he answered with a subdued hum.

[sashimiyas]

a/n: personally, i just needed to let this out; needed some bakugou comfort after the recent news

Your gaze drifts downward once more, an outright obsession for the numbers in the bottom right corner of your monitor. It’s only been two minutes since you’ve last checked the time, but you’ve long since clocked out, at least mentally, when you noticed you had ten minutes left of your shift. Like playing a solo game of catch with a wall, your gaze bounces between the skyline outside and the digital clock on your screen.

It’s raining outside and you forgot your umbrella. But you’re almost off! Oh, but you’ll have to do that awkward hunched run in the rain with your bag atop your head. But at least these excel sheets will be a momentary thing of the past. But he most definitely will yell at you.

Your frown lasts only for a moment because you know that after a lecture comes the most tender gestures. Scolding words may welcome you the moment you come home, but always they are soothed by a kiss and scalding soup will be ready to warm up your bones.

A coworker calls for your name and when you glance up, when you notice her little fidgety hops in place and saccading gaze, you know she bears the worst news.

“There’s someone here to visit you,” she points behind her to the door that leads to the waiting room.

You glance down again to the bottom right corner. Only six minutes left of your shift, “really? For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“And they asked specifically for me?”

Your tone must have been clipped because she can’t even muster a worded response, only an empathetic nod of the head, glancing away from you. The dramatics that come are only because of that weird gelatinous zone that occurs ten minutes before clock out, an abysmal state of being -worse than even clocking in.

Your office chair snaps at the speed you get up and you stretch, reaching your arms above you, then behind, hunching your back over and to the left and the right. It prompts a yawn that you welcome almost forcibly and finally, you are ready for what awaits you.

When you open the door, the sight of him is so explosive that your breath escapes you. Mentally, you curse your coworker for the con but it’s a welcome surprise to find your husband tucked against the wall of the office waiting room. He’s pressed against it, figure small as if he’s trying to curl in on himself, but despite his efforts, his presence is always commanding. He scrolls through his phone with an impatient frown, but that’s simply standard at this point, your favorite expression among many; and in his other hand is your umbrella. Not yours that is located right by the front door, the one he’d purposely put there after you’d forgotten once and it resulted in a small fever he had to help you work through. (He says he had to as if he didn’t just watch you sleep for twelve hours straight and woke up well the next morning.)

No, not that umbrella. This one is more special, a limited edition Red Riot merch, one that is large enough to fit that hulking man.

You tiptoe eagerly towards him but those hero senses of his has him glancing in your direction. It’s imperceptible to everyone else, but Bakugou does this thing every time he sees you –a small purse of the lips accompanied by a dry swallow. He never looks excited but you know what that expression entails, as if every time, he needs to drink in the sight of you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask excitedly once you reach him. There’s a modest space between, carefully keeping it professional in your workspace despite him being your husband and you can tell he doesn’t enjoy the distance with the way his palm lifts only to meet air.

“I saw you left your fucking umbrella at home,” he knocks your head with a curled index finger. “What are you doing, dummy? I’m always reminding you and you still forget.”

You smile indulgently, because your mind’s eye plays the scene vividly. You can see him toeing his shoes off at the door, cursing at the weather until he stills and his eyes shift to the bottom right corner, landing on the umbrella you’ve left at home. Then he’s cursing at you instead. He mutters something under his breath on his way to the shower, something about how he can never catch a break only for him to make his way to you.

Your hand reaches up for his and you twine your fingers together. What did you call this hour? Abysmal? No, not with your husband around.

“Thank you,” you say. His brow quirks, “you know, for always being there for me.”

He smiles wide and snarky, “of course. What would my dummy do without me?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

He lets you run back in to officially clock out and when you step outside, before a single drop of rain can darken your coat, he opens up the limited edition Red Riot umbrella.

The umbrella that is the perfect size for one Kirishima.

Or two Bakugous.

[blondedmuse]

JUST FOR TONIGHT

bradley “rooster” bradshaw x reader

synopsis. ꩜ you learn how bradley truly feels about you.

author's note. ∿ wow look whose writing again! this also has no editing because i’m so tired and wrote this in 30 minutes

word count. ⨾ idk a lot

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It’s the middle of a the night and you found yourself wide awake and held tightly in strong arms. You should be tired and you should be asleep but the heartbeat of the man behind you has kept you wide awake.

He’d ended up in your bed more often than not in the past few months and you in his. It’s a game you didn’t know you were playing, tip-toeing around each other to see who would fold first.

It was usually you, and you’d take him home with no regrets that night but then once he was gone by morning there was always a sour taste left in your mouth.

It lingered because you were yearning for something more—something you weren’t sure Bradley wanted. While he took you out from time to time, you continued to tell yourself you were just friends; with benefits of course.

There were lines that you established neither of you were meant to cross, yet it’s as if those boundaries were made to be broken.

So now you lay wide awake contemplating where you stand and what this means for the both of you. You tilt you head so you can see Bradley and you don’t think the thoughts of your present have ever once occurred to him. Maybe they have but it’s not worth the headache, especially at four in the morning.

So carefully, you slip from the hold of his arms and off the bed and head to the living room, taking your acoustic guitar with you. You settle on your couch with the hopes that music will serve as a sufficient distraction and your fingers drift to the chords of I Love You So by The Walters.

The song is quiet enough to keep him from his wake and you sing the words just above a whisper. Halfway through the song you almost forgot Bradley was in your bedroom—almost.

The truth is the moment you’d left the room and your side of the bed was cold, he woke up. He’d slowly been growing accustomed to your body in his arms as he fell asleep, which he damned himself for because it was never meant to happen. It was never meant to happen because why would you feel that same? You were just friends, right?

Still he woke up looking around the room for your figure and as soon as he heard a voice he realized maybe he didn’t have to search far. It wasn’t long before he noticed you were singing, to which he then realized he’d never heard before. He’d always wanted to ask you to play something for him, to hear your voice to the tune of one of your favorite songs and now he had the chance.

He walked downstairs as quietly as he could which proved itself to be not quiet enough as you turned around to see him standing at the bottom of your stairs.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t mind.” he sighed before thinking of the right words to say.

“I’d like it if you kept going.”

You hesitated before nodding to the spot next to you on the couch. “Don’t you have training tomorrow? I just- I think you should get some sleep. Proper sleep.”

“I’ll be fine. I’d rather you sing me to sleep anyways,” He told you, shifting his position so that he was lying down.

“Please?” He asked and how could you say no?

“Alright,” You agreed and your fingers started once again. Going for something slower, you started playing John Wayne by Cigarettes After Sex, singing along like you had done earlier.

Once you finished the song you were sure he was out like a light with his eyes closed and breathing slowed, and you were stuck in this awkward position once again. Before you could get up however, the sound of his voice left you frozen.

“I hope you know I love your voice. Love it almost just as much as I love you,” He rasped.

Your brows cinched together and you heart stopped momentarily. Did Bradley just say he loves you? You looked to him again to see his eyes flutter open, searching your face for any kind of reaction.

“You don’t have to say anything Y/N, I just wanted to tell you. But if anything, I do want you to stay with me. Just for tonight?”

You obliged, setting your guitar down on the coffee table in front of you and lying down next to Bradley, allowing him to hold your once again and you allowed his warmth to consume you like a love.

You knew you would talk about this tomorrow morning, but for now you could only hope it wasn’t just for tonight.

[chaikachi]

I'm thinking about the idea of Oscar joining the "Wants to throw hands with Cinder Fall on sight" squad bc she specifically is the reason things went wrong with the plan. (She's the reason that Ruby fell/died based on what he must be thinking currently.) I can't help it I just love the trope of "character goes absolutely feral when their love interest is hurt" he's already done it once but I want MORE

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT BUT ALSO LISTEN. IT'S NOT JUST CINDER

Like yes, obviously, but Little Prince in the desert with a venomous antagonist Tyrian?? Little Prince who will have just gotten his rose back?? Also just... they way they have focused on Oscar's protectiveness and attachment to her over the volumes in such specific ways??

Yes, we have the scene at Haven where he gets Big Mad™ when he sees Ruby is hurt (meanwhile Weiss is literally dying in the corner, lmao).

EDIT: I FORGOT THE V6 FINALE

But we also see him pay such close attention to her in the quieter moments too. Standing up for her against Jaune when she's looking down on herself:

Remembering her saying that 'food makes her feel better' and making some for when she and the rest of them get back. WE SAW YOU PAUSE AND LOOK AT RUBY BEFORE YOU FINISHED YOUR SENTENCE OSCAR!!! YOU'RE NOT SNEAKY!!!

The DOJO SCENE?? I don't need to put them all here, y'all get the idea.

But Ruby, this light that has inspired so much of his choices over the course of this story is gone. They reunited at the beginning of v8 for no more than an hour before splitting ways again. Then the same thing happened at the Manor right before RWBYJ fell. You think that boy isn't going to get her back after thinking she was gone forever and be watching her as if she might fall through his fingers again at any moment? When this is how he looked at her before that scare???

That he isn't going to fight tooth and nail to not lose her again?

That there is a very solid argument towards his semblance unlocking in such a moment?

Like, be for real. The kid has been beaten, kidnapped, beaten more, went toe to toe against Salem and not a single one of those instances was traumatic enough for him to unlock it. But both times Oscar's lack of semblance have been brought up? He's been talking to Ruby.

In v5, there's a moment where they focus on Jaune who still hasn't unlocked his and Oz says something about how his journey isn't over, and the same can be said for the rest of them. That unlocking isn't the end but semblances can also evolve we get this framing:

Jaune, who's semblance unlocked that volume finale, Nora, who almost certainly did something to her semblance with her stunt in v8, Ren, who's semblance evolved in v8 as well, and then Ruby... who's semblance and evolution has been teased and talked about for the last three volumes!!

Then in v7, Oscar once again paying such close attention to her that he can tell when she does something differently with her semblance.

I am too lazy to add text to the gif so the convo goes as follows:

Oscar: Have you... always been able to do that? Ruby: Heh, I don't know! I don't normally think it through that much. Oscar: You guys are evolving and I still don't even have my semblance. Ruby: Well, I bet we'll all be jealous when you do.

Like bro, bro, i am shaking you by the shoulders is there ANY OTHER WAY IT PLAYS OUT???? Boy is going to LOSE IT the moment she is in any serious danger and I am so looking forward to it.

[lavender-verse]

I hope it’s okay if I send a quick ficlet of secret husbands in your asks, you can ignore this ask if not, I just don’t have a spare account on here to post it to😅

I did, however, post the original version on Ao3 a couple days ago. This version is slightly edited for this ask(also G uses he/they in this) :)

The sound of pages turning and rustling echoed through the main room of town hall-the scratching of a pen joining on occasion. Scar, the beloved mayor, is reclined on his diamond throne looking over a contract. With a huff, he clips his pen to the clipboard and sets it against the thrones armrest. He leans back against the throne while gently rubbing his sore eyes, hips shifting forward at the adjustment.

A muffled groan accompanies the shift, vibrating Scars cock lightly and sending a shiver up his spine. Oh right, Scar almost forgot that he wasn’t alone-Mother Spore was here to keep him company.

See, Grian, or rather, Mother Spore walked right into town hall maybe 2 hours ago; Clearly coming straight from the resistance headquarters. He didn’t speak as he pulled the ribbon holding his mushroom cap, letting it fall to the floor, and trudged up the stairs of the diamond throne to kneel between the knees of the mayor. Scar saw the fatigued look on his beloved's face and set his paperwork aside to give Mother Spore a small kiss on the forehead. They made eye contact as he pulled away, Mother Spores hands settled near Scars crotch, brow slightly raised in a silent request. The mayor nodded with a small smile.

It only took a few seconds before Scars dick was down Mother Spores throat, nose just barely touching unruly pubes. Their eyes slid closed and their body slowly relaxed. Ah, so it was this sort of evening; one filled with the simple desire to be close and submit for a while without the need to reach any orgasms. Scar ran his fingers through Mother Spore's hair softly as he settled, and then returned to his paperwork for the next few hours.

At this point, Scar has finished his paperwork and figures it’s best to get both of them to bed, they’ve been here almost 3 hours after all. He taps Grians nose lightly in warning before he pulls out and stuffs his dick back into his pants. His husband slowly blinks up at Scar before pushing himself up into the mayors lap, legs tossed over the armrest. They nuzzle into Scars throat as he wraps his arms under Grian and stands.

The two travel through the nether and make it back to Scars home in the Magic Forest, barely stopping for Scar to toe his shoes off by the door. Once his shoes are off, Scar beelines to the bedroom. The moment he’s next to the bed, he lays Grian down gently before starting to remove the avian’s boots. As Scar is setting the boots in the closet, Grian wakes up slightly and rolls onto his side to observe his husband. His eyes are squinted as he watches Scar change out of his mayoral outfit, humming in appreciation when the man’s back is exposed. The mayor glances back at the sound with a small smile, preening a bit at the attention. Quickly he swaps his boxers for sweats and returns to Grian’s side.

Scar tugs lightly at one of the skirt ruffles, “Want some help out of that dress, dove?”

“Pleeeaase, it’s itchy,” Grian groans, flopping onto his front.

“Yessir!”

Within moments, Scar has every ribbon untied and is pulling fabric off of Grian’s body, leaving him in nothing but socks and boxers. Scar goes to hang the dress in the closet as Grian shucks off the socks with his feet, not even hesitating to burrow under the blankets of the bed.

When Scar returns to the bed, only the top of the blonde's head is visible under the blanket. The mayor chuckles as he climbs in next to Grian, immediately wrapping his arms around their waist and tucking his face into their hair while Grian nuzzle back into Scars neck. Safe. Warm.

!!!!!!!

I absolutely do not mind at all omg. holding them soso gentle 🥺 sometimes all they need is to be close to one another and wahhhhh the sleepy cuddles at the end I’m so soft

[pupplaylogan]

melting in the dead of night (ao3)

Words: 753

Pairings: solo-logan (unless you want to count analogical)

Author's note: i wrote this MONTHS ago & completely forgot about it. I haven't edited this or had anyone beta read it, but please enjoy anyway. Cross-posted on AO3 ; song in title is Supermassive Black Hole by Muse.

Summary: Logan whimpered. His eyes fluttered shut as he picked up the pace slightly.

He bucked his hips harder into his hand a couple times, before realising how loud his bed was squeaking.

Surely, Virgil could hear that...

... Couldn't he?

Logan moaned, covering his mouth with the back of his free hand.

Altermatively, Logan masturbates in the privacy of his room, hoping Virgil can hear him.

FIC MASTERLIST

Logan slowly stroked his hard cock. He ran his hand up and down, gently bucking upwards. Running a finger across his slit, he gasped. He moved his fingers down, squeezing the base of his cock lightly, slowly moving upwards as little beads of precum started gathering at the tip.

He was laying on his side, one arm holding himself up and the other jerking himself off. His pajama pants were pulled down halfway down his thighs and his shirt was riding up stomach. His fingers were twisted in the sheets.

He bit his lip, teasing his tip with his thumb. He threw his head back, moaning quietly and breathing a little heavier.

It was around 11 PM. The sides finished with their "family dinner" earlier and all had retreated to their rooms. The headboard of his bed is against Virgil's wall and he's sure if he was a little louder, the other man would be able to hear him.

The bed squeaked underneath him as he continued to slowly thrust into his fist. He moaned quietly again, before scooching to lay on his back. He brought his free hand up to his chest, pulling his shirt more, and pointing his cock towards himself. Precum dripped slowly down, reaching to his stomach. He whimpered. His eyes fluttered shut as he picked up the pace slightly.

He bucked his hips harder into his hand a couple times, before realising how loud his bed was.

Surely, Virgil could hear that...

... Couldn't he?

Logan moaned, covering his mouth with the back of his free hand.

He continued his pace, gathering his precum and spreading it down his shaft.

He's been incredibly busy for the last few weeks. He hasn't had time off for himself or any sort of break— constantly being around at least one other side to plan for Thomas' new video or for Cartoon Therapy or a shorts video— he huffed. It was slightly infuriating.

Logan breathed in deeply. He removed his hand from his mouth to reach down and fondle his balls. He gasped. Teasing them, he moaned, no longer being muffed by his hand.

There was something building up in his lower abdomen and it finally occured to him just how close he was. He whined. He looked down at his cock and bit his lip. How embarrassing...

He sped up his hand, bucking upwards. The bed squeaked louder underneath him. He moaned, breathy and light. He could very faintly hear shuffling on the other side of the wall and that made him moan louder. Virgil definitely could hear him now, gasping for air and keening as his bed squeaked beneath him.

"Oh, oh," Logan moaned. He squeezed his eyes shut, moving his hand quicker. He arched his back slightly and whined. He felt the feeling rise and rise and he tried to chase it. His bed squeaked faster as he bucked up into his hand. He moved his other hand from his balls to the tip of his dick, rubbing the slit with his thumb . He panted, gasping for air as if he's running out. He moved his hand up and down, before squeezing near the head and twisting his wrist.

He tensed up; toes curling and back arching up off the bed. He threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth was agape, moaning loudly into his room.

His cum squirted out of the tip, creating arches and landing on his stomach and chest. He jerked himself through as more cum squirted out.

He slowed down his strokes, occassionally squeezing the head of his cock. Chest rising up and down, breathing heavily, the last pitiful little squirts of semen squeezed their way out of his cock.

He stopped his strokes and kept his hand on the base of his cock, the free one resting at his side. He took big gulps of air. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He relaxed completely on his mattress, feeling his penis soften in his hand.

He fluttered his eyes open. He stared at the ceiling, and then glanced down at his stomach, covered in his cum. He tiredly raised one of his hands and waved the cum and sweat away. He tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his blanket up his hips. He blinked slowly, rubbing his eyes and rolling over.

(He faintly heard the sound of squeaking and shuffling in the room next to his, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.)

[lady-assnali]

Rosenali (10 minute version)

(I wrote the majority of this ages ago, sent it to @sexynetra during a Rosenali renaissance, and then quite honestly completely forgot about it. I’m trying to get back into having a brain for writing so I threw in some edits and extended it a teensy bit and now you all get angst because Denali’s my vessel for any time I’m upset or even mildly inconvenienced)

—

“I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Then don’t.” The invitation is sly, accompanied by the push of her long blonde hair over one shoulder, the tilt of her head to the side. She bats her eyelashes, taking hold of Rosé’s hand and dusting her lips over her palm, grinning wickedly at the breath she draws from the her. Then, she lets go. 

“You love to get on my nerves, don’t you?” Rosé sighs. Denali’s ambling to the bedroom, wiggling her hips playfully while laughing over her shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Trailing not too far behind, Rosé reaches out to take gentle hold of Denali’s hips, spinning her around. She pulls her in close, nuzzles her cheek against the blonde’s and nosing the space where her hair hits just above her ear.  A spark hits her limbs when Denali’s contented sighing brushes against her skin, the sensation enough to have her pushing the blonde back against the bed. She hits the mattress and stumbles backward, taking Rosé with her. Her hands are tight around her neck and she pulls her in, craving the intimacy they’d been teasing at all night. They’d been playing their usual cat-and-mouse game; Rosé’s hand sliding down her waist, Denali kissing her wrist as they waited to get drinks, their bodies linked from head to toe on the dance floor. 

The dance floor-where their friends had left their circle one by one, forming their own space or trailing back to the bar. She hadn’t noticed in the moment, had been too wrapped up in the feeling of her body held tight against Rosé’s front. But Lagoona had winked at her before they’d left, Mik had all but pushed them out the door. Olivia fielded someone who’d been trying to talk to Rosé by gesturing between them with this look on her face as if the girl was stupid, as if she should have known that Rosé’s hand on Denali’s thigh meant they were exclusive even though she hadn’t exactly tried to stop her.

Which is another thing. They’d talked and danced and teased each other all night, but she hadn’t outright denied the other girl’s flirtatious comments. They’d never talked about their exclusivity, sure, but what else was she supposed to expect when every night out turned into this exact scenario? 

What’s she supposed to expect when her body waits in anticipation for the moment their lips connect? Or this-Rosé pulling her hair, kissing her neck, making her writhe eagerly under her touch. She arches up to help Rosé find access to the zip of her dress with eager fingers, sighs under the ghosting of her fingers over her bare skin until she tenses under her touch.

What are they doing here again?

“Wait, stop.” Denali pushes Rosé  away, and the redhead sits on her knees, straddling her with her hands firmly planted on her own thighs. Clarity hits Denali hard and fast, their dance floor teasing and friendly banter sitting like a rock in her stomach. She can hear them all; Olivia, Jan, Lagoona, Mik…they circle the subject like everyone else does, like she does, and there’s never a definitive answer. The only thing that’s evident here is that they’ll end up together at the end of the night. They’re best friends, they’re co-workers, they’re whatever else the narrative decides to throw Denali into other than the truth. 

She’s desperately in love with Rosé , and everyone treats what they have like it’s a fucking joke.

She’s tired of being a joke.

“I love you.” 

Well, shit. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that, with the zipper of her dress half down and her face flushed scarlet from the heat in the room. She’d had a plan, she’d been so eager to sit Rosé  down and talk with her with absolute clarity and some sort of outline of what she wanted to say. She bites at her bottom lip but refuses to look away from the redhead, who stares back at her in awe. She waits, lets the admission sink in a bit, but Rosé  is silent. She’s waiting for something, maybe, but Denali can’t read through eyes that refuse to meet her own. 

“I just kind of realized like….what the fuck are we doing?” She sits up, runs a hand through her hair from where Rosé  had just tousled it, bringing her back to herself a bit.  “What the fuck am I doing? I just need to say it all right now; I want a future. I want kids and a wife and everything that comes with a family. And I want it with you, I’m not going to lie about that. But I’m tired of playing games and I’m really exhausted with not knowing what we are or where I stand with you. I mean, am I the only person you’ve been seeing? And like. We never talk about any of this. I want you in every way possible but I’m also not going to wait around for some shift in the universe. I’m all in with you and I’d like to know if you feel something more for me than just friendship and good sex.”

“Nali, I..it’s…”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” 

Rosé  stares back at her, lips just slightly parted; not quiet open, just on the crest of being ready to say something else. Denali can just barely make out the slight quiver in her stance, the way her fingers tense and release, as if looking to catch hold of her.

Do it. Every one of her senses begs, pleading for a leap of faith on the other girl’s end. Catch me…I’m here, I’m yours.

Rosé  drops her hand to her side, closes her eyes briefly.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s all Denali needs to hear before she’s wiggling out from underneath Rosé , a softness that reads almost like pity on the tip of her tongue. Her stomach whirls, and then tenses. She can barely calm her fingers long enough to zip her dress back up. Rosé  comes up behind her, a gentle hand on her shoulder while the other finds the zipper. Denali hits her hand away, backing up with her big doe eyes alight with a low, crackling flame.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Nali…baby, we’re drunk.”

“I’m not anymore.” They’re standing face to face, Rosé  searching her with this unreadable depth that says that maybe she’s sobered up a little bit too. 

“And even if we are drunk, you didn’t say anything.” Denali continues. “You just…stood there. You’re stillstanding there.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know!” She wipes a hand over her face, emitting the noise of a groan and a growl blended together. Rosé ’s still standing near the bed; not sitting, not moving along with her. She’s a statue, watching while Denali wears paths into the floor with her pacing.

“That’s not very helpful.” She quips. Denali freezes, whirls around with a sudden onslaught of anger. Everything feels familiar; this argument, this consuming need to curl up under a blanket and hide. The only difference is that here, she has no friends to hide with. Here, the people she’s gotten closest to are Rosé’s chosen family. She should’ve listened to herself, trusted her gut over her heart. 

She attempts to breathe through it but her next words come out as more of a growl. Maybe it’s the anger. She’s sure she can feel the wall Rosé  had torn down with her charming smile and sweet words being built back up brick by brick.

“You know what’s not helpful? You. This.” She gestures wildly between them, then begins flying around the apartment again. She’s gathering things in her arms; a hoodie, some shoes, a collection of bracelets and her toothbrush from the bathroom sink. As the pile grows they fall from her arms onto the floor, where she picks them up with a huff.

“Baby,”

“-Don’t call me that.”

“Denali, listen to me.”

“I’ve done enough listening for the day, I think. Actually, I’ve done enough for my whole life.” She’s not even trying to hold back her tears, letting her body take control as she slams the bedroom closet door shut soundly behind her, having kicked it with her heel-clad foot. 

Good. Let her see me cry. 

“Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if there’s anything worth talking about anymore, to be honest with you. I need to take care of myself now.” There it is; the hollow of her voice, the sigh that brushes alongside her words, carries them until they fall from her lips with the air of defeat. She’s given up.

“At least let me call you an Uber or something.”

“I’ll stay with someone. You live close enough, I can walk.”

“Then let me walk with you.”

“Can’t you just listen to me? Just for a second! I want-I need to go, and it can’t be with you tagging along and charming your way back into my pants.”

“Denali.” A wounded expression crosses Rosé’s eyes before she blinks it away, the comment echoing in her head. She reaches out for her, brushes her fingers on the blonde’s shoulders with something that would be described as love in any other life. Denali knows better than to label the gesture.

“I should’ve listened and stayed the fuck away from you.” She seethes, wriggling in Rosé’s grasp. Her teeth are gritted, her voice sharp and spitting. 

            “Listened? To who?”

            “Everyone. Your friends? Yeah, they made jokes about hoping that I’d be someone that stuck around for a little while. That doesn’t feel great.”

            “Ok, they like to joke.”

            “Stop. Stop being like that. This isn’t something we can brush under the rug right now. You can’t just…” She groans, ripping herself away from Rosé’s grip. She fumbles her way over to the bathroom, turns on the sink and lets it run for a minute. She’s staring at the water, her chest heaving. She needs air, she needs space, she needs anything but the sound of Rosé’s bare feet on the tile floor behind her. 

            Their eyes meet in the mirror; bloodshot, apprehensive. Denali shakes the water from her hands, Rosé shuffling out of her way while she dries them. The air between them is strained, almost suffocating as they wordlessly maneuver their way from the bathroom in silence.

Rosé  pulls out a bag from the closet by her door, holds it open to Denali. She tosses in the things that will fit and slings it over her shoulders, only a hoodie left draped over her arm. 

Their entire relationship fit in one big canvas tote. It feels symbolic, but she won’t let herself linger on that thought long enough to make it into something that will put any more significance into the time she’s spent hurting herself over this. She has a bag full of artifacts and eyes brimming with tears and Rosé  can barely muster up the courage to look at her. 

“Text me when you get there?”

“Sure.” It’s not exactly brisk but the clip of Denali’s voice hits Rosé  hard, her heart hammering through her chest, traveling up to the thrumming of her eardrums. She’s learned all the tells of the blonde that lingers in her doorway. The stoic line of her lips, the absence of dimples, the well-trained posture…regret pools in her gut.

She can’t think of the right words to say, so she says nothing. 

Denali walks out the door.

Rosé  stands there, wondering if she should go after her-if she even has the right to go after her.

She doesn’t.

She picks up the remnants of the night; two empty glasses on the coffee table, the rumpled up sheets and discarded blanket on the bedroom floor. She wipes down the counters, throws things into the hamper with the promise of taking them to the laundry room in the morning. She cleans until her legs give out, and then she just sits. Her phone had gone off a while ago, but it had only been Mik. Now, it blings again, and she figures she shouldn’t ignore her friend.

Mik 1:43 am

            D asked me to let you know that she’s with me and she’s safe.

Mik 1:50 am

            What happened???

Rosie 1:50 am

            Good

            Nothing

            Everything

Rosie 1:57 am

            I think I really fucked up.

Rosie 2:00 am

            Call me tomorrow?

Standing dutifully by Denali’s side, Mik rolls his eyes at the string of texts that comes through. He considers not answering, if only to make Rosé  sit in the consequences of her actions a little bit longer. Denali had called him with this quiet, shortened version of her own voice, and by the time she arrived she was adamant on keeping a bit of her silence.

“I think I’m just an idiot.” She’d thrown her bag on the floor by the door and tossed her competition hoodie on top of it, flopping down onto the couch. “Can you text Rosie and let her know that I’m here? I guess she cares about that.”

He met her quiet with a push to the shower and then to his bed, where he’d covered her with blankets and kissed the top of her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face swollen with grief. He hadn’t said anything to her except goodnight and I love you before she drifted off. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he decides that maybe pushing a vibrant, silly, delight of a human like Denali into soft spoken words and a heavy heart isn’t a behavior he wants to stand behind; not this time. Not her.

He settles on petty vengeance, lets the messages sit with his read receipts on. Then, he resolves to call her tomorrow morning for a full explanation. But it doesn’t feel like enough; not for the way his friend’s voice had sounded on the phone, or for the way it seems as though he’s continually picking up the pieces of Rosé’s life, giving advice that’s asked for but never quite taken. And this isn’t just some club hookup. This is someone everyone had come to adore. 

So if petty vengeance leads him to sending one last text, he reminds himself that tough love might just be the medicine that’s needed here.

Rosé’s phone hums while she’s on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. She grabs for it with greedy hands, paying no attention to the way suds collect on the case while she wipes her other hand on her leg, ridding herself of just enough of the water to be able to use the screen.

The first thing Rosé  sees is a photo of Denali, eyes shut and lips turned down, snuggled deep into the covers of Mik’s bed. Her hair is splayed in a messy blonde halo around her head, her hands holding the blankets close to her chin. 

Mik 1:43 am

She’s asleep. Will call tomorrow. 

            It’s vague and limited and Mik knows that Rosé  hates when people use a period like that because it makes everything sound mad. Then again, she supposes that that’s the point of it all. Because really, why should she deserve the right to explain herself when there truly isn’t much to explain? Why should she be granted any form of decency when she’s dug herself back into a hole she’s never fully covered? She’s the bad guy; she always has been. 

            She’d just thought that maybe love would be a good enough reason for her brain to stop fucking everything up.

[coolburgerphone]

Digital footprint is afraid of ME

Examples of actual comments I have left on TikTok edits:

"God his submissive eyes 🤭"

"I'm no waiter, but I'll take HIS tip"/“I’m not a waiter but I’ll take HIS tip”

"Jaw AGAPE (open for interpretation)"

"I love how aggressive he sounds 🤭🤭"

"Served, eated, licked, and washed my dish CLEAN"

"I'm the reason he needs that cane btw guys"

“Yeah well you do that to me and that’s unfair in the work environment”

“Oh I’m trying to rise something”

“Parental figure: ‘why is there an FBI vest on the floor@”

“Crying but not from my eyes”

“FINISHED ‼️”

“When he came on the screen, so did I”

“Why’s he saying it like it’s a question? He WILL be calling me (I’ve called him 27 times and he hasn’t answered) 😭”

“Oh I’m saying more than ‘okay’”

“I NEED A 24 HOUR VERSION OF HIS WHIMPERS (for research purposes Ofc)”

“Ik it swings when he walks”

“The FBI vest stays on”

“Oh I’m ‘please’ing you tonight”

“Eatmeowt (say that slowly)”

“That’s us clapping the background btw 🤭”

“He can use that gun on me”

“Hair looking so pullable (I need to be sedated)”

“Pants need to be tighter 🥱”

“I need him in a biblical sense”

“CLEAN UP AISLE MY PANTS”

“I have something to say 😀🤚”

“He’ll need a seatbelt for how hard I’m about to rock him (I need to be detained)”

“It’s okay though, I’m legal 🤭”

“I want to keep him in my basement”

“He can bang me”

“STOP PROFILING ME”

“Until I’m destroyed and he can’t breathe”

“I can make him squeal”

“His balls getting caught in his zipper was iconic idc”

“Greasy hair is perfect for pulli-”

“Swimming in something tonight (early season Reid hair grease)”

“I’m the water bc he’s inside m-”

“He can shove whatever he wants in my throat, beggars ain’t choosers in this household”

“I can show him my super massive black hole”

“Sometimes I’m glad to have hallucinations, bc he’s always welcome as my sleep paralysis demon 😈”

“I had something diabolical to say, but my fingers were preoccupied, and now I forgot what it was (WOAH WHO SAID THAT WHO SAID THAT?!?!?)”

“The kitty is growling ngl”

“I want to make a comment that would get me demonetised on YouTube”

“Slutty little man waist ✅ lanky build ✅ veiny hands ✅ good google moogly of an ass ✅”

“Consider me thoroughly edged”

“8 inches, leans to the left slightly, girth is reasonable”

“He eat it good btw 🤭”

“Oh! (Toes curled, back arched, tongue out, folds spread, fingers ready, energy drink ready, Spencer Reid life size cut out involved-)”

“One gentle and sweet, one one sinful and a seat”

(If you've seen them, no you haven't).

[vox-monstera]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @ghostoffuturespast for tagging me! I always enjoy reading your WIPs. <3

I actually have some stuff this week! Been trying so hard to get more writing done in my free time, and it's paying off.

Currently still working on filth, of course. But I'm really liking how it's turning out, so here's a couple of snippets from my PWP, featuring NC's best boy, @pozerjacket's Kauri.

No, I haven't figured out a way to tie the story together. Yes, I love it when Kauri manhandles Vox.

Edit: forgot to tag anyone cause I’m a clown, so feel free to post your wips and tag me! Consider yourself booped.

Explicit under the cut!

Excerpt 1:

A mischievous glint; she boldly toes the line. Chrome fingers take possession of his belt buckle, yanking with enough force to intimate her intention. Kauri eyes her with half-mast amber, scarred brow raised in provocation— he’s daring her to make another move, to lay it all out between them, right here, right now.

Vox takes that dare enthusiastically.

The aggression of her plump lips is a welcome surprise, a much-needed release of the adrenaline still buzzing between them. Teeth and tongue she explores his mouth, insatiable in her hunger, months of lustful pining spilling into one kiss. Her body molds into the planes of his, soft, hot flesh against straining muscle, heat exploding between her thighs at his touch. Kauri’s mouth leaves hers to mark the sensitive flesh of her exposed clavicle, tongue snaking out to savor the sweat still clinging to her skin.

“Better tell me now if this is what you really want,” he hisses against her neck, full lips traveling up to her jaw. There’s an implied threat in the steely tone of his voice, one that sends a thrill running down Vox’s spine. Her hand still hasn’t left his buckle so she merely tugs at it in response, mind too hazy with need to formulate words.

-----

Excerpt 2:

His middle finger grazes her swollen clit, cock twitching at the delicious slickness now coating his digit. Vox arches her hips up slightly, purring as the cool air hits her dripping pussy, slit sliding along the length of Kauri’s shaft. He grips her hip with chrome fingers, tongue snaking out to wet his lips as the head of his cock teases Vox’s entrance.

“Beg for it.”

Kauri punctuates his demand with a hard slap across her ass, leaving behind the bright imprint of heavy rings on her flesh. A sharp exhale manages to escape Vox’s lips, pussy fluttering at the impact, but she holds steady.

“Make–”

His hand is around her throat before she can finish her sentence, metal sweltering against her hickey-studded skin.

“Do I sound like I’m fucking playing, V?”

The sudden lack of air sends a rush to Vox’s head, euphoria threatening to crumble her. Carotid thumps wildly against Kauri’s grip as his other hand yanks at the neck of Vox’s top, exposing her plump, stiffened tits. He rolls a pierced nipple between rough fingertips, metal-tipped teeth buried in the flesh of her shoulder, the onslaught of sensations so sublime Vox can feel tears prickling at the corner of her eyes.

“Please, Kauri…” she manages to choke out, stars dancing behind her eyelids. He loosens his grip on her throat, cock throbbing at that deep, raspy way she whispers his name.

“Gotta do better than that, gorgeous.”

Kauri smacks the swollen head of his cock against her ass a few times, leaving behind a smattering of precum across her flushed skin.