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hellishjoel · 1 year

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off to the races

6.3k / dbf!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

series summary: You and your parents rent a lakeside cabin, Joel and Sarah Miller are your neighbors. You’re all grown up, and you’ll do anything to prove to Joel you’re a woman now.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20’s while Joel is in his 40’s), alcohol consumption, slight daddy issues lol, cursing, use of pet names, dominant!joel, maybe a lil brat tamer!joel, oral sex (m receiving), a lil praise kink, a lil degradation kink, facial, etc. you know ;)

A/N: needed to get cool slutty daddy out of my system. He’s just a Lana coded man!! I plan on turning this into a series, I hope it get's some love! let me know what you think by sending me an ask!

Your desperate eyes met his, trying to gauge what he thought. You hated how you looked like you wanted him so bad. He was your neighbor, your friend’s dad, but you wanted him to be something for you too. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin-” His words made your chest go tight and your eyes filled with pure horror. What have you done?! “But you need to be the one to walk away, because I don’t think I can.”

Summers in Danbury were what you looked forward to all year long when you were younger. You would love the long drive to the lakeside cabin, swimming in the dazzling blue water all day, and catching fireflies at night before ending it with roasting s'mores over the campfire.

Now, all Danbury reminded you of were your parents stripping your feeling of independence as soon as you stepped in their embrace and the lack of cell service.

It wasn’t all that bad, though. Who were you to complain about an all-expense paid vacation on the water? Your parents were fine, you just graduated from university, everything was just.. good. It almost made you a little bored, thinking about the impending summer.

The warm sun’s kiss on your skin was a welcomed greeting after spending the past 9 months away at school out of state, your eyes twinkling below your sunglasses as you stepped out of the car. It was good to be back in Texas.

“Look, there she is!” Your dad cooed as he was eager to point out the sign that sat beside the entrance of the cabin that read ‘Life is Better at the Cabin’. Cheesy. It wasn’t your choice of decor since it was just a rental property, but still. You also despised the ‘The Secret Ingredient is Always Love’ sign in the kitchen.

You plopped your bags down at the end of your bed, the one just down the hall from your parents, quick to plug in your phone charger though it made little difference with your lack of a strong signal.

You turned your head to the window, seeing an old, beaten pickup truck turn onto gravel, a small smile peaking on your lips.

“Hey, look who it is!” Your dad cheered eagerly from the living room, appearing to also be gazing out the window at the sight coming down the road and pulling into the house next to yours.

The truck in question belonged to Joel Miller and his daughter, Sarah. Sarah had been your close friend each and every summer since you were little. You two were attached at the hip once your family started vacationing here, despite her being a fair five years younger. You two got along nonetheless.

You stepped outside to greet them, as your mother and father were already out doing, your face lighting up as Sarah made a b-line to your embrace. “Oh my god! Look at you!” She praised, her eyes lighting up at your appearance.

You two didn’t get the chance to spend the past few summers together due to business with school or internships on your part, so her surprise in seeing you a few years grown up was warranted.

“Look at me? Look at you!” You said through punched lungs as she hugged you so tight you were losing your breath.

If you thought Sarah’s tight hug was bad, you weren’t prepared to see what was waiting on the other side of the pickup truck.

Your lips parted at the sight of Joel Miller. He was sort of… handsome. Was that wrong to think that? I mean, he was so much older than you, someone’s dad, Sarah’s dad. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long but his voice pitched into the conversation and you had been caught.

“Hey, Skids.” Ugh. That dreaded nickname you had yet to wear off. “Haven’t seen you these past few summers. Happy to be done with school?” Joel’s southern drawl was a shock to your system after being up in the Midwest for school.

He was tall and rugged, so unkempt. His hair was tousled everywhere and his beard was growing with salt and pepper stippling through the landscape of his jawline. He looked hot, the faint glisten and stain of sweat marking the collar of his shirt and at the sides of his biceps.

You blinked a few times before a graceful smile fluttered on your lips.

“Hi, Mr. Miller.” You gently cooed. What? If he could call you by that horrid nickname he had given you when you were barely ten, you could call him by his surname. Your eyes caught his own shift, his jaw twitching at his name being called like that. It was just his name after all, right?

“Joel.” He corrected with a raised eyebrow, your eyes finally dragging themselves away from his handsome character as they turned to your parents, who were obsessing over Sarah. She was about to go into her senior year of high school, so of course, they had all of the basic questions to ask her. Are you taking any advanced classes? Are you still on the swim team? Do you know where you want to go to college?

You tried to look interested, but you could still feel Joel’s gravitating stare in your direction.

You were just imagining things, right? He was looking one foot over, to Sarah and your family. Except he wasn’t. You know because you snuck a casual glance over to him, and he was still on you. His gaze alone made a shiver travel up your spine.

While Sarah and your parents were nestled in their own world of conversation, you take a few subtle steps away and join him by his truck. It still felt warm, the engine relaxing after a good drive in the Texas heat.

“You need a new truck. She looks like she’s on her deathbed.” You point out, the one corner of his mouth tugging up as he kept his eye on Sarah and your folks with his arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

“She’s just fine.” He retorts nonchalantly. You hated that about him. You could never figure out what he was thinking, unpredictable but not exactly chaotic.

“She?” You asked with raised eyebrows. “I always knew you had a special woman in your life. Didn’t know she was so old, though.” You egged him on, your favorite pastime in the summers; Grinding the gears of an old man who had a bigger attitude than you most days.

“You still have quite the mouth on you. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.” Joel said sarcastically as he pushed himself off the front of the truck with his hip, his head nodding off to the side in a silent way of telling you to follow him. You watched as he pulled down the tailgate, rust screeching until it stopped with a generous thump.

“Supposed to be Sarah helping me with this, but since she’s busy being Miss Danbury, you can help me.” He said as he pointed to some firewood and other bigger pieces of wood in varying sizes.

“What do you plan on doing with all this wood anyway? I think the Amazon is looking for it.” You huffed but climbed up into the back of the truck bed without him asking you to. His protective hand instinctively guided your hip for stability, and you felt a rush of air pump through your lungs. “Thanks.” You murmur before you start reaching for stacks you could handle.

“Sarah wanted to throw y'all a bonfire with it being your first day back for the summer or what have you.” Before you could stop yourself, you were already cooing at him as you jumped down from the tailgate, watching as Joel gave a tight face of annoyance. Don’t do that, you’re gonna get yourself hurt.

It took Joel all of two seconds to grab two of the larger cut pieces, throwing each of them onto his shoulders. You couldn’t help but stare at his biceps that cradled the wood, the tan skin and muscles popping out of the dark green t-shirt he wore. Focus, focus, focus, focus, focusfocusfocus.

“And the bigger pieces? What are those for?” You asked out of sheer curiosity now once he threw them down in the back of his lawn, the sight of your parents and Sarah long gone.

He shrugged and shook his head, his hands on his hips as a layer of sweat started to build up around his hairline. “Just carvin’ projects. The rest can be used for scrap lumber around the lake properties.” His head finally turned to look at you, his eyes raking you up and down for a moment before nodding to your lake house rental. “Doin’ property maintenance over the summer on the houses ‘round here.”

“So if we need maintenance, we call you now?” You asked with a dubious face, to which he nodded.

This man never stopped. It made sense, you supposed. You reflected on the summers in the past, knowing Joel to manage his own contracting business and picking up odd jobs around town. You remember one summer, he redid the flooring of an old bakery in town and then built custom shelves for the loaves of bread and bagels. Another summer, he repaved people’s driveways with blacktop. He was a laborer, a blue-collar man through and through.

“That’s right, Skids.” The nickname made you scowl at him again, but you wouldn’t mind seeing Joel Miller laid under your kitchen sink or repairing the window in your bedroom so it could finally let in some fresh air. Frankly, you just wouldn’t mind seeing Joel Miller.

After Joel reclaimed his daughter from your parents with a snarky yet subtle, Thanks for all your help, kiddo to Sarah, he said goodbye to you and your family as everyone parted ways back to their own homes.

You were tired from the drive, but you didn’t lack attendance to the bonfire Sarah was putting together specifically for you in a welcome back to Danbury! sort of celebration. She invited the other nearby neighbors, so by the time you finally joined, it was packed with people sitting around the fire. People who lived on the lake loved a good party, anything with beer to keep them occupied.

It was a lot of talking and bottles clinking, marshmallows on sticks, and a crackling fire blazing at the center of everyone. You weren’t one for beer but Sarah insisted on feeding you bottle after bottle.

She liked sharing secrets with you, away from her dad. She considered you someone she could tell anything to. And you felt the same way. So not more than half an hour later, you two were giggling and sitting on the tailgate of Joel’s old pickup truck when you saw him start to saunter over. You saw him coming first, snatching Sarah’s bottle out of her hand and taking a sharp inhale as you hid away your own. Sarah’s secret, right?

“Dad,” she playfully whined when he came over to bust their little party.

He was silent for a moment before he looked at the dwindling flames. “Fire’s gettin’ low.” He pointed out, looking between the two of you.

His face was lit up in a mix of gold hue from the fire and silver from the moon. His face had this intensity, a bucked-out jawline, cheekbone, and nose. It was like he was carved from stone.

Sarah was silent, not wanting to leave behind her friends at the bonfire to shuffle over more wood. You softly nodded as you took a swig of her beer bottle in your hand before setting it down once you hopped off the truck bed.

“I can help.” You offered. Joel looked down at you hesitantly, sneaking a glance to where your parents sat around the growing circle of people.

“Yeah.. yeah, ‘lright.” Joel said as the two of you walked off to the dividing line on his property, the wood you had dropped carelessly earlier in the day now in a neat stack. You certainly weren’t drunk, but slamming Sarah’s beer along with the other ones she ushered you before was now messing with your head, the edges of your vision a little fuzzy, especially in the dark since the glow of the bonfire was at such a distance.

Before you knew it, you were stacking the wood into your arms, too much maybe. Joel called out your name in a warning tone.

“No, I got it! See?” You tried to reason with a cocky smile as he shook his head.

“You don’t like to listen.” He gruffly said as he started picking up the smaller pieces as they fell out of your arms.

You couldn’t help the playful scoff that left your lips, still insistent on stacking more in your arms, going as far as tucking some in your elbows but all they did was drop at your feet once you went to reach for more.

“Stop bein’ so damn difficult.” He piped up again as he snagged your wrist, halting your movements.

“Yeah? I thought you liked difficult women.” Your words were fast like a whip, your eyes challenging his own as the two of you shared unnecessarily long eye contact.

“Drop-- the wood. Stop bein’ a-”

“A what?” You challenged. The distance between you two suddenly felt like it was becoming air-tight, his eyes narrowing on yours as his features hardened. He didn’t look mad, lord knows you’d never want to actually make Joel Miller mad. He just looked-- provoked.

“A brat.” He finally bit, your teeth clenching at the name. The shock of it all made your arms finally burst open like a dam breaching with water, all of them falling to your feet as you let out an involuntary squeal. God, you did not want him to hear that noise leave you like that.

You finally tugged away your wrist from his hand, your eyes leaving his daggered gaze to examine your palm that had a decent size splinter plunged into the center of it.

“Shit,” You swore, feeling whatever heat you had left in your body pooling to your stringing finger.

You heard Joel let out a debated sigh before he took you by your wrist, much more gentle this time, and tried to bring it up closer to his eyes to examine it.

“Can’t see for shit out here.” He grumbled. You couldn’t see it either but you could feel right where it spread searing pain through the rest of your hand.

“I got some tweezers in my workshop, I’ll get it out.” Joel offered as he started walking a few paces but you let out an involuntary whimper at the sound of him taking it out.

“You don’t want that to get infected, do you?” He asked with a true voice of reason, to which you let out a sigh of agreement and followed him to his workshop.

You had only been inside Joel’s workshop a handful of times. You remember once your dad dragged you over so he could talk to Joel about his truck, and you had to wait there and wait there until they finished gabbing. Another time was when you explored it on your own, your eyes fascinated by the little world he surrounded himself in. It wasn’t all wood like you’d expect it to be. He had old guns mounted on the wall, ladders hung up in the rafters, and dusty old fishing plaques that made you disgusted at the sight. It housed his tools, the same ones he had been using for years. He knew where they were by heart, not even looking when he reached for something. Everything had its place, down to the tweezers he immediately found in an old little toolbox.

“Here,” he said as he pointed to an old metal stool as tall as your waist. You sat down on the cold metal, a little hiss of discomfort leaving you as he sighed. “Always somethin’.” Joel shook his head and offered you a spare dusty blanket, shaking your head.

“Just-- fix my hand. Please.” You said as you displayed your palm to him, now seeing it in the light for the first time. Okay.. it didn’t actually look as bad as it felt. Joel actually smiled as he looked at the tiny sliver shoved into the skin.

“..Might have to amputate it.” He said with a half-serious tone, as joking as Joel could sound. But there was a little glint in his eye, one of satisfaction from his own joke.

“Joel Miller has a sense of humor? I’m surprised. And pleasantly delighted.” You teased as he huffed and shook his head, the smile that graced his lips already came and gone. Sort of. He just looked down at your hand so you couldn’t directly see it anymore.

It took you until now to see that he changed out of his dark green shirt from this afternoon and into an old 80’s rock band shirt with a worn dark navy flannel over it. He must have showered after laboring in the Texas heat. The thought made your stomach churn in excitement.

You shivered at how cold you felt all of a sudden, no longer by the warm fire and on this damn metal stool. You shifted uncomfortably on it, cursing yourself for wearing jean shorts.

Joel let out an exasperated sigh as he stood up straighter and shoved off his flannel, your eyes softening at the sight.

“You want me to take tweezers to your hand but you keep... shiftin’ around. Stand up.” He directed, and this time you didn’t debate with him. You hopped off the metal stool and he laid down the flannel. It was a nice gesture and you were grateful. You hoped the goosebumps were from the temperature, not how close he was.

Joel pulled up another metal stool so he could steady himself, reeling himself in as close as he could and holding your palm open in his as his eyes squinted a little bit.

You felt frozen in place, your lips parting as you slowly looked down to one of his knees that parted between your own legs. Fuck. You weren’t sure if it was the little buzz of beer still in your system but something drove you to have enough courage to gently lay your hand just above his kneecap.

His eyes flicked up to yours, trying to read what was behind your thought process right now. He looked so confident, you feared you looked all shifty.

You could feel the worn denim of his jeans under your palm but underneath, he was warm. He was as hot as a furnace as your body craved it.

“The sliver.” You pointed back out, your voice smaller since you two were in such close proximity. You watched his chest heave as he took a deep breath, grumbling something under his breath before he focused back to his initial task.

You pursed your lips as you both watched and felt the tweezers line up to the red and irritated skin, his movements precise and patient until you watched him clench the tool closed.

You let out an involuntary breath of both relief and anticipation, just wanting it out already.

“Hold on, just gotta make sure I..” Joel’s voice trailed off as he slowly pulled the tiny sliver from your palm, an uncomfortable whine leaving the back of your throat.

His thigh twitched under your palm at the sound, not even realizing your hand had sunk higher up his jean-clad thigh.

“Got it.” He finally said, swiping the tip of the tweezer on the table to display the nasty little piece of wood that had caused you all this grief. You let out a breath through your nostrils and nodded.

“Thank God, no amputation.” You joked, to which he awarded you a small smile.

“I’ll call the surgeon and tell ‘em to turn around. We’re good here.” Joel said as he gently released your wrist. You watched his features carefully, seeing his lips part as he glanced down to his leg that your hand still held for balance.

“What’er you doin’?” He finally asked, his voice dropping an octave at the question. Shit.

Don’t read this wrong, or this will be the most awkward interaction you and Joel have had to date. This is worse than when he saw you fall out of the inner tube while boating, worse than when some kid tripped you at the town barbeque, worse than when you fell off Sarah’s scooter so hard that he gave you the nickname Skids.

“Woah, Skids! Better slow down!” God, that was so many years ago. His chuckle still echoed in your ears.

Now you were older, you were a woman. You had long legs and glowing skin, and a smile that knocked guy’s out of the fuckin’ park! But he was older too, older than you, younger than your dad but god, not by much. You were so close to him, you could inhale the distant smell of the bonfire, the one he probably made instead of Sarah. He also smelled like an old spice deodorant and fucking cigarettes.

He was stingy, and greasy, and hot, and Joel.

Your years of anticipation thinking about him like this was over.

You bit down on your lower lip, your mind was foggy with the rushing in your heart, feeling your ears pound and your palm still seared. He was a head taller than you while you sat together, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his pulse.

Your lips lingered around his neck for a moment, the sensitive skin of your mouth feeling beard stubble and tasting distant cologne. Your breath fanned over the skin, clammy but sweet with his sweat.

He didn’t stop you, his eyes merely watching you carefully.

“What’er you doin’?” He asked again, but this time, his words sounded more-- goading. Do it, I know you won’t. You’re chicken shit. If you know what you want, do it.

Your heart raced as you nearly leaped off the stool, closing the distance between you two as you stood between his legs. Your hand moved higher on his thigh, so close that you were nearly touching the leather of his belt. Your mouth returned to the sweet spot of his pulse while your injured hand reached up to the opposite side of his neck to gently hold him there.

“Joel,” you whispered his name breathlessly, asking him for more, feeling his head drop down beside yours. You feared you embarrassed yourself, he wasn’t reciprocating, he wasn’t--

The thoughts brewing in your head bubbled down to a boil as his firm arm wrapped itself low around your waist, keeping you to his front as he pulled down to look at you with a stern look on his face.. You were so fucked.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin-”

His words made your chest go tight and your eyes filled with pure horror. What have you done?!

“But you need to be the one to walk away, because I don’t think I can.”

His words surprised you. He didn’t think he could walk away from you right now? Holy shit.

Your heart was pumping so hard under his watchful gaze, seeing his eyes look from yours to your parted lips. But he didn’t kiss you, you don’t think you would let him. It felt too intimate. You just didn’t want another boring summer in Danbury and you were determined to have a fling.

Who knew it would be with Joel Miller. But you wanted him.

Your brave hands took him by the chest of his shirt, your mouth moving to his jawline as you balanced the tightrope of kissing and nibbling on the skin before your hands moved south to find his belt buckle.

His legs naturally parted for you, catching a brief smirk on his lips as you took control of the situation.

“Dirty girl goin’ right for my fuckin’ cock.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, a desperate nod leaving you while your cheek involuntarily rubbed against the stubble of his beard. You didn’t know he talked like that.

You initiated more space for yourself, nudging the inside of his thighs with your own legs as you had his back up against his drafting table with you no longer on his side but standing in front of him.

Your quick fingers desperately undid his belt, feeling the old leather under your fingers. You didn’t have the balls to look at him and frankly, you were afraid you would lose your nerve if you did.

His hands were encouraging for your nervous system, firm palms planted into your hips and even going as far as to squeeze the flesh that sat under your jean shorts. His body warmed you up, his eyes admiring you as you plucked open the button on his jeans.

You pushed your tongue against your cheek in concentration, all of a sudden desperate at the thought of having him in your mouth. You dragged down the zipper, the relaxed denim exposing the black briefs he wore underneath that hugged his tan hips.

You slowly sunk to your knees before him, as if you were worshiping a God. Maybe you were, it was Joel Miller, after all.

“This what you were learnin’ off at school?” Joel belittled, your head doing a few quick nods as a flush stained your cheeks. God. Something about Joel calling you a slut had you in a tailspin. You couldn’t wait anymore.

Your fingers delicately felt over the impressive growth that his briefs held down, biting down on your bottom lip as you let your pointer finger make the outline of his girth.

He let out an audible grunt at the action, his jaw jutted out, and his eyes filled with lust. “Lemme see that pretty mouth.” He practically purred, your chest rising and falling in anticipation as you slowly opened your mouth for him. You felt the intrusion of his thumb, a guttural moan leaving your throat as your big eyes stayed on his. He pinched at the inside of your cheek for a moment, your eyes twinging closed and opening back up with twinkling tears on the brim of flowing.

“Good girl, keep that mouth open for me.” He encouraged as he pushed two fingers past your lips, testing you. And you were more than willing to accept his little challenge. His fingers pushed on the back of your tongue, feeling your lips graze all the way to his knuckle as you worked on breathing through the feeling of his fingers shoved down your throat.

You were determined for him not to get the best of you, to prove how you had some experience under your belt. Your tongue willingly swirled around his digits, humming softly as you suckled. Now it was his turn to look like he was ready to fold. You felt him swell in your hand, the hand still stroking over his erection in his briefs.

He ripped back his fingers, leaving them with a pop to your lips. Holy shit. You took a few deep breaths and swallowed, blinking back the tears that his fingers provoked from going so far down.

“Damn, baby, look so pretty down on your knees for me. Don’t make me wait ‘ny longer.” Joel’s breaths were heavy, his southern drawl exaggerated in his lust-filled state.

A proud smirk laced on your lips, his eyes on you as he watched you pry down the material of his briefs, watching as he lightly lifted his hips off the stool and using the drafting table behind him as leverage to let his jeans and boxers rest comfortably around the top of his thighs. What you had been craving slapped eagerly into the palm of your uninjured hand, an unexpected little moan leaving you.

You studied his cock with anticipation, the glowing pinkish-red tip glistening with pre-cum from all the anticipation. He was generous in size, he would be the biggest you had ever taken. He was just… grown. You let out a satisfied little mmm, smirking up at him as your fist wrapped delicately around the base as you pumped over just the bottom half of him.

Your hand came up to push some hair behind your ear but Joel was quick to handle that for you, stroking the stray pieces back behind your ear and then planting his palm right on the top side of your head. He tried to guide you closer but you just continued to smirk at him, a desperate grunt leaving the back of his throat.

“Don’t play with me, kitten.” The nickname had you fawning, much better than the other nickname he had given you in the past. Maybe this new one would replace the old, the girl he dismissed before now a woman whose attention he craved.

You guided his tip to gently tap at your flattened tongue, using his base to guide him until you generously wrapped your mouth around his leaking head. He let out a satisfied hiss which made you smirk, knowing you were the one making him dance on the line between pain and pleasure.

You let out an involuntary mewl as the fist he had made in the back of your hair forced you further down his rigid member, feeling wet tears threatening to spill over your waterline as his tip nudged against the back of your throat. He said not to play with him and you disobeyed.

Your palms flattened to the front of his thighs as you pushed yourself off of him, gasping for air as you swallowed the mixture of your spit and his leakage that clogged your throat.

“So fuckin’ pretty chokin’ on me like that, such a pretty face.” He sneered, referring to your teary eyes. But the compliment made you blush and the choking and sobbing was all of a sudden worth it for the praise.

After that, you craved to take all of him just like he wanted. Your head worked in subtle bobs, taking inch by inch of him at a time. Sometimes his hand in your hair guided you, allowing you to take him with confidence as he let out disgusting groans and low moans.

Your gluck, gluck, glucks filled the shed, hot pants leaving your mouth around him but not willing to let your head up. Trails of your saliva attached themselves from his balls to your lips, the sight being a trophy for your hard earned deep throating. He was already so close, you couldn’t bear not to taste the prize you had worked so hard for.

All of a sudden, Joel stood up from his seat at the drafting table and you couldn’t help but show a look of disappointment. You thought he was done, going to leave you like a mess on the floor with bruises on your knees from the cold concrete and your slobbery mouth feeling his loss.

Your wet eyelashes fluttered as he returned to fist the hair at the top of your head and angled your face upward, watching as his other hand yanked on his member. The sight made your jaw drop.

“Where do you want me to finish?” His words were pained, stretched thin as he tried to hold out for an answer from you. But you wanted him to finish, you wanted to watch his face contort from the wake of his orgasm that you helped create.

“Mmm,” you hummed out as you purposefully prolonged his finish, watching as his chest puffed and his skin grew rosy from the heat flooding his body. Your cockiness was punished by a tighter grip in your hair, yanking your head closer to his shaft to force a real answer out of you. Your scalp stung but only a smile was on your face.

“You wanna cum on my face, Mr. Miller?” You asked in the most innocent tone you could muster, your mouth parting at the sight of him. He looked heavenly. The glow from his shed lights made him appear as if he had an angelic glow. But you knew he was hellish, nothing close to an angel.

Joel let out a scoffy little grunt at your question, a wicked smile gracing his lips as his hooded eyes slowly fell completely closed as the shock of his orgasm coursed through his body.

You eagerly watched and you hated how hungry you knew you looked right now. You licked your lips, eager for his taste, eager to make the Joel Miller cum. You were desperate.

His cock began twitching in his hand, watching as he methodically yanked out his own orgasm. His eyes lazily glanced between his shaft and to your large eyes, slowly smirking at the sight of you holding out for him.

“Let me see that tongue, darlin’.” His words were breathy, just on the edge of no return. You obeyed, dropping your jaw and flashing him your tongue as you fluttered your eyelashes. At the sight alone, he finished himself off with eager grunts and short moans, you swore one of them was your name.

His hot cum landed on your face, your eyes closing in satisfaction with a cocky smile. Most landed on your tongue, a few piping hot white strands splattered like paint on your cheeks and nose. All the air in your lungs left you as he tapped his pulsing tip eagerly against your tongue, watching with his jaw slack as he let the rest pool onto your tongue and down your throat.

You swallowed knowing he was watching, his hand in your hair relaxing. He tasted better than you expected, a new craving.

Instead of fisting your strands, he started stroking them away from your messy face, praising you as he tucked himself back into his pants.

Both no longer in the hot fantasy you swore you imagined once, you tried to collect yourselves. You shakily stood up from the ground, your knees cold from the concrete. You wipe off any dust or dirt they may have collected, sneaking glances at Joel as he fastened his belt around his waist once more and popping the button of his jeans back into place.

You glanced around for a tissue, your back to him as you cleaned up your face. Oh my god, you were wiping Joel Miller’s cum off your fucking face. As the two of you pieced yourselves back together, he reached for his discarded flannel that he had given you still resting on the metal chair you previously abandoned before settling between his legs.

“Said you were cold. Take it.” He said as he fisted some of the material and looked at you expectantly. You sighed before gently taking the material and wrapping yourself in its warmth.

As he placed a bandaid on your palm to cover your futile wound, you admired the flannel in all of its unknown beauty.

It was one of his older ones, you sort of felt bad because you could only assume it was one of his favorites. It adorned a few minor holes and rips, some of which were badly stitched back together in an attempt to salvage it for another few years. Despite its appearance, you melted into it because it smelled like him. It smelled smoky like his cigarettes or maybe that was just the residual smoke from the bonfire. As you walked outside, you could smell it clearer.

Sandalwood with a hint of cinnamon, you wondered what cologne he used.

Your head was lost in thought as you began to wander back towards the bonfire, a sharp clearing of his throat bringing you back to your senses. You whipped around, seeing as he pointed to the stray wood you had dropped from earlier.

“Oh-” you said bashfully as you returned to the pile with him, both of you knelt down picking up stray pieces. Once you started piling the wood in your arms again, he let out a short chuckle from deep inside him as he held your wrist from stacking more.

“That’s enough for now, just go.” You liked seeing his face lit up like that, knowing you were the cause of it being even better.

“Okay, Mr. Miller.” You cooed quietly, his face hardening at the name of adoration you had given him.

“Okay, Skids. I’ll be seein’ you.” He said with a tight nod of his head, his eyes directing you back to the fire. You set down the firewood by the rocks surrounding it as a barrier, clearing your throat as you returned to the tailgate. You could still taste his cum on your tongue.

No one seemed to notice your trip taking unexpectedly longer than necessary. Your parents were both swaying their heads and laughing, empty bottles by the legs of their folding lawn chairs to explain their obvious lack of awareness.

Sarah had joined up with other friends in your absence, but you didn’t mind.

You finally had a moment to reflect on what had just taken place in Joel’s shed. You let your vacation house neighbor cum in your mouth. Your older, stoic, stubborn ass of a neighbor.

As if on cue, Joel returned to the side of his truck with his body leaning against the tailgate. His jean-clad hip lightly grazed your thigh, glancing over to see him offering you a beer.

“Since you’re all grown up now.” He said with a little spark behind his eyes. You nodded and took the opened beer with a growing smile.

“Cheers.” He offered as he held out his bottle to clink with yours.

“Cheers to another summer in Danbury.” You tell him.

He cocked his eyebrow and glanced over to you one more time before he focused his eyes on the growing fire.

“This one ain’t quite like the rest.” It almost sounded like a promise from him. You hoped it was. Because you were wearing his flannel and you were on his knees for him tonight, you wondered what experience of Joel could offer you this summer.

---

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joshslater · 7 months

Text

Stained

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They say when you are in an accident everything moves in slow motion. That wasn't at all how it felt for me. I was driving down a slight slope toward an intersection out in bumfuckyall, where a truck was waiting at a red light. Why they would put a traffic light out here with nothing but crop fields around is beyond me. Getting some extra revenue from people running the lights perhaps. Not busy enough to warrant the installation though. Maybe to stop traffic when harvesters or whatever pass by, but they would move slowly and be pretty darn visible in this terrain.

The belt tensioner yanked me into the seat at the same time as I heard the crash and I had just time to turn my head back from the fields to see the now milky front window, shattered into thousands of small glass cubes suspended by the plastic film on the back of it, give way to the mass that had been thrown off the flatbed and flung into my windshield. Through the widening gap at the top of the windshield liquid was dumped into the car, all over me, and everything turned into black silence with a strong smell of chemicals.

It all went faster than I could register, and I just sat there still with burning eyes, trying to comprehend what had just happened. I somehow had run into the truck. I heard hurried steps outside and someone first trying to open the door then rapping the side window and shouting "Are you hurt, buddy?"

Was I? My shoulder hurt from the seat belt, and I couldn't see anything, but otherwise I wouldn't feel anything damaged. I fumbled a bit to find how to open the door and once successful responded "I'm OK I think. I can't see though."

"Thank Lord. It's wood stain. Had some buckets in the back. Some paint too. It'll make you dizzy and sick, but I wouldn't worry about going blind. Let me help you out and lay you down. I have plenty of water to rinse you."

Despite squeezing my eyes as shut as I could, reasoning that opening them would probably let more paint in than out, I had no problems finding and removing the seat belt, and stepping out of the car. As soon as I was out of the car he grabbed my arm and led me to a spot in front of both vehicles. My mouth tasted of chemicals and I spat on the ground several times.

"Just lie down here, buddy. Are you sure you aren't hurt?" "A bit sore, but nothing really hurts." "That's a relief. The car is probably a write-off with all the damage outside and in. This is all my fault." Without opening my eyes I let myself be guided to the ground while he talked. I could hear the steps of another person getting closer from beyond my car. "It is?" "Casy, get the big jug!" he told the other person, who answered a curt "Yep" in a young man's voice. "I must have put in reverse while waiting for the light and then... reverse into you," he said, talking to me again. "It's a rental. I'm sure they are used to handling things like this." "Just stay still there buddy, and I'll start pouring."

He began pouring water on my face, occasionally wiping with a rag of some sort. "Open your mouth and take some water. Then swig it around and spit it out." We did that a few times. A few more rinses and I dared to open my eyes. He looked like he sounded like. Trucker cap, beard, grey and blue flannel shirt, blue jeans, and boots. Hovering behind him was a boy in his late teens or early twenties, dressed very similarly in camo cap, blue JROTC hoodie, jeans, and boots. For my part I was wood-stain brown and garden-fence white.

"I'm Cliff, this is Casy," Cliff said and gave me his hand to help me up. As I stood up and looked past his pick up I could see my car. It looked worse than I would have expected. While the collision didn't feel that bad, the crumple zones certainly felt it. A few buckets of paint had landed next to it, but clearly the inside was ruined by the ones that had passed through the glass. I had no hope that my travel bag with what little extra clothes I had brought with me had survived either, as I think I had tossed it on the passenger seat.

"I'm Bradly" "Casy, give Bradly your pop. He can't taste nothing but paint." Casy did a nod and another dull "yep", but jumped into the truck with ease and was quickly out again with a can of Monster. Ignoring that it was opened and with a third gone, I took an eager sip, swirled it in my mouth, and swallowed. When I had emptied the can the taste of oil and paint was almost gone.

"I reckon we need to hose you down before we can do anything else. Casy can stay here while we bring you to the house to clean you up. Then we can figure out how to take care of the car. How's that sound, buddy?"

"Sounds reasonable to me." "I'm sorry, but do you mind getting on the flatbed." He motioned all over my paint-drenched body. "No. Is it far?" "It's a quick drive."

When you are lying on your back on a tarp next to reclaimed wood, slowly drying into the color of an antique table, seeing nothing but the afternoon sky, nothing is a quick drive. I didn't dare move, not so much because I was lying unprotected in the back of a truck that was driving far too fast for my comfort, but because I was soaked in oil and paint and water, and didn't want to mess anything else up. The wind running over my body was chilling, despite the balmy weather. My shoulder and chest hurt from where the belt tightener pulled me back into the seat. Despite the wind there was a strong smell of paint. I felt lightheaded. My mind began to wander. I should probably call the motel that I would be late, or not arriving at all. I was thinking about how I decided to not have a coffee at the diner to get back on the road quicker. I should have bought one. The apple pie slices looked delicious. Eventually however I would see treetops creeping into view and soon after we came to a stop on gravel.

"Where is he?" a woman asked nearby. "Back there," Cliff answered and opened the tailgate. He extended a hand to help me down. "Hey buddy, this is Sarah!" "Hi," Sarah said smiling. "Bradly"

Instead of walking towards the house she motioned toward one of the barns. "Hose is over there. Then you can take a proper shower after." On Sarah's urging I took off everything but my briefs. She suggested I take them off as well, but didn't press the issue. The water was pretty high-pressure and ice cold. Cold water worked better than hot water Sarah claimed, not that hot water was an option outside the house.

Once I was hosed enough that the water didn't run brown anymore, and I felt I was near risking hypothermia, I wrapped myself in an old discolored beach blanket Sarah handed me and we walked back to the house. I shivered and my lightheadedness had turned into a dull, thumping headache. Cliff and the truck were gone. Sarah grabbed one of the white plastic chairs, placed it near the front door, and told me to sit down. "The white paint doesn't stick too bad to the skin, but we're never going to be able to clean this out," she said and touched my hair. I hadn't felt a feeling like that since I used way too much hair gel for Halloween many years ago. It was like my hair and the paint had formed a helmet. She quickly returned from the house with a trimmer on an extension cord. "Sides are not too bad. I can make a flat top," she said and buzzed away, clearly used to taking care of Cliff and Casy. I cringed when I heard it, and was about to stop her, but changed my mind. Better to let her keep as much hair as possible and decide on the real emergency haircut later.

She then led me through the house and what must have been Casy's room, with a home gym and a gaming setup, to his bathroom. Everything was big and roomy, but I guess it is inexpensive to build large when you have lots of land, time, and resources. "Take as much time as you need and use any of the soaps you want. I'll put some clothes on the bed for you. Just throw your briefs in the bathroom bin," Sarah said and left.

I looked in the bathroom mirror, the first time I saw myself after the accident. I looked terrible. The haircut was ugly, of course, but the uneven stain stains all over my body made me look tan and dirty. Like I had spent all day riding a dirt bike in mud, not the last ten minutes being blasted by ice water. I looked as beaten and spent as I felt.

By "any of the soaps" she meant the Axe Total Fresh 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash that there were four opened bottles of in various places in the bathroom. Somehow Casy managed to both have a messy bathroom without having much in it. The water felt like a blessing on my cold, bruised body. I just stood there for a while, letting the warm water rinse me. Then I lathered myself completely and rinsed off three times in a row. Neither the foam nor the water looked discolored, and when I dried myself with the one towel in the room it didn't become stained. The image in the mirror however looked disappointingly identical to before. The same stained me, but now with a more acute headache. Everything smelled like Axe Total Fresh, and it did my head no favors.

I peeked into Casy's room. No one was there and the door to the rest of the house was shut, so I entered and looked at the clothes laid out for me on the bed. Only one of each, so no options. First black compression boxers with a wide Nike band. Then a pair of green-brown socks that looked like what the army issues. Some lightly distressed blue jeans with a black leather belt. A military green Under Armour T-shirt in a glossy material with "patriotic" print with stars and almost-US flags on it. A hunting camo baseball cap. Finally a pair of well-worn leather boots. I put it all on, including the hat to cover the ugly hair and the boots because I wasn't sure what the indoor etiquette here was. Everything fit surprisingly well, though I guess she could have looked at the size of my ruined clothes.

I opened the door and stepped out of the room, trying to find Sarah, or anyone really. How long had I been in the shower? Probably an hour, if not longer. "Hello?" "We're over here," I heard Sarah shout from across the house. I walked in the direction of her voice and was soon joined by Cliff who emerged from another room. "How are you feeling, buddy?" he asked in a concerned fatherly manner. "I think I'm about to have an episode of migraine." "That something you've had before." "Never."

"Take your seats. You over here Brad," Sarah said as we turned the corner into a large kitchen with a table laid for four. "Bud... eh, Bradly." I tried to correct her, but she had turned to the big cast iron pot on the stove. Casy already sat by the table with a phone in his hand, but his eyes were firmly on me. His face didn't reveal any expressions.

Sarah placed the heavy pot on the table and with a big ladle filled my plate with a dark stew. "Here you go, Bud," she said. As the smell of beef stock, fresh herbs, carrots, onions, and slow cooked, rich meat reached my nose I immediately recognized the telltales. Weakening of the jaw. The increase in saliva. I almost threw myself out of the chair, rushed over to the sink, and managed just in time to throw up into the sink. I realized I was sweating. Then another heave of vomit. "Oh, poor buddy," Sarah said and patted my back. "Here, drink this," she said and filled a glass of water from a pitcher. My body heaved a third time, but nothing came out. "Thanks," I replied and took the glass with some apprehension, waiting to see if my body would do something else. Once it appeared safe I took the glass and started to empty it.

"Casy, make one of them shakes for him. He needs to get something in his belly." Almost reluctantly, like I had ruined his meal, Casy got up and moved towards a cupboard. "I just need to rest I think," I said, my head now mercilessly pounding in pain. "Out of the question. You need something to fortify you."

Casy quickly scooped powder from a large plastic container into a workout shaker bottle thing, poured in some water, gave it a quick shake, and handed it to me. I had barely put it to my mouth when Cliff said "He can barely stand. Take him to your room for a nap." "Come then," Casy said and led the way out of the kitchen, with me following sipping the chalky mixture. "You know the way though," he said once out of earshot from the kitchen. Back inside his room he motioned at the bed and said "This is a bed," deadpan to me. I wanted to say it wasn't my fault his day was ruined. In fact, mine had gone way worse than his, but my head hurt too much for me to care. "Thanks." I put my back on the bed and was out in seconds.

The hard plastic of the ear protectors was what made me wake up properly, and it took a moment to realize what it was and get them off. Almost ripped the cap off with them. These were the radio/bluetooth kind that allowed you to listen to music while you worked. Bright, orange colored cups with the rest of it black. I got up from the bed and left them on the sheets. Apparently I was already fully dressed, so I headed to the kitchen. Sarah was there preparing things.

"Mornin' Ma'am." "Good morning, Buddy." I took my seat. Sarah filled a bowl with porridge, drizzled honey over it, set it on the table in front of me together with a spoon. "Better hurry. Cliff is waiting for you." "Yes, Ma'am."

It wasn't until I began eating I realized how hungry I was, so it wasn't a problem to be quick. Not having seconds though felt rough. Just outside the house was Cliff, doing something with a quad to which he had hooked a trailer full of wooden poles. "Mornin', Sir" "Morning Buddy! Get up in the trailer and make sure nothing shakes out while we drive down the fields. "Yes, Sir."

Once we came to a stop after a bumpy ride, Cliff showed me how to operate the earth drill to make holes, then how to insert a pole, and with the sledge hammer drive it down so it fit securely. He then let me do that while he was working on putting up wires for the electric fence. After we had been at it for quite a while Sarah called on the walkie-talkie and said sheriff Miller wanted to talk to us. We unhooked the trailer and drove up to the farm on the quad, me sitting behind Cliff, straddling him.

Outside the main house Sarah and the sheriff waited for us. It was mostly a boring conversation between Cliff and the sheriff that I tuned out of, but then the sheriff turned to me and asked "And who is this?" "It's Buddy, farmhand for the summer," Cliff answered and took a slight step to the side to give room for the sheriff. The sheriff looked me over for a second. "You were here yesterday?" "Yes, Sir." "Did you see anyone come by yesterday afternoon or evening?" "No, Sir." "Anything else out of the ordinary happened yesterday?" "Yes, Sir. I threw up, Sir. Hasn't happened in years, Sir." "Hahaha." He turned to Cliff again. "If anything comes up let me know. It's not the first traveler that's gotten lost around here, but they usually turn up sooner or later." "They have a habit of doing that, causing extra work for the local sheriff while they are wandering about," Cliff answered, smiling back. The sheriff shook his head and opened his car door. "You ain't wrong."

Once the car was well on its way up the dirt road Sarah motioned at cooler that was on the ground. "I was about to come down with lunch to you boys, but perhaps you want to eat it up here." "Yeah, let's take a breather. This was a close call." Cliff opened a small tool bag that was hanging on the quad and pulled out another pair of orange ear protectors, if not the same as earlier. He turned the knob on them and put them on my head. Noise was sloshing around in my ears like waves breaking on a beach. Voices were whispering all around me. It was impossible to focus on a single voice and hear its message. Just a school of slippery tadpoles swimming around and around. Impossible to grab. Somewhere far in the distance I could hear Cliff talking.

"Let's go even harder with the programming. We don't need him cognisant for the rest of the day."

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kaciidubs · 9 months

Text

24 to 25 [Merry Christmas] | 8 Days of SKZcember

Prompt: meeting each other's family for the first time over the holidays

❣ Summary: There was a first for everything, and Christmas in Australia was definitely one of them. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.07k ❣ Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Chris is a doting boyfriend, slight humor, the whole Bang family is here ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, and Baby, Reader is referred to as Baby, and Love, unedited, this was meant to be short, not over 2k words ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023

Having family living in a different part of the world often meant having to visit whenever time off would allow; however, having a boyfriend in the industry whose family also lived in a different part of the world apart from your family meant those visits were even rarer.

“...and once again, we would like to thank you for flying with us this Christmas eve.”

Toying with your fingers subconsciously, you glanced out of the window of the plane at the vast expanse of land thousands of meters below, your stomach doing flips in the meantime.

“Baby?”

A soft touch brought you out of your thoughts, turning your head to see Chris’s hand covering yours with a gentle squeeze added for good measure.

“If you’re nervous about the landing just close your eyes - you can even close the blind if you want?”

Your heart fluttered and you had to stop yourself from swooning at how cute he was, squeezing his hand back with a small smile, “It’s not the landing that I’m nervous about, Channie - well, not entirely nervous about.” Looking down at your entwined hands, you deflated slightly in your seat, “I’m just worried they won’t… like me, you know?”

You were both currently on your way to Australia to visit Chris’ family for the holiday; the decision being made after a long winded debate and heavy consideration over you not wanting to take the opportunity away from his visiting home, and him not wanting you to sacrifice seeing your family just for him - the resolution resulting in two plane tickets and the promise of the next vacation dedicated to your hometown.

Chris scoffed your name lovingly, “You’re worried over that? You know my mom adores you, and my dad asks about you whenever he calls - and you already know how Hannah is, you guys basically talk everyday! Hell, even Lucas brings your name up, you know how rare that is?”

“Hannah doesn’t count cause I’ve already met her - but your mom, dad, and Lucas? We’ve only ever talked over the phone, it’s different from meeting in person - what if I’m not what they expected?”

“Love, look at me.”

Looking at him with a soft pout, he gave you a comforting smile, eyes shining with a fondness you’d fallen for time and time again.

“My family is going to love you, because I love you, okay? They’ve heard me talk about you so much that my mom actually started threatening me to bring you to visit!” When you cracked a smile at his confession, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, “Everything’s going to be fine, yeah?”

Giving him a small nod, you watched as he pressed a small kiss to your knuckles just as the seatbelt light turned on and the plane prepared for its final descent.

It wasn’t long until the plane touched down and you were both following the line of passengers toward baggage claim and car rentals, Chris claiming that having more than one car would be best this time around.

“Alright,” he clapped his hands, seat belt buckled and car running, “Hannah knows we’re on our way - apparently Dad’s busy grilling and Mom’s running around trying to make sure the house is in order.”

“And your brother?”

“Waiting to catch Mom’s reaction when we walk through the door, I’m sure.”

The time between the car pulling out of the rental lot and rolling down the familiar streets of Chris’ childhood neighborhood seemed too short to be true, and you found yourself fidgeting with the strap of your seatbelt as you looked through the window.

“Baby, you’re doing it again.”

Huffing out a short laugh, you shook your head, “I’m just excited - nervous, but excited. Don’t act like you wouldn’t be doing the same thing if you were meeting my parents!”

He puffed out his cheeks, “I wouldn’t!”

“Chris, you practiced talking on the phone for ten minutes before we video called my family for the first time.”

His silence was enough for you to laugh harder, cooing at the blush tinting his ears as he pulled the car into the driveway.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to gather your bags - or, rather, for Chris to gather the suitcases like the gentleman he was while you handled closing the trunk after - and make your way up the short path to the front door.

He looked at you with a glittering smile, tilting his head toward the entrance, “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to quell the butterflies in your stomach and nodded, signaling him to ring the doorbell.

The sound of muffled barking soon followed suit, Berry readily alerting the home of their potential guests.

“Coming!”

No less than a second later, the door swung open to reveal a bright eyed Hannah, a wide smile stretching her lips as she practically flung herself into your arms with an excited squeal of your name.

“You made it! Oh my god, hi! Welcome to Australia!”

You hugged her back with a laugh, “Thank you! It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Chris muttered, though the smile on his face betrayed any attempts of annoyance he tried conveying. “Your older brother? The person you grew up with?”

“Exactly, I grew up with you which means I’ve seen enough.”

“Hey!”

Breaking from the hug, she led you both into the house as she went to find the rest of the family, leaving you and Chris in the foyer with a very excited, yet curious Berry.

Your boyfriend wasted no time in crouching down, baby voice in full effect, “Hi, Berry! Berry! Hi! I missed you! I missed you so much!”

The king charles spaniel jumped onto his arms, panting happily before falling back down with a series of excited barks and tail wags, then turning her attention to you with similar gusto.

Bending down, you offered your hand for her to sniff with a small smile, “Hi, Berry, it’s nice to meet you! Chris talked about you so much, part of me thought this trip was just to see you and no one else.” When her curious sniffing stopped, she ducked her head under your hand for you to pet her, which you graciously accepted, “Oh, aren’t you the cutest? You’re the best girl, aren’t you?”

The sound of footsteps broke you from your puppy praise break and you stood just in time to see his mom rushing around the corner with a bright smile on her face, “Oh my goodness!”

Taking the initiative, Chris stepped forward with an equally wide smile, an air of sheepishness surrounding him as if he were a teenager bringing home their first partner. “Hi, mom.”

She wasted no time in pulling him into a hug, holding him in her arms as much as she could despite how grown he had become - the epitome of a mother’s hug, always ready to cradle their child no matter how much they’ve changed.

Your heart swelled at the display, catching a few murmurs of how much she missed him and how big he’d gotten until she pulled away to look in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve heard so much about you already that I don’t even need an introduction,” she laughed, letting her son out of her arms to stand next to you, “but I’ll let him tell me anyways, I know he’s been practicing this moment.”

“Mom, really?”

“That’s hilarious,” Lucas snickered from the sidelines, which gave you the chance to notice him holding his phone, most likely recording for future memories.

Huffing lightly, Chris took your hand in his and you squeezed in earnest, watching him relax considerably. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend,” he turned to you, a warm smile on his lips, “and this is my mom, the person responsible for giving me life.”

“And your good looks,” she teased, stepping forward to bring you into a hug similar to the one she gave him; welcoming, comforting, accepting. “It’s so nice to finally meet you - pictures do not do you justice!”

You could feel yourself melt in her embrace, your previous nervousness vanishing into thin air, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Bang.”

“Oh, please, it’s an honor finally meeting the person who’s responsible for my son being this happy,” holding you at arms length, she gazed at you with sparkling eyes, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Just as you went to give another complement, the smell of grilled meat wafted through the air and Chris all but floated off of the ground; a weary sigh escaping him as he eagerly looked toward what you could only assume to be the kitchen.

“I missed dad’s grilling so much.”

“Good, cause he’s been at it all day,” Hannah shrugged, looking at you with a smirk, “He made one of everything - I’d like to think of it as pregaming Christmas dinner.”

Their mom let you go and headed through the hall, “I’ll go help with setting the table - Chris, your room is all set if you want to drop off your suitcases and give her a quick tour, other than that I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

He gave her a short hum in response, sharing a quick hug with Lucas and a brief introduction between the two of you before guiding you to his old room - or, better known as the room you’ll be sharing for the next few days.

“If the bed’s too small, I can always camp out on the floor, you know.”

You scoffed out a laugh as you danced your fingers along the carefully laid out blanket, “You say that as if we don’t practically sleep under each other already - this is perfect, baby.”

You couldn’t help but take in the details of his old room, scanning over the posters and pictures that decorated the walls, and spotting the board of medals that laid propped against the floor - not that it was hard to miss considering the wide array it held. Before you could get entranced by any more trinkets and hidden gems, his hand gently grabbed yours and he pulled you into his space, trapping you in his arms with a careful gaze.

“How are you feeling so far? If you’re tired from the flight I can always ask my dad to save you a plate for later, he’ll understand and-”

“Baby, I’m okay!” Wrapping your arms around his waist, you smiled up at him, “I’m not tired, and I’m not worried anymore - meeting your mom made me realize I had nothing to be scared about, and just from smelling your dad’s food I know we’re going to get along just fine!” You narrowed your eyes slightly, tilting your head with a soft pout, “Are you okay? Not that I hate the sudden check in, but you seem stressed, Chris.”

Heaving a deep sigh, he ultimately relaxed in your arms, a tired smile falling on his lips, “I’m okay- more than okay, actually, I’m just…” He stared at you, brown eyes warm with love, “I guess I’m just excited over having you here with me, with my family - I want to make sure everything’s perfect and I’m not pushing you into things too soon.”

Cooing at his sentiment, you laid your head on his chest, surrounding yourself in his scent and warmth. “Channie, you’re not pushing me into anything, you hear me? I’m happy we decided to come here, and even if we haven't been here long, I already feel more than welcome.”

His hold on you tightened a bit more as he rested his cheek on the top of your head, grounding himself in the moment until his mother’s voice floated through the hall.

“Chris! Food’s ready!”

“Well,” pulling away from him, you shot him a teasing smile, “ready for your first family dinner featuring your extremely brave girlfriend?”

He chuckled at your antics, “My brave girl, for sure - I was born ready for this.”

As you led the way out of his room, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he snuck a glance at the screen to see a text from your mom; your family’s flight still on schedule to land tomorrow morning.

Biting back his grin, he sent a quick text in return before grabbing your hand and guiding you toward the dining room.

“Dad, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay

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#skz fluff #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #bangchan fluff #bang chan x reader #bangchan x reader

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jennay · 1 year

Text

Let me take care of you

Request: I don't know if you know, but Noah kind of lost his voice during a concert(?) when you can, can you write that the reader flew out to take care of him or just to be there with him? :c ♥️ You choose whether they're friends or in a relationship, whatever you feel. Don't overwhelm yourself, precious; we love you more♥️♥️

No warnings

An: sorry I put a friends to lovers trope. 😅 thank you for this request. I loved it.

Words 2800ish

Noah Sebastian x reader

Noah Master list

You had always been terrified of heights. The mere thought of being high up in the air made your palms sweat and your stomach churn.

So, how you boarded a plane and flew for more than half a minute was a mystery to you. But you did it for Noah, your best friend, who was going through a rough patch. Your sneaky self conspired with the other three men to visit without Noah knowing.

He'd lost his voice and had to cancel several shows, which made him feel guilty and depressed.

He kept blaming himself for not taking better care of his health even though the others assured him that it was not his fault and that he would recover soon.

You had booked a car online, but when you got to the rental center, you faced an unexpected problem. The vehicle you had reserved was unavailable, and the counter clerk seemed clueless about what to do. He asked you to wait in the lobby while he talked to his manager, promising to sort things out as soon as possible. You felt your blood boil with frustration. You hated waiting - especially when you had paid for something in advance. You glared at the clerk as he walked away, wishing you could zap him with your eyes. You grabbed your phone and dialed Noah's number, hoping to check on him. You waited for him to pick up but heard a different voice on the other end instead.

"Hello, this is Noah's assistant. How can I direct your call?" It was Jolly; his thick accent and cheerful tone always made you smile.

"Hey, Jolly. It's me." You chuckled. "Is Noah paying you well? You seem to be working very hard lately."

He laughs back, "He doesn't pay me shit! I'm just that good of a friend."

"Well, speaking of the devil, where is he?" You ask.

"Sleeping... I saw it was you so I answered for him. Are you here yet?" He whispers, and you hear the sound of a door closing. "Sorry, that was loud. I don't want to blow it. Must escape into the other room." He says, giggling like a child.

"I'm in the same state…city even, but there seems to be some fucking confusion with the car I rented, and it's taking everything in me not to lose my shit right now," you say with a sigh. "Why is this happening?"

You run your hand down your face, feeling lost and not knowing what to do. "Ah, the classic 'I rented a car, and now I'm stuck' situation. You know what they say: 'Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.'" He quips, "Do you need someone to come get you, or are you going to wait it out?"

"OK, well, nobody says that except you. I'm gonna wait. I hate not having my own way around." You pause when you hear your name called at the front desk.

He laughs, "No, I'm pretty sure that's how it's said, y/n. My English is good."

You roll your eyes, letting out a small giggle. "I gotta go. I'll call you when I get to the hotel. Like, I'll actually call your phone."

"See you soon. OK, this is the part where I say goodbye, right?" He laughs.

"Yes, goodbye!" You click end and start toward the desk, wondering how you ended up with the strangest people being some of your closest friends.

After a long, exhausting drive, you finally arrived at the hotel's parking lot. You took out your cell phone and called Jolly, hoping he would come down and help you with your luggage.

You waited and waited and waited…

"I'm coming." He said abruptly and hung up.

You stared at your phone in disbelief. What was that? Did he just cut you off without even saying goodbye? What if you had something important to tell him?

You got out of the car, putting on your sunglasses. You grabbed your backpack from the back seat and closed the car door, leaning against it as you waited for Jolly to show up.

You started to doubt your decision to come here; if Noah was sick, would he appreciate your surprise visit? You shook your head; of course, he would.

You feel excited when you see the tall Swede walking towards you with a goofy smile; he opens his arms wide, and you run to him, hugging him tightly.

"You made it!" He exclaimed.

You pulled away, grinning, "Barely. I think I only cried once on the plane, so that's an improvement, " you joke while adjusting your bag. "Lead the way," you say, gesturing to the door.

"Someone's eager," he teased, opening the door. "I'm excited to see everyone. I miss you guys so much," you said with exaggerated emotion.

He followed behind you as you sprinted up the stairs. "Oh, come on. Don't lie to me. You're dying to see Noah... Just admit it," he said, poking fun at you.

You stopped in the hallway, making him bump into you. You turned to face him, poking his chest and giving him a fierce glare, "Shut your mouth!"

He laughs, gently grabbing your shoulders, keeping you at bay. "Alright, pitbull, calm down!"

You shake your head and continue to walk, "Sorry." You mumble. "It's just, nobody needs to know that. I honestly didn't even want to tell you." You take a deep breath when you feel his arm lazily drape over your shoulder.

"Maybe it's time to tell him instead of telling me." He looks down at you, waiting for a response.

"Hear me out... I can just not say anything and keep my friendship intact," you say.

Jolly's arm drops from your shoulders as he points to the door. He grabs his key and unlocks the door, pushing you in first.

"This place is huge," you say as you peek around. You'd barely entered the kitchen and already felt lost.

"Down the hall doors on the left. Beware, the other two are lurking and waiting for your arrival," he warns.

As he's warning you, you hear a sudden commotion from around the corner. Two figures emerge, dart guns in their hands, and they laugh maniacally as they start shooting at you. You barely have time to react before the first dart hits you in the face. You instinctively raise your arms to shield yourself from the barrage of incoming darts.

"Fucking assholes!" You yell out in frustration, trying to catch your breath as you choke on your laughter. You quickly scan your surroundings for cover and spot Jolly nearby. You run towards him and hide behind him, hoping that he'll provide some protection from the incoming fire.

Jolly groans as he gets pelted with the soft bullets but doesn't move. You peek from behind him and see that the men are still laughing and shooting at you.

From behind them, you hear a door creak open and feet scruffing against the floor.

"What the fuck is going on?" you hear Noah's hoarse voice ask.

You poke your head around Jolly's torso, and your eyes land on Noah. You smile with excitement, feeling your stomach flip.

You run past Nicholas and Folio, flipping them off in the process and laughing hysterically as you jump into Noah's arms. As you cling to him, you can feel his body tense up in surprise. He looks down at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape, as if he can't believe what happened. You can tell he hasn't processed that you're there yet.

"What the…where did you? You're here," he manages to stutter out. His body relaxes, and he squeezes you gently, engulfing you in his tattooed arms. "What are you doing here?"

You pull back, still latched in his arms, as you look up at him. "Surprising you, dummy. Did it work?"

"What do you think?" His brown irises glow while he gazes down on you. "I'm surprised, but why? You had the whole tour, and you chose now? We're almost done." He says, chuckling. "Wait, did you get on a plane?"

You push out of his grasp, brushing your shirt down. "I heard you weren't feeling well…and yes, I did get on a plane."

"She only cried once," Jolly pipes in. "She's growing up so fast."

You shake your head, "...and then these two assholes tried to kill me." You glare at them. "You didn't even say hi! You just started blasting, and I find that rude. Could at least greet a girl." You turn your back to them, swinging around to face Noah. "Anyway, I'm here."

He looks back at you with tired eyes, "Well, as much as I love seeing you. I'm supposed to be on vocal rest. I'm going back to my room."

You stand there confused as he starts to walk away from you.

"Are you coming?" He asks, stopping before his door.

"Wait, you were inviting me?" You chuckle, "I'm comin'." You dash down the corridor and join Noah in his room. The room is plunged into darkness by the black-out blinds. You grin as he snuggles up on the bed, pulls the covers over him, and switches on the tiny TV on the desk at the foot of the bed.

"I had to make it dark." He explains, noticing your curious gaze, "I'm fooling myself into thinking nothing exciting is happening."

You roll your eyes playfully, "Nothing exciting is happening. This is a hotel." You tease, sliding under the covers next to him.

Noah gives you a sly smirk as he slides closer to you, resting his head on your chest. You wrap your arm around his shoulder, gently moving it up his neck and into his hair, where your fingers weave through, making him melt under your touch.

"I know you're not supposed to be talking, but I was curious how you feel about this. How are you coping?"

He lets out a sigh, showing his frustration. "I hate having to cancel shows, you know? It sucks knowing people were looking forward to seeing us maybe for months, and then we can't even show up." He buries his face in your neck, groaning, "I can talk, by the way, just not loudly."

You feel his hot breath against your skin, causing goose bumps down your arms. You wonder if this was the right time to tell him the truth.

You mentally shake the thoughts from your mind; now was probably not the right time. You didn't know if there ever would be a time when you'd feel brave enough. "I get that. As much as you hate hearing it, you're only human, Noah. Shit happens, and I'm sure they'll understand. They would want you to get better instead of ruining your voice," you remind him.

You feel his arm drape around your waist as he says, "I'm happy you're here. It makes things a little more manageable."

You hear his breathing slow down, and his soft snore comes from him. You let him rest and grab your phone, careful not to wake him up. You take a quick picture of your situation and send it to Jolly.

Help

Did you tell him?

NO.

Wake him up?

I can't. It's a rule. It's rude to move if someone is sleeping on you.

That only applies to cats, and Noah's not a cat.

You laugh and text back: Are we sure?

You put your phone down beside you and close your eyes, feeling the need for a nap after your long trip, and then you'd talk to Noah, maybe.

You stir in your sleep, feeling soft touches through your hair; you cuddle closer to the person's chest, feeling arms around you keep you safe and warm. Your eyes flutter open softly, and you are greeted with Noah's neck tattoo. You lean your head back, your nose grazing Noah's chin. "Hi," you groggily say.

"Hi, sleepy head." You snuggle your face back into his chest, not wanting to end the moment. You felt secure and calm, like you could stay this way forever. Until you hear the door fling open, you don't raise your head to look afraid you might get pelted in the face with another dart.

"You did it!" Jolly squeals when he sees you wrapped up in Noah's body. "I'm claiming best man at the wedding!"

Noah's eyes widen in confusion, and he looks at Jolly with a puzzled expression. "What wedding?" He asks nervously.

Jolly stares at you wide-eyed and yells, "Ah Fuck!" before leaving the room and shutting the door quickly.

You smack your hand over your eyes, wishing you could just disappear. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you contemplate getting up, walking to the front, getting on a plane, and never showing your face again.

Suddenly, Noah lightly pushes your shoulder and playfully smiles at you. "That was weird," he says. "Are you OK?" His eyes grow with concern as he realizes the color hasn't returned to your face.

You take in a deep breath and close your eyes. Your heart races with anticipation, and you feel sick to your stomach. But you quickly regain focus and open your eyes. "Is it THAT weird?" Noah's head tilts, eyebrows furrow together, and his voice laced with curiosity, "What do you mean?"

"The voice in my head is screaming not to tell you because I'm so fucking afraid of losing you, but I know…" you pause, trying to catch your breath. "I love you, Noah, but not just in a hey, I want to be your friend kind of way. It's been eating at me for a while now. I made the mistake of telling Jolly; that's why he said what he did."

Noah's mouth drops with surprise, and slowly, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I know," he says softly. He presses his lips together, not sure what else to say. He wasn't completely oblivious. "That's it?" You nervously bite the inside of your cheek.

"Y/n, why do you think I treat you like I do? I knew there was something more, but I didn't want to push this on you. I'm gone a lot, and I can't always give you what you want and what you need." He reaches out, holding both of your hands with his.

"If you want to give me a shot, I'm ready, but don't want to disappoint you." He flashes his infamous smile at you. "I want to try. At least then when people ask if you're my girlfriend, I won't have to correct them." He nervously laughs, "Are you ready?"

You smirk and sit up on your knees, bringing your hands to his face and pressing your lips against his. You lean back, gazing into his eyes, a permanent smile plastered on your face. "Yes, I'm fucking ready!"

You hear Jolly's voice yell from the hallway. "The wedding's back on!"

You chuckle, and Noah pulls you into his lap, kissing your temple. "He really wasn't the best one to tell."

You shrug your shoulders, "It wasn't that bad…he did kinda make this happen…"

Noah looks at the door hearing someone lean against it; chuckling while throwing his legs over the side of the bed and making his way to the door. He quickly opens the door to reveal Jolly practically falling on his face.

"Dude…" Noah laughs. "What the fuck."

Jolly apologizes, "Sorry, sorry. I'm nosy, you know plus had to make sure little miss wasn't getting her heartbroken." He pauses and smiles at you.

"Well," you say with a grin, "I guess we can't blame him for being curious about our love life. After all, it's not every day that he gets to witness such a steamy romance." You wink at Noah.

Noah rolls his eyes playfully and pulls you closer. "Yeah, Jolly," he says with a smirk, "you're just jealous that you're not getting any action."

Jolly laughs and shakes his head. "You two are something else."

Tags:

@thisbicc @yumikitten @lma1986 @chemicallady

#noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian bad omens #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x y/n #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian oneshot #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x you #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction

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f1bordeaux · 1 year

Note

An Verstappen one with “Did you ever really care about me?” and “Please stay.” Thank you

If You Cared (Part 1) | mv1

It's been years since you've indulged in a vacation. What better time is there than summer? Your family, the beach house in Italy-it seems perfect. But, for things to be just like good old times, your family needs to invite his. So of course you are having mixed feelings as the boy who broke your heart re-enters your life like nothing happened. Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader Word count: 2.1k Poetry style | Story style A/n: Hello! This story came to me as soon as I saw this request. I got so many ideas and I'm actually super excited to keep writing this. There will be more parts to follow, so keep a look out. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Part One|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Part Five

You always longed for the familiarity of summer.

It was by far your favorite season. Something about the warmth, the life, the atmosphere, the memories-something about it all brought you comfort. You were head over heels in love with summer. Or perhaps it was just more exciting this year knowing that you would go on a real vacation for the first time in a long while. “Let’s visit the beach house this year,” your mom had suggested. “Sure there is probably some dust in the corners, but it’s nothing we can't sweep off.”

When thinking of summer memories, the beach house in Elba, Italy, was the primary setting for all of them. From the time you were born until the time you moved out, your family would spend a handful of weeks there, drinking up the sun and inviting friends to visit. You learnt to swim in the pool behind the summer house. You learnt to cook in the kitchen of the summer house. You had your first kiss in the living room of the summer house. Right, that. Something you preferred not to think or talk about.

“Mom!” you wrapped her in a hug the second you could. After moving away from home to pursue work, you rarely saw her in person. You rarely had time to cook yourself dinner let alone come home. It would be nice to get away for a month-just you, your mom, your dad, your brother and sister and the Italian shores of Elba.

“How was your flight, my baby?” She asked, pulling your backpack from off your shoulders.

“Which one? The one from New York to Florence or the one from Florence to Elba?” As a child you always made a fuss about how secluded Elba was. It’s a small, mountainous island off the west coast. A small airport, no larger than the biggest grocery store in town, was all they had to offer. They didn’t take commercial flights from New York. Nope, you had to get on a small, ten person airplane with five other people and fly over that way. It was nostalgic, truly.

Your mom rolled her eyes. “Still dramatic as ever.”

You shrugged, a smile stamped on your face. “What can I say?”

“Let's go, your dad is at home making dinner. It should be ready when we arrive.”

Your heart felt so full, so satisfied. You felt like a child again, like a little girl viewing the world from innocent eyes. Your mom was carrying your backpack, your dad was making dinner. You wondered if they’d offer to tuck you in at night. This is what you needed the most, and you didn’t even realize it until you were in the passenger seat of your mom’s rental car, watching the coast of the island roll by in the dimming sun. New York was busy. It was loud and dirty. Elba was quiet. It was beautiful and clean.

This summer, you told yourself. I’m not going to have a single worry, not a single care in the world.

“The Verstappen’s are coming by next week.”

You almost choked on your food. “What did he just say?” Dinner on the patio was already off to a ravishing start.

You don't notice it-too busy dabbing the corner of your mouth with a napkin-but your mother swatted at your brother who held a smirk on his lips. He knew it would bother you and he also knew that mom hadn’t told you yet. He loved being the bearer of bad news. He loved pestering his older sister.

“You know, Max’s family?” He pushed on. “The boy who left you for cars-”

“Luca.” Your mom cut him off. “Enough.”

Silence hung over the table like it was a light fixture. Your dad and sister said nothing and you knew it was because those two were in favor of the Verstappen’s coming to stay. Hell, your dad was probably the one to extend the invitation. You knew your sister would back him up because she loved Victoria-the younger sibling of the two Verstappen children. Your brother obviously didn’t care. He idolized Max and his racing. It seemed like your mother was the only one on your side.

“Was nobody going to tell me until Max knocked on our front door one day?” You asked, cutting at the food on your plate.

“Max probably won't even be able to make it,” your mother tries to reassure you. “The only ones who have confirmed it are Sophie and Victoria. Ooh-Victoria is bringing the babies so that should be fun-”

“Are you just trying to calm me down, mom?” Again, the silence made itself known. You spoke first, shaking your head with an upside down smile. “You know what? I don’t care. Max or not, I’m here to have a good summer. No childhood crush or-”

“Childhood boyfriend who broke your heart.” Your brother corrected you. You kicked him from under the table, exerting an ouch from him.

“No childhood drama is going to interfere.” You finished.

“She's gone crazy.” Your sister whispered to your dad. You kicked her too.

“I’m going to have a good summer. Nobody will ruin that for me.”

And in the beginning, you did have a good summer. You spent your first full day in Elba catching up on jet lag. When you finally decided to roll out of bed at two pm, you went to the beach with your sister. The two of you had a chance to catch up, sitting on the sand with a small array of fruits to eat while you spoke. The weather was perfect, the ocean was calming, and you were reminded of how much you loved your younger sister.

“What did you do for the big twenty-two?” You asked, referencing her birthday that had preceded about three weeks prior.

She shook her hand, the grapes in her palm shifting. She picked out a bruised one, adding it to a small pile of other undesirable fruits. “Went out with some friends. I had an exam due that day though, so most of it was spent in my room working on that.”

College. Something you tried your hardest to avoid. All was futile, though. After only a few weeks in New York you realized you’d need it. “Sounds fun. Were you mad you had to leave all your friends for the summer?”

“No,” She popped a grape in her mouth. “I was excited to come back to the beach house.”

“Me too.”

“Can I start a conversation without you getting mad at me, y/n?”

You sighed. “If you start by saying that, then no.”

“How are you going to react if Max really does show up on Monday?”

It was your turn to search through the handful of strawberries you had. One strawberry had a large hole. The rest looked fine, you thought. Max. Right, that's where the conversation was. Max Verstappen. Your first crush, your first kiss, your first-boyfriend? Was it ever that? Really, you didn’t know what it was and what it wasn’t. He was Max, and you were y/n. That was all the facts you knew surrounding the two of you.

“I’ll be nice. I have no reason not to be.” You finally responded.

Your sister peeled her sunglasses off her face. She looked at you amusingly through her brow. “No reason? Really?”

A shrug lifted your shoulders. “What? Max and I were never dating.”

“Sixteen-year-old you would say otherwise.”

“Sixteen year old me was delusional.” You looked at the ocean in front of you. You were just a delusional child, right? Max was your first kiss. Max was your biggest crush. Max did break your heart. It’s pretty damn hard to break someone's heart when you’re not together, no? “I don’t care about Max anymore. If he comes, he comes. If he doesn’t? Then so be it. I really don't care, Mia.”

“Alright,” She said dismissively. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The two of you wouldn’t find out for another five days. During your time-waiting for the possible arrival of Max and his mom and sister-you explored the city, you occupied the beaches, you read some books, you went out on the boat with your brother and dad. Life was calm. There were no obligations you had to fill, no tasks at hand, no work to be done. It was you, the Italian sun, the ocean and the breeze. You seriously considered moving there. Mom would let you have the beach house, right? How could she say no to the oldest?

All was good. All was calm.

“Max is here, y/n!” Luca swung open the patio door, yelling at you with a smirk. You were lying on a lounge chair next to your sister-the both of you only wearing swimsuits as you tried to tan. “He’s a fine specimen.”

You picked up your hat from the ground and threw it at your teenage brother. “Fuck off, Luca.”

“I’m serious! Max, Victoria and Sophie are here.”

You looked over at your sister. “Go inspect.” You instructed her.

She groaned, standing up from her chair and wandering inside, not before slapping Luca on the back of the head, however. The two of them shut the door, a waft of cold air swiping across your body before disappearing. There was soft music playing from a speaker near the pool. If a car pulled up, you wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Maybe they were here, but was Max seriously with them? Did you want him here? Would it actually be easier without him here or did you want some fun this summer? Did drama entertain you? Maybe you just wanted something nice to look at while you were here.

The back door slid open. You were lying face down, the sun warming your back. You didn’t bother looking up, assuming it was Mia coming to deliver the news to you. It would be better if she didn’t see your face while telling you. Maybe you would be disappointed at the answer-whatever it may be. “Well? Is he here?” You asked, voice muffled by the lounge chair.

“Is this your hat?”

You looked up so quickly that you pulled a muscle in your neck. “Fuck.” You whispered to yourself, rubbing your fingers over the pain. Did you curse to yourself because Max was standing right infront of you, your ball cap balancing off his index finger, or because of the pain? Both, you decided. It was for both reasons.

“I’ll leave it,” He set it on the table next to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You readjusted yourself, sitting up on the edge of the chair. He definitely got a much better view of you than he was hoping for. You were older now, almost by ten years. Sixteen year old you and twenty five year old you looked a lot different. He figured that out pretty quick.

“Good to see you, y/n.” He smiled before turning on his heel to go back inside. His back was broad, his shoulders looked stiff. He had some stubble, but it suited him. He looked-good? No. Stop thinking like that. He probably had a girlfriend or something. He was a rich, famous, Formula One driver. No way he was single walking around looking like that.

“Right.” Nobody was around to hear you say it. So, nobody was around to hear you follow it up with, “What the fuck.”

Hesitantly, you picked up your ball cap, slipping your ponytail through the back. You walked inside, scanning the room before making any more steps forward. Mia and Victoria were in the living room. Sure enough, Victoria had brought her two children and husband. Mia was emitting plenty of ‘aww’s’ and ‘that is so cute’s’. Max was bringing luggage in through the front door. Great, they're planning on staying. Your brother shot you a smirk from where he sat at the kitchen bar. Told ya’ so.

“Max, how’d you manage time off from F1?” Your mother asked.

“It’s summer break,” He said matter-of-factly. “I don’t race again until late August.”

“So you’ll be here for the three weeks you mother and sister will be?”

Please say no, please say no, please say- “I plan to, yes.”

The sliding door snaps behind you as you let go of it. Everyone turns to look at your bikini clad figure. Victoria exchanges a concerning glance with your sister. Victoria’s husband looks at her, confused as to why there is such a thick tension in the air.

“Y/n, go shower and get dressed, we’re all going to dinner in a bit.” Your mother said, her lips pressing into a thin smile.

“Right.” You said, weaving past all the bodies. “I’ll go do that.”

Oh what a summer this was playing out to be.

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fredwkong · 1 year

Text

Virgo Season: Vincent

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Vincent slammed the button to close them.

Just down the hall from the elevator, he’d been able to see the door to his room, surrounded by a bunch of the freaks. Men in leather and rubber, or just rainbow underwear, all standing around casually, as if it was normal for degenerates to congregate at the door to a normal man’s room.

Vincent knew he was one of the last. Almost every man in the Astra Hotel had joined the freakshow. It was too bad Vincent’d had to fly down from Colorado, or he would have brought some of the guns from his bunker. At least then he’d be able to defend himself properly.

As a keen survivalist and doomsday prepper, Vincent had always known this day would come. The freaks and commy liberals were probably using some technology to assimilate everyone. That was why none of Vincent’s stuff was in his room. As soon as the weirdos had shown up, Vincent had put it all in his rental car for his own safety.

It was definitely time to go now. Vincent would go jump in his car, drive to some motel a hundred miles away, and wait until his flight home. While he was there, he could warn people. Post on one of the forums, tell people to stay far away from the Astra Hotel and all the men who had once been pillars of their communities.

All he had to do was get out of the lobby.

As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Vincent looked up and down the hall carefully. No one to be seen. The freaks were probably busy with some kind of orgy. He stepped out cautiously, keeping his scrawny middle-aged body as small as possible.

He came to a T intersection. He could have sworn that the way to the foyer was a straight hallway from the elevator. Still, Vincent picked the turn that he was pretty sure led in the direction of the doors.

He came to another T. Picked another direction. A third. A fourth. Even though he had turned a different way each time, Vincent found himself back in front of the elevator again, in an identical hallway.

As he continued to walk down indistinguishable hallways, losing his sense of place for the first time in decades, Vincent began to hyperventilate. They’d gotten him. When could it have happened? He hadn’t been eating in the dining hall for weeks, concerned there might be chemicals in the food. He’d never so much as touched one of the freaks. He couldn’t think of anything they could have done that would have induced this kind of mental break.

But then, he thought, maybe it wasn’t a recent event. Weird shit had been happening since the first day of the conference. That was it! The commies must have known Vincent was a threat months ago. Maybe the whole conference had been a sham, just to get him. He might have been pumped full of hallucinogens for a month or more now, being triggered into seeing all these freaks every day to break his spirit.

But then how could he escape? Vincent turned yet another one of the infinite corners and finally saw something different. A few stiff foyer chairs sat in a small alcove in the hallway, and across one of the chairs was some abandoned gear. Pleather chaps, a jockstrap, sweaty socks.

Under any other circumstances, Vincent would have been disgusted at the idea that flashed across his head, but he was desperate. Obviously, whoever had caught him could influence his brainwaves to make him see all this disgusting, horny shit. He should pretend to have been brainwashed like everyone else. If he could act the part right, maybe his captors would let him free and he could go home!

But he had to play the part. As if transfixed, Vincent stared theatrically at the gear for a moment, then started to edge towards it. He had to pretend that he was just a bit intrigued.

Getting a little closer, Vincent started to strip off his shirt, careful to make it seem as if he hadn’t realised what he was doing. The cold air of the lobby was chilly on his scrawny chest, but Vincent resisted the urge to shiver. Anyway, his lower body was feeling uncomfortably warm. He stripped off his pants. Much better.

He had edged all the way up to the chair now. With a start, Vincent realised that he was naked. He was better at this acting shit than he’d thought. Gingerly, he picked up the jockstrap. He’d never worn anything like this in his life. Slowly, with careful and deliberate movements, as if he was in a trance, Vincent stepped into one strap, and then the other.

When he pulled it up his legs, Vincent felt a sudden rush. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing past the dizziness. He opened his eyes and looked down at the jock, fit snugly over his cock and balls as if it was made for them. It made him look… good.

Vincent wasn’t used to looking good, but he realised as he looked down at his body that he had a bit of a tan. The skinny look was working for him. And despite his age, nothing was saggy.

It wasn’t hard for Vincent to make a show of checking himself out and feeling up his body. He was almost feeling excited to pull up the pants, but he knew it was just that he was really into character.

The feel of the shiny pleather chaps was incredible. Vincent didn’t know why he’d spent decades focussing on hard-wearing, cheap clothes when this stuff was available. He was careful to act it out, but it wasn’t too hard to moan a bit at the sound of the zipper, to shudder as he slipped them on his toned legs. He felt his cock chub up, starting to create a wet spot in his jock.

As he tucked his feet into the stirrups and zipped up the pants, Vincent took a moment to appreciate his lithe young body. He was never gonna be a huge guy, and he didn’t want to be. He was happy with his modest, lickable muscles and flexible joints.

Lickable? Vincent didn’t know why he’d thought that. He didn’t want anyone licking his muscles. His cock pulsed at the thought, though, and he gasped.

It was just that he was getting really into character, he reasoned. It was like having a different persona. It was just until he was out of this simulation, and then he’d go back to normal. Maybe he could call this new guy Vinny, to separate him better.

Yeah, Vinny thought. Just for now, he would really embrace being Vinny. Vinny was one of the freaks, down to fuck like a gay rabbit. Vinny was the kind of guy who wore chaps and leaked precum from his thick Latin cock into a slutty jockstrap. Vinny didn’t think about government conspiracies or any of that shit. Vinny didn’t think much at all.

Vinny paused halfway through sniffing his unwashed armpit. There was still a pair of someone’s sweaty socks left on the chair, and Vinny knew that his character would be kind of a stink pig. If he wanted to really prove that he was corrupted, like all the other guys in the Astra Hotel, he would have to prove that he really loved to sniff another man’s smelly socks.

Was it still acting when Vinny greedily snatched the socks and sat down on the carpeted floor? From the first sniff, Vinny was in heaven. The socks were ripe, like they had been worn for a couple of days, and Vinny’s mouth watered at the scent. He felt himself getting harder and harder as he sniffed and sucked, feeling the sweat drip down his body.

Had there been another reason he’d been doing this? Vinny felt like he was forgetting something. No, it was pretty normal for him to lie down in public and rub his cock through his jock, especially at the Astra. Vinny felt another guy running his hands through Vinny’s perfect brown curls, so Vinny opened his pretty mouth and let the man slip his cock between Vinny’s lips.

It was a revelation to smell and taste a cheesy cock and sweaty balls, fresh from the source. Vinny ran his tongue under the man’s foreskin, moaning around him. The guy thrust deeper, and the sensation of a big cock forcing its way into his throat had Vinny cumming right through his jock. He knew that there would be a pearly stain forming on it.

As he took the cock even deeper, Vinny felt whoever was throatfucking him lean over further and start to lick up his load. Vinny felt his spent cock struggling to get hard.

Then the cock in his throat pulsed once, twice, and Vinny felt the load flow into his stomach. It felt different than all the others he’d taken. Thick, syrupy. It made Vinny feel warm inside. As the man pulled out, Vinny watched a drop of thick amber cum spill from his Black cock.

“Dan,” the hulking Black man introduced himself, spitting Vinny’s cum into his own mouth. The taste was good, but not as good as Dan’s load had been. Vinny wanted more.

“I’m Vinny. Can I lick your feet, Sir?” Vinny's mouth was watering.

Dan chuckled. “I think you’ll make a good addition to the group, Vinny,” he rumbled.

Click here to see all of Virgo Season.

If you feel inspired, write a story set at the Astra Hotel and post it @ me to join in. Help me celebrate my birthday by turning more conference attendees into geared up gay kinksters.

#male transformation #mental change #reality change #male tf #dumber tf #race change #musk tf #leather tf #socks tf #feet kink tf #virgo season #all fwkong

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

Text

Home is Where the Heart is (Part One) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWS: starting over, and identity crisis.

[[A/N: Thanks to @imaginemyfavoritefics for the name idea. The vibes of this are hallmark forward, so expect something rather cheesy. Thanks for reading!! ]]

You weren't running, you rationalized deep in your head -almost as if on instinct. You were an adult, you could deal with adult problems -like relationship issues, you just wanted to... you just needed a break. A breather even. Plus, they needed a teacher -it was practically destiny.

So, why did it feel like you were running?

You hadn't had a serious job in Atlanta, just an assistant, and as much as you loved those kids, you needed to do your job. When it felt like everything was going wrong in the world (and it was-), you still had teaching. It felt like what you were supposed to do, it was a reprieve from... everything else. So, even with a fresh start, you still needed teaching.

The transitions between cities bright against the landscape into more timid more rural areas was something you found somehow conflicting. You'd spent the last few years in the city, busy nights with a constant buzz of noise -cars honking, people talking, street performers... As it got quieter, there were fewer people on the road and the tall buildings turned into trees scrapping the sky; it was all a little surreal.

And it struck you then, you weren't scared -not really. Not scared to uproot everything and start over, it made you wonder bad it had gotten without you knowing.

"Okay," you hummed, turning down a sort of suburban road -houses every little bit, but much farther apart than the tight compression of a culdesac, "-1259, little white house-"

Your Grandma had called you at least 10 times ensuring you'd remembered the address -as if it wasn't written in your GPS. But as it turns out, back on these roads, just off what you assumed to be the town center, Google had no fucking clue where you were. So, perhaps you should thank her, actually.

"1259," you muttered, again -eyes focused out your passenger side, trying to see the addresses, "-little white house-"

And then, someone tapped on your driver's window.

"'Ay, ya need somethin'?"

You spun around in your driver's seat quickly, matching a man's -tall, brunette, brown-eyed. He wore some assortment of a leather vest and seemed to have been busy prior -you could see the dirt dusted under his fingernails and staining his jeans. The second thing you noticed was his tone wasn't friendly.

Maybe he thought you were nosing around in something you shouldn't.

"I, uh, yeah-" you rolled down your window, -briefly wondering how long it had been since you met somebody new, "-I'm trying to get to 1259? It's a uh, little white-"

"No, no," he echoed -interrupting you, less confrontational, "-I kno' the place, got a friend 'at lives near ya. Just follow me."

And without another word, he waltzed off in front of you -focusing succinctly on a motorcycle. An old one, by the looks of it, well-maintained though -maybe there's an auto shop around here?

The purr of the engine was loud, even through your rolled-up windows. Something in you had expected heads to pop out of windows -words yelled, so when they didn't... you assumed he was a regular here.

Cranking your car, you slowly cruised to follow him. He seemed to be attentive to you being behind him -driving slow when you were certain it had seen far faster speeds. Maybe even earlier today actually-

You appreciated it, nonetheless.

It was a short journey, a few more turns, and a little bit more driving down roads aimlessly. All things considered though, you were very close to the center of town -where everything was sold and the only stores miles in any direction resided. So, you could work with it.

That being said, where the house was wasn't exactly suburban. There weren't pristine sidewalks and crosswalks, or only little patches of grass here and there. You had a yard -a flourishing yard with trees and flowers and just... open space.

The neighbors were close enough that you could see the house -a surprising sort of light blue paneling, but you could definitely see that their fence far surpassed your own. Their yard seemed almost to last forever, you could even see a barn far back from the back of the house -red, yes, but very worn by the weather, and if you truly listened you could actually hear the shuffle of some livestock.

Okay, so next door to a farm, you told yourself -lightly, -totally can do this.

Without another thought the man pulled off to the side in front of you -making way for you to pull into the driveway. A smooth sort of ease on the bike that made you assume he had years of practice. He certainly looked the part.

You got out of your car, roaming close to him at a comfortable distance (for him or you weren't sure). He didn't seem the type to want strangers close, but then again you weren't really, either.

"Thank you," you started, kind of awkwardly but you were meeting someone new so you let it slide -tone taking a casual sort of amusement, "-I appreciate the help. I know I would've been out there for hours if-"

"Don't sweat it," he echoed -kind of coldly but you didn't know him well enough to assume he meant it that way, "-anythin' else?"

"Uh," you started, "-the Elementary? It's back by the center, right?"

"Yep, can't miss it," he answered, shortly, "-if ya need anythin' else, I'm only a few houses down. Otherwise, people 'round 'ere are pretty friendly."

You smiled -at your very first success, "Okay, thank you, really... uh...?"

"Daryl," he puffed out -making no effort to move from his motorcycle, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Y/N," you offered back, "-Y/N Y/L/N."

And without another word -only a single swift nod of his head, he was gone. It was such a quick exchange that you almost thought for a moment you dreamed it -that you'd somehow gotten the memo of where the house was and he didn't exist at all. Which, to be fair, at the rate your brain was firing could definitely be plausible. You were a mix of something between relentlessly tired from the drive, and insanely stressed because well... You'd just up and moved your whole life for good reason, but still.

"Everythin' alright?"

You blinked and were met with yet another unknown face. Not that you expected to know anyone here -other than maybe a few faces your Grandma had stories of. But this man... you would've known him.

Tall with a head of brunette curls matted in a sort of dirt -the same dusted across his shoulders, you guessed, and encrusted into his fingernails. His eyes were a sort of blue that you considered people write poems about and along his tan jaw was a big bushy beard -something about it was untamed. Like he hadn't cared to brush through it that morning, or maybe just hadn't cared for it for a while. Still, somehow he looked good. Handsome, even.

"Oh, yeah, sorry-" you started -trying to calm the flush of him just waiting while you downright ogled him, "-I just, I got some help finding my new place. Kind of zoned out there, but I'm... I'm fine, really."

He raised an eyebrow, intently, "Ya sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," you softened slightly at the concern his tone held -something in you aching in realizing you hadn’t been concerned over in so long, "-just tired. 'Been a long drive."

"Where'd ya drive from?"

"Atlanta," you answered -far easier than you intended to (there was just something about him-).

"A very long drive," he chuckled -low timber of his voice rattling through your bones (something in you stiffened -not again), "-ya need any help with anythin'? I got some free hands."

"If you're not busy," you countered -exhaustion a distant rattle in the back of your body, ever present.

"Nah," he reassured, blue eyes flickering over you, "-I got stuff 'at can wait. If you don't mind waitin' a minute, I can get my son to help too."

"Well..." you responded, slow and awkward, "-thank you."

"No, really," he echoed, "-ain't a problem. I'm Rick, by the way, Rick Grimes."

You smiled, maybe a bit less of a polite one and more genuine then, "Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Do you... Do you live around here?"

Rick laughed -a sort of deep chuckle that mostly felt warm in tone as he roamed towards some of the boxes, "Yeah, I'm uh... I'm actually y'er neighbor."

"Oh," you echoed out, as he seamlessly picked up three -like it was as light as a feather, "-really?"

"Yea'-" he spoke, hoisting up the boxes slightly and you suddenly realized just how snug his t-shirt was, "-blue house, big farm-"

And despite the flatline of your brain then, you still managed to remember the large plot of land right next to yours. The beautiful blue house was his, of course it was-

Handsome, strong, probably married neighbor, you tsked yourself -remembering the mention of a son, -totally can handle this. Totally cool with this.

This trip wasn't to ogle neighbors, it was to care for yourself and start fresh, and further your career-

"You okay?"

"What?" You startled in place, merely jumping actually, "-oh, yeah, just... a lot to do. And even more tomorrow."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sweeping over you -like he couldn't read you, "Take it day by day, 'sure it'll all work out."

Correction. Handsome, strong, caring, probably married neighbor, you ran through your head -words anything but at your leisure.

God, you were so fucked.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #home is where the heart is #rick grimes x gn!reader

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mbta-unofficial · 6 months

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If your city is a Brand, it’s already too late

Long post time. What is it that drives gentrification? Also, what is gentrification? Is it when a city gets blue hair and pronouns? No, it probably already had those.

Gentrification is the result of concentration of wealth in the hands of business owners, including landlords, over and above the hands of residents.

Let’s start with rent. Rent, like any good, is priced according to the laws of supply and demand. Supply of available rental housing is primarily determined by construction costs and estimated return on investment for new construction, and property management costs and estimated return on investment for existing units.

Breaking that down a bit, the higher construction costs get the higher the rent needs to be to break even on new construction. Construction costs include labor (which can always go down but you want it high for moral and practical reasons), materials (highly variable depending on the project) and bureaucratic costs. A bureaucratic cost is a cost that is based on how projects fit into the legal and practical environment, and are usually non-negotiable. Dig Safe, a program which requires three days of surveying local records before breaking ground, is an example where the function is to prevent crews from flattening a neighborhood by puncturing a gas main. Environmental Impact Statements, Fire Codes, Habitability Guidelines, and other regulations increase costs to projects. These programs are good and need to exist, but do stop smaller projects from happening at all because the capital investment required just to actually break ground on a new house might cost as much as the land and materials put together at which point you might as well build another 120$/sqft luxury midrise.

Property management costs for existing units are largely dependent on age and wear. A unit with no occupant is going to depreciate little, and may also appreciate in value. Depreciation and appreciation here are sort of unintuitive because they can happen at the same time. Imagine an old luxury sports car with a high resale price. Driving depreciates the value because it’s literal condition is poorer, even as the resale value goes up over time. The appreciation needs to beat both inflation and the value of depreciation for it to go up in real value. For companies with large capital holdings however, losses such as through the upkeep of empty apartment buildings are useful to a point because they reduce these organizations’s tax burdens. A company that makes a killing on the stock market only has to pay taxes if they keep it: if they buy houses they then don’t rent, they can claim they “lost” their stock market earnings with “bad investments” and then pay no tax while saving the real estate to rent later. Again, this favors the largest possible projects and the largest possible operators because small companies can be killed by an unprofitable quarter or 4 while large ones explicitly benefit from unprofitability in reducing their tax burden.

Expected ROI is the final piece of this, which affects both new and existing units. Every private developer and landlord wants to make as much money as they can, unless they are explicitly are renting as a service. An example of renting as a service would be families, who will rent to each other at favorable rates or for free, privileging people with large and/or wealthy families that are friendly with each other. Now, ROI is also subject to supply and demand. Everyone wants to build 120$/sqft luxury apartments but once everybody does nobody can sell/rent for those prices without setting a price floor and waiting for buyers to catch up. If you are a small developer, you can’t afford to do this. Your expenses will eat you alive. If you are a big developer, though, those expenses are offsetting the gains you make and serving to reduce you tax bill. Units at prices nobody can pay are effectively furloughed, meaning off the market, and, so long as they remain cheap to maintain, will remain that way, artificially restricting supply. It doesn’t matter if it’s for sale or not when it’s at a price you can’t afford. (Sidebar, anyone who tells you that the minimum wage depresses hiring because it artificially restricts demand is lying to you. It’s not strictly false, but like the above it’s a multi-variable equation and blanket statements about cost of labor are aimed at killing wages.)

What this alludes to also is a need for greater income equality. In order for rental to be a competitive option with furlough, not only does the price of furlough have to be increased, the real value of wages have to be increased in order to create opportunities for people to splurge. This is a twofold strategy, of both increasing the rewards of putting units on the market and increasing the costs of keeping them off. If real wages barely cover cost of living, or don’t cover cost of living, nobody can realistically spend more real wages on rent regardless of the percentage of their income it is. (Real wages here refers to the political power implied by dollar wages. A dollar is really worth whatever it can be exchanged for, whether that is a candy bar or a square inch of a 144$/sqft condo) The real value of everything except time and land are also constantly going down because of constant improvements in manufacturing. The cost in acres of land and hours of labor of a pound of beef, a bolt of cloth, or a pint of beer have dropped dramatically in the last century. Unfortunately, land is one of the few things that remains in marxist terms uncommodifiable, because it cannot be fully abstracted from the physical properties that make it valuable and we can’t make more of it just by making a better machine. This means that as the real value of things goes down because of supply and demand, the value of land only goes up because the supply is hard capped. If the value of everything under capitalism must go down because of increased production, while the value of capitalist assets must go up, or the system collapses, it makes sense that land would become a fixed point in that equation, the marxist speed of light observable from all reference points. The best approximation of land as commodity is, what else, apartments, which make available as living space the empty air above us. Because production never stops, the value of everything but land must go down. Therefore, as time passes, the price of land, and hence the price of housing, must tend upwards. Therefore, in order for housing to remain affordable, real wages must grow. This is the opposite of what is currently happening, as real wages have gone down for decades.

This income inequality which is one facet of capitalism is not new. For as long as people have lived in urban areas there have been issues between the abject class, the working class, the ruling class, and the professional class, a four part distinction I will seriously argue for in opposition to a lot of marxist theorists. The ruling and working classes ought to be familiar, or at least self explanatory. However, the other two classes I identify, the professionals and the abject, are useful to this analysis because they fill both a racial gap in the primarily marxist analysis I put forward and identify the two most likely groups to rent, which is to say the worker who works to produce but owns without governing and the professional who works to govern but does not own. The ruling class both governs and owns, but its court is full of courtiers who are there to push various agendas from within the rule of law without per se producing. Likewise, the working class pensioner exists in opposition to the abject who is denied the opportunity or the resources to be productive explicitly as a means to manufacture a threat against which inter-class solidarity between the workers and the rulers is developed. The textbook nazi conspiracy theory about “elites” doing a great racial replacement picks out perfectly what I mean by both the racial character of the professional and the abject and their utilization to foster solidarity between your plumber uncle and Elon Musk. This is relevant to both the broad theme of gentrification and the narrow theme of rent because gentrification is a wedge issue that divides the working class and the professional class far more than its impact on any other. The working class’ disidentification with doctors, lawyers, PMCs and other yuppie types, as well as the professional class’ disidentification with union politics, illegalism, and radicalism in general is brought to firecrackers in virtually any conversation about gentrification which seems in passing to be more about tapas bars than about real politics. Likewise, these groups shared distrust of and disdain for the abject, who are explicitly labeled by the state as constitutionally guilty, is the basis for the very broken windows policing strategy that empties neighborhoods of minorities regardless of class. The Rent is Too Damn High, and excluding homeless people from the “working” working class is a big part of how we got here specifically because the interests of small time owners and small time government functionaries, carried to their conclusions, are necessarily self defeating. These two groups eliminate the presence of the abject from their spaces at their own financial peril.

In addition to class, there is also a specific historical movement that is crucial to the understanding of gentrification as it exists, which is the movement of factories in search of cheap labor. The United States is not a good place to find cheap urban labor. You build a factory and suddenly everyone complains about air quality and labor violations and you can’t just kill them because everyone has lawyers. You kill one (us citizen) organizer and the NLRB is trying to get you in court for intimidation. What’s the country come to? But a shipping container costs a quarter cent per mile and the goods aren’t perishable so you go to Guangzhou or Cape Town where you can kill union bosses in peace. But for the American city, that’s a loss of what once made land prime real estate. What jobs can replace the insatiable demand for labor that a 24 hour paper mill once produced? Service labor, which crucially is site specific and therefore not outsourceable, is what the US has predominantly turned to. (and arms manufacturing which is not outsourced for very different reasons) However, service labor is only in demand if there is already a stable population that can be served, which requires a constant influx of capital holders in demand of service. This is why Airbnb exists and is hollowing out rental availability, why Boston as a college town is the way it is, and why there are in fact so many damn tapas bars. Fred Salveucci talked about being able to go north of the expressway in the 70s and being able to get a plate of mac and beans for half a buck. I went looking for a 5$ slice of pizza on my lunch break today around Government Center and found two places that were boarded up and ended up spending 20$ at Chilacates. Cities are being slowly turned into Cancun, complete with the fences to keep out the homeless.

What can be done about this? Obviously the factors we’ve discussed that favor consolidation of housing are mostly either contained within a gordion’s knot of tax policy or intrinsic to capitalism/goods as commodities. But, given that we narrow our objectives to making the rent lower, some obvious weaknesses jump out: increasing the cost of vacancy forces units out of furlough, because companies are no longer able to justify the losses, and increasing real wages increases the availability of capital for workers to spend on rent. These are the prongs I talked about earlier.

Legal means to pursue each prong exist. Both a minimum wage and a maximum wage, depending on their implementation, can potentially increase real wages, and vacancy taxes directly increase the costs of vacancy. The government can also ignore the market and directly mandate maximum rents within certain parameters. This tends to decrease the long term supply of housing for the reasons discussed at the outset, given that if the revenues from house building don’t cover the costs of building, less gets built. However, any political movement that exists exclusively within the white lines of the law fails to genuinely threaten change. Landlords, like bosses, break the law constantly with the impunity that a lawyer provides them against consequence. This is why a healthy dose of illegalism is an important part of any effective political movement. The most direct action one can take is property occupation, or squatting. Squatter’s rights are nearly non-existent in the United States. The most leeway that any state grants to any unknown persons occupying a dwelling is 60 days notice to vacate the property, and there are states that allow no notice evictions or lack statutes governing squatting at all. Every single state regards the occupation of owned property as trespassing, meaning most kinds of squatting are prosecutable offenses. However, squatting, even temporarily in ways that don’t expose the squatter to liability provided they don’t get caught, can seriously impact the value of properties. You have heard of rent lowering gunshots. This is the serious version of that. At the same time, illegal action needs legal defense, both in terms of non-compliance with police to protect those willing to take illegal actions from arrest and in terms of legal, 1st amendment protected disruption to keep focus on the issue. The most effective movements have a radical wing and a institutionalist wing who do not acknowledge each other but share the same tactics and objectives.

If you are housed, you need to be willing to protect and support homeless people because they are your front line. Start or join an Occupy movement, where they are your peers in occupying a public space illegally in a way that is too public to prosecute. Give to people on the street, and smash anti-homeless architecture if nobody is watching. Be willing to distract cops if you see someone doing something dodgy so they can get away. Remember that following the law is a tactic, and so is breaking it.

The case for this being on my transit blog is arguably weak, but I felt compelled after a particularly hateful experience looking at facebook memes about homeless people on the T. You should want those people there. You should want those people breaking down the doors of luxury apartments and setting up shop. You should want them keeping your city safe because the cops you hire to separate you from them will train their guns on you next.

And for gods sake, don’t let your city become a brand. Branding is marketing. Branding is clean, and bloodless, and a gloved hand around your throat that leaves no fingerprints.

#long post

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jd07201990 · 8 months

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My car had broken down while hauling ass down a wide open, middle of nowhere road toward the city. I was passing through nowheres-ville, when the engine made this horrid clanging noise, and puttered out. I knew I should’ve paid extra for the newer rental, but this old classic seemed fun at the time! One last ride of freedom before starting my Bank job and finally moving away from this small-town living. I couldn’t wait to be gone. Luckily, or rather, incredibly unfortunately as I’d later find out, this oil stained, drawling mechanic was putting down the same road, saw me at the side, and offered a tow. He even let me ride with him to his shop. The whole way, he talked nonstop about how his daughter had run off to the city the moment she could, and only called to brag about her successes. He'd hoped she’d have stayed, and settled down with a good, hard working young man, have a slew of grand-babies, to keep the family business alive for generations. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that was my exact plan as well. That I’d been on my way out of cow-ville when the engine had blown up. So, I told him I was just going into the city to pick up some things instead. He was working on the car, when he popped his head up and asked if I was able to pay, when he figured out what was wrong. I gulped, and nodded, pulling out the insurance papers the rental place had given me. The mechanic Frowned, tossing them on a table full of tools and crossing his arms. He glared at me as he said he wasn’t about to wait 6 months for the rental place to fight their insurance, and that if I wanted it fixed, it was cash or credit only. I had neither, as I’d spent the last I had on the rental and the down-payment on my new apartment. He wasn’t thrilled when I said this, and lumbered to the door, locking it. He turned and shocked me as he pushed me off the stool I was sitting on, his boot on my chest. He told me that if I couldn’t pay, I couldn’t leave. His boot pressed down on my ribs, forcing all the air out of my lungs. I gasped, trying weakly to grip his ankle, when finally, I’d blacked out. When I finally woke, 2 years had passed, and one look in the mirror told me I was Mitch’s boy. The strapping young buck he’d always wanted. Best of both worlds, a strong worker, and a virile stud who’d provide him with a big family. Keeping the garage running, living the high life in a double wide trailer with my gorgeous fiancé, one pudgy tot at her breast, the result of a one night stand turned future marriage, and twins swelling her belly once again. Mitch says it’s a blessing to have a large family, and lots of future kin to keep the business and the lifestyle alive. Something told me Tessa and I were going to be quite busy, with me working at Mitch’s garage, and her raising many, many kids. Mitch finally got the grand-babies he was looking for, despite his daughter thriving in the City.

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television-overload · 5 months

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 4/34 - phone battery

[Read on AO3]

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery.

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing.

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it.

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

~~~

SURPRISE - that was a short chapter, so here's another to make up for it

Chapter 5/34 - rulebook

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both… ”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again.

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed.

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically . Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“ You , I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable.

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight.

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought.

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest.

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding.

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses.

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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wanderbreadsworld · 1 year

Text

One Bed, Oh No

Kenny Omega x reader

Summary: Checking into the hotel with your best friend was fine. Sharing a room was a common occurrence, so no big deal! Until you open the door and see only. One. Bed. No big deal right? It's not like you haven't shared one before when things are tight. But this bed is barely big enough for one of you, let alone both of you...With growing feelings on both sides, how will you figure this out? (A/N; it's a full-sized bed, so it's pretty small lol)

Tagging @besthimbomachine, I hope you enjoy it. She's not proofread, but she'll do lol.

"Y/N, come on! It's cold!" Kenny called out from the door to the hotel, standing there with his suitcase and duffelbag, waiting for me. I stopped trying to pull my stuck suitcase out of the car to deadpan to him, giving him a "fucking really?" look. But when that only seemed to make him laugh, I went back to my suitcase. after another moment of struggling, the suitcase was free from the trunk of the rental car, and I nearly fell backwards from the force I used to get it out. Closing the door with a slam, I made my way to the door, shivering all the while.

Once we stepped inside through the automatic doors, the warm air of the lobby hit us, and we both couldn't help the happy sigh we released. A shiver running down my spine as I closed my eyes and relaxed. It would still take some time of being inside to fully warm up, but this was an amazing start.

While I was enjoying the warmth, Kenny checked us into our room. When I opened my eyes, his blue ones were looking down at me, waiting for me to notice him. His cheeks were flushed from being outside. I knew my own face looked the same, especially after wrestling my luggage out of the car. It wasn't something I thought much about until now, but Kenny looked cute with a blush to his skin. But I couldn't stare at him forever right now, we had a show to get ready for, so I spoke up, seeming to catch him off guard. Like he was lost in his own thoughts as he peered down at me.

"Let's go get settled then. You have a show to wrestle in, and I have catering to terrorize." This earned a chuckle from Kenny, shaking his head as he turned to lead the way, mumbling something about me always being so hungry. Rolling my eyes at his remark, I followed after him down the carpeted hallway, finally taking in the surroundings.

The hotel was generic. Patterned and distracting floor, simple wooden doors, along with a sort of beige wallpaper and semi-fancy light fixtures on the walls. / I was so busy looking at our hotel and judging their design choices, that I nearly ran into Kenny.

"Woah, watch it. I'm just trying to get us in here." Kenny joked, sliding the key card into the latch, opening it with a satisfying beep. Pushing the door open and letting me in, I apologized, blushing slightly from embarrassment after almost running into his big, strong chest. Wait, what the fuck? Why am I complimenting his chest? At the very least, why the fuck am I thinking about him that way with him right here. Those kind of thoughts were alone thoughts only. Although now, with our close proximity, his blush from earlier, his still playful and sweet attitude despite being freezing cold. It was all pushing forcefully to the front of my mind.

'I don't know, maybe I just need to rub one out before tonight. I have been around people nearly all day the past few days' I shrugged to myself, stepping further into the room. Only to then stop in shock as the culmination of my lustful thoughts, and the realization of only one bed, hit me like a truck.

"Oh no," I muttered to myself, but it was just loud enough that Kenny heard. He was still getting into the room, trying to gently set his stuff down so he could inspect the room.

"What 'oh no'? Is the place trashed already?" Kenny finally turned to look at the room, seeing only the one bed. "Well it's not that bad. We can share." He walked around the bed, inspecting it and seeing just how small it was. I would barely fit him, let alone the both of us. Kenny raised his eyebrows, rubbing his scruffy chin as he thought to himself.

"'Oh no' may be right." Kenny seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before shaking his head and clapping his hands, startling me. He moved too fast for me to come up with any snarky retort about it being the wrong room before he was going through his duffle bag to make sure he had everything he needed for tonight.

"I guess I can sort it out later during the show. Since you'll be busy getting your ass kicked," I joked, trying to distract myself from the current situation, and trying to return to a sense of normalcy. My jab only made Kenny let out a bark of a laugh, throwing his curls back as he looked at me with a faux glare.

"You know I always win. Besides, even if I lost, I'm the one sleeping in that bed. I'm too big to even attempt sleeping in that chair in the corner." I hadn't even noticed it, turning back around and looking to the corner stood a plush chair with a lengthy cushion. Pushed together, and if I stayed curled up all night, it wouldn't be the worst thing I've ever had to do, but it wouldn't be fun. Although Kenny was right, no matter what, he would get the bed. Instead of arguing further, I snatched his Nintendo Switch from his bag, much to his protest, and rolled my eyes at him as I got m favorite game ready to play. Tonight was going to be a long one.

Catering was delicious as always. Along with one of my best friends there, Willow Nightingale, I was beginning to forget about our situation back at the hotel. Until Willow asked a seemingly pointed question that made me stop.

"So, how's the hotel room?" Willow asked innocently as I sputtered, blushing furiously at the unexpected question. Which only made her laugh, those around us luckily too engrossed in their own conversations that they didn't notice. Her face told me that she knew more than she was letting on, but she didn't budge giving anything else away.

"It's fine. They must've fucked up and only given us one bed though. The thing is comically tiny. It would be fine for me, but it would barely fit Kenny." I tried to laugh. I still didn't want to think about it. Before we left, while Kenny was getting his bag together, I asked the front desk if there was a mistake. But there wasn't. That room had our names on it. And the hotel was too full for us to swap rooms, or for one of us to share with someone else.

"Well, sounds like you have to share." She winked, to which I rolled my eyes. Willow is one of the only people, other than myself, who knows about my crush on Kenny. Although I never told her, she figured it out on her own just by watching the way I interacted with him. And she SWEARS he acts the same way towards me, although I never believe it. Suddenly, a thought dawned on me. 'It was her!'

"Ugh. I don't know what we're going to do. He's too big to NOT take the bed, and neither of us can sleep on the floor," I sighed, wishing I could retreat into myself and this problem wouldn't exist. Things would be easier if I didn't have to navigate not only a friendship, but feelings for one of my best friends.

"Well... You know you can share. I mean, if he's okay with it, who are you to turn him down Y/N." Willow reasoned, setting her drink down to take my hands in hers to help make me look at her. And when I did, I saw genuine care and encouragement to go for it. Shrugging and shaking my head, I broke eye contact, unsure of what to do. Of course I wanted to share with him. Be snuggled up to his warm body, and be all pressed against each other. It was the dream. But I didn't want to hope for that, and then be disappointed if he didn't want to share.

"It's just. I don't even know Willow. It's a lot. Just, so much is going on." I closed my eyes, trying to think of anything else but the hotel, and being confronted by my feelings. Willow's hands on my own kept me grounded as she soothed the backs of them with her thumbs, patiently waiting for me to open my eyes again. And when I did, I was greeted by her warm smile, and I couldn't help but smile softly back.

"Tonight, when you go back. If he asks you if you want to share, I need you to do something for me, okay?" I nodded, already having an idea of what I was agreeing to, despite also dreading it. "I need you to not back down. If he wants to share with you, take it. I PROMISE it'll be okay." Willow's words were so soft and genuine that I couldn't help but agree to her demand.

The chitchat of catering slowly filtered back into my perception as I took a deep, steadying breath. Nodding again to show her I would do it.

"Sometimes, and I don't know how, but you know me better than me," I laughed, getting a chuckle out of Willow too as she shook her head.

"I have my ways. Now you, relax. Go sit down and I'll grab you a drink too." I took her offer, resting on one of the nearby couches, my turn to wait for her this time.

'Maybe things will be okay' Was my last thought before Willow came back talking to me about the latest show she was watching to help pass the time.

Commotion slowly died as the show wound down. Dynamite was over, and all of the wrestlers were getting ready to head back to their hotels. Faced with the realization that I'll have to face Kenny and our single bed, I'd be lying if my thoughts didn't drift to more sinful ways we could share the bed, and what may happen being so close. But now I had to face the reality as I stood outside of Kenny's door, waiting for him to step out and be ready to leave.

I didn't watch much of the show, but what I did see was Kenny's match. I barely remember who it was against, as all I could look at was him and the way his body moved. The way his arms flexed when he lifted his opponent. To the way his chest and abs glistened with sweat. At one point, Willow caught my attention, telling me to "stop drooling before someone notices". To which I closed my mouth and sat back in my seat, trying to look normal and ignore the simmering heat between my legs. So now, here I stood, waiting for the center of my lustful thoughts to step out of his locker room.

When his door finally opened, I jumped. I'm not sure where, but he looked clean, like he had taken a shower. His curls were damp, and when he stepped closer to me, I could smell a fresh spray of his sandalwood and vanilla cologne, along with his shampoo. Both together, and so close, nearly making me dizzy. Kenny noticed, asking if I was alright before I brushed him off, telling him that I was just tired after a long day. He didn't seem to believe it, but shrugged and let it slide, following me to the rental car back to the hotel.

Kenny offered to drive, which I happily let him, trying to look out the window as I built up the courage to ask him if we could share the bed. Before I could open my mouth, Kenny spoke up instead, making me jump so high it scared Kenny as well.

"What're you thinking about? You've got that worried look on your face that you get when you're thinking about something really hard." Kenny joked, trying to lighten the mood. The question forced me back into reality, and instead of thinking too long about what to say, I decided spitting it out would be the best way to go about things.

"Can we share the bed instead? I mean, I just don't want to sleep in the chair or on the floor. I know it's tiny, but we can share, right?" My question sounded more like a plea. In a way, it was. I wanted to share the bed with him, to have an excuse to be so close. Hopefully he didn't notice the need in my voice when I asked.

"Of course. I'd never actually make you sleep in that chair you know," Kenny's words were soft, almost inviting and definitely comforting. "Especially since all you'd do is complain in the morning "oh my back hurts, Kenny you bitch for making me sleep here"." He laughed, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Despite his tease, I still felt like I won here. Quickly, I texted Willow, telling her it's all good. And just as quick, a response from her said "Tell me how good it is ;)". To which I could only roll my eyes, blushing furiously at the thought of what more could happen from being so close together.

Back in our room, things moved fast. Kenny took a shower and cleaned up while I turned on the TV to some channel for background noise as I got ready for bed and waited for the bathroom to be open. When it did, Kenny stepped through in fresh pajamas, letting me in to do my own routine. Despite doing every step, which takes me a little while, it all still moved so fast.

And as I crawled into bed with Kenny, my heart pounded. I hoped he couldn't notice. Luckily Kenny, tired from his match and fresh out of a relaxing shower, was already out. So I turned off the lights and TV, rolling over so our back were together. Checking my phone one last time was another text from Willow, saying "goodnight, don't let the Kenny-bugs bite ;)". I rolled my eyes at her attempt to change the saying, but still chuckled at it. I told her good night before turning off my phone and getting some sleep of my own. Kenny's warm scent and body heat lulling me into a deep sleep.

"Oh Kenny." I moaned as his lips caressed my neck with kisses. His own moans filling the room as he rutted his hips against me. Large hands held my hips in place as he rolled on top of me, pressing my front into the bed as he thrust his hard-on into my ass. Praises left his lips. Things about how good I felt, how he's been wanting this. Everything I've ever wanted to hear him say to me spilled from his lips.

"Y/n, fuck I need you," Kenny moaned, holding himself against me for a moment to feel the pressure of our bodies together. "Oh fuck no," Now his voice sounded worried. Worried something was wrong, I turned over to look at him, but he was gone.

When I finally opened my eyes from my dream, I met Kenny's. They were filled with shock and horror at what's happened. Quickly, he pulled his hips away, my own chasing them for a moment, my sleepy mind just wanting more pleasure.

"I'm so sorry, oh my god," Kenny proceeded to apologize profusely. But there was still a problem. 1) his voice was too loud for how tired I still was. And 2) I was still horny. When he went to sit up and pull away to go to the bathroom and clean up in shame, I put a hand on his arm to keep him still.

With lust filled eyes, I looked at Kenny the way I've always wanted to. The effect my gaze had on him was evident by his blush further creeping down his neck as he covered his erection in shame.

"Kenny," I stopped to let him look at me. "If you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to walk out of this room and find someone else to help me with this. So please, don't let me go to a stranger, or god forbid, one of our coworkers." He looked stunned at my words. Not only at the words I said, but at exactly what I was asking. Kenny took a moment to look down at the bed, glancing at his lap before shaking off any doubt in his mind. Wheeling back into me, his lips locked with mine. Our hands finding their way around the other's torso as we kissed with a passion that I never thought he'd have with me.

It was everything I'd dreamed of. His soft lips. Scruff scraping against my chin lightly. His big and rough hands somehow so warm and soft as they pushed and pulled at my skin. My own hands threading through his curls as I laid back down, pulling him atop me. Kenny slotted himself between my legs and moaned as he settled against me, his clothed cock pressing right where I wanted him. And when he rolled his hips against me, I whined at the friction. It felt big. Part of me wondered what I was getting into, but the rest of my mind didn't care. It felt good now, and it was with him.

He pulled away after a moment to catch his breath, looking down at me with eyes that were dark with lust and desire. His face so close, and his body felt so good against mine that it still felt like I was dreaming. For a moment, we sat in silence, just enjoying each other's presence and bodies against one another. But the moment soon grew stale as I wanted, no, needed more. The heat of his body was too much, yet just right.

With our gaze still locked, my hands travelled down his sides to his hips, to the waistband of the shorts he was sleeping in. He let me struggle to push them down for a moment before pulling back and kneeling so he can take them off. His cock springing free and making my breath catch in my throat and my mouth water. The tip was an almost angry red as it leaked precum. He must've been so close to release in his dream before he woke up.

Before I could reach out and touch it, his own hands were on the waist band of my own shorts, gently pulling them down my legs with a smirk on his lips. A quiet gasp leaving him when my lower half finally lay bare before him. After a moment of admiration and anticipation, Kenny practically pounced on me, rutting his hips against mine as his lips covered my own in another heated kiss.

Everything in my body screamed for him, desperate for him to be inside of me. So when his hand reached down to tease my entrance, I pulled him back by his curls, a whine leaving his lips at the pain.

"Kenny, if you don't fuck me right now, I swear to god. Play with me later, but fuck me now. Please~," My words went from demanding, to pleading on my very last word. His hand stopped moving, but still rested against me as he processed my words.

"I can play with you later? Deal." With that Kenny pulled his hand away, replacing it with his cock. Slowly, he began rolling his hips once more, pushing into me slowly. With each thrust, I whined as he filled me more and more. At a certain point, my legs around his waist pulled him in the rest of the way, pulling a whining moan from Kenny's lips as he felts my warm walls envelop him fully.

Finally, he was fully seated inside of me. Every inch stretching me deliciously as both of us reveled in the pleasure. I'm not sure which of us moved first, but Kenny's hips began to buck into mine. Already, the pleasure inside of me was beginning to build as I did my best to meet his thrusts. His soft lips on my neck making me shiver as he left gentle, small marks on the skin. My hands gripped his muscled back, keeping him pressed on top of me as our bodies moved together.

"Kenny. Fuck, feels so good." I forced the words out, wanting to praise him. I would say that there was more to be said, but then I'd be lying. Something about the pleasure he was giving me left me breathless, wiping my mind blank as my only thought became seeking more pleasure. So with no more room for words, my body acted instead. My hands raked up and down his back, lightly scratching and sending shockwaves of pleasure through Kenny. He stopped to shiver at the sensation before moaning with a few more brutal thrusts before returning to his original pace.

It wasn't fast, but it was hard and needy. Kenny's pretty lips mumbling that he's going to cum. His pace faltered, hips becoming sloppy as I encouraged him. Sweet nothing's, words of encouragement, and promises of more to come pushed him over the edge. The sound of the Kenny Omega whimpering in my ear as he came inside me nearly made me cum on the spot, my eyes rolling back as I gave him such immense pleasure, and felt my own in being filled.

My knot of pleasure was still there, still tight, but for now I was sated. Knowing Kenny felt good, I felt good, and there would be more later. All of that let me rest easy as we breathed together, Kenny falling on top of me, his full weight resting down on me. With my mind clearer now, I took a deep, steadying breath to speak.

"Regret not making me sleep in the chair?" I tease, my finger tips tracing up and down his back as his warm breath fanned over my chest. His curls tickled my skin as he shook his head, still not lifting it up.

"I regret not doing this sooner. Let's talk in the morning?" He asked, and I just nodded in response. This moment felt too good to fill with too many words and thoughts. So instead, Kenny got up, pulling out of me and crawling behind me so he could pull me into his arms. With some more sweet words and kisses, I fell back to sleep, exactly where I always wanted to be. Right in Kenny's arms, against his warm chest. Tomorrow would be a big conversation about what we wanted to be, but right now, I was happy to just be right here.

#i hope yall enjoy #she's not proofread #and by god not properly done #but i want to get her out to let yall enjoy #kenny omega #kenny omega x reader #kenny omega x reader smut #kenny omega smut #wander's wonders

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trivialbob · 5 months

Text

My city has a biennial "Curbside Cleanup" event in April. People can set out large items for a special trash collection. We put things out starting on a Thursday. They are collected by trash haulers on Saturday.

In the days leading up to the collection people ("scavengers" we call them) drive slowly through the neighborhoods looking for scap metal or items that are perfectly usable. It's kind of fun to watch the procession of beat up pickup trucks, U-haul trailers, and small cars with stuff tied to the roof.

Sheila and I sometimes host a watch party in the driveway. This year her brother grilled his Billy Burgers (amazing smash burgers) for all of us while we drank beer and waived at the drivers.

This year I got rid of an office chair, a couch, an ottoman, a usable vacuum cleaner (I left a sign on it stating that it worked), and a broken carpet shampooer. All but the couch were taken by people before the city came by on Saturday.

One year I put out a different couch and ended up helping a guy load it into his van. He didn't look poor. I asked what he was going to do with the couch. Perhaps it would go in the basement for the kids to use while gaming and eating chips?

"I own some rental properties. I like finding usable furniture to put in them." I got rid of something I'd replaced with a new couch, he got a couch for free. Nice how that works out because the couch didn't (yet) make it to the landfill.

Something inevitably seen on every block are office chairs set of for collection. Two years ago I put one out at the curb. Two years before that was another one. This year my current chair's "leather" was cracked. The latch or gear that can be set to not allow rocking or reclining sometimes worked. More than once I'd lean back and exclaim "oh shit" as I fell backwards. My neck and shoulders were starting to hurt when I worked.

That's no way to live.

This afternoon I went to a business that sells professional office furniture. The showroom is open to the public. A guy asked me some questions about how I sit, where I keep my keyboard, and so on.

He showed me two not inexpensive chairs. I loved the first one I sat in. I did try the other one. Then he said I could look around the used furniture showroom. I saw some decent, heavy-duty chairs there, but that first one I sat in, the new one, was perfect for me so that's what I bought. It will pay for itself because I won't be buying Target/Costco/Staples office chairs every other year.

My desk right now is from Ikea. It's held up okay, maybe 6/10 in how much I like it. New desks at today's store were very sturdy and high quality.

And expensive.

But I saw some used desks that had a few dings or scratches that cost lest than my Ikea desk. They looked like they'd last a lifetime. I wish I'd shopped here earlier.

#My chair has a 10 year warranty #which is longer than I plan to work #It can be fixed right at that warehouse if that is ever needed #And thank goodness I did not have to f'ing assemble it

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sophie1973 · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you so much to my beloved @stellarm and @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags

Since I posted a big chapter for Bloodstream yesterday (here) I took a break for 24 hrs and focused on my other (small town/lake house) WIP

Story : Henry is a hotelier in London, but his life has become unbearable, so he flees to Texas, where he inherited a house from his aunt (yes I gave Arthur Fox a sister).

I promise I'm working on a better summary. Also, this is a first draft.

The view of the lake is stunning.

Henry puts his messenger bag on the kitchen counter, taking in the inside of the house. There is a spacious cottage-style kitchen with all the modern appliances. A couple of steps lead to a cozy living room with a stonewall fireplace and comfortable couches. There’s a gigantic bookshelf filled to the brim with books, and he smiles for the first time in weeks.

He knows his aunt Marjorie shared the same taste in books as he does, so it’s good to know he’s covered for a while, mainly since most of his own, aside from a few favorites, remained in England.

And he’s not going back for a long, long while.

He needed to get his suitcase out of the rental car, but his priority was to get David out after the one-hour-and-a-half drive from Austin so he could do his business—directly on the car's tire, no less- and get into the house.

This house left to him by his aunt, who probably saved his life by doing so.

He can still hear Pez’s voice in his head (“Just go, Hazza. Fuck that Wicked Witch of the West. I’ll miss you, but I prefer you alive.) and Bea softly smiling at him because she knows. She understands.

That same smile looks at him from the picture on the kitchen counter, a teenage Bea with her arm around him, always the protective big sister. He stares at his own face, a young boy with a big smile, and wonders how it all went so wrong.

Next to that picture is another one of Marjorie and Arthur. They are in their mid-twenties, looking young and beautiful. She never followed in her brother’s footsteps, choosing a quiet life away from the media, but unlike him, she had the chance to grow old and live a fulfilling life.

His father remains eternally young, his face and smile frozen in time in family pictures and film pellicles.

A sudden wave of grief grips Henry’s chest, making him stumble, and he sits down on the steps, trying to catch his breath. He hasn’t had one in a while, probably because he was too busy packing his stuff and leaving everything behind.

His job, which he loves, but he can’t bear the toxic environment created by his grandmother anymore.

His family, even though he will only truly miss Bea. They have promised each other to keep in touch several times a week despite the time difference, and she will come to see him soon.

London, where he lived all his life.

So here he is, 5000 miles from home in Small Town, Texas (otherwise known as Horseshoe Bay), where he doesn’t know anyone and has no idea what the Bloody Hell he will do with his life.

It is terrifying. Part of him knows he should find it exhilarating, but he is having trouble connecting with his optimistic self right now.

He doesn’t even know where to start.

Henry feels a wet nudge at his arm. He looks down, sees David looking at him with his big puppy eyes, and laughs through tears he hadn’t realized were falling. The beagle puts its paw on his arm and tries to lick his face, and he pulls the dog against him, pressing a kiss and nuzzling his nose in its soft fur.

“We’ll be alright, my darling. We’ll be alright.”.

No pressure tag, and sorry if you already did it and I missed it : @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @piratefalls@anincompletelist@itsmaybitheway @tintagel-or-cockleshells@orchidscript@happiness-of-the-pursuit@pridepages

#red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #Henry the Burnt out Hotelier #Alex the Charming Veterinarian #rwrb fic #Sophie1973

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concreteburialplot · 1 year

Text

VIRALITY // 08

08 - Play Along

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc / nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc

word count: 5.3k

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3

warnings; irritating moody noah lol, angry/jealous nicholas, alcohol, noah teaching how to play pool, creepy guy at bar, implied past SA experiences, physical fight, blood, love triangle a brewin', 18+ ONLY MDNI

a/n: don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

Noah somehow convinced me to drive us to a bar down the street from the warehouse where we were brainstorming with Bryan.

“So, remind me why you couldn’t have just driven here yourself?” I asked, looking over at him in the passenger seat of my rental car.

“I don’t have a car.” He replies flatly.

“You’re a world famous rockstar, and you don’t have a car?”

I hadn’t notice just how tattooed his hands are until I catch them moving up and down his thighs. The small action reminds me of ways I soothe my anxiety, especially in stressful work meetings.

“Not ‘world famous’, nobody even knew who we were til last month.” He’s quick to correct me and his grumpy tone makes it transparent that he’s still annoyed about getting kicked out by Bryan.

“Right.” I reply shortly.

I pull up to the small seedy bar Noah directed me to. It’s nestled within a larger strip of restaurants and shops. The random tiny city we’re in is not nearly as busy as LA and the buildings are all rustic and brick.

I’m not even parked a whole minute before Noah has already slammed his door behind him and headed towards the front door. At this point I should just expect to have to babysit every single grown man in this fucking band.

When I walk into the establishment, I’m smacked in the face by thick cigarette smoke and my face twists in disgust. It’s packed for 2pm on a Tuesday and almost every single patron is accompanied by a lit cigarette. I spot Noah at the bar already, just receiving his first full beer.

“A cosmopolitan please.” The words can’t come out fast enough, I need alcohol more than air itself right now. The bartender nods and starts curating my order.

Noah scoffs, “A cosmopolitan really? Could you get any more pretentious?”

“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Could you just shut up for literally like 5 minutes?” Right on cue the bartender places down a stemless martini glass with transparent red liquid. “At least it’s better that some basic ass beer.” I take a long sip of my ice-cold drink and alleviation begins the moment the alcohol meets my tongue.

He finishes the last of his beer and lands it hard on the wooden tabletop. “Fine. Whiskey and Coke please.”

“What is your deal huh, why are we here? What exactly are we doing?” I ask the obvious, finishing my own drink already and gesturing to the bartender for another.

He lifts his new glass, “You’re looking at it, Thornhill.”

My brows immediately scrunch together, “How do you know my last name?”

“You think you’re the only one who does their homework?” He asks ironically. “You do work with us after all.”

Both of our new drinks are halfway gone already with replacements on the way. Getting plastered midday on a Tuesday with my most infuriating client in some hole in the wall California bar was not on my bingo card for the week. But these boys keep surprising me, it’s almost refreshing. Almost.

Noah is quick to get started on the fresh drink in front of him, maybe too fast. The glass hadn’t even hit the table before it was half gone.

The numbing already growing in my fingers reminds me that all I had for breakfast was a green juice. Noah’s eyes travel over the bar and land on something across the room then back on me. His eyes are mischievous and playful, “You know how to play pool?” His lips spread into a competitive smirk.

I raise my brows at him. The man that was just 30 minutes ago arguing with me about music video lighting now wants to play pool?

“You want to play pool… right now?”

He laughs, which makes me realize I’d never heard him laugh. It’s nice. If I wasn’t already so exhausted by his bullshit already, it might’ve even made me smile.

“So, you don’t know how to play is what you’re telling me.” He slips off the stool and grabs my arm dragging me off my own.

“Hey, hey!” I smack his hand off my burgundy blazer, “This is designer, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your bourbon-y fingers all over it.”

His eyes roll so hard I think they might fall out. “Oh, so sorry princess.” He raised his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t want to get your Prada dirty.”

While derogatory, the nickname makes my cheeks heat up but I’m not quite sure why. “It’s YSL actually.” I correct him, not that it matters but I guess when you pay almost $4000 for a jacket, it seems like it matters.

“See? Pretentious.” He points at me before going over to the table to set up the game.

I brought our drinks and my bag over to a wooden chair just behind the tables so I could keep a close eye on them. I decide that between the weak airflow in the bar and the sticky surfaces that it would be best to shed the jacket. I slip it off my arms and immediately remember that the blazer was essential to the look, since I only have a black lace corset underneath. But with the 4? 5? drinks I’ve had, I don’t care right now.

“Okay so since you don’t know how to-” Noah turns to look at me and seems to forget his words, he just blinks at me with a deer-in-headlights look.

I step closer to him, “Ya know, it’s not polite to stare.” I say in a hushed tone and poke his pointy nose. Whether or not he is actually looking at me like that, doesn’t matter, my confidence is boosted regardless. Surviving in an industry like the one we’re means walking a fine line between power and control. Men are easy to control when you know how to use assets correctly. And right now, he’s looking at the assets on my lace-covered chest.

“What were you saying again?” I ask, putting my weight on my palms at the edge of the table and leaning forward.

He clears his throat and diverts his eyes away from my cleavage. He directs me to a triangle filled with variously colored balls, some solid, some striped and all with numbers on them. “So basically, you want to get all your designated balls into the holes.” He hands me a long stick, “This is a cue, this is what you’ll use.”

“Got it.”

He perks up a brow above an eye, “You’ve really never played before?”

“Nope.” I take a sip of my potent drink without breaking eye contact with him. “Never thought I’d like it. I’ve watched exes play though. Seemed lame.” I say, sounding more apathetic than I actually am.

“Alright well,” He tugs at the hem of his long band shirt, “You might like it.” He knocks back the last of his drink and holds out a hand to me, “You want a refill?”

I drink the last bit of my own, letting the ice slide down the glass and sit on my numbing lips for just a second before handing it to him. “Please, thank you.”

The minute he leaves me, I become very aware that I’m the only female in the dark bar and every set of eyes is on me. I cross my arms over my chest and retract into myself.

Not long after Noah returns, we start playing. He explained how he “broke” the triangle and he ended up being solids which meant that I’m stripes. After a very bad attempt at hitting a ball, he decided I wasn’t doing well.

“No, no, no.” He waves me off before my stick touches the white cue ball. “Here, I can help.” He rounds the table and stands behind me. I obviously knew he was taller than me, but it isn’t until just now that I realize just how much taller he is than me – the top of my head barely meets his shoulders. And the boots I’m wearing have heels, making me even taller than normal. His sizeable hand runs down my spine and hooks it around my hip to readjust my position. His other arm goes to help adjust my arm that’s holding the stick. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, but my skin is burning anywhere he’s touching me and the way his hand engulfs my hip completely sends a buzzing between my legs. His fingertips are mere centimeters away from my core and I am extremely aware of it.

“See, not so bad.” He smiles, pulling away from me and it’s only then that I notice he actually helped me hit the ball.

My eyes linger on him longer than they should’ve. It must be this dim bar lighting and the copious alcohol I’ve had that is making see him through a new filter. His smile meets his eyes and he’s just so��bright. His chocolate eyes are so welcoming and kind, a stark contrast to how harsh and cold they are normally. He’s so much more attractive when he’s not scowling at everything I say.

“What?” He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No, no.” I shake the thoughts from my head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really seen you smile.” I blurt out stupidly. “It’s pretty.”

He rolls his eyes walking over to the other edge, “Shut up.”

“What?” I ask walking over to where he’s lining up his cue to the ball. His tongue his tightly held in thought between his lips.

The cue ball clashes into a grouping and sends balls flying across the table, some landing in holes. “You’re still on your boyband bullshit.” His voice gained his usual attitude once again with a bit of drunken slur.

“What?” I shake my head, “No, no. I’m not talking about that.” I chase after him around the table. “I mean it.”

Though I should’ve taken the excuse he provided himself as to why I was even paying attention to his smile in the first place.

The long-haired boy holds his cue stick like staff looking at me with an unconvinced look. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Vallie.” He says in a deep gravelly voice that almost sounds like a threat.

My eyes widen slightly when I look up at him. “I meant it.” I repeat softly, this time with a somewhat intimidated undertone.

He eyes me beneath a skeptical propped brow like I just told him something completely out of the realm of possibility. “Let’s just get back to playing.” He grumbles and walks over to finish off drink.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Similar to Nicholas, Noah also has a sort of whiplash duality, just different. I see tiny peeks of a sunshine-y Noah hidden beneath his grouchy storm-cloud persona. It makes me wonder what it would take to see more of the Noah that was just joking and smiling with me.

After another round or two and various refills later, I’m winning. Again.

“How are you winning when you just learned how to play?” Noah asks, pushing himself off the pool table. “Are you conning me or something?” His voice now has a thick, noticeable slur to it, but I don’t think much of it.

I giggle, “No. I just like to win.”

He scoffs playfully and grabs his own glass with my empty one. “You sure you don’t want another?”

I bite down on my thumbnail thinking, but ultimately refuse. “Nah I’m good for now.” I’ve hit the fine line of if I have another, I could get sloppy. Sloppy mixed with what I felt earlier with his hand on my hip could get me in trouble.

He nods and heads to the bar. I pull my phone from where I tucked it in the waistband of skirt and rest against the table as I scroll through emails I’d missed. Suddenly, I feel a presence that definitely isn’t Noah’s. It’s larger, meaner, and darker.

“That your boyfriend with you darlin?” Speaks a low southern accent. His words seem harmless, but I can tell by his tone that he’s not.

My eyes rise to meet him, he towers over me about as tall as Noah maybe an inch or two more. He might be as tall as Noah, but he’s about double his size, wide and muscular. His face is angular and sharp, adorned with middle-aged wrinkles. My gaze glances down to notice that he’s holding two drinks, one that looks like the one I’ve been drinking all day.

I keep an arm around my waist, my phone open facing me and prop a brow at him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” I neither confirm nor deny out of caution.

“Well, I was thinkin’ you could have a drink with me.” He holds out the similar-looking drink. “The bartender told me you’ve been drinking cosmopolitans.”

I analyze the martini glass within a quarter of a second – the red liquid is dull, murky and the ice is bobbing at the bottom. I’ve lived alone in big cities long enough to know not to take drinks from strange men, especially when they look suspicious. I’ve dated enough men to know what this familiar uneasy feeling in my stomach means. My thumb maneuvers slowly and discreetly to my camera app and hit record. I would send my location to someone, if I had someone to send it to.

I smile politely, “I’m okay but thank you.”

As I predicted his energy shifts and he steps towards me, “Oh c’mon pretty girl, it’s not very nice to refuse a free drink.”

The fear coiling around my spine forces me to fake a laugh, “I’ve really had enough, but thank you.”

He steps even closer backing me into the pool table, the curved wooden corner digs into my lower back. The bar is so busy that nobody is taking notice of what he’s doing.

“I don’t think you heard me, it’s not nice to refuse a free drink.” He says lowly within the small space between us. “We could just play a round of pool and have a good time.”

The walls begin to cave in on me and air is vacating my lungs. I’m paralyzed, panicking and my heart is racing so fast I fear it may tear through my ribcage.

From the moment he was just near me I knew, I just knew.

I always know.

“I’m just not interested, I’m sorry.” The words slip from me quickly and I brace for verbal impact.

He bridges the little gap that’s left between us and sets each drink at each side of my hips, caging me in with my arms wrapped around my body and my phone still recording. “You think you’re better off with that toothpick of a date you have?” He hisses.

Right on cue Noah returns, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I must’ve really been working off survival muscle memory because I had completely forgotten Noah was with me until just now.

The mystery man pulls back from me with the biggest bullshit smile on his harsh face. “Oh, I was just offerin’ your friend here a drink.” He raises the drink to him.

I chuckle nervously and wave him away, “It’s alright Noah, it’s fine, he was just being nice.” I scratch my arm anxiously. I want the interaction to be over and I’m not expecting Noah to defend me, he barely likes me as a person.

“No Vallie, I saw him.” He sets down his beer and points a finger at him. “You were being fucking creepy.” His drunken voice is rising, and I’m scared that it’s only going to make the situation worse.

The man chuckles at Noah like he’s a puppy barking at mountain lion. “What is this your girlfriend or something?” He asks as though that it’s something he hadn’t already suspected.

Noah briefly glances at me then back at him, “Yes, as a matter a fact she is.” He states assertively but his poker face isn’t that good. I’m surprised that he’s even gone this far to defend me but I’m appreciative.

He laughs even harder, “Oh you really expect me to think a girly twig like you can pull a girl like her?”

Noah doesn’t skip a beat, “You think a meathead asshole like you could pull a woman like her?”

While Noah is scrawny compared to this traditionally “macho man”, I think that was the manliest thing I’ve ever seen a man do for me.

However, it is painfully clear how drunk Noah is by the way he chooses to get in this huge man’s face.

“You’d better fucking watch it, Toothpick.” He growls in his face, then breaks eye contact with Noah to look over at me. “This pathetic joke of a man is your boyfriend?”

Noah doesn’t waver, doesn’t back down with tight fists at his sides but I can’t take it anymore. I may not get along with him, but he doesn’t deserve to be insulted like this on my behalf.

“Yes.” I say confidently with a straightened back, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Yes, actually, he is. And I’ll prove it.”

I instantly realize that I have no idea how exactly to prove it. So, I go with the first thing I think of within a split second.

I give Noah a brief look that says play along – though, I’m not sure he had enough time to understand the message because when I stand on my tippy toes, take his face in my hands, and land my lips into his, he freezes.

It feels like time freezes too as my eyes flutter closed and I melt into the kiss. Drunk in this shady bar, in this shitty scary situation, right now, it feels like it’s just me and Noah. In this moment, with our lips locked, the bar is quiet, everything is calm, and it feels really fucking good to win at pool. I can’t tell if the swirling in my tummy is from the panic or from something else entirely.

When I finally pull from him, my brows can’t help but furrow together in confusion. He looks back at me with a similar expression – though it’s hard to really decipher any real reactions in his glazed over eyes.

What the fuck was that?

The asshole is visibly over the charade. “What the fuck ever. Maybe next time you shouldn’t let your slut of a girlfriend leave the house looking like a whore.”

Before I even have time to process what he just said, Noah’s fist swings and crashes into Mystery Man’s face.

“Oh my god.” I gasp and bring a hand over to cover my mouth in shock.

It takes a second for the muscular man to react, his hand immediately going to his now bleeding nose. He doesn’t fully realize his condition until he holds out his fingers covered in blood.

His mean eyes then land on Noah like he’s a bullseye target. “You little fucking shit.” The man charges at him and in the blink of an eye, he’s on top of Noah on the ground just pummeling into his face.

“Noah!” I run over to him, not really knowing exactly what I could do.

Luckily, we’d already garnered the attention of the whole bar, so other similar sized patrons were able to pull the man off Noah before he had time to do worse damage. They drag him to the opposite corner of the bar and they fade into the background with my focus now being on Noah.

“Fuck Noah.” I mutter as I land on my knees near his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I stammer frantically looking around at what I could use to help him. The workers near us must’ve read my mind because they brought over a huge stack of napkins. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing and flutters his glossy eyes closed when I start to clean him up. He winces when I dab the blood gushing from his nose. “I’m sorry.” I repeat breathlessly, trying my hardest to keep a panic attack away. He flinches a bit when I try to gently wipe his busted lip. “Sorry.” I repeat again, because what else am I supposed to say to someone who just got beaten up because of me. I don’t dare go near his already swollen eye until I get access to some ice… or maybe some frozen peas.

“Should I call Nicholas? Or Jolly?” I ask meekly, folding the napkin within my hands.

Noah groans. “Nicholas.” He brings his hand to his forehead. “Don’t call Jolly. He’ll kill us.”

There’s something about that word in that statement. I can’t explain it, but it seems so much bigger than just Noah and I.

Before he finishes his statement, I’ve already texted Nicholas. I’m surprised at how quickly he responded and even more surprised when he says that he’s not even 5 minutes away.

“Nicholas is here? He said he’s visiting a friend at a tattoo shop in this strip.”

“How convenient.” He grumbles sarcastically and uses his hand to cover his eyes.

When I return my gaze to him, I notice his bloody and bruising knuckles. “Oh my god your hand!” I gasp and take his hand in mine. I urgently steal the condensation off a nearby beer glass to wet a clean napkin and use it to delicately clean each knuckle. An overwhelming sense of guilt fills my chest, and another even worse feeling wraps itself around my throat with thorns. My heartbeat begins thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears and I’m trying my hardest to steady my now trembling hands.

He peeks an eye at me while keeping the other scrunched closed. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft with an inflection reminiscent of concern.

My eyes begin to burn the minute he acknowledges my panic and only makes everything worse. I focus intently on where the napkin is meeting his skin. “Mhm.” I know the moment I open my mouth to speak any semblance of emotional control would disappear. I discreetly attempt to stabilize my breathing so that it might tether me back to earth.

“Hey,” His brows knit together and lifts himself up onto his elbows. I never let go of his hand. His other hand finds my chin and gently redirects my gaze to him. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes fill with tears but immediately screw shut in a last-ditch effort to keep my composure. I rarely cry and even more seldom do I cry in front of others. And here am I, about to cry in front of the person I least want to.

The lump in my throat is painful and I try to swallow it down in an attempt to keep my tears at bay. “I’m fine, just let me keep cleaning you up.” My cracking voice gives away just how close I am to unraveling. A tear escapes me and I’m quick to wipe it off with the back of my hand.

He sternly but gently grasps my wrist to stop me from continuing. “I’m not letting you keep going until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know… a panic attack maybe?” A couple more tears escape, and I swiftly wipe them away. “You don’t deserve this, this is all my fault.” My eyes fall back down to his bloody hand in my own. “You look like this, because of me.”

He sits up more, analyzing. I can feel him dissecting me – even though we’re both drunk, it feels like he can see right through me. “I think it’s more than that Val. What’s up?”

That’s the first time I’ve heard my name come out of his mouth without some sort of insult attached to it. It sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind hearing it that way again.

My breathing is slowing down marginally, and I choose to ignore that his touch might have something to do with it. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

I take a deep inhale in preparation to speak without crying. I hold his bruised hand carefully with both of mine. I keep my attention on my thumb that is grazing across the black ink on his fingers. “Um.” I press my lips together and take another breath through my nose. He gives me my time, doesn’t rush or interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hear my own voice crack and it feels like I’m somehow betraying myself by crying. “But, it’s not the first time something like…that has happened.” I blink some tears from my eyes and still focus on his hand. My voice is small and quiet, not the way I ever like to hear it. “It’s not even the second or third. And they’ve all been so much worse.” I let out a sad, sobby chuckle. “Which is why me crying about this is so fucking stupid because this was nothing. Worse things happen to people all the time and this was just some guy being a creep and–“

“Hey,” He rests his free hand on top of my own that were fidgeting more than I’d realized. “It wasn’t nothing. It was something. Something worth getting in a fight for. Okay?”

“It just shouldn’t be this upset over something so small.” My voice is not even a whisper. “It’s my fault.”

Weak

Is the only thing that is repeating in my head over and over.

I could’ve gotten myself out of the situation sooner.

I shouldn’t have frozen up.

I should’ve just taken the drink.

It didn’t have to escalate to that point.

I could’ve handled it on my own.

I shouldn’t be crying.

I was weak.

I am weak.

Weak.

He sits up and takes my chin into his fingers, titling my face up to meet his. The growing swelling all over his face only makes me feel worse. “You’re not stupid and it’s not your fault.” I know he’s trying to keep it together for me, but I can tell he’s struggling to form and deliver coherent sentences. “I don’t need to know any of the other instances to know that you were never stupid or that anything was your fault. Okay?”

I nod but it’s not enough for him. “I need to hear it.” The look in his chocolate eyes is one I haven’t seen in him before. Even behind his drunken daze and black eye, his eyes are genuine, kind, and concerned. A warmth blooms in my chest – it reminds me of when you’re running from the rain, and you rush into the safety of your car. That feeling of reaching a warm, safe place, that’s what I feel.

“Okay.” I reply quietly. “Thank you.”

While Noah is mere inches away from my face with his hand on my cheek, I hear a familiar voice. “What the fuck.” States an already irritated Nicholas.

Our eyes snap up at him and Noah instantly pulls away as if he has something to hide. Nicholas’ eyes shift between us, seemingly trying to decide which to address first.

“What the fuck did you do Noah.” His tone is immediately defensive.

Noah sloppily falls back onto the floor. His eyes go back to focusing on the ceiling. With Nicholas here, he looks unimpressed, maybe aggravated – definitely aggravated. For the person he told me to call, he seems quite unhappy that he’s here.

“No, no, it’s my fault.” I stop him before he continues to blame Noah. “He was protecting me.” I lower my voice into a whisper for the second half, “He helped me.”

“Bull fucking shit.” He sighs then the crouches down to inspect Noah further. He carefully pushes some bloody hairs away from his face, Nicholas’ touch on him is gentler than even mine. He gets a clear view of Noah’s face, it’s adorned with a black eye, a bruised nose covered in dried blood and a gashed open bottom lip.

“Do you think he’ll have to get that stitched up?” I bring up my thumb and chew on a freshly manicured nail.

He tugs at the injured boy’s lip looking at it closer, “No he’s fucking fine.”

While Nicholas is visibly angry, he seems oddly calm, at least calmer that I expected. I suppose it makes sense though, I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo with a drunken Noah in a bar fight.

He lets go of his lip letting it harshly snap back into place earning a whine from Noah. “Hey!”

Nicholas stands up straight and offers me a hand to get myself up. Once I’m up in front of him, he gives me a once over, probably questioning my outfit of a lace corset and a skirt. “What were you guys doing here?” He questions angrily and closes a bit of the space between us.

“It’s a long story.” Between the alcohol, the fight, and my fading panic attack, I don’t have the energy to go through it all. He goes to argue with me, and I shut him down, mirroring his low grumbly voice. “I’ll explain later.”

His thick brows fall straight, evidently not liking my answer. He takes a moment, as if he’s trying to decide on the next thing to say without pissing me off. “He could’ve gotten you hurt. He could’ve hurt you.”

I scrunch my brows up at him. Sure, I’ve seen Noah storm out of numerous doors, and I saw him get a little abrasive with Bryan earlier, but would he actually hurt someone? Would he have hurt me?

“He didn’t, Nicholas.” I place my hand softly on his chest in an effort to calm him down. “Believe it or not… he saved me.” The sentence surprises even me as I say it.

Skepticism plasters itself across his face. “Saved you from what exactly?”

My eyes flutter to the ground and the same panicky feeling from before spins behind my ribcage. “It doesn’t matter.” I wave away the technicalities. “Point is, he didn’t do anything wrong. You should let up on him.”

He gives me a you’ve-gotta-be-shitting-me look.

The man from before – which I learned from the guys that pulled him away earlier, that his name was Mike – is being escorted out of the bar by two men who look like security guards.

“Oh, so you didn’t just need one scrawny bitch you needed two?” He practically spits at me while wiggling beneath the guard’s grip.

“Excuse me?” Nicholas snaps immediately turning to narrow his eyes at the man.

He laughs, “This one’s even more pathetic.”

I’m not sure why that, out of everything, fills me with the most rage of all. Anger spreads through me like electricity and every cell in my body propels me towards him.

An arm hooks around my waist and recoils me backwards before my fists can reach his body. Even though Nicholas is shorter than Noah, he still towers over me, and I must look tiny in his arms.

Mike mocks me while the guards try to urge him towards the door.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking talk about them like that!” I struggle trying to escape from Nick’s surprisingly strong arms.

“Hey, hey calm down,” Nicholas hushes me with a little chuckle. “I got you.” His hand gives my side a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Once Mike is completely out of the bar a heavy weight is lifted from my chest and I can finally breathe again. Whether on purpose or by chance, Nicholas’ arm is still wrapped around me, but I don’t mind it. His warmth is comfortable against the frigid air of the bar. It feels nice, like a shelter.

Only then does it occur to me that any sort of panic or fear I was feeling before was soothed by him. In his arms I feel safe, and it reminds me of the way I felt with Noah earlier.

“C’mon asshole,” Nicholas snaps at Noah who’s looking half dead, still laying on the ground.

Noah covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes closed, “I’m gonna need a fucking trashcan.”

“Enough with the dramatics.” Nicholas rolls his eyes, and I can practically feel the impatience and aggravation radiating from his body. “Get the fuck up so I can get us home.”

There is that word again: us.

Us.

It’s a just small detail of wording but for whatever reason, I cling onto it like it means something.

Maybe my time with them won’t be as fleeting as I thought it would be.

next chapter -> 09 - Lavender Haze

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to asks but i still love them 😅 i'm so sorry)

ALSO! Thank you so much for the love on my new series, Intertwined 💗 New chapter coming soon! 💗

#i s2g i’ve edited this so many time i can’t even look at it anymore #so here have it already 😭#cheers to this being the longest chapter of the series so far 🥂#i feel like vallie’s personality really shines through in this one #concreteburialplot works #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian rpf #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo rpf #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x oc #nicholas ruffilo x oc #bad omens x oc #virality series

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