#she’s my fucking cinnamon apple

[pollenallergie]

this user would like to discuss sapphic!chrissy cunningham again

[pandaspwnz]

Whoever decided it was a good idea to bake a pie on a fucking wednesday afternoon is a goddamn clown and should be dropkicked into the sun

[riddleturner]

a doodle of ridal mepis, my college of eloquence bard and first Legit dnd pc! known hopeless romantic sits up in the high tower of her fantasy magic college, fantasizing about the dragonborn wizard shes in love with as if he isnt Literally her husband teaching a class three rooms over BFJDHF

[roosterbruiser]

Anons, like named users, should only spread kindness and happiness so whatever this is, that anon needs to stop

[always-andromeda]

yes I am well aware that so many televangelist shows were designed to emotionally manipulate their viewers bUT WHEN TAMMY FAYE BAKKER SINGS, THAT IS THE CLOSEST SHIT I’VE EVER HAD TO A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE.

[nullio]

Todd Brotzman would be open to getting pegged

I'd go as far to say that he'd be the one to bring it up first

[cayleeuhithinknot]

❛ 𝑺𝑴𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑴𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑵 ❜

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉. . .you hit up your dealer to get your mind off of your shitty day. but, he has another idea to make you forget.

cw: SMUT, dealer!chris, mentions of smoking, praising, use of pet names and y/n, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, not proofread. . .(im sorry)

requested here by anon: 🤍!

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

your day today was absolutely unfathomable. it all started this morning. your curly hair was just not cooperating with you. random pieces curled in a different way than others, and some had straightened themselves out over night. on top of that, it was incredibly frizzy no matter what you did. so, you just pulled it back and got into your car for work.

you worked in a family owned bakery down town, which was usually pretty relaxed. but today? no. on your way to work, of course, you made a right turn and heard an odd hissing noise outside of your car.

you pull over in a random church parking lot and hop out of your car, walking over to the right side. surprise surprise, you had a flat tire. “are you fucking kidding me..?” you mumble to yourself, walking back over to the driver’s side to grab your phone. but, of course, you had to stub your toe on the tire.

calling the mechanic and asking for just a quick pump of air was a disaster as well. your dad is good friends with the local mechanic, who usually gives you no problems and even gives discounts. but, it seemed today he was just having a bad day. you sat in the smoldering heat of your car, which wasn’t even on or blowing air conditioning, because you’d ran out of gas and you didn’t want to drain the car battery.

the mechanic finally arrived, luckily having a can of gas in his truck. he got to work, filling your tire back up and feeding the gasoline to your car. but then, he told you what the fee would be. you felt like curling up right there on that dirty pavement, but obviously you didn’t. you just agreed to pay it before the deadline and got back into your car with a sigh.

work was fine. for the most part. your shift was from 7am to 5pm, a couple breaks in between. but, you usually stay until around 9 after you clock out just to help out your dad. at around 1:30, 10 minutes after you got back to work after your lunch break, a lady with 2 kids walks in. the woman seemed to be about 40 and both of her kids were definitely below 10.

“hi, i need two bear claws and a danish.” the lady demands. obviously, you’re taken aback by her tone. this lady didn’t even specify what kind of pastry she wanted. “uhm, okay! what kind of bear claw and danish?” you ask kindly, your customer service voice making an evident appearance. “i just want two bear claws and a danish. your job really isn’t that hard,” she pauses to narrow her eyes at your nametag, slightly adjusting her glasses. “y/n.”

you close your eyes, taking a deep breath and then opening your eyes just to see the lady’s face again. great. this wasn’t a nightmare. “ma’am, do you understand what i’m asking?” you ask, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. the woman sneers at you. “don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old! and i just want two bear claws and a danish, damnit!”

your eyes widen at her demeanor change. you glance over at her children, who are arguing loudly—annoyingly. you finally realize you’re gonna have to spell it out for her. “miss, we have apple cinnamon bear claws as well as almond butter bear claws. as for the danishes, we have cream cheese and strawberry cream cheese flavors. which would you like?” you ask, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“obviously, i want the apple cinnamon and cream cheese! god, you young people are so clueless.” she shrieks. you flinch slightly at the annoyingly loud sound of her annoying voice. you nod slowly, grabbing a brown paper bag from the counter behind you. you stuff the contents of her order with tongs into the bag carelessly. gripping the bag, you ask yet another question, ready for this lady to take her ass on out the door. “$7.89, cash or card?”

“card, obviously. do i look like the type of person to be paying with cash?” the lady rolls her eyes, whipping her card out of her red wallet, waving it in her face. you rip the card from her hands, swiping it. it approves, and you place the card on the counter, pushing the paper bag across the counter to her. “have a nice day.” you mumble, and the woman just glares at you as she exits the store.

to top off your day, when you got home, you accidentally knocked one of your favorite perfume bottles off of the counter, smashing it and causing it’s contents to ooze across the tile floor. you curse yourself, cleaning up the glass and the scented liquid. you open your nightstand drawer, fully ready to go on your back porch to smoke. only to realize, you were out of literally everything.

now, you were gonna have to call your plug and ask for more. he’s gonna think you’re crazy asking for shit at only 10pm. you plop yourself down onto your bed, pulling your phone out of your pocket. opening the contacts app, you take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. the phone rings a couple of times before he finally picks up.

“hello?” chris speaks. it was clear he wasn’t fully..sober at the moment. “uhm, hey,” you greet. things were casual between you two. or, they were supposed to be. there was obvious tension, but neither of you ever addressed it of course. “oh, hey angel. what’s up?” chris asks, and you can practically hear his lousy grin. angel. he’s always called you that. which was weird, because you were definitely no angel.

“can you bring some shit over? you don’t have to stay, i’ve just had such a long—“

“of course, angel. be there in 15.” was all you heard from the other line before the call ended. well, at least you were getting what you wanted.

30 minutes later, there’s a knock on your front door. fifteen minutes my ass, you thought. you scramble over to the door, ripping it open. you’re met with chris’ face. his red eyes, his tired expression. yeah, he was definitely high. you gesture to the open room behind you and he steps inside. chris nods, dropping the bag into your hands. it feels…oddly light.

“chris, how much did you bring? this is so light,” you question skeptically. chris just stuffs his hands in his pockets. you open the bag. it’s completely empty. “really? what was the point of even coming if you’re not gonna bring anything?”

“y’know, there’s like..other ways..” he mumbles. you cock an eyebrow at his words. “what?”

“like..other ways to get the same effect being high gives you. other ways to make you forget for a little.” he explains, shrugging like it was obvious. you didn’t like how cryptic he was being.

“what are you talking about?”

“sex.”

your eyes widen at the change in his demeanor. “what..?” you mutter. chris scratches the back of his neck. “sorry..i shouldn’t have said that. i—i know you don’t want to do that, im sorry, fuck-“

“chris,” you chuckle slightly. in all honesty, you were glad he’d finally said something. the tension had been gnawing at you for..well, a while now. “it’s okay. you’re completely wrong.”

chris tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. “wrong? wrong about what?”

“about me not wanting to do that,” you mumble. chris’ eyes widen. “w—wait, really?”

“yes, chris.”

“h-holy shit, angel..” chris stammers, his pants already seeming to grow tighter. “well then..you tryin’ to relieve some stress?” he asks, his usual cocky grin starting to paint over his face. “absolutely.”

at your words, chris immediately grabs your arm and pulls you toward your bedroom. of course he’d memorized where your bedroom is even after only being to your house a couple of times. words couldn’t describe how much he’d wanted this. yeah, you liked him—a lot, but he craved it more than you ever knew he could.

reaching your bedroom, chris pushed the door shut and pushed you down onto the bed. he wasted no time crawling on top of you, pinning you down. “you’re bold today, aren’t y—“ you start, but you’re cut off by chris smashing his lips into yours. this wasn’t like any kiss you’d ever had. it was full of fire, passion, desire.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. chris slipped his tongue into your mouth, running it along the roof of your mouth. you weren’t exactly sure how long the makeout had lasted; you were so caught up in the moment.

chris captured your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away, slightly grinning. he dips his head down to your collarbone, placing open, wet kisses along them. he slides off your baggy crop top, admiring the sight of your chest, as you weren’t wearing a bra. “so pretty, baby.”

chris massages your tits, leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth. he sucks on it, rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shiver and squirm. his actions cause a moan to slip from your lips, arching into his touch. chris chuckles, pushing your stomach back down onto the bed.

he trails sloppy kisses down your chest and stomach, eventually reaching your clothed pussy. he kisses over it softly. “can i take these off?”

you nod frantically, eliciting a chuckle to escape from his throat. he pulls off your shorts and panties at the same time, dropping them on the floor beside your bed. he stared at your glistening folds in absolute awe. he leans closer, the heat radiating off of you and onto his face. “you’re sure you want this?”

“yes, chris. please.”

“as you wish, angel.” chris mumbles with a grin, breaking the eye contact to run his tongue up your slit. you immediately arch into him, but he pushes you back down again, making you groan. his tongue circles over your clit, applying an unimaginably pleasurable pressure. he hooks his arms around thighs, spreading them further.

he brings his tongue down to tease your entrance before plunging it in as far as he can. you let out a whiny moan, something you’d never done. it was becoming clear to the both of you that chris could make you feel things nobody else could. his grip on your thighs tightened as he licked and sucked. it was as if he was on death row and this was his final meal.

“chris, i..” you’re barely able to vocalize that you’re extremely close already, the knot in your stomach tightening by the second. “hm? what is it, angel?” chris mumbles against your pussy, his breath sending shockwaves through your body.

“..’m close, chris” you whimper as he pushes his tongue back into you, releasing a hand from your thigh to let his thumb rub circles on your clit. you let out an almost pornographic moan at the motion. the string is about to snap, fraying at the edges. you were so close, but you wanted to savior the moment, so you were pushing it away.

“stop fighting it, angel. let go f’me.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. at his words, you finally allow yourself to stop holding on, absolutely letting yourself go. you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your shakily loud moans. chris grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. you finally come down from your high, shaking. “we’re not done, angel.” chris chuckles.

chris pulls off his jean shorts, along with his boxers. your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. you’d never seen anything like it. you weren’t sure you’d be able to take half of it. “i—chris, i can’t.”

“yes you can, angel. i’m right here to help you.” chris assures softly. he pumps himself a couple times. “see how hard you got me?”

he hovers over you and you grip his biceps. he lines himself up with your leaking pussy. “you ready?” he asks, more of a groan of impatience. you nod, squeezing your eyes shut. “angel, it’s fine.” chris chuckles.

he slowly pushes his tip into you, hissing at how tight you are. “chris, i can’t!” you whine. “that’s just the tip, angel. you can squeeze me as much as you need. if you really really need me to stop, just tell me.”

you nod slowly, sighing in nervousness. he pushes in further, the burning stretch gnawing at you. once chris can you’re ready to continue, he pushes in further. eventually, he’s finally able to bottom out. “you okay?”

again, you nod. “pl-please start moving..” you plead. sure, you were nervous at first. sure, it hurt. but, it hurt so good. chris nods, slowly starting to thrust in and out of you, never taking his eyes off of your face. “y’look so beautiful takin’ me like this.”

he starts to pick up the pace, causing you to let out moans, whines, whimpers, literally any noise anyone could think of. chris’ groans and pants only turned you on more. you start to clench around him, feeling your stomach tighten once again. and once his thrusts started to get a little sloppy, you knew he was just as close as you were.

chris peppered kisses over your face and neck, slowing his thrusts slightly. “where should i cum, angel?”

“uhm—in..inside..” you mumble, barely able to form words at this point. “you sure?” he asks, a little nervous. “very sure!”

chris nods, his arms starting to weaken beneath him as he tried his hardest to give you rougher thrusts. “c—cumming!” is all you manage to get out as you come undone on his cock. “me too, angel, me too. did so good for me.” he murmurs against your neck. his hot, white cum paints your gummy walls as you both pant.

chris pulls out of you and plops down next to you on the bed, laying on his back. he pulls you on top of his chest, wrapping his arms around your warm body.

“think you still need a smoke?”

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

a/n: hi hi!! i hope you guys enjoyed this!! i still have a long way to go on my smut writing skills LMAO but i try my best😭 but yeah i know this was uploaded a little…late…but it’s okay😛

tags: @sturn-saturn @xysbree @emely9274 @sturniolos4life16 @pearlzier

[jungle-angel]

Chaos In The Kitchen (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: Bob and his siblings should never be in the kitchen together, especially prepping for the big barbecue on the 4th

Warnings: Parenthood, Bob and his siblings being a chaotic mess, Meemaw having to control everybody etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @sebsxphia

Bob pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe, his ears bombarded by the cacophony of noise coming from the kitchen. Pans and pots clattered to the floor along with utensils, loud curses and swears flew from the doorway along with some rather colorful insults.

"......You're a fucking idiot Michael! Why would you do that?!"

"How was I supposed to know it would do that, SEAN?!"

"You two dickheads almost lit the kitchen on fire!"

"Stay outta this Reagan!"

"No I'm not gonna stay out of it! You know why? Because I am the keeper of the one collective brain cell the four of you share!"

Bob made a face and set the grocery bags down at the threshold of the door. The kitchen was a mess, completely covered in flour and smatterings of vanilla. Something had burned in the cast iron pan while Bob's brothers and oldest sister continuously argued over who had almost burned down the kitchen.

"HOLY MOSES!" Meemaw exclaimed as she came through the storm door in the kitchen with a basket of elderberries.

Everyone froze, two of them swallowing nervously.

"Um........Meemaw......we can explain.........." Eugene said.

"Please do, I'd love to hear it," she said sarcastically.

No one spoke, too nervous to rouse the wrath of their grandmother.

"I trust ya'll knuckleheads to get one thing......one damn thing made......and ya'll nearly burn down the kitchen," Meemaw pointed out.

"It was Sean's idea," Michael said, yelping when Sean stamped his older brother's foot.

"That is IT!" Meemaw declared. "Out! Out! Git on outta my kitchen! Out! Go cause trouble somewhere else!"

The five disgruntled siblings, Liam, Reagan, Eugene, Sean and Michael, all filed out the storm door to go see what else needed doing.

"Sorry ya'll had to see that Bob," Meemaw apologized.

"Nothing I haven't seen before Meemaw," Bob answered, trying not to laugh.

Him and Meemaw set to work, trying to get the kitchen cleaned up before the barbecue commenced. "Hopefully none of'em lose a finger or a hand when they set the fireworks off tonight," Meemaw chuckled.

Bob laughed a little bit. "I dunno Meemaw, but we'll find out," Bob replied.

"In the meantime we're gonna need to get this place cleaned up and bakin," she said. "Not that I wanna have the ovens goin but I guess the mini-splits will help with that. Any idea where (y/n) went?"

"She went to go get Auggie's birthday cake from the grocery store," Bob answered. "I think Dad, Papa and Hawk all went to go get them meat."

"Well, if anything they'll be a while," Meemaw remarked. "In the meantime, you and me are gonna get this shit movin."

Meemaw pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses from the hutch cabinet in the hallway. "Two for the chefs, one for the dish," she joked.

Bob and Meemaw set to work on the pies and other baked goods, hoping they would be ready in time for the picnic. Meemaw had pulled the Hoosier Pie from the fridge, the cream filling having set overnight and needing only a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon over the top.

"Was this your mom's recipe?" Bob asked.

"Nah that was my Meemaw's recipe," Meemaw laughed. "She used to make it every summer and maybe at Thanksgiving. I remember when we'd bring your dad, aunts and uncles up to their place in Indiana every year for Thanksgiving and she'd make it."

Bob laughed at the stories Meemaw had told about her time growing up on the farm in Indiana and how she had met Papa after he had tried to sneak a slice of her gram's pie from the window.

The cream and pudding pies were stuck in the fridge to set while the huckleberry pie was quickly pulled from the oven and the apple one stuck right in. The shoofly pie had been a recipe from Meemaw's friend, Ethel, a fiery little Mennonite woman from Pennsylvania and who had been very close with Meemaw while their husbands were serving in Korea.

Finally, everything was done. Bob had never seen so many pies in his entire life. "I don't think I can look at another pie for a long time," he laughed.

"You and me both Bobby," Meemaw chuckled.

The door opened and you stuck the red, white and blue cake on the counter. "I hate holiday grocery shopping," you groaned.

Bob coiled his arms around you and kissed your cheek. "It came out great though," he remarked.

You couldn't have agreed more. The red, white and blue cake was absolutely huge with an edible photo of Captain America on the front of it. "Has Auggie seen it yet?" Bob asked.

"I don't think so," you said. "We'll wait till after dinner tonight to show him."

You joined your husband and your grandmother-in-law in the kitchen to get everything else ready, enjoying yourselves as you smelled all the tantalizing scents of the meat being cooked outside. Of course there had been chaos, but you and Bob enjoyed yourselves nonetheless.

[jflemings]

— the smallest man who ever lived pt2

pairing: jessie fleming x reader (piper’s world)

synopsis: jessie’s morning gets disrupted

warnings: piper’s birth father

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

And I don't even want you back, I just want to know / If rusting my sparkling summer was the goal / And I don't miss what we had, but could someone give / A message to the smallest man who ever lived?

jessie pulls up to the small cafe with a huff. she’d been out picking up some essentials the three of you needed when she thought to stop by your local cafe to get some hot drinks and muffins for you all. the rain continues to hit her windshield rhythmically and she pulls up her hood and gets out of her car.

the canadian keeps her head ducked and her hands stuffed in her pockets as a shiver runs up her spine. the small bell above the door jingles and warm air hits the apples of her cheeks, making her sigh.

“hi jessie!” april, the young barista, says cheerily “your regular?”

she nods “add a hot chocolate and a medium caramel latte, too please” she smiles

april begins punching it into the register before holding her arm out to the display case full of treats “we’ve got freshly baked muffins this morning! added a new mars bar flavour too”

jessie’s eyes scan over the various flavours of muffins “can i get one blueberry and white chocolate, one apple and cinnamon aaand…” jessie pauses and squints, leaning forward slightly “one of the mars bar ones too please” she says with a small huff.

april cracks a smile as she directs jessie’s attention to the card reader “just twenty four dollars!”

“thanks april” she smiles before having a seat near the door. she leans her forearms on the table and pulls out her phone to respond to texts from you she knows are unread. she continues to scroll for a little bit before an uneasy feel settles over her. jessie ignores it, shaking out her shoulders before settling back.

a tingle crawls up her spine and the midfielder suddenly feels like she’s being watched. she flexes her hand and looks up subtly, scanning her eyes over each of the patrons before settling on a man on the other side of the small cafe.

a hot flash of fury washes over jessie and she struggles to keep her expression neutral. she flexes her hand again and looks at her watch before looking to the counter where april is finishing making her order. she doesn’t spare another glance at the man as she stands and tucks her chair in, pocketing her phone and stepping towards the counter.

in her peripheral vision she sees him stand and suddenly becomes rooted in her spot.

“jessie!” april calls sweetly, placing a tray and paper bag down “here ya go”

“thanks april” she says “have a good day”

april nods and waves as jessie goes to turn before the man grabs her elbow. she stills and slowly looks from his hand to his face. “can i help you” you says rhetorically, her eyes stone cold.

“jessie, we need to talk” your ex says

she briefly looks back at april to make sure she’s not watching before turning back to him “actually, i need to get home” she grits before shooting a glance at his hand “let go of me”

liam listens and drops his hand from her elbow before holding his hands up in surrender “i just want to talk”

“i think you made your stance pretty clear at meadow park” she says lowly, “there’s nothing more to say really” she shrugs and walks out of the cafe with liam still hot on her trail.

“what did you expect me to say? that i didn’t mind the fact that my ex girlfriend, the mother of my child, took my little girl away from me?” he says forcefully “because i’m not, i deserve to know piper”

jessie stills as she gets to her car. she breathes in and out deeply in an attempt to calm the anger that’s bubbling in her stomach “y/n didn’t take piper away and you made your choice.” she says as she turns “and honestly, i don’t want to fucking hear it. i don’t care how entitled you think you are, after dragging her through hell and back you don’t deserve anything”

liam’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow “you don’t know what choice i made”

“she broke up with you because she discovered she was a lesbian, told you she was pregnant and then you told her to fuck off. even after that she still continued to try to contact you so you could meet piper, and you told her that you didn’t even want to know the name of your child” jessie relays calmly. “i know enough”

“but she didn’t even ask me why i did it, why i didn’t want to be a dad! i’m older now and i regret what i did. i want to know my daughter” liam says more calmly, but just as stern “and i was hoping that you’d understand, or at the very least tell y/n to contact me”

jessie huffs “your name isn’t on the birth certificate. legally, she’s not your child” she shrugs before walking to the drivers side door.

when jessie walks through the door of your shared place she’s immediately met with the sound of small feet running.

“mama mama!” piper shouts before stopping directly in front of her, holding up a piece of paper “look at what i drew!” she shouts as she holds it proudly.

jessie leans down “that’s really good pip!”

“that’s auntie sammy and auntie caitlin, and auntie katie, and auntie leah, and stephy, calvy and dean” she lists off as she points to the numerous figures on the page “and guro and auntie ky!” she concludes with a smile on her face.

jessie nods and tilts her chin, signalling piper to follow her to the kitchen.

“they’re all playing football! and katie and sammy are fighting like they do sometimes” she says cheerily “and calvy is the ref, see” she slaps the paper on the counter for jessie to see. low and behold, there’s steph’s dog calvin dressed in a bright yellow referee’s shirt with a whistle around his neck “dean is on the sidelines and guro is the goalie”

“that’s really good pip, do you wanna put it in your folder for safe keeping?” jessie asks as she begins to unload the few groceries she stopped to get.

piper nods “can you help?”

“go get it and i’ll put it in a sleeve”

piper excitedly runs off, almost running into your legs as you come down the hallway. you swerve and turn to jess “guro in goal is funnier than calvin being the ref”

“i’m sure she’d love that” jessie says as she playfully rolls her eyes.

you grab the empty tote bag the two of you use for groceries and begin to fold it up, only now noticing the slight dip in jessie’s demeanour. you notice the tray of drinks and paper bag and take your latte and muffin, unwrapping the treat and picking big chunks out of it.

“what’s up with you?” you ask through a mouthful of blueberry and white chocolate

“what do you mean?” jessie says as she sips her drink

you give her a flat look “jessie”

she closes her eyes and runs her hand over her face “i ran into liam at the cafe and we had words” she sighs.

your stomach drops and you pause your picking “what did he say to you”

“that he deserves to know piper” the canadian places the cup on the counter and traces the lid with her finger “just throwing himself a fucking pity party, really”

you widen your eyes in mild surprise. jessie wasn’t one to casually swear, especially if there was a chance that piper was within earshot “and what did you say?” you lean on the counter and jessie bites her lip. she takes a long sip of her coffee and licks her lips

“that he doesn’t deserve anything and that his name isn’t on the birth certificate so piper isn’t legally his child” she says quietly to you, not looking into your eyes “obviously neither am i, but he was saying how pip is his kid, and he was calling her his little girl, and i just kinda snapped” she says as she ducks her head.

you smile and walk to the other side of the kitchen island and wrap your arms around jessie’s waist, hugging her side. you kiss her cheek and lean your head on her shoulder as her hand comes up to cup your cheek “you could be, y’know” you say quietly to her before propping your chin up on her shoulder “if you want it, we could put your name on the birth certificate”

jessie turns to you with wide eyes, her mouth is slightly agape “you mean adoption? like, i adopt piper?”

you shrug “why not”

she opens her mouth to speak again before piper comes back into the kitchen. she’s dressed in plastic pink heels, a mini mccabe ireland jersey, an old birthday crown from her second birthday and a singular dress up glove. in her hands is her art folder.

“mama” she says as she holds the folder out “i tried to get it in but it didn’t work”

you try to stifle a laugh as your daughter comes to jessie’s side with a little down on her face “i didn’t want to rip it”

jessie takes the folder off her and opens it to where she’d tried to get her most recent artwork into a plastic sleeve. she carefully pulls out the paper and flattens it before sliding it in easily.

you reach around jessie’s back and tug on the shoulder of the small ireland jersey she’s got on “where’d you get this from?”

“katie” piper responds “to add to my collection!”

you hum “did you say thank you?”

“of course i said thank you” she drags out dramatically “i know my manners mumma”

“good girl” you praise as you twirl one of her little pigtails.

jessie hands the display folder back to the little girl “here you go pip” she says as she adjusts the crown on piper’s head “there’s a hot chocolate and muffin here for you” she says

piper smiles and holds the folder close to her chest “thank you mama!” piper exclaims “i’ll go put this away and then come back” she says before running back to her room, her little plastic heels clicking against the floor.

your girlfriend turns her head to look at you as you tighten your grip on her “the adoption thing… are you sure?”

you lean further into her “i am” you nod “and if that’s something you want, we can look into it, see what the process is since she wasn’t born here”

“it is something i want” jessie nods as she leans her head on yours “if we can’t do it here we could go back to australia for christmas? it would be good to see your family” she thinks out loud.

“i agree” you say as you pick at your muffin again before holding the piece up to jessie’s mouth. “are you okay? after seeing liam?” you ask her quietly.

jessie chews on the muffin “i’m fine. i thought i’d be more hostile but i was okay”

you aimlessly run your finger over the drink hole in the cardboard tray “i, uhm” you pause “i think i want to talk to him” you admit quietly, not looking at jessie.

her hands squeeze your arms that are around your waist “yeah?”

“for answers” you continue “i thought i was fine with not knowing but now that he’s here, i don’t think i can live the rest of my life without closure”

jessie runs her hands up and down your arms “okay” she says “if that’s what you want”

you hook your chin over the round of her shoulder so that you’re looking directly at the side of her face “it is, but only if you’re there with me”

“i wouldn’t be anywhere else”

[s-4pphics]

don’t know if you’re still doing requests but… finding out that sub!ellie likes to be choked while y’all are scissoring hhhnng oh my god

choking ellie choking ellie choking elliechokingelelicukcholcjgelleie

ellie either gets choked or does the choking in everything i’ve ever written and it’s for a reason it’s because i wanna be strangled….

idk i feel ellie finding out she secretly loves being choked would be goofy as shit. like she does something to irritate her partner and they playfully say “i’m gonna kill you!” with the lightest touch on her neck imaginable. their palm is literally laying there with barely any pressure but her brain goes into overdrive and her eye starts twitching… LEWWWWSEERRRR

she thinks about it for days. literally sun up to sun down. not an hour missed of imagining her partner choking the shit outta her… and one night, she’s getting fucked to hell and decides to start dropping ‘signs’…

one night, her partners riding the fuck out of her and she’s seconds away from bussin when she grabs her partner’s hand. she doesn’t know how to bring it up without killing the vibe, so she just awkwardly places it on her shoulder. i imagine whoever’s fucking her be looking down like “odd placement but okay…” and ellie’s staring up like a kicked dog because they’re both fucking stupid😂😂 and then she angles her chin at the ceiling to expose her neck a bit more… like their hand is right there… slide a few inches over, and she’s home free!

but they don’t. they both nut and kiss each other goodnight, but ellie’s about to tweak. 2 tortuous weeks pass when she finally blurts out her desires over a hot bowl of cinnamon apple oatmeal… at least she thinks she makes it obvious enough for her partner to catch. what started off as normal morning conversations turn into ellie dramatically asking,

“do you like throats?”

when her partner stares at her like she’s sprouted two heads, she rolls her eyes to mask embarrassment. she clarifies, “i mean… do you like my throat?”

‘uhhh… yeah?’ was all she got, so she boldly asks.

“cool, cool… can you choke me tonight?”

and that night they fuck… and it’s awkward. but it’s not either of their faults. her partner’s scared that they’re gonna accidentally kill their girlfriend so they barely touch her neck, and ellie’s fiending to go light headed from lack of oxygen.

when ellie’s close, she gets loose-lipped, so she just starts frantically begging for them to ‘choke me harder choke me harder’, but her partner panics. a constant drawl of ‘are you sure what if you die oh fuck im gonna cum’ so ellie’s nails retract from her partner’s waist to lay her palm over her s.o’s with the filthiest glare… just the slightest bit of added pressure where her fingers squeeze theirs, and her partner’s thumb is pressed right on her pulse that thumps with anticipation…

and she busts on impact! possibly the loudest she’s ever been and the hardest she’s ever came in a while. their sex dynamics are changed forever, and ellie can’t nut without neck affection!

this is canon btw🩷

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐏𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐲 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

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

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

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn

word count: 3.1k

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

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

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

prologue || chapter two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad. Joel. 

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

You point to her feet, “Nice kicks,” 

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

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

“Right, sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Coffee shop?” 

“I’m off for the day,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A friend.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woah, spoilers.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My hero.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You have anything in mind?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotcha.” 

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

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

“Oh fuck off, Tommy Miller,” 

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

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

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

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

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

You hate taking out the thrash. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

[cowgirlcherrie]

𓏲 APPLE OF MY EYE ᵎᵎ secret admirer! abby anderson

synopsis: love is a free spirit; crushing is even harder. It all started with a special delivery of anonymous treats at your door. While you were yearning that it would be your best friend sending them to you.

song(s): apple cider by beabadoobee

*LYRICS ARE BOLDED

content: takes place in game universe. follows the events leading up to seattle day 1. violence. death. repetitive mentions of apples; eating them, imagery etc. mutual pinning. implied character death by end. blood. right person, wrong time. missed connection. kinda implied fem! reader. Joel death mention. death foreshadowing. intuitive knowledge of death. Closely follows the song.

WE BOTH LIKE APPLE CIDER

Crush and Crunch.

Crunching with your crush. 

It all sounded the same to you, the cracking of your vocal cords at the back of your throat pushing at enunciating every syllable in crush sounding like crunch; which were your teeth poking into an apple every Tuesday. Shiny Granny Smiths, on Tuesdays, Honeycrisps on Wednesdays, and Fuji on Fridays. 

You weren’t sure when the kitchen started getting apple deliveries; perhaps the never-ending garden of trees grown them with the perfect analytics to make sure they weren’t poisonous or synthetic apples but you weren’t complaining. The first time you tried an apple sounded ridiculous to say. Your first ever. You took the finely cut slice; detached from its core to your mouth, groaning in satisfaction as the flavors mixed together in your mouth like a rollercoaster. Juicy and bitter with a tinge of sweetness.  Just how you liked it.

Abby said they were even better with cinnamon. Rambling on about how sugar and spice equate to everything nice and the best finger-licking of your dreams. On apple days, during breakfast you found yourself sitting at a secluded table with Abby in front of you slicing the apples so they were easier to consume. Shared amongst the two of you as your hands reached for the same slices; Abby pulled her hand away to let you have the last. 

BUT YOUR HAIR BE SMELLING LIKE FRUIT PUNCH

You enjoyed these bittersweet moments; like the apples of course. The sun beamed on Abby’s face in marigold and marmalade, as her blonde locks blew in the air slightly disheveled from when she went on patrol that day. Her fresh scent of pine, and fruit blend from her hair which was refreshing and comforting you. She took a final bite before flipping the knife down to take it back to the utensil bin for washing. Where then the two of you would part ways. It was never awkward. Eating apples in silence; you mean — because Abby had a schedule more vigorous and deathly than yours and you had other businesses to attend to. But she never would miss out on an Apple time with you. 

AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOU THAT MUCH

You’ve grown suspicious in recent meters. You weren’t one to talk about love either but it somehow found some way to bite back at you like the juices of the apple splattering on your lips when you would eat them.

WAIT, I DO, FUCK.

It started with suspicious packages revealing themselves outside of your door, wrapped in a delicate ribbon, with a brown paper box tied off with the most absurd cursive handwriting that you could hardly read. But somehow making out, the delicate notion of

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Xoxo, eyes from afar.

CALL ME, AT MIDNIGHT.

So as anyone else would, at midnight, you stomped your way to Abby’s door pounding your fist into the wood until she slammed it open looking at you in bewilderment. Toothbrush in between her lips scratching her teeth; scrubbing away at any build-up as she watched you. Notioning with her hands for you to speak. She looked carefree, laidback her hair was down and she looked as though she freshly showered. 

“Thanks for the gift” you smirk, holding up the box with randomized love and self-care books with an intact nail polish set that was on top. It was a variety pack, swishes of different shades of pink and white, and even nudes to go for a clear coat; like a puff of cotton candy.

You were flattered, naturally, it was a sweet gift like a candy cane in the sweet summer breeze you wanted to just rip it out of the packaging and have a go. You also never had someone be so considerate of you. Thinking to bring you back something so pure and valuable that surely wouldn’t collect dust but you would bring out every month. You would make sure it wasn’t forgotten.

Abby furrowed her eyebrows, holding up her pointer finger motioning – one minute, running to the sink and spitting out the toothpaste rinsing her mouth off. 

“I didn’t give you that.” Abby specified, taking a washcloth to wipe at her hands and around her mouth as she let you inside.

“C’mon Abs, even if you did that’s—”

“I didn’t give that to you.” Abby’s voice was more serious this time, stern and strict with some urgency. Not that she was being rude about it, but she was trying to get you off her case. After a long day of patrolling where she did find goodies you would like along with some ribbons from a craft store along the way, Abby got to work making you a sweet delivery. After all, you deserved it. 

“But who else would know I like apples besides you!”

“Manny, Mel, Nora, Ow–”

“Okay I didn’t ask for names.” You hushed, fiddling with the box in your hand as you looked at the treats inside. Biting at your lips, it was like being given a hug but the person who gave it to you disappeared before you can offer one better, or even fully wrap your arms around them to give one back.

“This was really sweet I just wish I could give something back.” You mumbled, tilting your head down to look at the books yearningly. Amidst the violence, the blood, and the chaos, you still loved and that was what pushed you forward. That was what erupted a fire in you; triggering your passion and jumpstarting your heart like cables to a car. 

“I think you shouldn’t worry about it,” Abby suggested, not looking at you but folding her laundry to put away for safekeeping.

“What?” 

“What.” Abby shot back, acting as if she didn’t say anything prior, but you heard her well. Your friend, heart, and soul were being shifty with you; acting as if she didn’t care about your treats or that you were being admired from afar by someone with a sweet gentle heart. 

“Nevermind I’m being silly” You confessed, taking your words back and turning on your heels to leave her room.

Abby wasn’t going to let you leave. Lips parted as she watched your feet get closer and closer to the exit of the door.

LETS GIVE, THIS, THING A TRY.

“Show me.” 

You stopped walking, turning around slowly on your heels. Part of you wished it was Abby, though she would never really know. You watched the way she looked at Owen with appreciation but also disgust. How her love turned to hatred and pain. Abby wasn’t focused on you, you would think.

Abby wasn’t focused on you.

“What?”

“I said show me,” Abby confessed, her voice as clear as day, “C’mere…” Abby patted the side of her bed where she sat comfortably. 

“G‘head tell me about it. I wanna see it too” Abby gave a smile. Truth is, behind her push n’ pull —  rigid love and aggression she still hoped for you. Amidst her passive-aggressiveness, she was giving the love she felt as though she would never feel again. The permanent hole in her heart that you kept on refiling and you didn’t even know. 

She didn’t want you to slip through the cracks of her fingers just yet. Hiding behind a mask, cowardly shying herself away from you. Owen wasn’t on her mind but having you think that especially as she set off on a spree for the man who killed Jerry, would fix that. You were a liability, she wouldn’t let you go. 

You made your way down the steps, to her bed tucked in the corner nook, sitting down as you opened the package. With that you started rambling, tossing the paper apart like a kid on Christmas, showing Abby the hardcover copies with a dopey smiley on your face. Abby couldn’t contain her own smile either. Watching as you went through each nail polish shade.

“Can I try these on you?” You held up a baby pink, it was in a ballet slipper shade, which would make a good neutral against her bright skin. 

Abby wasn’t going to resist, shrugging up her shoulders against her black long-sleeve shirt, pushing the shirt up on her arms, “Sure”

So you proceeded further with painting her nails that evening, toxic paint brushing on her fingers like a canvas —  while the two of you whisked away in laughter. It was like a red string wrapped around the two of your fingers, webbing you together and pulling you closer and closer until there was no gaps or lack of air. 

It was pure and for the moment you really valued it. What you didn’t know you had until it was gone. You wished you could have hugged her a little bit longer, and learned more about her besides what she was showing you at a service level. You wanted to know Abigail, not Abby. Before it was snatched away from you with the snap of the fingers. Get the gunpowder dust off the sea salt it was time for war. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 

YOU SAID YOU LIKED MY HAIR, SO GO AHEAD AND TOUCH IT.

I like your hair today, and your necklace  xoxo, eyes from afar

Maybe it was the validation or the comments but you loved receiving the little notes wrapped in different color ribbons. Maybe you were looking forward to catching your second set of eyes. Lingering outside your door to see if they would show but it was always as if they knew your schedule. Catering to the perfect moments that you were gone to slip the delight at your door. 

The note of this week – bringing joyous to your being made you wear the delicate jewelry even more. At first, when you wore it, it was just a careless decision that you did for fun. Spontaneous and last minute as you untangled it in between your fingertips pulling out the birthstone necklace that was gifted to you from no other than Abby herself; weeks before the arrival of your secret admirer. But the moment you remembered, clasping it on around your neck was the moment you truly valued it even more. You were certainly never going to take it off. 

YOU SAID YOU LIKED THE JUMPER I WORE, SO I ALWAYS WORE IT.

But your bright radiating aura, evidently in hues of pink and purple; signs of love and wisdom was shortly dimmed by the chatter during your afternoon meal. You were set to follow Jordan to the Serevena, patrolling being the last thing you wanted to do of the evening. Endless pit in your stomach nothing felt right. The snap before everything fell apart. 

Out for blood, out for vengeance was Abigail Anderson who returned with blood on her hands. Murderer!Murderer! Red-handed girl with fury in her eyes and a golf club sharp at the end splattering everything into two. 

Wrecking havoc; causing destruction. 

That was all you heard from Jordan as you chewed through the same-old burrito that evening. That was enough to make your eardrums bleed. You could feel your heart in your ears jumping out of your chest at the whispers of Abby’s name, eyes darting from table to table to hear if anyone had caught wind of such a subject: 

I heard she… 

Can’t imagine that…

That’s terrifying…

No Abby mention.

Coincidentally amongst Abby’s absence; the snarky girl was gone with the wind, and so was your secret admirer. The deliveries stopped coming, you were alone, with a set of eyes ‘watching you’ and apples to now peel on your own. . . you found it odd, but one thing for sure was that Abby would hear from you later, where you would gush about this admirer of yours and what you imagined them to be.

IT’S REALLY NICE TO TALK TO YOU, IT’S REALLY NICE TO HOLD YOUR HAND

“Abs on a scale of 1-10 how attractive do you think my admirer is” You pondered, hands entangled in the pages of a fashion magazine. Fingers dusting away at the thin layer of grime and grey from the dust and dirt; signs of age.

“Probably like a 3” Abby confessed bluntly as she walked around her room moving vastly to pack away her belongings. 

Abby’s side of her room was neater in comparison to Manny’s, her laundry was folded, memories stored away for safekeeping, and everything was where it needed to be. Including your ribbon and the scissors she used — the bad duct tape she stole for security. 

“Really?”

“Okay, maybe a 5, it could well off be a creep,” Abby muttered as she continued to push different survival items into her bag, jacket first, followed by flashlights and extra batteries. 

“I don’t think it is though,” Abby froze, panicking instilling in her, it was like a vicious game of hot and cold, you creeping closer and closer to her and it was time for Abby to fall back and bring on the passiveness. 

“What?”

“I mean imagine this, they send me a final letter asking me to meet by the gardens where they reveal their identity to be no other than —”

“Save that for a fantasy, I’m leaving” Abby spat, cutting the happiness in the air with a thick knife which was her voice that evening. It felt like a safety net for her to drop off bad news right after you gave the good ones, almost debunking it creating a hostile environment, and shattering the rose-tinted glasses off. Then you remembered who you were talking to, what you were doing. A flower in the middle of an apocalypse, Abby being covered in thorns. 

“Is it because you killed that man”

“What makes you think it’s…who told you?” Abby furrowed her eyebrows stopping her movement to let you get a good look at her face.  Abby was looking you up and down like you ripped the bandaid off her arm like you were digging your fingers into a cut infecting it with your fingertips and any active bacteria. 

“Word travels around here pretty fast, this isn’t knew information”

A beat. And then another.

“Are you satisfied” You perk up, not breaking eye contact with the blonde in front of you. The fresh azul orbs dilating under the words that left your mouth. She looked at you with such admiration, but the mention of Jerry was enough to make Abby swing hard as she was back in the room holding her weapon of choice. Who was she to play god? Be the bearer of death? Call of evil? Abby thought back to what she was fighting for: was she satisfied? It wouldn’t bring her father back but there was a price on her head. Preferably until her life was obliterated and gone with her head. 

“Hmm”

“Because you don’t look satisfied” Your voice cracked, you were cutting into her skin and Abby was growing steadily uncomfortable, shifting her weight. Cracking her knuckles and rolling her head as she looked at you. Like a pretty Jem stone in a dimly lit room; all eyes on you she didn’t want to talk about this with you. Someone she was so emotionally connected with, god — anybody else but you.

“I…I need to go.” Abby stood up, swinging her backpack in her arms as you followed suit in the silence.

You stood up mimicking her actions taking your magazine in between your fingers and holding it close to your chest. 

“When will you be back?” you whispered, picking at the skin surrounding your nails as you rubbed your lips against each other as you rocked your body forward and backward. Abby’s eyes softened, looking at you up and down as she stuck her tongue in her cheek, clenching her jaw tightly. It almost pained her to say. 

AND EVEN IF WE’RE JUST FRIENDS, WE CAN BE, MORE THAN THAT.

“Soon…I hope, I’ll be back soon” Abby asserted. Abby bowed her head, cusping your cheeks in between her hands as she gave a chaste kiss to your cheek. Calloused fingers rubbing at your soft skin, It was a friendly thing, right? Nothing more?

She didn’t even like you that much.

But you on the other hand weren’t sure of your own feelings.

Like a tough game of tug-of-war, you wanted her, then you didn’t, then you couldn’t shake yourself out of it. You liked her and you wanted her. You wished and hoped that the admirer of yours would be her. The person you had sleepovers where you would laugh about your events and enjoy the delicacies delivered by your admirer you would have it no other way.

When she pulled away you struggled to find the words, hands jittery somewhere between reaching to grab your cheek or to wipe off her kiss with your hand. You weren’t sure how to feel. It was as if someone held a gun to your head telling you the right pill or blue.  

“May your survival be long” you reminded, holding a hand at your arm scratching at your sleeves.

“May your death be swift” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 

CALL ME AT MIDNIGHT, LETS GIVE THIS THING A TRY.

If you could do it all again you would. 

ASK YOU IF ITS OKAY,

You were alone, deep into your ocean of thoughts as your happy moments were coming to an end? Did you take it for granted? 

TO HAVE A SLEEPOVER,

The burrito you ate that evening wanting to come up, mouth sticky with bile. You suddenly didn’t want to patrol the Serevena and help Nora move supplies. It felt wrong – almost impractical like you were in the wrong place. Foot cemented into the floor as you stood at your bed. Shoving supplies into your backpack, tying a strand of the ribbon from your admirer's box around the handle of your bag. You wanted to be back at the base with Abby where the two of you would have your sleepovers, cut your apples, and have competitive matches in the shooting range where you would tell Abby she missed a shot and she would tell you, you held the gun wrong. 

Preparing to leave, doing one final spin at your place of comfort. Freshly made bed and sorrowful grey sheets, you wished for a happier time and a great release. Opening your door, you were met with one box before you would go. Picking up the lightweight box it almost felt impractical to even be wrapped. 

TO DRINK SOME APPLE CIDER, OR MAYBE SOME FRUIT PUNCH

Parting gift for the one I stole these for… don’t forget me Xoxo, A. Anderson Your eyes always 

You smiled to yourself, it was all you ever wanted. Your best friend really was your admirer and you just hoped you could reach her before she was gone and it truly could have been your last time seeing her. Unwrapping the terribly wrapped paper object revealed a shiny sharpened knife with a brown handle. It was Abby’s knife, the one she savored and used only for your apples that she would cut during your lunch breaks. Tears brimmed your eyes moving the object around as if it were malleable, smiling gently to yourself at the irony of it all. Quickly locking the door and throwing the paper that was used to wrap the gift away in the hall trash you ran to try to catch Abby who was already on the truck, across from Mel as she set off on her journey. As the sun was getting low, so were you who had to travel adjacent from your new fount lover. 

What were you gonna say?

Besides: I knew it, of course, you wanted her to know that you felt the same; in fact even more.

AND WE CAN TALK ABOUT HOW WE DON’T LIKE EACH OTHER THAT MUCH.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 

“There’s no real you are real right now”

“Shh– baby, I’m real” Abby hushed bringing up her hand to your mouth to silence you. “I’m real.”

You were currently carrying a tray of med supplies but soon it all crashed to the ground; metal tin hitting the floor as Abby backed away into a corner. She looked disheveled different than you had last seen her; whispies around her face. Like she cared a little bit more, but maybe it was because she was with you. 

You couldn’t help but bring Abby into a tight hug head against her shoulder, resting your eyes in full solitude. You were home amidst the violence and her going AWOL that had made Isaac angry with all of you. You lied thickly through your teeth when Isaac dragged you in asking questions about the location and conspiration Abby had going on.

All you could say was you didn’t know.

And it wasn’t a lie but in fact the truth there was not much you really did know. 

Abby held onto you as if you were going to be snatched out of her hands as the both of you cried. Sobbs shaking the both of you. Abby couldn’t stop herself from applying gentle kisses to the side of your head and holding at the nape of your neck during the hug.

“You look like shit!” you acknowledged pulling at the sleeve of her jacket to which Abby rolled her eyes and pulled your hand away.

“Ahh could be worse”

A beat. And another; comfortable silence filling the air between the two of you. You didn’t wanna ask but for your newfound knowledge, you had no other choice but to. You wanted her to know, hell you haven’t seen her for very long and this well could have been the last time you would ever. 

“So it was you? All along” you sputtered, snickering under your breath as you brought your hands across your chest, licking the base of your lips as your eyes wandered off.

“It was – hey! You opened the letters” Abby gave you a look of disbelief, half of it was due to her being scared shitless, others it was the fact that Abby could feel her own hands getting clammy as she rubbed them against the base of her jeans to get it to stop.

“It said 2 —”

“Weeks I know” “I was desperate”

There was silence again. 

“I could just kiss you right now I can’t believe you are alive” You blurted out, giving Abby the most gentle smile. Abby for a second felt her world move in slow motion as she stared with such unconditional love. 

“Then do it”

So you did, rushing forward, throwing your body against Abby’s as the two of you leaned in for a swift kiss. Her lips were chapped, slightly rugged but you didn’t mind applying your smooth ones to her as the movements of your body synched together in eternal sunshine. Nothing in this moment mattered, besides her lips on yours and her hands against your body. Abby’s fingers stroked at your cheeks eventually moving down between your jaw and your neck as she continued. No breaks; no air, until the sound of boots stomping closer to the room rang your ears, forcing you to pull away.

“Okay, I need supplies miserably Nora brought me to you, I have to go, I don’t know if this will be my last time seeing you: I hope it’s not, I’m not exactly in Isaac’s good graces – I think we both know that” Abby spoke with urgency, distrust but also sadness. Abby wasn’t sure but recently she’s been feeling as though things were slipping in between her fingers. She wasn’t sure how long this ecstasy and rapture would last, or the longevity of her contentment. Abby was certain the girl from the room; with the golf club and joel would show her face again.

“It’s okay” you assured, hands now at Abby’s biceps, lips rubbing against each other as you turned your head away from her face, shaking it slightly. 

“But don’t forget. . .” “I’m so incredibly infatuated by you” Abby whispered as she moved in closer to give a swift kiss to your forehead.

Now wasn’t the time for formalities or titles, but you wished with your fingers crossed and your eyes closed shut, that she would return for the conversation worth having. Full honesty and confessional where your girl that smelled of pine would tell you all her rushes of thoughts that nagged at her as she closed her eyes.

“Knife to the chest sweetheart, swing with your right not your left…it’s your better arm” Abby cautioned, pretending to bring her arm up to swing, giving a final squeeze to your cheek as she was headed for the door preparing for ground zero.

“Bye Abby” 

That was the difference, it was as if your body knew. Saying Bye instead of a see you later or, playfully threatening her to come back to you in one piece. Your eyebrows furrowed; your face scrunched as you cringed at your words, as mediocre as they sounded. You caught yourself doing that a lot and you weren’t sure why. Going from present tense to past tense. “I am” to “I did” to “I was” , this happened after you started dreaming. Dreaming that your body was against a cold tile, scrunching into a ball as you let out your last breath alone.

You knew. 

“This is not goodbye — don’t say that, it’s see you later!” Abby snapped, giving you a hand motion as she swung the door open, crouching down as she moved steadily through the room as it closed behind her with a loud CLICK! From the lock.

“I’ll see you later” Your hand went from waving to at your side as your smile dropped and abruptly the warm room felt cold. Very cold.

But you weren’t going to see her later. Body paralyzed to the floor as the bullet wound in your stomach bled crimson all over the floor. As red as the Honeycrisp apples you ate on Wednesdays. An auburn-haired girl rushes past you following the footsteps of Nora. You were crashing and your body was failing you. Whimpers of pain escaped your lips as you held onto your stomach like you had a bad stomach ache, rolling onto your side as your vision became a nuisance and blurry mess. During your last few moments, you thought of Abby and her bright smile, all the plans she had for the two of you, and how you were finally happy that you got your happy ending, 

But at what cost?

You weren’t going to get to drink apple cider with her or hug her again, and that’s what destroyed you the most as a salted tear fell from your eye. Apple was placed on the table rotting from the inside out, With Abby’s knife poked into its core. Death has met its match.

You were the apple of her eye, and you were destroyed and eaten whole indefinitely. 

taglist

@beforeimdeceased @starologist @destielcore @rarestdoll @luvrgalore @ellsss @zahraaziza @emluvselandabs @abbyily @elliestrwbrry @mossc0vered @spacewlf @as2rid @ariianelle @spaceshipellie @lottiematthewsceo @emonopolyman @imamybubbles @mikasbby @trulygnomed

© cowgirlcherrie

[ohtobeleah]

Not me thinking about a possible Bob x Cafe!owner, single mama reader series. The cafe would be called the Flight Deck.

“There’s a new coffee shop on Clarence street.” Hangman’s strolling in on the first day back after the squad have officially been posted permanently in Miramar. “The owners kinda smokin’ too.”

“Y/n’s nice—“ Bob doesn’t even lift his head. He’s been in enough over the past few weeks of leave to know that you like how his glasses sit awkwardly crooked on the bridge of his nose. “So is her son.” Bob doesn’t have to look up to know Hangman’s face is showing nothing but a grimacing expression.

“No thanks.” Any and all future quests to possibly add you to the forever growing collection of conquests has been permanently tainted by the thought of a crotch goblin ruining the moment. “She’s all yours Floyd.”

“Wait, you know her by name?” Phoenix is asking with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “How long have you known about this coffee shop for?”

And that’s when Bob looks up.

“I had a coffee there before I flew back to Lemoore to pack my house up.” He explains through a soft gaze. “She makes good apple and cinnamon muffins too.”

How fucking cute would that be!

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

BENEATH MILES OF STONE. XXII ;

❛ chapter map. ❛ John Wick x Fat fem reader. ❛ TW: nsfw. ❛ divider by saradika.

Fear gets her between them faster than she usually can be; she wedges herself into the gap and pushes Michael back.

John barely flinches at the contact with a palm he wasn’t expecting. He reaches for Michael, but stops when she attempts to shove him away with her own weight. The apparent look of anger on his face, comically garnished with flour, not at her but behind, toward her friend, puts her pulse in her ears. The world sways a bit as Michael tries to get past her. She holds firm, using the width of her body to block him off.

“Why are you protecting him?!” Michael demands. “He fucking kidnapped you!”

She and John both grit their teeth at the same time. “I’m not protecting him,” she hisses, looking directly at John but addressing Michael when she says this, terrified for her valiant friend’s life.

John stares at her, eyes narrowed. She stares back defiantly, skin burning and heart rate fast with anticipation. It’s stupid to stand between him and something he wants to maim, but the fact that he doesn’t already have Michael’s neck in his hands is testament that he doesn’t actually want to hurt him… not badly, at least. This calms her down, but she stays firm, blocking Michael from getting at John and vice versa.

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’m so scared.” His tone is mocking.

“Michael, please stop,” she pleads, “I don’t want you to die today, okay?”

Michael snorts and glares at John above her head.

John eyes him for a moment, upper lip twitching from annoyance so subtly that anyone who didn’t really like to look at his face wouldn’t notice.

“What is he doing to you that you’re so afraid of him?” Michael is now suspicious.

She slaps her head into her palm, sighing, and decides to try and mediate with words rather than her body. “He was keeping me safe, Michael. Something happened and I was being stupid for trying to leave.”

Michael sizes him up, and John almost grins. “Uh-huh.”

She opens her mouth, but John answers for her. “Michael?” His voice is calm, which only serves to poke her adrenaline higher.

“John,” Michael replies, spitting the name out better than any high school mean girl ever could.

She interjects. “John,” voice trembling, “This is Michael, he’s my roommate.”

“Hello Michael.”

“Heyyy,” Michael’s voice is laced with disgust.

“Do not hurt him,” she tells John.

Michael rolls his eyes, John rolls his jaw.

Tension sizzles hot, beading sweat on her neck, and she attempts with her softest, pleading-ist voice: “Can we just…start over? Please? I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Michael sighs. “Oh, hun…fine. But he’s on thin fucking ice.”

John finally smiles, with teeth, and even if there is a white powder handprint on his cheek, it doesn’t lessen the intimidation of his features when he does.

“Johnny?” She implores, looking up into his blackened eyes.

“I’m good,” John says.

He sits at the tiny kitchen table with a cold Coke while she looks over the mess on her counters.

“What are you making?” She asks, peering into the bowl.

Michael picks up the stirring spoon and shoves it to her face. “Taste,” he says.

“Michael, this is delicious! John, do you like cinnamon apple bread? Michael makes the best. Fucking. Cinnamon apple bread.”

“Never had,” John replies, toying with the edges of the chipped table.

“You’ve never had cinnamon apple bread?” Michael asks, spinning around.

“Not until nowwww,” she sings, smiling bright at him. “If you’re okay with staying…? John?”

“He better be. There’s no way I’m letting you go that easy.”

He looks between them, shoulders tight, thinking of how he’d be better off in a standoff than here. “Okay.”

The forehead kiss from her is worth it, and Michael, surprisingly, is not insufferable. He’s content to sit on the couch and eat cinnamon bread, which is delicious, and listen to her and Michael catch up and be charmingly nonsensical. A few times, she attempts to include him, before understanding that he’s more comfortable in the role of observer in social interactions, and smiles apologetically before changing course.

He likes watching her. The way she moves and talks, the infinite compassion in that tiny soft body astounds him. The roommate has a little burn on his finger from the oven, and she fusses over it until he lets her patch it up with cream and gauze.

John gets jealous of the way she is with Michael, which doesn’t surprise but does irritate him. While they watch a movie, he pulls her possessively into his side and wraps his arms around her despite halfhearted protests. Maybe he can’t entertain her as well, and make her giggle as endlessly, but he can trap her and never let her go.

So there.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this. Popcorn?” She whispers.

He nibbles it off her fingers, unwilling to remove his hands from her waist.

When the movie is done, Michael find an excuse to drag her away for a minute. “It’ll just be a second, need you to tell me what looks best for my date before Johnny boy steals you away again.”

Upon a glance back at John, he is scowling menacingly at the prospect of her being away in another room, and even makes to pull her back from Michael’s clutches before he sees and concedes to the pleading look on her face, and sits back down with a grumble.

Michael is on her as soon as he shuts the bathroom door. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. That. That out there. Jesus Christ, he is delicious.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not really knowing what else to say, worried that her knight in shining Kevlar is going to get the wrong idea about her and Michael.

“Yeah?!” Michael demands, jumping up on the counter. “Yeah?!” He sighs. “You’re in so much trouble, you know that? That man is gonna eat you alive and pick the bones clean, baby girl.”

Her face screws up, and he holds his palms up to stop the avalanche of thoughts no doubt ready to cascade through her brain. “Now listen,” he says, and she doesn’t, “I am not saying he is in any way too good for you or some dumb shit like that that you’re mind is inevitably concluding. I’m saying that that is a fucking wolf, and you are a sheep, and he’s going to ruin your life and I’m worried.”

Michael might be too perceptive for his own good. “Ruin my life?”

“Ruin you for any other man,” Michael corrects.

Too late for that.

“Babe, I am really not trying to be funny. Blink twice if you need help.”

She tries to contort her face into something other than an amused smile and fails miserably. “I like him Michael. I really like him.”

The understatement of the fucking century.

John helps her pack a bag. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the dress, a flouncy colorful thing that would pair lovely with braids and his face shoved between her thighs. He puts the bag down on her bed, grabs her while she’s rummaging in her closet, and sticks her up on her little dresser with his hips wedged between her legs.

“John, we—“

His mouth makes her stupid so easily, hands wrapping around her waist and clutching down, saying this is mine without words, and this too while he sucks her upper lip into his mouth.

His tongue seems to find new tender places every time it traverses the expanse of her neck and jaw and collar, the little crevices of honeyed sweat unexplored by any other before him, a treasure under her ear that makes her squeal.

“He’s right,” John says, pressing light kisses over her jaw.

“What?” She breathes, clutching onto his jacket so hard the leather creaks and dents.

“I am going to eat you alive.”

And then he licks the bite from her teeth off her lip, and kisses her so sweetly she wishes he would be meaner just to press some of the ache from her mouth…and heart…and hands and fingers and toes and right between her parting legs where his fingers sneak in and curl.

She’s slippery and soaked, and he raises an eyebrow in amusement at the contrary protest her mouth gives, kisses her again to swallow a low groan as he thumbs at her clit and tugs at her front walls.

She doesn’t want the roommate to hear, doesn’t want him to know she’s a wanton creature with desires and afflictions, and that’s understandable, but unneeded because, “I have you, dollbaby, I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And she’s his no matter what, because he says so. Everything else is trivial.

He makes her cum and lets her bite his flesh so she doesn’t make too much ruckus (a wasted effort, on her part) then pulls his fingers from her tight little cunt and sticks them on her tongue. “Suck,” he says, watching her obey, lick and slurp her own sweet pussy juice of his digits.

His cock flares against his thigh, and he gets jealous, so he has to have a bit of cream for himself before she gets its all.

“See how good you taste?” He asks, fingers leaving in a wet pop from his mouth. “See why I can’t get enough of you?”

She tries to answer, but he kisses her, takes her tongue’s attention from syllables and despite the swollen, sensitive apex of her thighs makes her buck against him for more.

He groans against her mouth, because the dresser puts her right in line with his angry cock, and she grinds up against it, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, shy and needy and completely, helplessly irresistible.

He settles his hand around her collar, and smiles. “Hurry up.”

“Sure you don’t want me to take my time?” She muses, giggling evilly at the prospect of his painfully turgid cock.

“Oh?” He asks, pressing a little harder at her throat and watching her eyes flutter in pleasure. Good to know. “Wanna get fucked like an animal on your dirty blood stained mattress? Let Michael hear me ruin you and that pretty little cunt?”

She squirms, bucks her hips, and he chuckles. Too fucking easy. He loves it. “You little harlot.”

She kisses him again, maybe to shut up him up so her pussy stops clutching violently in need, and he laughs into her mouth despite the ferocity of her tongue and teeth.

“I want you to make love to me,” she tells his lips.

He doesn’t let her turn away from him when she says it, and his heart might as well have been shot through. “Finish packing.”

She smiles one more kiss into his mouth, bumps foreheads, and then lets him take her down off the dresser.

“Do you think this dress is okay?” She pauses, with it bunched in her hands and ready to go into the bag. “Probably not.”

“We can find something else,” he assures, unconcerned but already scheming up a pretty outfit for her.

“Oooooookayyyyyy,” she sighs, pushing it into her bag, anyway. She looks down, into the confines of the dresser it came from, and recognizes the robins blue cover of a forgotten gift, and smiles wide.

“Here, I got this for you.”

The big novel looks so tiny in his hands—it reminds her of when she was a kid, and everything seemed bigger compared to now—as he flips it over and reads the spine. “Oh, have you read this?”

“Uh, no. I just thought you’d like it. It’s about assassins and love. Have you read it?”

“No.” Then, he notices or rather realizes something: She doesn’t own any books. None that he’s seen. No shelf or stash. Her little case of DVDs lying next to the TV is the only entertainment he’s spied, and he wants to know why. “You don’t have any books?”

She shrugs. “I don’t read much. I mean, I used to. When I was young. A lot. But I just have no time for it, with work, you know?”

He blinks at her, feeling suddenly very horrible. Feeling like buying a house and stocking it with every book and movie she wants and keeping her locked in there to read and watch and eat and relax and fuck.

“What?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest defensively.

“I love it,” he motions at the gift.

She gives him one of those smiles that threatens to turn his plasma into syrup and continues packing.

Michael wraps her into a big hug before she goes, glaring over her shoulder at John, who decides then that he likes him because of how much he seems to care about her wellbeing.

When she walks out, John lingers a moment to slip an unmarked envelope into Michael’s hands, and when he looks up to ask about it, John is gone, and the door is closed as if he hadn’t been there at all. Inside is a check to cover the rest of her rent for the next six months, along with a note explaining this.

Of course, Michael immediately texts her after she’s safely buckled into his passenger seat, and of course, she confronts him. There is nothing about her that would indicate she’s okay with someone doing that for her, and John doesn’t expect acceptance right away, although she’ll have to get used to it sooner rather than later. He explains, casually, “It’s not because I think you can’t pay it, or that I owe you something. I want to do this for you because that money is trivial to me compared to your security and happiness.”

“Twelve thousand dollars is trivial to you?” she asks through a mix of gratefulness and sheer outrage that he would even think of spending that much money on her.

He thinks about how to answer that, whether to tell her he can make that in three hours sitting at Viggo’s bar and ensuring no one decides to kill him, and decides that he wants to be as honest as he can. Gently honest. Ease in. “Twelve thousand means something else to people with my salary. It would be like ten dollars for someone middle class.”

She blinks, then, surprisingly, laughs at him. At the raised eyebrow and the quick glance to probably check and see if she’s gone completely wacko, she reassures him of her dwindling sanity. “You paid my rent with blood money.”

He cringes, but agrees.

“I can’t John. I know you do what you do, but I can’t. I’m telling him not to cash the check.”

The willpower it takes not to stop this car, spin and drift on the icy road, park at the corner and bend her to his will either by bending her over his knee or bending her in half while he fucks the fight out of her in the cold back seat is tangent. This reminds him that she is too ethical, too moral, and that he will need to ruin both of those illusions sooner rather than later.

A second later, all his anger fades when she speaks soft and timid, manipulating him with the big-eyed pout on her pretty face without knowing she’s doing it. “Are you mad?”

“I’m irritated,” he tells her, brushing his knuckles over her cold puffy cheeks to soothe the ache of truth. “But I understand. Although don’t think that will stop me from trying to convince you otherwise.”

He grins, and she shivers under his touch, because John can be very convincing. She supposes it’s not hard for him to be, especially looking like he does, carrying himself like he does.

——————————

She is trying on her flowery dress, and it’s tighter, spilling the fat of her tits over the top and framing the soft bulge of her tummy obscenely. She turns in the mirror, smooths down and sucks in and decides she hates it far too much to let anyone see her in it let alone John—except he’s already in the doorway, leaning casually and watching her, eyes downturned.

Out of all the things she can cover, her hands instinctually wrap around her stomach to hide it, and he smiles, deciding that is where he’s going to lick and kiss and suck first.

“It’s not—“ he’s on her, pressing her against the counter and bruising her already chafed mouth, uncurling her little fists and pinning them on the counter. She moans against his teeth, pressing her hips into his thighs, and he bites her bottom lip to distract her from where his hands cup and kneed. It doesn’t work very well, not for too long, and she’s torn between sensitivity and shyness, immediately covering his hands and giggling. She buries her head into his chest, holding onto him, not protesting just yet, and he inhales her.

“Johnnnnn, that tickles.”

“Oh, poor thing,” he tuts, not stopping.

His teeth nip the spillage of her tits while he hikes her dress up around her waist, and then remembers his sweet thing wants to make love, and grins and this little morsel of heaven before him. “Take your pretty dress off and get in bed.”

[miwsolovely]

—ONLY FOR YOU

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: moose, mousse, basically the same thing, tastes so good, but so hard to make.. Carmy disagrees. apple donuts on the other hand, those were delicious. and conveniently easy.

contains: nothing but fluff, culinary inaccuracies, carmy teaching reader how to make apple donuts, aaaaandd reader is a bit of a perfectionist …

wc: 986

a/n: i literally pulled this shit outta my ass, lemme know your thoughts ! requested!

a/n 2: i thought this worked sososo well with carmy im so happy. i fucked up the end though zzz (requests r open !)

a/n 3: heres the link for the apple donut recipe !!

He made her feel alive. Made her think about how she should do her hair, what perfume to wear, how to smile, how to laugh, how to breathe.

It was random. Nobody intends to fall for someone so quick, however the only way out was to love. Or die crying.

[name] thinks its a universal problem. The need to be perfect for those you love, for those you want to love.

In doing so, making yourself perfect, you want everything to be perfect.

She became a chef because she loves food. Loves the simplicity of it, loves the complexity of it. Loves how feelings can be conveyed through it.

Which is what she is trying to do now: perfect the art of making a strawberry mousse.

It took a lot of tries, too many tries, and on the 8th [name] finally gave up.

She heaved out a sigh, placed her forearms on the kitchen counter and a bit harshly, dropped her head onto them.

She added everything. the egg whites, the yolk, the vanilla extract, the heavy cream, the—

“You alright chef?”

She opened her eyes but kept her head buried in her arms. But when she looked up, her face went blank for a second. Not knowing what to say.

“Yeah totally fine, just made a billion different flavored mousse for your birthday.”

“No, I wanted to confess to you using these stupid mousse, but it all went to shit.”

“No, I’m not okay; you don’t love me.”

“Yeah—I uhm, I’m fine I was just,” She finally stood up straight and was messing with her apron. “Messin’ with some stuff . . .”

Her head was lowered slightly. Picking at her lip with her nails as she tried to avoid his gaze.

She saw his feet carry his body to her. Was eye level with his chest when he was a foot away from her.

“Can I try em’?”

[name] paused. This is new.

For the past month or so, yes they’ve exchanged flirty conversations and teasing smiles and laughs, but not like this. Not so close, not so intimate.

She looked up and she felt as if the world was revolving around her for a moment.

“If you want to! I mean, it’s not really . . .” She paused. He was already reaching for a clean spoon, looking at her with those eyes.

“ . . . that good . . .” She finished. Right as he took, and ate, a spoonful of the strawberry mouse she made.

They both stood there. [name] was waiting for his reaction of the dish. And Carmy, he was trying to stop his mouth from watering.

“Not that good?” He said after recovering. “I—Chef this shit is amazing—”

He turned his head to the left away from her dish and suddenly they were eye to eye.

She could imagine, live in what his scent was. He’d smell of cigarettes and vanilla and cinnamon. A weird combination but [name] thought it’d smell good on him.

[name] opened her mouth about to say something then—

“Do you know how to make apple donuts?”

If she thought she was speechless now, [name] was more at a loss for words than she had ever been in her life.

“A—Apple donuts . . .?” She blinked. “Wh—huh?”

Carmen smiled.

***

They spent the past an hour finding, washing and cutting apples. They spent another hour prepping, and cutting flour to put into the apples.

“You’re telling me I have to cut a hole into this apple?”

“Well, that’s the idea, yeah,” Carmy confirmed. He took [name]’s hands in his and guided her. “Here, let me show you.”

Those were, the best hours of her life.

Sure there was sugar, cinnamon and flour everywhere, but it was fun. Refreshing even. To laugh and smile without a care in her heart.

***

The sun had set a long time ago, and it was just them, together in the kitchen. Them and kitchen filled with their smiles and longing touches.

Now, after hours of talking, they were cleaning the mess they made. [name] was doing the dishes and Carmen was cleaning the counter top.

She was rinsing the last dish when she heard Carmen clear his throat.

“Hey,” he said, “I was . . . thinking,”

[name] turned around from her place at the sink and met his eyes.

“Thats a first.” She smiled, teasing. “Thought you just do, not think.”

Carmen smiled and played with his knuckles, placing them on his lip.

“Okay, okay then uhm— would you like to go to dinner with me?” He questioned. Eyes never leaving hers.

“You know Bear,” She walked up to him and placed her hands behind her back. “I really thought you’d never ask.” She teased.

Carmy let out a chuckle and tried to hide his smile with his fist. “You—you’re really bold, you know that?”

[name] smiled and took his fist in his, uncurling his fingers and giving each its own kiss. “Only for you Berzatto.”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

[pilot-boi]

What are everyone’s favourite cereals in RRAYENNBOW? And you can include Qrow and mercury if you want to

And I SHALL include them

Ruby: Special K. She doesn’t actually have that much of a sweet tooth, and she’s gotta stay fit. Plus it has strawberries and turns the milk pink

Weiss: Doesn’t really eat cereal (coffee or death) but if she has to choose, probably Chex. She just thinks they’re neat

Blake: Gonna go with Honey Bunches of Oats. First of all, bees. Second of all, they remind her of the good times on the road with granola bars and what not

Yang: Kix. I know she’s the punch girl, but come on. Tell me she wouldn’t love Kix. Wish I had more to say about this one, but I just feel it in my bones

Jaune: Used to be Pumpkin Pete’s, but then ya know. Also he never really liked it that much, he just wanted the hoodie really badly. So i don’t know why but i really see him liking Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Pyrrha: Life (jkjk) Health nut that she is, it’s not one of the super sugary ones. But it’s also not like… bran flakes. Unironically think she’d really love Honey Nut Cheerios

Nora: Fucking Sugar Blast Supremes or something, let’s be real. She hoards the cereals from Halloween time, Count Chocula, and Boo Berry, and Frankenberry. Just the most synthetic shit you’ve ever seen

Ren: Raisin Bran. Because he’s a monster. He actually really likes it, but he hates the texture of the raisins in the milk, so he painstakingly removes every raisin, eats all the cereal, and then eats all the raisins

Oscar: He didn’t get a lot of cereal brands out on the farm, lots of morning oatmeal and eggs and whatnot. But once he made it to the big city, he absolutely fell in love with Froot Loops. And yes, he gets teased relentlessly for liking the most kiddy cereal ever

Emerald: Think she’d really like Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Or just normal Cheerios. In milk, or just plain, she loves those things. They were cheap to buy (or steal) so they were one of the few cereals she actually had

Mercury: Reese’s Puffs. With his dad, it was only healthy food, or nothing at all. But he’d see the commercials on TV. So after killing Marcus, I kid you not, Mercury ate nothing but Reese’s Puffs for like a week. And then he was sick. But it was worth it. And yes, he knows the entire rap

Qrow: Again, like Weiss, coffee or death. But I feel like he’d also like Honey Nut Cheerios. I really don’t know why, they’re so un-Qrow. But maybe that’s exactly why he’d like them