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yopossum · 3 months

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Known You When - Part One

Main Masterlist - Part Two

⛈️🔥💖

- - -

Known You When

Wish I could have known you before I knew my demons

But then I wouldn’t know you were all I ever needed

- - -

Part One

The front door slammed shut so hard you heard a picture frame fall off the wall and crash against the entry tiles, glass shattering. You knew which picture it was, of course. You and Frankie standing in front of the house, exactly a year before on your first wedding anniversary, arms around each others’ waists, grinning like idiots. Camila was framed between your legs just below the sign, adorable and scowling, annoyed with the photoshoot cutting into her afternoon playtime. Above her head you and Frankie each held an end of a massive cardboard key that said Home Sweet Home! with your realtor’s name across the bottom. The teeth of the key rested on the round of your belly, still high and firm in those earlier months. Down the hall, a wail erupted.

- - -

It was Lucy’s weekend with Camila, and Paco’s interrupted nap had him in bed for the evening a bit earlier than usual, which meant dinner would’ve normally been a quieter, more intimate affair. You relished the cozy chaos of a noisy family home, but had always appreciated when Camila was with her mamá, when you and Frankie had windows to just relax, reconnect. With Paco’s arrival, those moments had become less frequent but more vital - the only time you and Frankie had alone, together, without the immediate pressures of parenthood. You treasured those nights. Usually.

Tonight you sat on the couch alone, TV playing a mindless reality competition show as white noise, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with your legs curled up underneath you. Frankie was… elsewhere. Physically, he was stalking around the garage, crunchy 70s guitar playing on his shitty boombox while he paced the cement floor and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth felt loose at the roots. Mentally, gone somewhere further. A second of tenderness when he pressed a kiss to his tired son’s tear-stained face earlier, just after having woken him, with a muttered “lo siento, mijo,” before disappearing to your bedroom. A couple hours later, he re-emerged into the nursery where you sat rocking by the window, gently lifting Paco’s pliant milk-drunk body from your heavy breast. “Let me put him down tonight,” he whispered, still not meeting your eyes but offering a broad hand to help you stand from the glider before taking your place in the seat. You didn’t see him after you heard the baby’s door shut softly, heard him go into the garage without a word. No dinner. No conversation. No closeness. No nothing.

You chewed your sandwich, peanut butter sticking to your soft palate like cement, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the texture and feel of it. Unable to swallow the bite you’d just taken, you gagged, spitting the goop of it onto your plate before running to the bathroom to wretch into the toilet. The sandwich remains were left forgotten on the coffee table, television still playing for no audience, when you finished, rinsed your mouth, and took yourself to bed, classic rock low in the background when you passed the garage door on your way down the hallway.

- - -

When Paco fussed for a feed around two in the morning, you groaned, feeling the fuzz of a headache creeping in the second your eyes opened. Sliding a hand to your side, you felt cold smooth sheets. Frankie hadn’t come to bed yet, apparently. Usually he tried to keep to a regular schedule, taking over a feed or two to let you sleep, getting up early for work so he could be home in the afternoon and enjoy some daylight with his family. You’d been pissed with him when you got into bed; now, frayed with fatigue and frustration, you were uncharacteristically livid.

By the time Paco had had his fill of milk and let himself drift back off to sleep, your tongue tasted pennies; your lip split and bloodied where you’d bitten into it. Sneaking softly from the baby’s room, you stormed down the hall and pulled open the door to the garage.

Frankie sat straddling a stool alongside his workbench, Standard Oil cap folded in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Barely detectable music buzzed from the boombox speaker and the still air was acrid with smoke, sweat, and tension. He glanced over slowly, surprised, as if he hadn’t registered your presence when you entered. His eyes were bloodshot, nostrils flared. He sighed lowly and ashed the cigarette into an empty Coke can before mashing the butt into the wood of the bench. “What?”

“I’m sorry, ‘What?’ Are you fucking kidding me, Frankie?”

He rolled his eyes and made to turn back away from you but you stepped forward, crowding him, hands on your hips. “Where the fuck have you been? Where did you go? Where are you?” You glared at him, and his mouth twisted.

“I had a bad fucking day, querida. Jesus Christ, I can’t have one bad day? It’s the end of the fucking world if I need a break, huh?” He glowered, pupils pinpoints and the whites of his eyes threaded with angry red. His jaw ticked. He was looking for a fight, and you knew it. Despite knowing better, you thought you might just give him one anyway.

“Don’t you dare. I love you, Frankie, pero no te pases. No. Te. Pases.” You breathed sharp through your nose, trying to calm the fire burning through you. You’ve been here before, you know what he’s doing, you’ve dealt with his shit bubbling up and overwhelming him, pulling him under til all he can do is thrash at the lifeline you try to toss his way. “You cannot do this shit. You’re not even supposed to be smoking, you quit. Paco’s right across the hall.” You stared at each other, stone-faced, neither wanting to be the one to break. He didn’t reply.

After a beat, you continued. “You came flying in here today mad as hell and didn’t say shit about what’s going on. Whatever it is, you’re not dealing with it right y sabes que es la verdad.”

“I’m handling it best I can, okay?”

“No, mi amor. Not okay.” Patience. Be patient with him.

“Fuck this, alright? You know who you married. Yo soy como soy,” he growled, and then mumbled to himself under his breath, quiet and low, “si no te gusta, que te jodan.”

Nope.

You slapped him across the face. Hard. His mouth gaped, your hand seemingly having knocked him back into his body from wherever he’d been spiraling. Your chest heaved with furious breaths and you glared daggers into his big brown eyes, daring him to push you again. He was wordless and still, frozen in place with shock. You had never been so livid, had never put a hand on him that wasn’t steadying or soft or sensual. Then, he had never told you to go fuck yourself. So.

The world shifted, tilted around you both as he stood slowly, tentatively, and stepped toward you, reaching one large hand to your cheek and thumbing the hot, furious tear that was coursing down it. You didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, didn’t pull your eyes from his. His strong, brave wife. He was terrified of his love for you, his insatiable hunger and his desperate, clawing need for your presence. You stared him down, stared down his demons. No te pases, you told them, steady and sure.

Frankie dropped to his knees at your feet, head heavy with shame, chest tight with so much love and fear and hurt he didn’t know if he could take a breath. Silently, impossibly, you joined him on the floor, taking his face in your careful hands like he was a fragile offering. He was. Frankie let his eyes fall closed, his dark lashes fanned over his cheeks and wet suddenly with tears he didn’t realize he was shedding.

You kissed his eyelids with soft lips, and mapped all the pains of his face with your mouth — smoothed the chasm between his tortured brows, soothed the bruised hollows under his eyes, softened the bristling scruff of his overgrown chin, nursed the cracked, bloodied splits of his worried lips. Frankie let himself go completely, breaking. He trusted you to hold all his shattered pieces there on the garage floor. He had to.

Frankie leaned into your neck and sobbed. Ugly, wet, sucking cries, more wretched and anguished than any sound you’d ever heard a human make, punctuated with gasping pleas of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, lo siento, mi alma, mi amor, perdóname, te amo tanto, I’m so sorry.” His body writhed, twisted and wracked with agony. Your arms were so much smaller than his, no steel cords of muscle to them, but you took him in them all the same and held him tight as you could, anchoring him to the earth in the face of the storm that threatened to suck him up and carry him away from you.

Time stretched out, minutes into eons. Eventually, Frankie’s cries trailed off. His breaths slowed, deepened. Still, you held him, and would’ve stayed there forever if it hadn’t been for the soft, happy coo of Paco from his bedroom. It was morning.

“Francisco.”

He hummed against your chest but didn’t make to move.

“Frankie, baby. My love. It’s been a long night. I’m going to get Paco up, take him to your mamá’s, and I’ll be back. I’ll be back. Call your sponsor, cariño. Call your doctor. Take a shower. We’ll figure this out together when we’ve rested. Lo resolveremos, Frankie. Juntos.”

“I’ll call them now,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “Thank you. I…” he faltered, unsure how to even begin to speak of what you’d been subjected to, bore witness to, carried him through. You pressed a finger to his lips and shushed him softly. He didn’t need to find the words right then. You had a lifetime.

“Juntos?” was all he could muster, a small scratched whisper, eyebrows furrowed with the desperation of his question.

“Siempre juntos, Frankie. Te prometo.” You took his hands in yours and held them together, kissing his fingertips before standing, leaving the garage to greet your baby boy.

- - -

You were home within the hour, your son delighted to see his abuela, who had been all too happy to watch her Paquito until the following morning. You noticed the coffee pot was full and fresh, and that next to it sat a yellow notepad and pen, your husband’s neat script in blue ink filling the page with a list of NA meetings for the upcoming week, the address of a men’s group the following day, and the number of a psychiatric practice with the note referral from psychologist, discuss options for medication.

Not seeing signs of Frankie elsewhere, you walked down the hall to your bedroom and heard the sound of the shower running. Quietly, you undressed and slipped into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind you. “Querida?” he called from the stall.

You sidled up to the door and smiled. “Let me in, Frankie.” He obliged, stepping out of the spray so you could slide the door open and join him, immediately folding you into a bruising embrace. You wrapped your arms around his slim waist and swayed together in the water, breathing each other in for a minute amid the swirling steam.

“Did you wash your hair yet?” you asked him, looking up at his sweet face, already so much softer, brighter than it had been hours before. Frankie shook his head no. You reached around his body with both arms and grabbed the shampoo, squeezing some into your hand and setting it back down. You lathered it into foam behind his broad frame and nudged the crown of your head under his chin, encouraging him to tip it up. As you started to card your sudsy fingers through his soft brown curls, his eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing along his taut throat. You brought your lips to the meadow of freckles at the base of his neck and promised, low and warm, into the wet skin. “Mi vida, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He let you clean his hair and body, let you scrub and knead and rinse away the soap and sweat and tears and sins and agony. He was reborn in your hands, a supplicant, pink and raw and new and alive. You stood on your toes and kissed him on the tip of his nose, a blessing.

He loved you so much. You loved him so much.

In silent question, he pressed his hips forward against yours, walking you back against the wall of the shower stall with a soft, hopeful quirk of his lips, brow raising. You responded by bringing his face to yours for a long, slow kiss, hiking a leg around his narrow hips as he deepened it. You ground together, unhurried, all the time in the world to heal, to explore, to grow.

You rolled your pelvis more pointedly against him and Frankie’s thick uncut cock swelled against your apex, hot and heavy between your bellies as you slid your slick sex up and down the length of him and he rutted against you. When the ridge of his spongy head caught on your clit, you keened softly. Precum pearled at his slit and he angled to swipe at you there again, wheezing at the sensitive slip when he made contact.

“Te necesito, Francisco.”

With one steady move, Frankie lifted you fully, your legs looping around him and locking at the ankles for stability. He slotted his mouth against yours and kissed at you desperately, licking into your mouth and tasting every bit of your tongue as he tipped his hips back, letting his head nudge at your entrance, and pressing into the grip of your velvet heat.

Neither of you would last long. Frankie had you pinned to the wall with his body so you wouldn’t slip, and each powerful thrust of him was amplified by the force and friction of his pressing and grinding against you. Nerves frayed and crackling with the enormity of the night before, you both careened quickly toward your release. You couldn’t tell who said what, your desperation shared, your need so tangled together.

I’m close, baby. Me voy a venir. Come for me. Te adoro. Te amo. Por favor. Lo siento. Soy tuyo. Baby. Amor. Need to feel you. I need you. Soy tuyo. Eres mio. Eres todo. Mi vida. Ven conmigo. Juntos. Juntos. Siempre juntos. Te prometo.

Your orgasm ripped through you sharply, a rough scream forcing itself from deep in your chest, and Frankie’s hips shuddered and seized as he erupted inside you, grunting cries as he filled you with pump after desperate pump of thick, fevered emission until it dripped from you, coating the join of your bodies in creamy white and splattering to the tiled floor.

Frankie let your body slide down the wall before his knees buckled, and you found yourselves for the second time that day curled together on the ground, wrapped around each other’s bodies like your lives depended on it.

They did.

The water started to run cold, and Frankie strained to reach up and turn the knob before collapsing back into your bosom, memorizing the rhythm of its rise and fall with each breath.

“I made some calls,” he said quietly, slicing carefully into the heavy silence.

“I saw your notes by the coffee pot. Thank you, Frankie. I know it’s a lot. It’s so much.”

“It’s necessary. You were right. I knew you were right. And I will never, ever forgive myself for last night. I… I can’t believe…” His voice quivered, eyes pained when he looked up from your breast.

“I wish you would, Francisco. Forgive yourself. It wasn’t okay, but… it will be. It will be okay. We will be okay. We are. Like you said, I know who I married.”

He blinked back tears and tried to look away, ashamed, but you caught his scruffy chin and turned it back to you.

“I married a good man, Francisco. You’re fucked up, querido. You have your shit. It’s heavy. I know. Baby, I fucking know. And I love you. Te amo tanto. You hear me? I know you’re not ever going to disrespect me again, because I know you.” You kissed the bare patch of his beard next to his mouth. “And you are going to let me love you the way you need to be loved. You’re going to let me in. Forever.”

Frankie’s tongue felt too big in his mouth, could barely get the words out around it, so grateful for you, swallowed in his adoration for you. “Lo resolveremos” was all he managed.

“Juntos,” you nodded. “Siempre juntos. Let’s dry off and get some rest, huh?”

Frankie stood up and offered his hands to help you, then wrapped you in a plush towel and dried you lovingly before attending to himself.

You walked hand in hand to the bedroom and crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to your shoulders against the slight chill and sliding in close together. The second Frankie’s head hit the pillow, he felt the irresistible pull of sleep. Hooded lids drooping softly, he reached a hand out to your cheek and rubbed his thumb across it.

“I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.”

You chuckled softly. “We have a whole story to write together, Francisco. So many more anniversaries to come. You’ll make it up to me.”

And he swore, he knew, that he would.

#yopossum #yp known you when #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales angst #francisco morales

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mayajadewrites · 9 months

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lucky

roomates to lovers–friends to lovers suguru geto x fem reader

synopsis: Suguru Geto is your best friend and roommate. After a year of living together, there have been more than one opportunity to throw away your friendship. The question is, would you get lucky as fall in love for the rest of your days?

ao3

CHAPTER TWO

🎧🌙🧺📖🕯️🧸🤍

"Satoru, could you please be serious for a moment?" You stood on a step-ladder, hanging up black streamers from the doorway.

Satoru turned to you with his round glasses on and a party hat, blowing a party whistle. "Nooooo." He draws out the 'o'.

"Suguru will be back in a half hour. I sent him to the bookstore to find me a book that doesn't exist." You sigh, putting the finishing touches on the streamers.

"Wouldn't he just Google it?" Nanami said from the kitchen. He was setting up the cake and cupcakes, making sure everything looks good.

"No, because he trusts me." You smirk as you took a step back and observed the room. There were 'Happy Birthday' balloons and a few gifts on the coffee table. You lit his favorite marshmallow candle and put on a party hat.

You hand one to Nanami, Shoko, and Haibara. You had a few minutes before Suguru would be back.

"So, you guys are just roommates?" Satoru raised an eyebrow.

"...Yes? Why are you asking this?" You turn your head to Satoru, who was sitting on the couch with his arms across the back of the couch and his legs spread.

"You're a woman, a hot woman at that, and you live with Suguru, who is a handsome ass man. You sure you haven't fucked?" His glasses went to the bridge of his nose.

"I think I would remember if that happened."

"Well, we all have bets for when you guys will have sex." Gojo shrugged.

"Excuse me?!" You looked at the rest of the group.

"Don't take it personal." Shoko waved her hand. "We're just having a little fun."

"Haibara?!" You turn to him next, watching his large eyes blink.

"Satoru said the prize would be huge, so I had to!"

"Even YOU Nanami?"

"No. Not me." Nanami crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't participate in Satoru's games. Especially when it comes to peoples LIVES."

You heard footsteps outside of your apartment, along with with the clinking of keys.

Then you heard a laugh.

It wasn't Suguru's laugh.

The door opened and there was Suguru, with the girl from the bookstore.

"Surprise!!!" Everyone else cheered, while your mouth hung open. Hopefully he didn't notice.

This wasn't part of the plan.

Anxiety hit you like a cement block in your abdomen. Suguru's eyes wandered to yours. You looked away immediately.

"Happy birthday!" Satoru hugged Suguru, putting a party hat on his head. "You old ass man."

"Thank you guys, I wasn't expecting this." He moved the hat to the side, looking at the girl from the bookstore. "Oh, this is Mikayla. She was helping me find your book, well, now I know that the book doesn't exist."

"Hi everyone!" Mikayla had long, brunette hair, voluminous as if she had loads of extensions in her hair. She had brown eyes to match, doe-eyed. Her skin was a shade of caramel and her frame was petite.

You nod, walking to the kitchen to grab a water. "Welcome." You say flatly, taking a sip.

"Well let's get this party started!!" Satoru turned on the music, dancing in the middle of your living room, dragging Haibara in his dance circle.

Nanami saw you standing by yourself, knowing you were all in your head. "Hey," He leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kento." You have your eyes glued on Suguru, who is deep in a conversation with Mikayla and Shoko.

"I know I'm friends with Satoru, but I'm not actually stupid."

"Hm?" You turn to look at Nanami, his eyes peering through his green glasses.

"I can tell you're hurt by what Suguru is doing. But don't be stupid."

"What do you mean?"

"Suguru isn't a mind reader. If you like him, you need to tell him. If you don't want to, then you're going to have to get over this. He is a man, with needs, so obviously he's going to bring women home."

"I don't like him like that." You dismiss the idea. "I just, didn't know we would have an extra guest is all."

"Mm." Nanami nodded, watching Suguru and Mikayla. "Well, I'm here if you need me." Nanami put his hand on your shoulder, giving you a warm smile.

Nanami is right. You have to get over him bringing women home. You know you can bring men home, but you're not the easiest to date, or so you've heard. You're headstrong and refuse to accept the bare minimum from any man, which results in 0 dates.

"Psst." Shoko interrupted your thoughts. "You dating anyone?"

"Not at the moment." You take the last sip of your water.

"Good. I have someone I want to set you up with," Shoko smiled, digging through her purse for a cigarette. "His name is Choso. He's really sweet, and I feel like he'll respect your whole 'strong woman' thing you got going on." She scanned your body up and down. "And that ass helps."

You have no reason to say no, even to a blind date right now.

"Tell me when and where, and I'll be there." You nod, taking a deep breath before looking up into the living room, where Suguru was already staring at you.

"Sweet, I'll text you the details!" Shoko finds her lighter in her purse and walks out to the patio to smoke.

"Can you please think about quitting someday?" You beg.

"Maybe." She shrugged, sliding the door closed behind her.

"I don't think we met, my name is Mikayla." The brunette made her way over to you, holding out her hand.

"You've seen me. Plenty of times." You look at her blankly. "I'm in the bookstore you work at every other day, and you've said maybe a whole sentence to me."

Satoru couldn't help but snicker watching the interaction.

"Maybe if you bothered to, I don't know, be a nice person, you would've known me by now." You tell her your name, shaking her hand. "Nice to... meet you." You look at her, watching her eyebrow raise.

"I'm sorry, that doesn't sound like me." She pulls her hand away, smiling.

"I think I would know since there's only 3 people that work there, and 2 of them are men."

"Okay, okay." Suguru walked up to the both of you, putting a hand on each of your shoulders. "Mikayla, this is my best friend and roommate." His head leaned to your side.

"Happy birthday." Your tone was monotone as you looked at Suguru. You wanted to sulk in your feelings, that you shouldn't even have, so you grab a bottle of champagne from the counter.

"Hey," Nanami helps you open the bottle. "Don't do anything stupid, ok?"

"Kento, I got this." You nod, pouring the liquid into your glass. You peer through the glass and watch Mikayla shameless flirt with Suguru, but he doesn't seem too interested. Then again, he doesn't seem too interested in anything these days.

Shoko finally came back inside with a huge smile on her face. "Guess what! Choso wants to go out tomorrow night. He said he'll make the reservation for a Mexican restaurant since I told him you love Mexican food."

"Thanks, Shoko." You smile, sipping your cup.

"You have a date?" Suguru entered the conversation.

"Yep, she does. I set her up with this guy from my job. Choso Kamo. He's super sweet, and I think she needs some sweetness in her life."

"I do have a sweet tooth." You raised your eyebrows, giggling.

"Where?" Suguru persisted.

"God, I don't know the name of the restaurant, I'm sure she'll tell you tomorrow." Shoko looked at Suguru up and down. "Is that okay, dad?"

Suguru ignored the 'dad' comment and turned his attention back to you. "Since when do you go on blind dates?"

"Since when do you bring women from the bookstore home? The answer is the same." You chugged the rest of your drink. "I need to have some fun, I haven't gotten laid in a hot minute."

That sentence stung Suguru in the same way seeing him with Mikayla stung you.

But you don't like Suguru like that.

You don't love Suguru like that.

Right?

#suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto fanfiction #suguru geto fanfic #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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simstorian-blog · 9 months

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Pebble Burrow

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Bedford Strait

Lot Size: 30 x 20

(3-bedroom—4 beds, 2 Bathroom)

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

Cats & Dogs

Desert Luxe Kit

Dream Home Decorator

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Spa Day

Strangerville

Build Mode

Harlix – Orjanic Pt. 1 (Sliding Door)

Harrie – Kwatei Pt. 1

LedgerAtelier – Marble Buro Floors

Max20 – Poolside Lounge (Agave)

MrOlkan – Pools

Peacemaker – Vaulted Ranch

Pierisim – Tilable (Used throughout)

Buy Mode

Awingedllama – Apartment Therapy (Floor Plant, Tastefully Lamp)

Awingedllama – Blooming Room (Plant 2)

Awingedllama – Boho Living (Cement Planter, Curvy Lamp, Floor Plant)

BlueTeas – Rivers Bed Blanket

Charly Pancakes – Miscellanea (Books)

ClutterCat – Mellow Moods (Inner Circle Rug)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Bowls, Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Shop The Look 1 (Hanging Lights, Wooden Table)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Coffee Table)

Harlix – Baysic

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom

Harlix – Harluxe (AC Control, Book w Sunglasses, Light Switch)

Harlix – Kichen (Glasses, Tumblers)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 2 (Outdoor Coffee Table)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Light Switch)

Joyce – Simple Live # 5 (Bathrobe, Shower Gel)

Joyce – Simple Live # 6 (Umbrella Rack)

KiwiSims4 – Blockhouse Bedroom (Floor Lamp)

KKB – Citrus Room (Cushion V1, Paintings)

Meinkatz – Moor Rug

Meinkatz – Superoblong Bed

MyCupofCC – Bathroom Collection (Fluffy Slippers)

Nordica Sims – Art Poster 01

Peacemaker – Bowed Bedroom (Squat Lamp)

Peacemaker – Hinterlands Living (Fringed Pouffe)

Peacemaker – Hudson Bathroom (Portal Mirror)

Peacemaker –Kassova Sectional

Peacemaker – Kitayama Bedroom (Smaller Zen Table)

Peacemaker – Matilda Mudroom (Beanie on Hook, Knit on Hook)

Peacemaker – Over the Rainbow (Pencil Tin)

Pierisim – David’s Apartment Kitchen (Fridge, Sinks, Stove)

Pierisim – David’s Apartment Pt. 2 (Nightstand, Double + Single Bed Frame)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 3 (Single Bedding)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 1 (Books, Simstudio Display)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug,)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Counters + Island + Shelves)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 5 (Double Bedding, Plain Rug)

Pierisim – Oak House Pt. 1 (Sideboard)

Pierisim – Tidying Up (Shelf)

S-imagination – Oak & Concrete Patio (Round Grill)

Simplistic – Indigo Art Prints

SixamCC – Life in Plastic (Bar Chair)

SixamCC – Small Spaces (Desk Calendar)

Sundays – Java Pt. 1 (Throw Blanket)

Sundays – Keidri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow Prints + Solids)

Sundays –Keramas Pt. 1, 3, 5 (Daybed Single, Living Chair, Sofa)

Sundays – Sumatra Pt. 1 (Patio Bench)

Syboubou – Dino Bedroom (Drawings)

TianaSims – Cookbook

Tuds – Ind 02 (Décor Bottles)

Ung999 – Faye Blanket

Winner9 – Malibu Books

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

#simstorian #the sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 #cc #ts4 simblr #build #sims 4 build #oasis springs #drifter challenge #pebble burrow #bedford strait #mid centruy modern #modern

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lavenderbexlatte · 2 years

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day 21 - virginity

txt 1.4k words female reader insert Reader x Choi Soobin NSFW

🖤 warnings: virgin!soobin 🥰, a lovely first date, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, good communication, ain’t nothing wrong with having a first time yall enjoy that shit 🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

Baby-faced, is the first thing you think when you meet him.

Blind dates aren't usually your thing, but your friend who'd set it up on your behalf had insisted that this one would be worth it. Trusting Yeonjun's taste in stuff sight unseen also isn't usually your thing, but hey, there's a first time for everything. He's got some hot friends, which is why you agreed, but you'd never met this one before.

It's going really well, despite any reservations you might have had about going out with one of Yeonjun's friends. The restaurant is nice but not obnoxiously so, and you dressed comfortably well. And the guy himself is a delightful surprise.

Soobin is tall, boyishly handsome, and a little bit baby-faced.

He's been a good and utterly engaging conversationalist, despite not saying too much, and he laughs at every single one of your stupid jokes and stories. That's what he's doing now.

"I can't believe people do that," he says, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he gazes at you.

He looks like a goddamn print model. You kind of can't believe this is just some guy that Yeonjun went to college with, who works a job and has hobbies and stuff.

"Old people are like that," you reply.

Soobin leans forward a little more onto the table. "Not even the whole tangerine?"

"Absolutely not, just one section that she peeled out with her old lady hands."

"Do they know about germ theory?"

You grin. "Germs don't exist when there's weird good deeds to do."

He's looking at you with wonder in his round pretty eyes, listening to your stories about old ladies pushing fruit on you at the local park like he's never heard something more entertaining. They're just your usual inoffensive date stories, but he's hanging on your every word.

It's refreshing, honestly. Some well-intended attention.

Somehow, when you return your gaze to the table rather than the dish across from you, the main courses are already gone. You'd talked your way through the entire meal without realizing it.

"Did you want dessert?" Soobin asks.

From anyone else, that would be a line. But you can tell with a half glance that he's really asking.

"Not here," you decide. "Wanna go get ice cream or something? Coffee?"

His smile makes his dimples pop. "Sure."

Ice cream turns into sharing one spoon back and forth because the other fell on the ground, which turns into kissing on the cement bench outside the Baskin Robbins, which turns into a delighted and flushed-faced Soobin following you into the stairwell of your apartment.

He looks stunning in the low, flickering light on the landing outside your door. Good enough to eat.

"Sure this is okay?" he asks.

"Of course."

His expression is playful, open. "On the first date?"

"If you want to."

"I do."

It takes you a second to remember to close the door, because Soobin is using his considerable height to box you in against the wall and kiss you breathless again. But your neighbors don't need the show you're about to put on.

"D'you usually take people home on the first date?"

You pull back to study him at that one.

It doesn't seem like a judgmental question. Rather, he seems incredibly genuine about it, even if it's a a strange thing to ask. Not slut-shaming or anything. Soobin is just looking at you curiously, still pressed in close.

"No, not usually," you answer, giving him the benefit of good intention.

"That means I'm special, then," he muses.

"You're pretty cool," you rib him.

He pouts, bow-shaped lips sitting prettily. "Hey. Just cool?"

"And handsome. And tall."

"Those things are genetic, that doesn't count."

"You laugh at my jokes, that's all I need," you says.

He laughs at that, too, but even so, he's sheepish. He pulls back a little more. His body language has changed, and you wonder with no small amount of panic if he didn't mean well, after all.

"What's wrong?"

"I guess...okay, full disclosure time," he sighs, "I'm a virgin."

Oh.

That's all?

"B-but, like! It's not a big deal, to me. Like, I still very much want to do this," he says quickly.

"Yeah, of course," you agree.

Soobin's expression is the most adorable kind of absolute confusion. "Wait. You're not. Like. Mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"The...virginity?"

"If you don't mind, I don't mind," you say, perplexed.

You didn't think it was something that needed so much discussion, but apparently it is. Your own first time wasn't a big deal. Lots of people's aren't a big gesture, a big emotional moment, or something. It was just the first time, of many. No reason it can't be that way for him.

Explains all his questions, anyway. Probably trying to feel out if you were going to laugh in his face and kick him out.

"I might not be very good," he says.

"As if anyone is the first time. I swear, it's fine. More than fine."

It looks like the weight of the world has been lifted off his skinny shoulders, as he darts in to kiss you again. "Okay. Okay."

"Relax," you say, giving him a fond squeeze. "It's gonna be fun."

Soobin looks even taller all spread out in your bed.

Keeping things even, you'd decided, is the recipe for success. You'd taken off your clothes and his in equal layers - his crisp shirt and jeans, your one-piece, no one more or less exposed than the other. And it seems to be working to keep the atmosphere fun and pressure-free since Soobin is grinning up at you where you're sat straddling his lap, with his fingers toying at the band of your bra.

"This is the hardest part," you advise him soberly, barely keeping your laughter in check.

"I'm aware."

He push-pull-releases the clasps all at once, with one hand, and you stare at him as the two halves fall apart at your sides.

You point a finger at him. "Cheater."

"I'm a virgin, not a loser."

Now that really does make you laugh, and you shrug the garment all the way off and discard it.

Taking things slow is another part of that successful recipe. You're doing your best, anyway. Soobin is eager, and there's only so much you're willing to do to suppress that. His glee is infectious, and before you know it, he's rolled the the two of you over so that you're pillowed on your back and he's pecking messy kisses down your torso.

"C'mon, I've waited my whole life, don't make me wait more," he says.

"Impatience will get you nowhere," you reply sagely.

He nods, as if considering your wisdom, and plucks at the band of your underwear.

"Can I take these off?"

"Of course you can, what're you waiting for?"

When they're gone, you can feel his appraising stare on you. People don't usually pay this much attention, think this much about every piece of the process, no matter how careful and invested they are. First time or no, Soobin is something else.

He licks his lips, maybe subconsciously, as he asks, "Do you want me to-"

"No," you interrupt.

"But-"

"No, I just want to feel you."

The truth is that he's so cute and thoughtful and so excited to be doing this, and you've thought he was unbearably attractive since he walked into that restaurant, and you've admittedly been dripping wet ever since he mentioned he was virgin, and you'll be more than fine knowing that he's having a good time. He can even the score, as it were, later.

But that's a lot to tell him, so you just pull at the band of his boxers, and he gets the hint quickly enough to discard them.

"Okay," he says. "I'm...gonna..."

"I wanna."

You take him in hand, yourself - how the hell has he gone this long without getting laid, he's hot and throbbing and thick in your hand, fuck - and line him up.

"Gonna..."

That first push in is delicious for you, but for him, it's something completely new, and it's a wonder to watch him. The guttural noise he makes, trailing into a whine, the long line of his throat as he buried his face in your shoulder.

Gentle cants of his hips - you're not sure if it's his own pleasure kneecapping his control or if he's worried for you, either way it's appreciated - ease him in, inch by glorious inch, until finally his hips meet yours, and there he is.

"You," you pant, as he gets settled, "Are no longer a virgin."

#kinktober 2022 #kpop kinktober #txt soobin fanfic #txt soobin smut #choi soobin fanfic #choi soobin smut #txt fanfic #txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #tomorrow x together fanfic

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years

Photo

Apparently, this home in Tenino, Washington, belonged to a diamond mine heiress, and she moved back to Africa after her marriage ended in divorce. I don’t know what to even make of some of the rooms in this peculiar house. It’s for sale for $6M. Take a look at this.

There are a lot of rounded shapes in the home, and the occasional vajay shape, such as the coffee table.

There appears to be some dirt and grubbiness in the kitchen, with holes in the wall where something was removed.

The kitchen’s weird and hardly even looks like a kitchen.

I wonder if, b/c she went back to Africa, she decided to leave the furniture? Vajay back chairs.

The dining room really is round. “Live Merkaba” is nearly off the grid and sustainable. It also has geothermal heat, which is amazing.

It’s an intentionally curvy, flowing, modern circular home for mind, body & spirit.

Intentional less-is-more, curvy, and plush custom rounded furniture.

I would say, then, that the custom made furnishings do convey.

This is where it gets weird. Is that a toilet? I don’t understand this room.

Looks like a cement room of some sort.

And, there’s the white-satin-tufted-upholstery room.

Vajay chaise. What’s in that cylinder on the left?

A lounge w/an office?

It’s a big house, but there are only 3 bds.

I like the green tile.

The bds. are small.

I’m so confused. There are 3 bds. so some of them must not be bds.

Very round bath/oval bath. The tub looks like a bowl.

The stairs from the balcony come right down to this pool.

There’s a saltwater pool and an archery range.

There’re also sustainable gardens. Is that a statue?

The home is on 85 acres of double-gated property for privacy and serenity.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/7415-Nanitch-Ln-SE-Tenino-WA-98589/80603545_zpid/?

#zen estate #estates #weird houses #unique homes #long post

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remembertheplunge · 3 months

Text

Busy Bee Journal entries

Monday 3/13 2017 6:46pm Tea Cups

Bob took the “ The 9” movie ticket!. I walked it down to the State Theater, but, the door was locked. On the way back to Brendan, I encountered Bob—or, the altered Bob (he’s had a lot to drink). He was happy to get it.

There’s a blonde homeless guy next to Tresetie’s— I gave him a TJSK bag—asked if he wanted to see a movie. H had a lot of stuff “maybe after dark”.

So, I bought him a ticket for the 7:30pm “Logan” movie.

He turned it down again, citing his tendency to revolt as the reason. I smelled alcohol on him

------------------------------------------

Razors

Deodorant

Blister cream (DJ’s feet)

DJ—Last night: Slaveway (Safeway Store) “I haven’t been in a grocery store in about 4 years.”

----------------------------------------

“You have a body builder’s way of thinking--mind.” Angelo,my personal trainer said yesterday re: I hit 3 gyms in one day N: 3/15/17 Wed. 9:12am

----------------------------------------------------------

____After a month out on the street—including thru February’s howling storms—

DJ sleeps in his pillow bed in “the spare bed room”

Listening to country music.

3/16/17Thursday

7:40pm

S0…texted DJ that I need the house back to myself.

He texted before “I do love you”.

I texted “I think that you are a great guy.”

_____________

Bone crushing hard—it went so deep in 4 days

_______—

Drove my “new” table home—round—a pattern antique

He , too, helps the drug—homeless. He said his home is his sanctuary. He lives alone. Few visitors.

He said “don’t cut off the connection…” (from DJ)

He went to Chico State. (As did I) In Breaking Bad fashion, as a pharmacy student, he manufactured 100s of thousands of dollars in Meth. Got 10 years prison. he was the guy that sold me the table.

------------------------------

DJ doesn’t want to come in—“so depressed. “Not hungry”.

——

Ouch-----

5:25pm I’m sitting out in front of my house.

Greg sleeps.

He showed me Mother Mary in one tree and a woman’s face in another. They were on Brigsmore Ave near Starbucks.

I met him at the gas station on 9th across from the Adult Book Store around noon.

Last night he slept on the cement. He hadn’t eaten in two days.

I bought cigarettes for Mike. I drove to Salvation Army to meet him at 11am. He was a no show.

I went to Preservation Coffee where a friend asked “What’s this (TJSK) project about? You could be murdered."

Then I drove to the gas station and met Greg.

He had blue paint on his fingers . He paints house numbers on curbs for a living.

-------------------------------------------

I just tried to wake him. He’s really softly asleep.

Now what?

We encountered Strawberry Sterling outside Hamburger Habit.

Greg offered to go to re- hab with Sterling. Later, Greg threw his last dollar at Sterling….

Sterling is way down.

Heroin sick.

Bad skin disorder.

Greg asked if Sterling had seen Greg’s girl friend Brook. No.

Greg’s hunting for her.

I told him that I hunt for Jim

And, of everyone’s hunt for Frantz in last night’s movie.

(Frantz: 2016 movie)

Greg asked several times why I appeared today.

Greg “What does it mean?”

“What do you want?”

Me “nothing”

He’s healing to be with. Warm feel to him

End of this part of the entries from my Busy Bee journal2017 journal

Notes: 6/22/2024

In mid March 2017 I began an intense involvement with the homeless that lasted until the end of that year. This included passing out bags, usually bags I bought at Trader Joes. I called them Trader Joe Survival Kits (TJSK). The bags included food, socks and toiletries.

”The 9” movie was a movie about the homeless in Modesto. It was terrible and I walked out of the State Theater in Modesto mid movie .

I had given my lawyer friend Bob (not his real name) a ticket to see the movie.

The Brendan is a movie theater in Modesto. Tea Cup was a restaurant adjoining the theater. Treseties is a restaurant about a block away. The blonde homeless man that I met there was named Mike. He was a handsome muscular blonde musician. He practiced his music like I practice my law he would later tell me. When he turned the movie ticket, I gave it to DJ who I spotted charging his phone outside of Tea Cup. We saw “Logan “ together. I then offered let him stay at may house that night. He turned me down, but, I did take him to the house, about a mile away, to give him a coat. It was cold that night. The next day, I found DJ asleep on a downtown side walk. I asked him again if he wanted to stay in my house. This time he said yes. He stayed a few nights, but, my “homed” friends feared I would be hurt or killed, so, I asked him to leave.

But, the seed was planted and I would go on to have several other homeless men spend a few nights or a few weeks with me at my house. Including DJ until the end of October 2017..

Greg was one of them. He came from a good family in New York. He was married and had children. And, he had severe mental illness issues. He was a magic man who would show me images in murals he had painted around town and tell me why they were significant. With one of the murals , I had to view it by holding a mirror and studying the mural in the mirror as he explained it.

]

He was searching for his x girl fried Brook. I was searching for my deceased partner Jim. And the characters in the movie Frantz were searching for him (his memory). He was a German soldier who had been been killed by a French soldier in WWI. The soldier who killed him was among those" searching for" Frantz.

Breaking Bad was a TV show about a an all American family who get heavily involved in Meth production.

I'm giving these entries to you in a raw version. Pretty much as I wrote it. I think it better catches the feel of the experience than a polished version.

#Busy Bee Journal #homeless encounters #The movie “The 9”#The movie “Frantz”#journal #writing #homelessness #Breaking Bad #The beginning of my deep involvement with he homeless

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staticl0ve · 1 year

Text

Sixty x Fem!Reader (18+, 7k words, smut, happy endings)

Exile - Part Three - Closure 💙 To Part One , To Part Two

Caiden’s pretty sure he’s caught something at the party. Nothing else could explain why his face and chest ached or why his limbs felt like bags of lead. Whatever the reason, it has nothing to do with seeing you and your new boyfriend at the work function. He drags a palm down his face and brings both hands back up to rub the crust out of his eyes. Slowly, his vision pans from his ceiling and to the bright sunlight hidden between the cracks of his curtains.

At least it’s a Saturday.

His phone buzzes and it’s his alarm, reminding him that today, is in fact, a Friday. Fingers blindly smash over glass, swiping in every direction and missing the alarm button until he sits up from the bed and finally taps it. He groans and slings his legs out from under the blankets, takes a deep breath and stares at the wall opposite to him. It stares right back.

“Fuck,” he groans.

With great effort, he’s showered, dressed and despite it all, he’s unable to recreate the image of a peaceful and zen night’s sleep. He’s picking at his face, rubbing the dark spots under his eyes because he knows he’s going to see you later today and cannot go looking like a hot mess. Lotions get slathered on his face, a bright and freshly iron shirt gets added into the mix, along with a stylish coat and pants that accentuate all the right parts, but nothing can draw his focus away from his weary eyes.

Admitting defeat, he heads to the office and is left wondering if he’d see you at the elevators. The doors slide open and a familiar face exits.

“Caiden,” Paul greets. He sounds cordial and polite, but Caiden spots the subtle downturn of his lips.

Ah, yes. Paul. The junior designer who abandoned his starry eyed daydreams about him, the not-so-prince-charming. Paul, who Caiden would later learn, introduced you to your new boyfriend since you were so kind as have to set him up with a friend of yours.

“Hey, Paul. How’s uh…uhm…” Caiden’s starting to wish he cared enough to remember because every millisecond that passes cements his legacy as an asshole in the eyes of a junior designer. That’s right universe, Caiden’s feeling a little spicy and bitter this morning.

“Charlie’s doing great,” Paul answers dismissively.

Caiden’s grateful for the timing of the elevator doors closing. He sticks an arm out as it tries to close and gives Paul a quick goodbye, which the other man returns with a curt nod. Once the elevator ascends, his foot starts tapping anxiously and his fingers fiddle with a button on his shirt. Floor numbers count up in a slow blink of light and Caiden has the sense it’s going to be a very long day.

As anticipated, it’s a lot worse when he does see you. You’re still sharing projects together, albeit, the fun of collaborating seems to have gone out the window. When he finds you in a meeting room, you’re tapping a pen to your cheek and he bites back the intrusive thought of how fucking cute it is when you’re lost in thought.

There are a lot of things Caiden wants to say, but the opportunity never feels right and after yesterday’s events, that chance seems even further away. For a man who’s mouth runs for ages, being speechless is soul crushing. He thinks this is as close to feeling guilty as he’ll get. But he’s not sorry he insulted your new man, he is sorry it’s you who’s hurting.

And it’s his fault, again.

“Morning,” he greets you with a coffee in each hand and raises his left one in your direction. “Coffee?”

Shock freezes you first and you eye the cup and then him. Caiden’s trying his best to look at your face without looking directly at your eyes. His cheeks are a little flushed and his lips twitch in a small smile. Feeling diplomatic, you shake your head and use your pen to gesture at the cup on the table.

Of course, you still followed your morning schedule and made coffee during your social rounds. That was probably why Paul’s annoyance was so fresh, he likely spoke to you recently. Caiden sits beside you, chair rolling and knocking into yours. An awkward shuffle occurs where you avoid looking up from your notebook and scoot far enough so that the contact doesn’t happen again.

“We’re working with designers on iterations but they’ve hit some snags so the next build won’t be ready until after lunch. I have some prototypes for a different feature if you wanted to showcase that in the lead’s meeting,” you start, pen faintly tracing over your notes.

Straight to business then. Caiden considers you for a moment and leans in to pull your book closer to him. He can feel your eyes studying him and the urge to bring up last night clouds his focus. Doing so would be inviting another tense argument that goes nowhere. He’ll get mean because fuck, jealousy and him was like adding water to a grease fire. There’s nothing left to do to correct what’s already happened, he can only hope that time would heal some wounds. For once, he doesn’t make the moment about him.

“Hmm. Should be fine, we’re not going to need any demo footage until next week. Our editor’s taking a half day so, realistically… I don’t think we’ll be getting a lot done.”

The conversations that follow are dry, professional and rarely strays from the task at hand. Caiden’s lack of jokes makes the interaction unnerving and you’re eyeing him strangely, trying to work out what has happened to the man you’ve known for years. It’s hard to say if you’d prefer the bitter, chatty him or this stranger that hasn’t quirked a smile in the past half hour. You don’t get to decide before your phone’s buzzing from a slew of messages. Recognizing the sender, you’re already grinning from ear to ear and Caiden’s presence falls into the background. You go to excuse yourself to reply to your boyfriend and he offers you a small nod.

Sitting up, he finds a mirror which hangs on the wall opposite to him. It’s been added to make the room feel larger by doubling the perception of the space. Brown eyes stare back at him and he feels like double the idiot.

I miss you. I’m sorry, he thinks.

Interacting with you gets easier as the weeks follow. You’re not really on speaking terms and still stick to purely work based topics, but the tension in the room eases a little more each day. Sometimes, a joke slips cause he can’t help himself and your laughter makes it all feel like the good old days.

As for the girl he brought to the party… A voice nags at Caiden. His face is hanging off the edge of a sofa arm, his legs slung over the other. He’s barely keeping his phone between his neck and shoulder and has been fantasizing about dunking it into the toilet. He’ll do close to anything to escape this torture. Rather than paying attention, he’s entertaining himself by counting the number of times a plane flies by his windows. He’s up to thirteen.

“Are you even listening, Caiden?”

“Mhmm,” he replies and it’s met with an irritated sigh.

“You know what, forget it. We’re done.”

The line clicks and the only thing he can think is, “thank fuck.” Technically, the girl on the other end of the line wasn’t really his girlfriend. He gave her that label to piss you off and when she started using it, he didn’t correct her. Not his nicest and best moment, but he’s still growing and working on himself… sort of.

It’s much later when he visits his oldest brother and by then, Caiden’s in a better headspace. What he sees surprises him a little. The home is a disaster due to the newborn. Countertops are covered in baby bibs, fresh and dirty milk bottles. There’s a half eaten plate of lunch which Connor’s currently wrapping up to place in the fridge. Caiden sees the lack of produce in the shelves and while his brother insists he’ll go to the store after Caiden leaves, there’s a slowness to Connor’s movements that inspires Caiden to offer his help.

If anything, he’s more than grateful to have something to do other than staring at a sleeping infant and making awkward small talk with Connor’s wife. But it’s not just that. The affection they have for one another and their easy line of communication despite their exhaustion reminds him of experiences he’s felt and he’s trying very hard to not revisit his past. So, Caiden leaves and comes back with armfuls of fresh groceries and puts away clean dishes, and begins loading the dirty ones into the dishwasher.

Once the chores are done, he finds himself seated at a kitchen island, fingers tapping on tile, foot restlessly knocking quietly into the cabinets. He’s not even aware he’s doing it as it helps relieve some of his nervous energy. Being in a happy home with Connor’s idyllic life makes him wonder about his own and he’s in his head faster than he can pull himself out of it.

Connor’s wife has gone upstairs to nap while the baby’s down, leaving the boys a chance to have brotherly one on one time. An electric kettle switches off and his older brother offers him a warm and loving smile. Identical siblings often have a good read on one another, and in this case, Connor’s instinct guides him to comfort his brother. Caiden notices, but makes no effort to stop him.

“Tea?” Connor offers. His hand’s already opening a cabinet above the fridge like the question was a rhetorical one. “We have a variety. Black, green… herbal…”

Whiskey on ice sounds better, but Caiden answers, “Something strong.”

A box of English Breakfast gets brought down. As he rips the packet and pours hot water into a mug, Connor prods his brother with gentle questions.

“How’s work?”

There’s a pause and it’s a little too long for Caiden to smooth over. “It’s… good. Busy. Y’know? CyberLyte’s always got something new to sell and I gotta make it seem worth buying.”

A mug gets placed before him and Connor sinks down on a stool opposite of him.

“Milk?”

“No, thanks.”

They’re only minutes apart from each other but everything about Connor makes Caiden feel years behind. Even in his tired state, the other man’s sporting clean clothes, freshly washed hair and has the mental capacity to play big brother.

“I saw an ad yesterday about androids. Is it true?” Connor asks.

Tea ripples as Caiden scoffs into his mug.

“April fools joke. We’re… showing off AI tech, the whole commercial’s a little tongue in cheek, cause the script was generated by AI.”

Connor smiles and while his expression remains friendly and approachable, there’s an edge to his brown eyes. They’re both talking around each other, avoiding an uncomfortable topic. Caiden takes another long sip from his cup and looks at his surroundings. One of the walls by the dining area is decorated with framed images of Connor’s wedding and he can spot himself in a suit, grinning as he bear hugs Connor with his knuckles rubbing into his hair. The photographer took many shots and it still surprises Caiden that Connor chose that one to print.

“How do you do it?” he asks.

The older triplet glances up in the direction of the bedroom above them and brings a palm to rest over his chest.

“It’s not about me. I love her, and we’re a team. We lean on each other and make up for our differences. If she’s too tired, I take over and vice versa.”

Caiden makes a noise of mild understanding. A smile tugs at his lips and he’s thinking about late evenings, long projects and what it means to collaborate. Still, his other thoughts are louder.

“What? Do you never argue? Or get bored?” he pushes.

Connor laughs and it’s loud and abrupt, so he slaps a hand over his face to muffle it.

“I never said that. That’s life, Caiden. Ups and downs. What’s important is how you resolve that conflict. I have to ask myself: am I being fair to me and my partner?”

Caiden ponders his answer. They sit, listening to a wall clock tick and the white noise of a nearby baby monitor. The tea feels warm between his palms and he’s watching the steam dissipate. His mind, like the dust in the home, settles with the silence.

“Thanks, Connor.”

Time flies, three months go by since Caiden’s sabbatical began. It’s twelve delightful weeks of traveling the world and most notably, putting some distance and time between him and CyberLyte. He’s on a less soulful version of eat, pray, love and fills his suitcases with new suits, shiny watches and knickknacks for his family and friends. The stops are all fashion capitals: Tokyo, Milan, London and many more, all of which he’s collected postcards for. Postcards that he thought to address, but never did. He tells himself the cards are pretty and maybe he’ll frame them and keep them as reminders of an important growth period of his life.

They’re left beside an empty vase as he empties out his suitcase. Caiden fiddles with the glass, wiping a finger across the dull surface and watches it turn shiny beneath his skin. The condo’s a little dusty and even though he’s asked his youngest brother to help water a few plants here and there, it’s obvious no one has lived here in a while. Inhaling deeply, he grounds himself with familiar scents. Same home, new man.

He crashes immediately after a shower, falling face first into a pillow. His nose scrunches a little from the stale linen and he’s already mentally preparing himself for a long day of laundry tomorrow. Sleep takes him swiftly, the stray thought of chores fading into blackness. There’s nothing which compares to the kind of deep, restful slumber one gets when coming home. His dreams are peaceful, limbs sinking further into a familiar mattress.

That is, until his phone jolts him awake with a ring.

“Mmm…! Wah— what the fuck?”

Sleep clings to his limbs, mixing with the adrenaline of a sudden awakening. His eyelids struggle to open and focus on a blinding light beside him. Caiden couldn’t have been asleep for long as daylight has yet to creep past his curtains. Squinting at his phone, he finds some familiarity in the shape of the letters and numbers and answers on reflex.

“H-hello?” he croaks out.

The voice on the other end makes a small noise, it sounds like a faint “oh.” He sighs, thinking he’s been butt dialed and has a thumb hovering over a red button.

“Hi, Caiden.”

The voice hits him like a splash of cold water and suddenly, he’s alert and sitting up in his bed. Shit. It’s you. His right arm props himself up while his left is clutching onto the phone like he’s afraid it’ll slip out of his hands.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you continue. “I just… I really missed hearing your voice.”

He’s still waking up and processing. There’s a flicker of delight and unbridled joy because this is sounexpected and then, he’s realizing the sounds he’s hearing aren’t happy. You’re sniffling and your words are muffled and nasally.

“Oh. God. I’m r-really so sorry. Is this a bad time?” you ask when he doesn’t reply.

The clock on his nightstand reads 2:37 a.m. Jet lagged and travel weary, his body protests. He lies back on his pillow, turns his head to the other side of his bed and smiles.

“No, now’s a perfect time.”

He’s an expert at small talk, instead of asking why you’re calling or what’s wrong, he offers details about his trip. Embarrassing stories like grabbing ice at an ice machine and getting locked out of his hotel room in only his underwear. And tales of exciting adventures like renting a Porsche and driving fast through narrow roads with views of cliffs sides and ocean waves. It’s not until you’re laughing and at ease, that the conversation falls back to you.

“Thank you… uhm, for this,” you say. You’re sighing and he’s got the sense that you’re trying to work your way towards explaining why you called. Caiden can picture you in your pajamas, lying in your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a determined pinch in your brows. “It’s been a long day.”

It’s family stuff, you tell him but you also think it’s a culmination of everything work and personal. He catches small details that you’re willing to share. There’s an absence of your boyfriend’s name in your retelling of the past few months and he draws his own conclusions given the current circumstances.

“I should take a sabbatical, too,” you huff.

He hums, “Y’sure about that? The team might collapse without you.”

“Well, you were gone for months!”

“Me? I’m just the mouth guy.”

“I think you mean mouthpiece? It sounds so much worse when you say it that way,” you say between laughs. Truly a master of his craft, Caiden’s smirking against his pillow because your mood’s clearly lifted.

“Anyways, I… yeah. Thank you, again for putting up with me,” you conclude. “And, I’m so sorry for keeping you up at this hour.”

He says your name softly and so tenderly that while he can’t see it, your eyes water and lips pinch to muffle a sob. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on his bedsheets and the faint glow of his phone. Your photo and name is at the center and it’s strange, finding your still image comforting. He can’t reach out and hug you tightly or kiss it all better. Listening is all he can do because you’re not his and he’s not yours. He feels a switch in his head roll back. A day counter from ninety-one days flipping all the way back down to zero. Zero, for the days since he’s last thought of you.

“It’s not a problem,” he replies.

“Well…uhm, good night, Caiden.”

The term of endearment slips from his lips, “Night, sweetheart.”

From two different bedrooms, your phones lay, screen black and on an adjacent pillow. You’re ending the night with a few dabs of a tissue to the corners of your eyes and he’s watching the numbers on his clock grow with each passing minute. The same ache growing in your chest also grows in his.

Good night, but not good-bye.

He wakes to the best part of summer where the sun doesn’t set until late in the evening. People are dressed like there’s a pool party around the corner and the city buzzes with an energy that only warm weather encourages. Caiden loves summer because it’s his birthday in a few days and today, the old record shop beckons him. He’s tidied up his condo since coming back from a lengthy vacation, dusted off his old record player and was inspired to go searching for more music to fill his collection.

Bells ring over his head as he pushes the door open. The smell of old paper, coffee and dusty carpeting greets him. People mill around, exploring rows of boxes labeled in alphabetical order. He spots a familiar outfit and silhouette by the register, follows the lines of the person’s back, shoulders and head.

As you’re turning towards him, your name is a question on his lips. Of all the places to be, and so close to his birthday, this is the last location he imagines you’d be at. Your eyes are wide, cheeks warm like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“H-hey,” you say. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He smiles, posture relaxed and casual. He keeps a hand stuffed into a denim pocket and the other’s busying itself by running fingers through his brown locks.

“I could say the same to you,” he replies.

“This was supposed to be a surprise.” You pull out a record from a confetti patterned bag and it’s a vinyl pressing of his father’s favorite band, Knights of the Black Death.

His eyebrows shoot upwards. He’s giddy, chuckling to himself as he tugs the bottom of the cover for a better look. It’s as he remembers it from his childhood, a red-orange cover featuring a flaming skull and guitar. “No fucking, way. They only made a few dozen pressings for a promo!”

You’re mirroring his excitement, cheeks pressed up against your eyes in a smile.

“Had them put it on hold for me when it came in. I was going to… uhm.” Nervously, you glance away. “Give it to you as a…”

“Birthday gift?” he asks, a little too excitedly.

“As a welcome back gift,” you tease, trying to pretend you don’t recall it being his birthday soon.

“And it would be a shame to celebrate my birthday and not have dinner at that sushi restaurant… y’know… for old times sake.”

Caiden’s pushing his luck, he’s not due to return to the office until the weekend’s over. It’s a Friday afternoon, you’re in cute summer clothes that flaunt a distracting amount of skin and the call from last night is still echoing in his mind, so he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try one last time.

“Will I be getting front row seats to your struggle with chopsticks?” you jest.

He scoffs and crosses his arms, “That was one time! Hard to grab things when they’re wet andslippery.” His face breaks out into a wide grin at the last part and you’re giggling back at him.

“Okay, you got me. I’d love to see how you’ve improved.”

The restaurant is a pretty, hipster joint with golden lights dangling low from the ceiling and there are shelves full of large, metal fish sculptures. Water trickles from a decorative waterfall and planters line the bottom, bordering the dining area in greenery. Soft music wraps around the atmosphere, putting any diner at ease. At your table, the plates have arrived, saké bottles have been served and the conversation is as if the phone call never ended. But this time, the elephant in the room gets addressed as Caiden wishes to stave his curiosity.

“How’s your boyfriend? He still doing the same work?”

Your lips pull into a tight smile and your chopsticks fiddle with a roll of sushi.

“Haven’t heard from him in a while. I hear he’s doing well.” Caiden can’t help his eyebrows raising in surprise. You speak before he can inquire. “We wanted different things, you know how that goes.”

He did— he does.

“What about you, how’s your girlfriend?” you turn the question to him.

Saké pours, a cloudy liquid filling the depths of a white cup and Caiden takes his time setting the bottle back down. A sigh erupts from his lips and he’s scanning the wall decorations and hones in on the waterfall to his side. There’s glass behind it, his reflection unrecognizable in the moving water.

“We… were never anything— at least nothing serious.” He shifts in his seat and brown eyes finally meet yours. “Don’t think we’ve talked for months at least.”

There’s an uncertainty which hangs in the air, neither of you knowing how far to push the evening. As the saké gets consumed and checks are split, you’re left awkwardly shuffling outside the restaurant doors.

“Have you ever listened to Knights of the Black Death?” Caiden asks.

“Don’t think I have.”

He wants to invite you over, but you’re both staring at opposite points of the street and he’s still haunted by the last thing he said to you before everything all fell apart.

Coworkers.

Caiden is grateful you’re less prideful than he is and watches you grace him with an enthusiastic smile. A tree above sways from a light breeze, dappling the beginnings of a sunset across your skin. You’re bathed in the color of summer and his cheeks warm at the thought of tasting the honeyed light on your skin. Maybe he’s still dreaming with his face pressed into a pillow and a suitcase half unpacked. There are a dozen other maybe’s that crosses his mind and your voice breaks the spell.

“I’d love to hear it,” you answer.

“Mmm. Luckily for us, there just happens to be a record player back at my place.”

His condo hasn’t changed much since you’ve last seen it. There’s comfort in recognizing the layout of the home, confirming that yes, the decorations are as you recall. Your hand automatically finds the same wall hook you’ve always used for your bag. You’re not sure why, but you still feel as though you’re intruding on the space.

Caiden leads you in further, offers you something to drink and you responsibly ask for water. You’re placing the glass onto a coffee table, making sure to slide a coaster beneath it. Your back is to him as he shuffles with his record player. Any moment now, you’re expecting electric guitars, a deep bass and a low growling roar. It never comes.

A funky and repetitive beat begins as a bah bah bah bah bum bah bum backtrack building up behind a woman’s voice. You know what the song is from the moment it begins, making you turn around and pinch your brows in confusion. Caiden’s closer than he was before, his tall frame inches from yours with a small, shy smile curling his lips. The lyrics beckon you: Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say… take my breath away.

His palm raises, black rings shiny and golden from an orange sunset diffusing through his curtains. His fingers flex as he holds his hand out for yours.

“Caiden,” you say and you’re already taking a step back.

“Let me make things right.”

You bite your lip and furrow your brows like you’ve been stung. “I can’t—”

He thinks you mean that he can’t.

Your mind tries to piece together the past twenty four hours and all of it defies logic. Why go to the album shop and accept his dinner invitation… or what about what started it all? Why did you call him? You know the reasons and all efforts made to squash each one are in vain as they’re forgotten every time you’re in the same room together.

His hand finds yours, pulling you closer to him and away from your trajectory to the door, until your chest is flush with his. His arms are wrapped loosely around your waist, leaving you with enough of a gap so you know you can shove him away if you wanted. He’s in a thin white shirt and his heartbeat drums loudly enough that you can feel it beating next to yours.

“I…uhm, listen. I have been an asshole—” he begins.

“Been?” Your tone is light and teasing but it still stings him a little.

“—And I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I… didn’t know what I wanted.” He sees your lips part to speak and continues anyways, ramping up like he would in a presentation. “I’m sorry, for being a jealous dick. I’m sorry… it took so long for me to be the man you deserve.”

You sigh, but it’s not a discouraging sound as he can feel you relaxing in his arms.

“Being human is messy, and it gets messier when two lives intertwine. What we wanted wasn’t in sync, and… that’s okay, Caiden,” you reply.

His head dips lower and it takes a lot of willpower to not get lost in his large brown eyes, especially when they’re looking at you so desperately.

“Stay with me. Let me make it up to you,” he insists. Sunset softens his features, making the bright part of his eyes golden. A breeze from an open window drifts in, its cool touch welcome on your warm skin. The record has moved onto the next song and you’re both as still as statues. His shoulders slump a little, a sheepish smile tugs at his lips and pink tints his cheeks. “Stay. Please.”

You think Caiden’s never looked this earnest before. The vulnerability makes him look younger, like he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl. You’re two lost souls and he’s looking at you like he would rip the stars out of the sky if that’s what it took to bring you both home. Instead of answering, your hands wrap around the back of his head, fingertips lost in the mess of soft hair. He’s watching you carefully and still keeps his grip loose. You move to cup his cheeks, thumb rubbing at a few freckled dots and gently coax his face down. His lips barely brush yours and you can feel his broad smile before he finally lets himself taste your lips.

Usually, you two are on each other like hormonal teenagers, ripping at clothes and biting lips. Tonight’s a little different as he slowly reintroduces himself to touching you in this way. His tongue flicks across your mouth, retreating when yours tries to find his. He answers your small moan of frustration with a soft kiss, fusing your mouths together as his fingers busy themselves, kneading and gripping at your curves.

You can feel him, hard and pressing against your hip. It makes your core ache with an urgency to speed things up, but you’re both taking the time to rediscover each other. When your tongues do finally meet, Caiden’s moan is a huff of warm air against your skin. Your lips don’t part until you feel tightness burning in your lungs, and even then, it seems almost not worth it to take a breath, not if it means ending the kiss. Eventually, he pulls away, panting heavily as his nose nuzzles into your cheek. It’s a little soon for grand emotional reveals, so he opts for something more open ended.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back. He kisses down your neck and you repeat it. “Yes, Caiden.”

With that prompt, he sweeps an arm under your knees and the other around your back. You make a noise when he lifts you up, his chest rattling from a chuckle. Hallways blur by before you’re placed back on solid ground with your back to a bed. His hand trails under the hem of your shirt, rolling it up and running his palm over bare skin. Lips press against your collarbones, your chest. A tongue swirls around your nipple, and Caiden laughs to himself when you gasp and arch your back for him. He lowers himself further down, kissing your tummy before fingers begin unbuttoning your shorts. Your hips follow the warmth of his hands, the sharp contrast of cool rings as he slowly traces the seam of your waistline. His eyes are on yours, brown eyes a reflection of your eager anticipation and he grins before finally removing your shorts along with your underwear. From the floor, he’s on his knees, peering up at you in awe.

“Baby,” he lays a kiss on your thigh and subconsciously, your legs part. “Fuck. If only you could see how pretty you look like this…”

Unable to resist, he doesn’t give you a chance to step out of your clothes and runs the flat of his tongue along your core, taking care to lavish a little extra attention on your swollen bud. He’s still fully dressed. You whine his name to get him back on track. For a bit, he ignores you and moans softly between your thighs, licking and chuckling when your hips buck and you squirm.

“C-Caiden…!”

God, he’s thinking about putting your sweet voice on vinyl and running it flat with how often he’d replay it. Not only that, he’s thinking about how he’ll pull more of those cries from you later.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You sort of hate how arrogant he sounds and almost miss the man begging for you minutes ago. Almost, because he’s rising back up and finally pulling his shirt over his head. You’re distracted by the reveal of pale skin dappled with freckles. Pink and orange light floods in from his open windows, carving out blocks of color around the stretch and pull of his muscles, turning into shades of blue around the divots along his hipbones. You take a few steps back, sinking backwards onto the bed and watch him rid himself of the last of his clothes.

“I need you,” you call to him urgently, coaxing him onto the bed.

Hands roam up your thighs, pulling them apart as he slots himself between your legs. Bending over, Caiden soothes your needs with another long kiss. His tongue caresses yours, curling around it before pulling away slowly. He strokes your kiss swollen lips with a thumb and it’s a ticklish sensation.

“Shh... baby. Whatever you want, sweetheart, it’s yours.”

Your hand falls on top of his and you guide him from your thigh to the space between. The tips of his fingers prod at the seam of your sex. He slides them between your folds, smirking at the sound and feel of how soaked you are. Icy metal from a pinky ring pushes at the meat of your thigh as he strokes your skin.

“So wet for me, baby. Tell me what you want,” he insists.

He’s teasing you, building you up but he’s not unaffected by your close proximity. His thighs push your legs further apart until he can hover above you with one palm pressed flat around your head and the other… tracing up towards your most sensitive spots. Rutting forwards, his cock slides back and forth against your inner thigh. You’re already feeling quite warm, but he’s even warmer, hot and throbbing close to where you need him.

“I want…” Your voice fades off, caught in a moan as he pushes his fingers inside you. Wet lips suck a bruise on your neck, turning your moan into a whimper. Eyes half shut, lashes fluttering, you try to find him in the darkness. “I want… mmm!”

Caiden’s not being fair anymore, you catch the shimmer of white from his teeth as he laughs again, fingers moving in and out of you with a quickening pace. His lips sprinkle your cheeks with affection, smudging dampness across skin.

“Should I guess?” he teases.

You quiet him with a rough grab of his face, fingers parting around the sides of his head with his ears pinched between them and redirect his lips to yours. A chuckle gets muffled and you can feel tension pulling your nerves as he removes his fingers. Caiden lines his brow to yours until your eyes meet. He’s searching, scanning your expression and finds something which makes him kiss your cheek. His name is a breathy whisper from your lips but in the quiet of the room, it’s presence lingers.

You feel him shift and rest his hips flush at the apex of your thighs. A wet hand grips your leg open while the other cradles your face close to his. There’s no devilish smirk when he first stretches you open, no snark, just his mouth parting and pink tongue slipping out.

“Mmph, baby…” he sighs, “So… fucking warm.” Caiden pushes his cock in deeper, a task made easy by your slick and pulls back, repeating the slow pumping of his hips until more and more of him fits inside you. You’re moaning as he laughs softly to himself. “Fuck, I was right.”

This makes you tense a little and he’s already soothing you with a kiss and another long and deep rock of his hips. “R-right about what?” you ask.

“About how I could just…” Caiden groans, teeth digging into his lower lip as his movements stutter. “…could live here. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Always have been.”

He practically coos at you when his damp hand slips between your bodies, thumb rubbing loose circles around your clit. Your back arches, hips rising to meet his thrusts, desperate to quicken his pace.

“Caiden…” you moan.

The hand cradling your head pets at your cheeks until he’s tickling your lips with a light touch of his thumb.

“What’s the rush, sweetheart? Relax.” At that, he makes an effort to flatten you back into the bed with a push of his chest against yours. “Can you do that for me, baby? Just…” He’s sliding out of you, thick length leaving you empty before he glides back in with a deep thrust. Your hands blindly grip down his back, nails raking lines of pink along his skin. “Focus on me, on us. Think you can, baby?”

Your nod is frantic, a movement made short by an urge to crane your neck back.

“Yes!”

You sound fucking, amazing. He can’t get enough of how you fit around him and how easy it is to find a rhythm that pleases you both. Caiden knows you, remembers every part of you that makes you shudder around him. He’s not even aware of how his limbs move on their own, not when a cloying pain grows distractingly in his chest.

Pressure constricts the muscles along his shoulders and neck, pulling and pushing in sync with his raging heartbeat. His mouth hangs open, his own moans lost in the roar between his ears. When his eyes close, he gets a glimpse of a quiet home, a vase full of fresh flowers, the hum of a dishwasher. Caiden basks in the vision for a bit, until he sees you walking through the door with a dress billowing between your legs. You’re smiling as he greets you: welcome home.

He’s not sure what it means, let alone how to feel about it, but the tightness in his chest recedes, fading into the present moment. His sweat slick brow meets yours, nose digging into your cheek. You’re pressed flush into the sheets now, unable to move your hips as he drives in deep and frantically. There’s barely space left between your writhing forms as Caiden’s insistent on closing any gap that forms.

“Fuck… wanna… mmph— wanna come with you. You close, baby?” he pants.

God, you’re delirious, muscles constricting around his cock tightly enough that there’s no way he can’t tell you’re about to break beneath him.

“Y-yes,” is all you manage as he rubs his thumb around your clit faster. Your breath hitches, taking in half inhales that barely fill your lungs. “Caiden, Caiden…”

He’s muttering nonsense back, reminding you that he’s here, that he’d do anything to feel you come around his cock, his fingers, and his tongue everyday… as long as you… stay.

“Yes!” Is all you can cry out before you’re sobbing into his neck, hips jolting as wave after wave of euphoria washes over you.

Caiden’s lips are on yours, hips losing any sense of rhythm as he reaches his end. He spills into you, pulling back far enough to watch his cock twitch and coat you in the last of his release. Thrusting forward, he buries himself deep. You hear him mutter your name like a mantra as he lays a series of kisses along your sweat slick skin. With gentle rolls of his hips, he extends the end of both of your peaks, brown eyes locked with yours in a heavy gaze. When it becomes too much, he stills and smiles. Strong hands cradle your face and warm, wet lips lavish you with soft, syrupy kisses.

It’s bliss once again, but the edges are frayed. The history between you is a weight which neither of you can forget, but your time together wasn’t all bad. It couldn’t have been if you’re both here… again. This is a second chance, he thinks. He eases out of you slowly and brings a warm towel to wipe the mess you’ve both made. You thank him and he’s already lost when he sees your lips lift in a smile.

Oh, he’s confident he can hold onto this. He has to.

When you both settle back into the sheets, nightly rituals completed, Caiden wastes no time in tucking your warm body against his. Arms wrap around your middle and his chin rests comfortably on your neck. You have to crane your head to see his face and immediately you’re greeted with the dumbest grin you may have seen on him. Your expression shifts as deja vu strikes but you’re reminded that tonight feels different, that you’ve both grown since all those months ago.

It’s more upsetting how easily he reads your face as he’s quick to dispel any doubts. Caiden hums, chest rumbling against your back. “Go to sleep, baby. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? You know it’s Saturday, and not a work day tomorrow, right?”

“Mmm. Yeah. We’re gonna go to the boardwalk… eat junk food, win you a new teddy bear and… uh. Well, baby, I really miss seeing you in that tight, little black dress. Think I might see you in it for dinner?”

“Caiden, you ripped the zipper off that one.”

His head raises from your neck. “I did?”

Your cheeks warm at the recollection of why.

“Yes, the zipper got stuck halfway and you— you animal,” you say with a laugh and a gentle elbow to his ribs. “You shrugged and said you’d get me a new one, right as you ripped the dress open.”

He considers his answer for a moment, throat vibrating with a chuckle. “Mmm, okay. See? Long day tomorrow. Boardwalk…dress shopping, dinner… and a boyfriend to fuck after.”

You catch his word choice and your lips part but nothing comes out. He’s bringing you closer to him and tucking his legs to the back of your thighs.

“That is… if that’s how you’d like to spend your Saturday,” he concludes.

“It is,” you answer, ending your statement with a soft yawn.

You’re cradled further into his arms, wrapped in soft sheets and he’s humming an unfamiliar tune in your ear. Your eyelids close, body light and drifting. The last thing you hear is, “Good night, sweetheart.”

Hey, it’s all me, in my head

I’m the one who burned us down

But it’s not what I meant

I’m sorry that I hurt you

Caiden’s footsteps don’t quite meet the ground. His limbs are light one second and heavier than lead the next. With a hand outstretched for balance, he almost knocks into a vase by the door. He’s in his condo and also, not. The entrance of his home opens up to the multicolored glow of the boardwalk. He spots you standing in between the doorway. Your hand is outstretched, a wad of airy and pale pink candy raises to his lips. You tell him to give it a try and he accepts, tasting summer and tangy sweetness.

“What do you think?” you ask, eyes bright and full of joy.

Caiden stands up straighter, feels more of his agency returning to his body. He cups your face to wipe away a streak of pink and squeezes your cheek.

“I think… I could do this forever,” he replies.

Your brows raise, but you don’t say anything else and tug his hand past the door and invite him into the noise of the boardwalk. Waves crash and hit the docks, seagulls soar overhead. He follows you willingly into the warm glow and doesn’t bother looking back.

The door to the condo remains open. Neon lights scatter around a glass vase. It shimmers as the colors refract around water and is broken up into soft shadows by the stems of a new bouquet. Petals flutter as a breeze picks up and the door clicks shut.

Meet me in the afterglow.

💙 Back to the Exile Masterlist.

#my writing #exile #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbh #reader insert #dbh smut #dbh x reader #dbh sixty #dbh rk800 60 #rk800 60 #sixty x reader #dbh sixty x reader #rk800 60 x reader

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menagerie-of-monsters · 2 years

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Find the Word Game

I know I did one of these recently, but I got a tag from @k--havok and I love doing them, so... Here's more from me, haha. Since last time I did ones I talk about pretty frequently, here's some back-burner WIPs and other curiosities from the depths of my writing folder!

My words are: Sky, Eyes, Cushion, Ruin, and Glass

I'd like to tag @asablehart, @flowerprose, @magic-is-something-we-create, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @dogmomwrites, @nectargrapes

If you accept, your words will be: Run, White, Tall, Rain, Power

Sky

Here's one I don't talk about much: a totally self-indulgent WIP that I dabble in when I need cheering up. Contemporary fantasy with more worldbuilding than it really needs. Working title: The Angel Wars

Whatever was in the crater made another sound, something that sounded like what a wounded animal might make, a sort of low gasping pant. It moved again, one of the… the wings shifting with a rustling sound. The hump of its shape lifted slightly, then collapsed with a sharp whimpering sound. "Oh my god," I whispered, staring at the shape of the thing, lit awkwardly by my flashlight. It stopped moving. There was the sound of a wheezing, rough breath, and then a hoarse voice said something in another language, something that sounded like, "Voytheya." I didn't have to speak whatever language the thing in the crater was speaking to understand the pain in their voice. That was a plea for help. The thing in the crater… the person in the crater… had fallen from the sky, crashed through a roof and two floors, and somehow survived making a crater in a solid cement floor. The person with big, feathery-looking wings was asking me to help them. There was a fallen angel in a big crater in my basement. Holy fuck. There was a fallen angel--

Eyes

Here's another one that's mostly on ice. This is a story I've wanted to tell for a long time, but I'm not sure when I'll get around to it. It's based on the story of Ker Ys, tangled together with the East of the Sun, West of the Moon fairytale. Working title: The Black Horse

"Is it selfish to say I hope it doesn't work?" she said, sounding wistful. Isabel smiled at her, dropping her chin down to rest on one hand, her sharp elbow on the table. "Very," she said, but her voice was gentle and her face soft. They'd known for years now that today would be goodbye, but they'd never seemed to find a reason to end things. Isabel didn't have the heart to fall in love again, and Kya… Kya had never wanted anything different than what they had together. That Kya had been willing to help her meant all the more, when all she'd had to do was convince Isabel not to go through with it, and she could have had her heart's desire. Right now Kya was looking at her with forlorn doe's eyes, her round face soft and sad. Isabel tried to memorize the way she looked, from the tight curls of her short hair to the sloping line from her chin to her collarbone, the way the light shone off her warm umber skin and the wide flat planes of her nose over her full and curving lips. Right now her dimpled hands were wrapped around the silly cauldron-shaped coffee mug that Isabel had gotten her for Samhain, and for a moment she tried to imagine that today wasn't the last day of her life.

Cushion

Way down in the queue and in dire need of some re-writes is what my sister lovingly refers to as "the spidermance." Fun fact: reading Grace Draven's "Radiance" is what got me back into writing, and this partly-done manuscript was the result. It's an arranged-marriage high fantasy romance with a human woman marrying a drider-like prince to end a war.

She sat down on the low chair that was the compromise to keep either of them from towering over each other, tucking her legs beneath her, and he settled himself onto the cushion to her side. They'd been seated roughly a quarter of the distance of the curved table apart from each other, a balance between being side-by-side and facing each other that allowed them to either look towards or away from each other without difficulty. As servers began filtering into the garden and courtiers found seats at the wrought-iron tables scattered across the lawn, Ciara turned to examine Hislen, to find that he was already doing the same to her. His mandibles were parted, allowing her to see most of his mouth, and he looked a little dazed, if the expressions translated between their kinds. She wondered what he thought of her. He was dressed in a splendor of platinum, pearls, and gossamer silk, the dark blue a good color for his ash-brown skin. His ear-jewelry moved as he adjusted his ears with small motions, perhaps listening in to different conversations in the garden. Plenty of those she'd met in the past two months had filled her own ears with stories of the preternatural senses of the akrrtel, and Ciara was sure they held at least some truth in them.

Ruin

On occasion, I dabble with other genres - who knows if I'll ever publish them, but I've got at least 100k words written in various sci-fi or reverse harem WIPs. Maybe 200k; I've never added it up. This is from a potential quartet. Working title: Summer Heat (Book 1 of The Totality War)

"Nicely done," he said, sounding pleased. "He likes you." "I'm very likable," I said cheerfully, earning a chuckle from Scyran. "Are the two of you friends? You mentioned not many eridani like to far-range." I looked up at the intimidating form of the horned boar and wanted to creep away. Like being an avalanche, I reminded myself. Besides, the range-leader could still see me, and I didn't want to ruin my reputation as a war goddess. I grabbed the harness and vaulted up onto her back, and Scyran followed. He whistled to the sow, and she turned and started walking back down the slope up to the viewpoint. "Kihael is much older than I am," Scyran said. "Nearly fifty. I'm young enough to be his son, and he's a mated man, besides." He sighed, relaxing down against me. "I have never been more than a day's journey from Herrenya. I am no different to him than any other star-eyed young man he tells stories to."

Glass

Peering way into the future, book 4 of Echoes of the Void is The Princess and the Chimera, and being who I am I've already written 10k of it. So here's a peek into 2024's queue.

I moseyed over towards the woman at work, leaning into my mage-senses to observe the movement of the ley magic through the station. The invisible paths of power spread out across the world like cracks in a shattered glass sphere that had been put together again, an ever-shifting map of weak points, strain, and pathways. My teachers had described the ley in so many ways: like water carving streambeds and canyons on the face of the world, like shifting auroras of light, like trails and roads through a dense forest. A deep river rarely shifts its bed, they'd said. If you want to follow something shifting, don't focus on the details. A paved road is easier to follow than a rabbit-trail. I found it much easier to think of the world in fracture patterns. Push here, and the world will break into the shape you desire. Push there, and you'll put it back together again. A crack that's been opened again, and again, and again, is child's play to open for a fourth time; if you want to break something in a new way, you must first determine if that crack will snake too easily to a neighboring break, falling into a familiar path. Old wounds are so much easier to open. Chisels are so much more predictable than sledgehammers.

That's all I've got! See y'all next time~

#mallory dunlin writes #fantasy romance #monster romance #tag game #find the word game #snipperdoodle #wip sneak peek #from deep in the depths of the wip folder

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wobbleplazma · 3 months

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I was bored so I tried again

Sebastian's hands rested on the rounded bloat of his gut. His chest was heaving and he watched as the buttons of his shirt were being pushed up by his steadily growing stomach. It felt like someone had tossed a bag of cement on his stomach and left his to suffer as it continued to expand and bloat as the seconds ticked by. His buttons and shirt had begun to show diamonds of his flesh underneath as he stifled a grunt. He grunted and resituated to lean back farther on his couch as he watched his buttons strain further before eventually snapping off with a soft ping as they landed on the coffee table across from him. He watched him gut surge forward as the sides of his shirt fell away and he spread his legs to give his gut room to spread. It quickly did, expanding and bulging as it sloshed and gurgled under his fingers. He watched the skin ripple as his stomach rumbled vigorously as it continued to grow. Eventually the bottom sag of his gut hit the cool leather of his couch before quickly pooling onto his thighs. He moaned wantonly as he managed the tensing and camping mess of flabby gut that seemed more than eager to continue its appearance with a quicker pace. His gut surged forward again pooling over to his knees and he reached a hand forward to attempt to grab the rounded front of his gurgling belly as he massaged the malleable ball of fat again. What drove another moan from his lips was when he felt his balls begin to follow suit alongside his cock. He barely managed to scoop his bloated stomach out of the way to undo his belt and pull his pants open before tugging his cock out. Fuck, it was sensitive. The veins were coursing full of blood and it now practically dwarfed his hand, finding it almost as thigh and as long as his thigh now, with a cock head that was weeping pre-cum. His balls ached and he reached further below to tentatively test at their size and finding that they seemed more akin to tennis balls now, though he felt them swell further in his hand. His balls churned and after gently laying his cock back down, he sprayed a load on the table in front of him. He panted heavily and grunted in discomfort as his stomach continued to swell, now covering his lap again despite him having moved it to sit on his thigh. His stomach continued to rise higher, filling in almost all of his veins as he soon found trouble simply seeing around or above his quivering gut. Another surge of flesh spilling and quickly filling out dwarfed his view entirely and he spread his legs further to accommodate more room for if nothing else, his balls which felt like soccer balls underneath him. His hands moved to rub and caress the sides of his aching belly as the flesh continued to push out, taking his hands with him. His stomach surged forward to land on his cock again and he howled as he lay practically helpless now. With a stomach that didn't seem eager to stop growing and a body that couldn't move properly. His fingers massaged and hit at the rumbling gut as he felt it swell further, bloating out before he felt it hit the table. He looked like he'd swallowed an over stuffed bean bag or yoga ball and he cringed as the weight of his stomach set him further sitting on his swollen balls. His cock had continued its growth journey as well, now gently nudging his foot alongside the dragging underside of his gut.

Another really good one!! Thank you for writing these, they really made my day :)

#ask response

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reiding-writing · 6 months

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Spencer making cold!Reader flustered? And morgan teasing

CUP OF COFFEE [ONESHOT]

/kʌp əv ˈkɒfi/

a local officer on a case you’re working on really wants to impress you, spencer reid does it without even trying.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, morgan being morgan, reader trying to be civil but ultimately failing

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 2.9k || series masterlist!!

a/n: reader doesn’t actually get all that flustered but i feel like it’s more accurate this way rather than having her go into a full on fluster considering her personality-

main masterlist!!

It was always fifty-fifty when working with local police departments on a case. They either wanted absolutely nothing to do with the FBI or they would follow you and the team around like a bunch of children.

This one was the latter, and it was arguably the worse of the two.

It felt like every time you rounded a corner you had a police officer just waiting to divert all of your attention away from the case so they could ask you questions about your job, and it was starting to get really frustrating.

“Have you ever worked a case like this before?”

“Not specifically,”

“How do you know how to write a psychological profile for a type of crime you haven’t encountered before?”

“I‘ve got a PhD in Psychology-“

“What exactly is a psychological profile?”

You were starting to get really annoyed now.

You know there was no ill intent behind his questions, he looked no older than his early twenties, fresh on the scene and to the types of things the criminal world really had to offer.

He genuinely wanted to learn, but when you were trying to catch a serial killer before they had the chance to kill anybody else, you didn’t exactly have time to entertain all of his questions whilst also focusing on the profile you were trying to curate at the same time.

“You can ask me your questions after this guy is behind bars,” That was probably as nice as your request was going to get.

“Right- Sorry- I’ll stop talking now,” He pressed his lips into a tight line with a small nod as he took your words to heart.

The boy reminded you of Spencer in some ways. He was tall and disproportionately lanky, he seemed to have a never ending stream of curiosity, he dressed decently similarly, and he even made the same expressions you’ve come to recognise as a staple of Spencer’s personality.

One thing that was very different between the two though, was that Spencer knew how to take a hint.

He would’ve left you alone the second those words came out of your mouth, but instead you had now gained yourself an observer as you worked, one that was cemented by the scraping of metal chair legs on the carpet and a messenger bag hitting the floor.

You fight the urge to audibly groan at his persistent presence, closing your eyes with the silent prayer that something would call his attention out of the room so that he would leave you to work in peace.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Looks like God was on your side today.

“Come in,” You call out towards the door with an internal sigh of relief, wringing the whiteboard pen in your hands as you turn towards the door you’d specifically left closed so people like officer curious sat at the round table wouldn’t bother you.

Your relief was short lived when Morgan walked through the door, and you don’t even try to hide the groan that leaves your mouth at the look on his face as he enters. “What now?”

“Now now, that’s now way to be a good role model to your youngers now is it?” The smug look on Morgan’s face only widens as he spots the officer at the table. “I’m looking for pretty boy, can’t find him anywhere,”

You shrug as a response. “Unlike the rest of you, he knows when to leave me alone, so I haven’t seen him,”

If that wasn’t the most direct indirect way for you to say you didn’t want the officer’s presence whilst you worked you didn’t know what was.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. “Well, we've got a lead on the case. Thought you might want to be in the loop.” He glances at the officer, then back at you.

You give him a short hum and discard the whiteboard pen on the table, having to physically raise your hand to stop the officer from following the two of you out of the room. “We need to speak privately for this, I’m sure you understand,”

“Right- Right yeah sorry- I’ll just uh- wait here then…”

You give him a short nod with your lips pressed taut into a line as you push Morgan out of the small meeting room and into the hallway, following behind him and clicking the door shut behind you.

“Got yourself a fan have you?” Morgan chuckles slightly as he watches the officer take a seat back at the table through the room’s window, his eyes on you as he tries to silently soak in every detail of the conversation through the glass.

“More like a parasite, he hasn’t left me alone for more than five minutes all day.” You groan exasperatedly as the two of you walk to a private area to have your conversation.

“Can you blame the kid? He’s probably never seen an FBI Agent in person before, he’s just excited,”

“Annoying is what he is,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When you return to the put-aside meeting room reserved for your profile making, there are two cups of coffee on the table, and of course, the officer is still sitting there.

His head turns up to the door as you open it, and he straightens his back in the chair. “Welcome back- I uh- I made you some coffee, I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I asked one of your team members- Two sugars right?“

He pushes the mug carefully in your direction so the drink doesn’t spill, and you walk right past it back towards the whiteboard.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink coffee in mugs used by other people, nor do I drink coffee made by an unhygienic office coffee machine,” You try your best to be civil as you shut him down.

“Ouch-” Morgan leans against the door frame with his arms crossed, shaking his head in exaggerated disapproval at your response. “Don’t be so harsh-”

You roll your eyes at Morgan’s input, turning your gaze to the now slightly embarrassed officer. “I appreciate your effort,”

“I should’ve asked you personally, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s fine,” You give him a small tilt of your head to hammer the fact that everything was fine home so that he didn’t completely crumple up into himself and leave you to deal with it.

“Right, sorry- I mean-” The officer sighs as he gives up talking, taking the two mugs in his hands as he stands from the table. “I’ll take these out,”

Morgan follows the boy with his eyes as he walks past to leave the room, and you slump your shoulders the second he’s out of sight.

“For God’s sake-”

“You’ve really got yourself a little shadow,” Morgan continues to revel in your misery as he steps further into the room, letting the door close behind him.

“I am two minutes away from ripping him a new asshole if he doesn’t take the hint and leave me the fuck alone,” You groan exasperatedly, dragging your palm down your face as you take a seat on the edge of the table. “I’ve barely gotten anything done because he keeps peering over my shoulder like a goddamn five year old with separation anxiety,”

You weren’t wrong in the first half of your assessment, most of the whiteboard you’d been using to write down your notes was empty despite you working on the profile for multiple hours at this point, and judging by the attitude of the poor officer you were slandering the second half of your assessment wasn’t too far off either. “You never get that frustrated with Reid,”

“How is that at all relevant to anything I’ve just said?”

“Come on, you’ve gotta be able to see the similarities here, he’s practically a carbon copy of what Reid was like when he first joined the team,” Morgan gives a short laugh as he gestures in the direction that the officer had just left in.

“Reid was just as annoying back then,”

“He’s barely changed at all-” Morgan rolls his eyes at your half-assed way of explaining why Spencer was an exception to your frustration.

“He’s changed a lot actually,” You shake your head with an impatient sigh as you lean over to grab your whiteboard pen, using it to keep your hands busy.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” He mirrors the way you shake your head with his own. “That boy is your kryptonite and you know it,”

“Get your ass out of this room before I cover your face in whiteboard marker penises,” You don’t refute Morgan’s claim and he knows it, standing up with a smirk and his hands raised comically in surrender as he retreats to the door.

“Yes ma’am,” He turns for the door handle with a laugh, but the door swings open before he can, and you mentally prepare yourself for that goddamn police officer to walk back into the room and continue hovering over you like a mosquito.

You don’t have to.

“Well speak of the devil,” Morgan tilts his head knowingly at you as Spencer bypasses him to enter with a cardboard holder of take out ocffee cups in hand, eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion at why you and Morgan would be having a conversation about him without him being present.

Morgan nudges Spencer with his elbow, eyes locked on you as he starts to spill. “Little miss Ice Queen and I were just talking about-”

“There’s a possible lead in the case.” You interrupt him before he can divulge any details of your conversation. “One you would benefit from knowing about. Morgan was looking for you,”

“Oh-” Spencer gives a short nod in your direction, leaving the cups on the table to ball his hands together and then flex his fingers like a mini hand workout. “I was in the coffee shop down the block sorry,” He takes the two cups from the holder, one in each hand, and holds the one in his left out towards you.

You take the cup from him with your lips pressed into a small line, as much of a thanks as you’re going to give and as much of a thanks as he was expecting in the first place.

“They were established back in 1902 and continue to make their coffee using traditional methods rather than using a machine like most coffee shops do in the present day.” He takes a sip from his own cardboard cup after his little bit of exposition of the shop’s history and you mirror him in doing the same.

Absolutely perfect.

As to be expected from someone when the person who ordered it had an eidetic memory. And maybe a little bit better because that person was Spencer Reid. Maybe.

“I-” You’re not exactly sure what to say. Obviously a thanks would be worth voicing, but he had gone out of his way to buy you a cup of coffee, even if him remembering your order was like reciting the alphabet in his head.

“Thank you, it’s nice,” You give him a small nod through your mostly deadpanned expression as you take a second sip through the plastic lid of the cup, trying in vain to seem nonchalant about the unannounced gift that he’d brought back for you.

Morgan noticed immediately. Of course he did, because when was Morgan ever minding his own goddamn business?

“No problem,” Spencer’s face erupts in that bright smile of his, and his words get half caught in his throat as he tries to speak whilst in the middle of swallowing. “Did you know that coffee is actually a fruit despite coffee beans being called, well, beans? The coffee beans that we use to make drinkable coffee are actually the pit of coffee cherries, that grow on bushes in low-altitude tropical regions,”

You give him a small hum and a nod as an acknowledgement of you taking in the information, and Morgan laughs at the way your eyes flicker away from Spencer’s gaze rather than holding it firm like you usually would. “No coffee for me pretty boy?”

“You had a cup of coffee in your hand when I left,”

“So what? I’m stuck with the shitty police station coffee and little miss ‘I hate everyone’ gets your old fashioned fancy coffee?” Morgan’s accusation holds no malice in it whatsoever, and if his tone wasn’t enough to display that, the goddamned smirk on his face definitely was.

“I do not hate everyone, just you,” You shoot your retort at him with a roll of your eyes and a scoff.

“You wound me,” Morgan clasps his hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to stumble backwards out of pain. He knew you didn’t hate him really, no matter how much you claimed to.

“Caffeine helps increase brain functioning, which will help when curating a profile,” Spencer half points to the still mostly empty board behind you and you almost groan at the reminder of just how little progress you’ve made. “And she doesn’t like the coffee machines, so a proper cup of coffee is the next easiest option,”

You almost forget to breathe as Spencer explains his reasoning behind the coffee run. He’d remembered that tiny detail. Obviously he had, he had an eidetic memory. But he’d actually thought about it and made a conscious decision to find you a caffeine fix elsewhere in the wake of that knowledge.

“Everyone should preferably be drinking properly made coffee, but with the prices I’m not surprised people choose the cheaper option, even if they’re not getting as much caffeine per drink,” Spencer shrugs as he continues his explanation, finishing it off with another sip from his cup.

Your eyes turn up at the mention of the price. You hadn’t considered the fact that him buying you coffee actually included him buying the coffee.

“How much was it?” You glance between him and the cup in your hand as if trying to figure it out yourself based solely on the black tree printed on the cardboard, eyebrows furrowed at the idea of him spending a lot of money on two cups of coffee of all things.

“Uh,” He deliberates on whether to actually tell you, but he knows that you’ll find out one way or another so there was no real point in trying to hide it from you. “Eighteen for the both of them,”

“Eighteen dollars? You spent eighteen dollars on two cups of coffee?” He was expecting that reaction from you.

“Proportionally it’s actually relatively inexpensive considering how it’s made and the beans that are used. Some professional coffee makers charge upwards of fourteen dollars a cup,”

“And those coffee makers are absolutely fucking insane,” You stare down at your cup as you internally judge whether it was worth a whole nine dollars. It was a great cup of coffee to be sure, probably the best one you’d ever had, but nine goddamn dollars? It wasn’t even a large cup. “Nine goddamn dollars for a cup of coffee my god,”

You can see Spencer’s expression falter slightly in your peripheral vision at your outrage of the price, something that you’d definitely not intended and something you considered an easy fix as you left your cup on the table to rifle through your bag.

“You are simply something else Dr Reid I swear,” The second you pull your purse out of your bag he knows what you’re going to do, and he tries to shut you down before you can even start.

“I- You don’t- I chose to pay for it with my own money you don’t-”

You make a ‘zip’ motion across your mouth with your middle and index finger to stop him from talking as you pull out a ten dollar note and shove it into the chest pocket of his cardigan so he can’t refuse to take it from you. “Never buy me a drink that expensive again,”

“Right,” Spencer presses his lips tight into a line with a small nod, “Did it taste okay at least?”

“It was probably the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had, but that doesn’t make it not ridiculously expensive.” Spencer doesn’t even try to suppress the smile that emerges on his face at your approval, even if it was backhandedly berating him for buying it in the process.

“Cough cough lovebirds, in case you forgot, Reid still needs to be debriefed about the new lead,” You don’t even bother trying to retort to Morgan as you pick up your coffee and leave the room with Spencer happily trailing behind you.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg #asks 🫶

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