#thought about cleaning this up before posting here but no.. this is fine

[cambrinkisbae]

*•♡never be like you pt 2 ♡¸.•*'

nika muhl x cheerleader!reader

"I am an architect, I'm drawing out the plan. its like 17, nobody understands "

word count - 2.6k

themes :

-slow burn

-comfort

warnings :

-toxic rls

-mentions to wet dreams

-cursing

a/n - I'm posting this today because one its my birthday and two I didn't want to starve you guys for longer than three days...

the amount of stress I had walking home was unremarkable. I had been staying at farah's dorm for a couple days. she already had a bed ready and made for me to sleep in once I texted her that I didn't want to be around Asher. I always kept a good amount of clothing there too so that I wouldn't have to take a trip to my apartment and deal with the millions of interrogations I would get from my boyfriend about where I was. the thought of seeing Farah completely cleared my brain and kept me calm until I walked off campus and began walking home. the door was locked. he never locked the door. I tore up my backpack looking for my keys but still couldn't find them. I kept on knocking on the door while searching for my keys before the door finally opened. there Asher was with his hair messed up. I took a moment to actually look up and look at his skin. his lips looked puffy, and had a red tint. more red than usual. his eyes were almost bloodshot.

"where were you huh? out with another guy?" he said while leaning on the door frame, already flexing his fists. I bit at the inside of my cheek, not being able to form words. its not like I was out with anyone other than Farah but I knew that no matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me. I held my breath and looked down at the floor while fidgeting with my rings. his hand rose up to my chin, grabbing onto hit and forcing me to look in his eyes. "fucking answer me." a couple tears started to well up in my eyes. I slowly swallowed the huge lump in my throat and croaked out the truth. "I was with Farah. no one else." his grip tightened around my skin before his other hand wrapped around my wrist, dragging me into the apartment. he snatched my bags out of my hands and tossed them in my room. the door slammed behind us before he took me into his room. "don't lie to me y/n. I know you are" his eyes were sinking into my soul every second that passed while our eyes were locked. I finally almost felt his grip loosen and the moment I thought it did, I attempted to rip my hand out of his grasp but he held onto me tighter. "asher can you please let go of me." I said, squirming my wrist back and forth as it turned red. this was the last thing I need right now.

right before I thought he would continue to pull at my wrist, he let go. tossing my wrist back at my side. a long relieved sigh was let out while I turned around to hide the couple of tears fell down my cheek. I sniffed in the small string of snot that was slowly falling from my nose and kept my face hidden.

"come here." Asher cooed while resting his hand on my waist. the light in his room was dimmed. the curtain were still open but barely let any light in since it was starting to get dark. before I spun around to look back at him, I reviewed how the room looked. it was mainly clean except for a couple pieces of clothing on the floor next to his bed. his bed had ruffled sheets and a comforter that was hanging off the side of the bed. I raised my eyes up to see that the closet door was almost closed and when I looked hard enough, I saw the white sclera of a girls eyes. my stomach dropped while she shut the closet door fully. Asher was only trying to turn me around so that I wouldn't see the naked girl hiding from me. as fun as it would be to call him out and slap both of the people across the face, I pretended that everything was fine. I let one more tear fall down my face while I turned to face asher's blue eyes. the man I was looking at right now was the one that always wondered if I was out getting fucked by another man. the man that couldn't keep away from me when he thought another mans hands was on me. the boy that told me if I was with anyone else, he'd kill me. when the entire time. it was another girl I should've been worrying about.

ashers knuckle dragged across my under eye, wiping the few tears off of my skin. he wiped the tear of his skin tight compressed shirt and then wrapped his arms around my waist, pretending to comfort me and care about me. I could tell that he was staring at the closet, hoping this girl wouldn't come out. yet he still acted like his eyes were facing my back, with his head down. he held me there in his arms before leading me onto his bed, stroking my hair. if he was going to cheat on me then I would just accidentally think it was Nika twirling my hair in her fingers. Nika who was rubbing my back. Nika. muhl, who was letting me fall asleep on her chest. I fell asleep with my makeup ruined like always but at least I didn't thing it was Asher who my dried mascara was falling on.

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

the first thing I did when I woke up was check my phone. I ignored the fact that Asher was probably driving this random girl home while I laid on the bed she enjoyed my boyfriend on. when I opened my phone, I saw an Instagram notification.

nika.muhl started followed you

nika.muhl liked your post

nika.muhl liked your post

nika.muhl liked your post

damn. I mean at least it wasn't all of my posts.

i I actually unlocked my phone and texted Farah what happened last night. she called me within a second and all I could do was cry.

"hold on I'm coming to pick you up. grab asher's wallet."

farah took no time to drive over to my apartment and pick me up. she knocked on the door gently before stepping in once realizing that it was unlocked. I was still laying in asher's bed, tears soaked up my pillow case. I was wrapping myself around the blankets that was covering his body last night to try and find a sense of comfort. Farah been standing in the door way for a good amount of time before peeling me off of the mattress and standing me up in front of her. I refused to make eye contact until she raised my chin up with her finger. "listen to me. you are going to get through this. he's a cunt and I know you don't want to be with him. don't pretend like you do." she said sternly while wiping the few tears that fell down my skin. "cmon. lets go get coffee or something?" Farah wrapped her hand around my own, leading me out of the room.

for the first time in forever, I didn't even take the time to brush my hair or put on mascara or even change clothes. I just walked out the door, looking like I got hit by a bus, while being dragged to a coffee shops down the street by my best friend. she sat the two for us down at a table right next to the window. I felt a little breeze of cold air run through my hair each time the door next to us opened and closed. it was that hour that people would be coming inside for something to eat before classes. I swirled the stirring stick in my coffee,barely being able to take a sip.

obviously it hurt for Asher to manipulate me and act like I'm in the wrong. but its always been like that. it was always expected of him and I just got used to it. what I never thought he'd do is cheat on. especially when its all he thinks of me when I'm gone for more than 5 minutes "a cheater." the moment I locked eyes with that girl, all my emotions faded away and I was so lost I could even figure out who it was. but now that I'm thinking about it and remembering the moment. she had dark eyes. a taller yet thinner figure than my own. even with her hair disheveled across her head, I could see that it was darker, longer. I nearly spit out my coffee at the realization. he was sleeping with my second closest friend in the entire world. if Farah wasn't there to hold me (which she usually was) it was Natalie who would pull me in and kiss my forehead as if I'm a kid who scraped her knee. he was fucking Natalie Barlowe.

just a I was about to stand up and march to Natalie's house, Farah placed her hand on my shoulder mid setting down our breakfast. "woah woah what happened?" she gently pressed my shoulder down so that I would be seated.

"i-it was Natalie." - I choked out - "in the closet Farah. it was Natalie."

i felt my all my blood warm around my heart, almost squeezing it along with my lungs. I dipped my head down in my arms, pressing my now sweaty forehead on the ceramic table. the cool surface felt nice against all the heat that bubbled up in my head. hot tears fell down my eyes and I swear I could each and everyone of them splashing on the table beneath me. Farah's hand lurked up my back and slowly began rubbing back and forth. my back occasionally hitched up as more silent sobs left my mouth. I've felt this pain before and I never thought I would have to go through it again but here I am. Farah slowly slid into her own seat while trying to raise my head up to look at me. this time I wouldn't budge. not until I felt farah's hand leave my back to lift my body up and wrap her arms around me. still not letting my face into the public, my nose was dug into her shoulder while I continued to sob. once all the tears (for now) were emptied out, I pulled my head away from Farah's shoulder revealing my extremely puffy and red eyes. I quickly wiped a little bit of snot away from my nose and sat back down. I took a small bite out of the sandwich Farah bought for me. at this point I had no choice but to act and feel numb. I didn't smile but I didn't frown.

there was the breeze again. for some reason I felt the need to look at who was walking in the coffee shop now. to my surprise, it was Paige, Nika, and Aaliyah. I'm guessing they were trying their best to spend some time together before Nika and Aaliyah leave. once me and Paige's eyes locked, she sent over a small wave followed by her walking up to me and Farah's table. I looked away as fast as possible, covering my face with my hands, pretending to be asleep as if Paige didn't already see me shoot her a 'hey what's up' look.

farah was beyond confused by the fact that three star athletes from UConn were coming up to the two girls. I kept my head down, trying to dry some of my tears before someone could ask what's wrong with me. that's when I felt a tap on my back. "hey?" God that voice. I slowly lifted my head up and turned to see the 5'11 brunette standing above me. I felt my breath hitch and get stuck in my throat when I tried to speak. I cleared my throat and put my hand on Nika's, which was still resting on my back. I let her hand fall off of my hoodie but she kept a concerned look on her face. she tilted her head, using her eyes to ask me what happened. I had the idea of pulling her to the bathroom and explaining everything but that would awkward for almost everyone around me. Paige and Aaliyah quickly picked up a conversation with Farah, making her turn red out of embarrassment. I almost reached over to grab Nika's hand when she turned around to look at the people in this hop, I thought she was about to leave to buy a drink or something. I don't know why I was so freaked out by that thought. her hair flipped right back around when my finger grazed her hip after her hand. the way her eyes darted to mine sent a shock through my body and I swear the shop went silent.

as much as Asher hurt me, staring into Nika's eyes made me forget everything about. when I was with Nika it was like "who's asher?"

nika gave me a reassuring pat on the top of my hand, almost like she was letting me know she wasn't going anywhere no matter what. I looked behind me to see Farah sending me a 'save me' look but before I could barge in on whatever Paige was talking about, I blurted it out. "hey Nika do you want to go to a concert with me and Farah?" I have no idea why the fuck I did that but the good thing is I did.

"what?"

"what?" Nika and Farah said in unison. Nika's face almost lit up while Farah's slightly dropped. not with anger though, thank God. Nika's eyebrows furrowed towards her eyeballs while she scratched the back of her neck. "I mean-" she looked up at me then at Paige and then at aaliyah. they all gave her reassuring looks, telling her that she should go. "fuck it I guess. what day?" Nika pulled out her phone and opened the calendar app, getting ready to put down the date. Farah spoke before I could, "April 18th!" Nika quickly typed down the date and then shoved her phone back in her pocket. obviously I was fucking thrilled that Nika was coming with but how has she said yes when she doesn't even know who shes seeing? whatever. the only thing that mattered right now was the fact that one; I wouldn't have to deal with Asher at Olivia Rodrigo's concert and two; nika would be right next to me.

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

me, Farah, Paige, Aaliyah, and Nika decided to just hang out together while we ate breakfast instead of sitting at different tables. I took that moment to fill everyone in on what happened, not that I should've been getting so close and personal with them but...I now deem them as my new group of people to trust. because apparently teammates aren't reliable. we all said our goodbyes before walking back to campus in different directions. me and Farah spent the walk debriefing how I very clearly had a crush on Nika muhl and that the concert would be a perfect opportunity to make a move. a second one that is. Farah kept on nudging my shoulder and poking ta my stomach while smiling proudly.

"I can't believe you actually did that and she said yes like holy shit!" this entire morning made me completely forget about what happened the night before. and this time it didn't creep up on me thirty minutes later. I actually didn't care about it for a whole day. of course the next day was still difficult, I had completely started bunking at Farah's place until I had the confidence to just ditch Asher. he didn't deserve my presence anyways so I packed my shit and ditched.

farah was probably the most supportive person to breath, and not even just because shes my best friend I mean she will support anyone and everyone. whether they've done her wrong or not. sometimes it worries me how forgiving she is but then again we just had a breakfast buffet under asher's name so...

when we were back at her place, I plopped myself dramatically onto her bed while spreading my limbs about. the only thing I could manage to picture in my head was Nika. I cannot believe I'm actually going to a concert with basically a stranger. she never struck me as the type to go out on such short notice with someone like me. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and began to mindlessly scroll on Instagram, looking for something to actually be interested in that wasn't day dreaming about nika. of course she just had to slide into my DMS right when I'm trying to not think of her. the text popped up at the top of my screen and I felt my heart drop. I was already active so there wasn't any possibility of me ignoring her message. Hey. This is y/n right? I read the message and constipated what to say for way longer than I should've. shes just asking if I'm myself. am I myself? yes. yeah I totally am. hiii, yes this is y/n! I texted back while my thumbs almost shook.

we ended up talking all night I feel embarrassed to say it but I am fully head over heels for this basketball player now as if I would ever have a chance when so many other people have probably made moves on her by now. but then again why would she spend 4 hours texting me about anything and everything. our conversations alone made me happier than I had been in the past 2 weeks and I had just met this girl. no one has had this effect on me since high school and to be honest I've missed the feeling.

when I finally turned my phone off I looked up to see Farah standing next to me like a mom catching her kid playing a video game after bedtime. she had her hands on her hips and smug smile plastered on her lips. "who's got you kicking your feet huh?" Farah knew exactly who it was but of course she shoved the name out of my mouth. Farah laughed so hard she was on the brink of tears when she came back up for air. that's when I noticed she had her phone aimed at me, sitting on her bed with my feet in the air kicking back and forth. that's going to be posted in no time. I quickly rolled over to hide the fact that I was having the time of my life crushing on this girl. and as much as I tried to hide it, I get red when I think about her and when shes anymore in my vicinity.

i spent the entire night staring at the ceiling dreaming about how on earth I would try to actually have Nika love me if that was even possible. and of course when I fell asleep the first thing I dreamed (the only thing) was what the night would be like after the concert. what we would do after. if we made it back to a hotel or just drove home. maybe stopped at a gas station or any parking lot. talked for a little bit. maybe about the concert then maybe about how badly I wanted my lips against hers. but hey that's just a what if. and just a dream. so when I woke up in the middle of the night I had to gaslight myself into believing it in fact was going to happen just so that I could sleep peacefully without another wet dream about Nika muhl.

[archiveikemen]

Ellis Twilight Main Story: Chapter 2

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

Ellis: Sorry for the wait, Jude.

Jude: … Ah?

Jude stared at Ellis in disbelief for a moment when he noticed that he had brought me along, but he surprisingly said nothing about it.

Kate: I’ll be accompanying you as the fairytale keeper. I look forward to working with you!

Jude: … Tch.

Jude clicked his tongue at Ellis as though to say “cut the crap”, completely ignoring my existence.

Ellis: I submitted the declaration for today’s shipment last night.

Jude: Of course you did. I’ll cut your pay if it’s not received first thing in the morning.

(Besides working for Crown, they also have work to do at the trading company… they must be very busy.)

To avoid getting in their way, I walked behind Jude and Ellis while silently observing them.

…

Based on my observations—,

Jude was the boss of a trading company named “Raven” which dealt with both domestic and international business, it also had branches in other countries.

They held their negotiation meetings in the VIP rooms at London’s biggest department stores, and their goods inspections were conducted at London’s pier…

Time seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye while I was following them throughout the day.

Their work ethics, however…

Jude: No making new deals until all debts are settled.

Jude: Of course there will be consequences for failing to pay your debts. If your debts are too much for you, you’ll pay for them even if you have to cough up blood.

Jude was sharp and a good speaker; he commanded respect from his business partners, was subjected to envy from his rivals, and his employees admired him.

Meanwhile…

Ellis: Okay, I’ll handle the rest.

Ellis: It’s easy to make mistakes in these documents. Let me know if there’s anything you don’t understand; I’ll teach you and we’ll correct them together.

Ellis was well-liked by others because of his gentle demeanour and thoughtfulness wherever he went.

(The two of them are polar opposites of each other.)

As we went on with our day, it was soon nearly noon on Big Ben.

Jude: You don’t need to come with me to the main office. There’s no knowing what people will say if they see an extra person.

Ellis: Mm, got it.

Kate: Thank you for letting me come along with you today.

Jude: … Heh, I look forward to hearing you say that the next time you come.

(What does that mean…?)

I tilted my head in confusion at his words.

Jude: You brought her, so you clean up after her. This has nothing to do with me.

Ellis: Yeah… I will.

(… Ellis seems to know what he meant.)

Jude walked way without so much as another look at me, and Ellis turned to me.

Ellis: You must be tired. Sorry for dragging you everywhere.

Kate: No, I’m not tired at all! I have lots of stamina because of my previous job as a postwoman.

Ellis: I see, that’s good. … Well then, while we’re here…

Ellis: Can you come with me for a little bit?

I was asked to stay for a while longer, and—

…

(W-Why are we here…!?)

We arrived at the post office I used to work at.

Ellis turned to look back at me when he noticed me hesitating at the entrance.

Ellis: What’s the matter?

(That’s what I really want to ask him right now…)

Kate: I know a lot of people here because this used to be my workplace… is it really okay for me to have interactions with them before my one month is up?

Ellis: Victor said that there are no restrictions on your activities apart from going outside alone, so I guess this is fine?

I blinked in surprise at his casual response.

(That’s not something I’m in the position to decide… is this REALLY acceptable?)

Ellis: I have some mail to send out. I’ll handle the procedures myself, go ahead and do whatever you want while you wait for me.

Kate: Okay…

Ellis made his way to the counter, leaving me behind at the entrance.

(I wonder what would happen if I asked someone I know for help and leaked classified information…)

I couldn't conceal my confusion at my suspiciously relaxed “surveillance”.

(At least… this means that Ellis trusts me to not do that, I guess?)

(However—)

(If classified information is leaked, they’ll get rid of everyone who knows about it, including myself…)

— “Do we kill her?”

I suddenly remembered those words he said so casually and shook my head in a panic, when…

Coworker with Braids: Kate!?

Kate: Ah.

Coworker with Braids: It really is you, Kate! Everyone, Kate is here!

The other coworkers heard them and immediately gathered around.

Red-Haired Coworker: Kate~ why did you suddenly start working at the palace? What’s going on?

Coworker with Black Eyes: We were so worried about you.

(Even though they’re this worried about me because I suddenly stopped coming to work…)

(I can’t tell them the real reason for my absence. Not now.)

(I don't even know if I’ll come back in one piece after a month.)

(But…)

I pushed my anxiety aside, not wanting to make them worry more.

Kate: I’m doing well. I still don't really understand what's going on because today’s only my first day of work, but I’ll definitely figure it out.

Coworker with Braids: I mean, it’s THE Kate who can turn any complaining customer into a good one; I’m sure you’ll be fine, wherever you are.

Red-Haired Coworker: We were at a loss and felt so lonely after you disappeared so suddenly…

Kate: I’m… really sorry about that. The situation is beyond my control.

Coworker with Braids: I guess you can’t really refuse orders from the palace.

Coworker with Black Eyes: We’ll always have your back, Kate.

Red-Haired Coworker: Hey, take this!

Red-Haired Coworker: We bought these together and wanted to pass them to you if you happened to drop by. Glad we could!

Kate: Eeh… you guys bought this many things?

Various presents were piled up in my arms.

There was a blanket, cookies from my favourite shop… so much that I was afraid I would drop the items if I moved.

Ellis: Let me help you carry them.

Ellis appeared next to me and took over the items.

All my coworkers simultaneously turned their eyes towards Ellis immediately.

Coworker with Braids: Wait a second… who is THIS!? Is he Kate’s boyfriend!?

Red-Haired Coworker: Oh I know him! He’s that scary businessman’s bodyguard!

The situation went into chaos like a hornet’s nest being disturbed.

Coworker with Braids: Kate, you must give us a good explanation of your relationship with this handsome man!

Kate: Uhh… we met at the palace yesterday because of work. We have a purely professional relationship.

Coworker with Braids: Hmm, you two seem way closer than that.

Red-Haired Coworker: So suspicious…!

Kate: Hey… calm down, you guys…

Ellis took over the remaining items in my arms while I tried to calm my coworkers down.

Ellis: I caused quite a commotion… sorry. I’ll wait for you outside.

Kate: Ah… I’m sorry too! I’ll be quick.

Ellis: Take your time :)

I watched as Ellis nodded politely at everyone before leaving the post office.

(I made him worry…)

Coworker with Braids: So you got married before returning to work, huh…

Red-Haired Coworker: Congratulations.

Kate: I’ve been saying, that’s not true…!

…

— In the end, the commotion was resolved when our supervisor said “please, let’s leave it at that”.

I bid my coworkers farewell and stepped outside to meet Ellis who was leaning against a lampost with my gifts in hand, waiting for me.

(He looks like a work of art even from a distance.)

His refined physique and long, slender legs made him stand out.

Kate: Sorry to keep you waiting.

Ellis: Nope, not at all. … You could've stayed to chat more if you liked.

Kate: It’s fine! Umm, about the rude things my coworkers said earlier on…

The jokes about him being my boyfriend when we had a purely professional relationship might have made him uncomfortable.

(I have to make it up to him somehow… ah, I know.)

Kate: There’s a shop nearby that has delicious baguettes. Please let me treat you to something there as an apology.

Ellis: …

Ellis stared hard at me, looking like he just made a realisation.

Ellis: I think I get why you received so many gifts now.

Kate: Huh…?

Carrying the large bag of gifts from my coworkers in his hands, Ellis took a step closer to me…

He leaned in, his face so close to mine that our foreheads almost touched.

Ellis: You don't have to treat me, but I’m curious about your recommendation.

(... Ellis is still a mystery to me.)

However, there was no doubt that his kindness had found its way into my heart.

As proof of that, our conversation during our second meal together went more smoothly compared to the one we had over breakfast—.

…

Kate: Oh… it’s already gotten this late.

It was almost sunset when we left the shop.

Ellis: … We should hurry and return to the castle.

Ellis muttered in a low voice while staring at the streets getting dark.

It was my first time hearing that urgency in his voice, and I realised how overly lighthearted I was being.

(Perhaps he has plans for tonight, and yet I kept him outside for so long.)

Kate: We can save some time if we take the shortcut through this alley.

Using the navigation skills I got from working as a postwoman, I walked into a narrow alley.

Ellis: Ah…

Ellis: … It’ll be okay if we’re together, I guess.

We hurriedly made our way through the dimly lit alley where the sunlight didn't shine, and we were only a little more away from reaching a well-lit street.

Man in Hunting Hat: …

Suddenly, a man appeared and blocked our path. I instinctively tried to pass him by moving to the side, but—

(Huh…?)

The man extended a foot, stopping me from leaving.

I sensed that something was off and turned around to see two more men emerging from behind.

Man in Hunting Hat: You’re Jude Jazza’s woman?

(Jude?)

Kate: No, you’re mistaken… who are you people?

Man in Hunting Hat: We’ll confirm if you’re telling the truth later. Capture her.

The three men drew their knives and attacked.

(Wha- What!?)

Ellis: Kate, hold onto these for a minute.

Kate: Whoa…!

I was handed the bag of gifts from my coworkers in the middle of the chaotic situation and Ellis deflected their leader’s attack with a black dagger.

Ellis: This might get a little scary, but it’ll be over soon.

While I stood there at a loss for words, Ellis did as he said and swiftly knocked the men out.

He only used his dagger to counter their weapons, and relied mainly on his long limbs to handle them.

Ellis: … Done.

Ellis lined the unconscious men along the side of the path and gave each of their heads a light tap like a finishing touch—

Their wrists instantly stuck together, almost like they were in prayer.

Kate: Amazing…! How did you do that?

Ellis: I can bind people’s wrists like this by touching their heads.

(Now I remember…)

— “Cursed people” possess special abilities ordinary people don’t.

I recalled what Roger once said to me.

Kate: I see… so, this is your special ability?

Ellis: Yup. That's right. It’s convenient for such situations when you don’t have rope.

With a satisfied smile, Ellis effortlessly took over the bag of gifts again.

Ellis: Jude tends to get many people holding grudges against him, so he often gets attacked like what just happened.

Ellis: It’s unusual for him to have a woman with him, so those guys must have misunderstood you for his lover.

(Grudges… I see.)

Somehow or other, I realised that this happened because I followed them to work during the day.

(To think being attacked like this has become a routine, working for a trading company must be hard.)

Ellis: … Sorry.

Kate: You don’t have to apologise! Thank you very much for protecting me, Ellis.

Ellis frowned slightly and shook his head.

Ellis: To be honest, I saw this coming. I knew something like this would happen if I brought you outside with us.

Ellis: But… you looked disheartened when I said I was going to work today.

Ellis: I made the selfish decision to take you along. … I’m sorry for that.

(Ellis…)

He said it was selfish of him, but I knew very well that everything he did was for my sake.

(Breakfast, telling me about all the members of Crown, taking me with him to work…)

(Even our trip to the post office could’ve been for me.)

Kate: I was happy throughout the day, so… you really don’t have to apologise.

I smiled to express my appreciation for Ellis’ kindness.

Ellis: … Okay. Glad to hear that.

Ellis lips curled into a warm smile — much like the last ray of sunlight cast by the setting sun…

Maybe it was because of the approaching twilight, but there was a strange troubling feeling that caused a stir in my chest.

…

Upon returning to my room, I opened the bag of gifts from my coworkers.

“We’re concerned about you, Kate”

“Feel free to contact us anytime.”

The kind words in the letter from them made my heart feel warm.

(The only reason why I could receive these from them… was because Ellis took me to the post office.)

The joy I felt at that moment was all thanks to Ellis’ efforts to make me happy.

I’ve stepped foot into a different world.

For one month, there’s no going back to my original daily life—

It felt like he was telling the frightened me that “everything will be alright”.

(I now feel more confident about surviving this one month than I did this morning.)

(All the more so with Ellis by my side.)

— And so, I welcomed the next morning with a renewed sense of determination.

…

Victor: I heard about it, Kate. You were attacked by Jude’s business rivals yesterday?

Kate: Ah, yes. But I remained unharmed, thanks to Ellis.

Victor: That’s a relief to know, but… Miss Kate, if your safety is put at risk before the end of the contract’s one-month term—

Victor: — Crown’s confidential information will also be at risk of being leaked! Am I right to say that?

Ellis: Yeah.

Jude: … I have a bad feeling about this.

Victor responded to Jude’s obviously displeasured tone with a broad smile…

Victor: For that reason, Jude and Ellis, I’d like for both of you to take up the role of Kate’s bodyguards!

(What!?)

Jude: Ah?

Ellis: … Bodyguards? :0

[gaythreadrunner]

so you're taking care of your computer's software health. NICE! but what about its physical health?

because yes, computers do need the occasional real-world checkup to make sure that they're running well. but what exactly does that entail? i see many posts about maintaining software health: limit your browser tabs, ensure your antiviruses are working properly, so on and so forth, but checking the physical components is something i sparsely see discussed here.

so what's the deal with physical maintenance? well, have you ever had your computer hack and wheeze trying to keep up even if your OS and all your drivers are up to date and functioning? if you've never opened up your computer before, you may be shocked to find just how FILTHY it can get in there:

take a closer look at that snout dust! PTOOEY .. BLECKH

computers are much more likely to accumulate internal dust if they're sitting on the floor, and especially if they're near any vents and/or if you have pets.

ok, you've figured out how to open your device and now you're staring at the second coming of the dust bowl in your gaming rig. what now? let's explore some basic cleaning tips, deep cleaning pointers for your CPU/GPU, and tips to help keep maintain your computer's physical health in the future.

first of all, turn off your computer and unplug it (for my computer, i turn it off, turn off the PSU switch, unplug it, and then press the power button for about 30 seconds to drain the capacitors and minimize static risk)

generally, you're gonna want to have THESE items:

some sort of face mask (dust masks are best, but anything that'll help keep the harmful dust out of your lungs will generally work)

a can of compressed air (or an electric duster if you're ~fancy~. they look and function like turbo blowdryers)

a vacuum will be useful if there's a LOT of dust, best to use in combination with an anti-static cleaning kit

if you ARE gonna use a vacuum, spray every attachment you use with an anti-static spray. disturbing large amounts of dust creates a lot of static, and electronics are very sensitive to that.

it's never a bad idea to grab an grounding wristband as well, but as long as you wear loose clothes and always keep some part of your skin in contact with the case, you should be ok. (i don't know how much this applies to laptops and smaller devices, since the cases for those are typically plastic)

if there's staining (like from smoke) or there's more gunk caked on than you thought, you can gently clean electronic components with a brush/paper towel/microfiber and medical-grade isopropyl alcohol ONLY. do not use any other cleaning alcohols for this task.

before you do anything, TAKE THAT FUCKER OUTSIDE! always clean a dusty device where the wind can carry that shit away, because oh my GOD will it fuck up your lungs like crazy. (that, and compressed air cans have fluorocarbons in them, which isn't great to breathe in either)

most of the time, you'll probably be fine just using an air duster. for compressed air cans, spray the dirty surfaces in short bursts. an electric duster can be constantly blown. when dusting fans, make sure that you're holding the blades still as to not accidentally make them spin too fast (ESPECIALLY with an electric duster!), since that can damage the mechanism that makes them spin.

however, if there's a lot of dust, it may be better to give it a vacuuming first. anything from a handheld to a shop vac will work, and attachments with brushes on the end will help tons with loosening up even more dust. and of course ALWAYS make sure that you're spraying any attachments with anti-static spray, and keep a hand on the case of the computer to electrically ground yourself since the hose will be in contact with the internals.

if there's any left over, give it a blast with the duster.

in some rare cases, there may be some extra gunk caked onto the internals, and you may have to really get your hands in there or take components out individually. if you don't have an anti static wristband (the ones with an alligator clip) do your best to ALWAYS keep your skin in contact with the case as you're finagling around in there.

it's probably a good idea to have disposable gloves on for this. grab your isopropyl and towel of choice (microfiber is ideal, but dirtier PCs may need disposable paper/shop towels), soak it a little bit, and gently scrub off the gunk n' grime as needed.

with heat sinks specifically, since they're just big blocks of metal, they're the one part of a component that can be cleaned under water. if a dusting doesn't suffice, gently scrub it with a brush under warm, soapy water, rinse thoroughly, and let it dry on a towel for a few hours before reassembling it into the electronic components.

if there's still little bits stuck in the radiator fins, stick an isopropyl-soaked q-tip in there to push it out.

the dust settles, everything's put back together, and it's all clean in there again. YAY!!!!! but what if you're still experiencing temperature problems? well, it typically comes down to either the CPU or GPU:

IF ITS THE CPU: if you took off the cooler to clean it, then i hope you remembered to dab some fresh thermal paste on there. you should be replacing thermal paste few years, otherwise it dries out and loses its effectiveness.

the type you use makes a huge difference too; i like to use arctic's mx-4, it has excellent thermal conductivity while still being an electrical insulator, so spillover isn't a problem. if you go for a liquid metal compound, please do your research first, since some of them can run the risk of corroding the cooler pipes and/or the CPU's outer casing.

to replace thermal paste, make sure that the crusty old paste is sufficiently scrubbed off the contact points of both the CPU and cooler. again, use isopropyl for this. once it's all cleaned off, put about a pea-sized amount of paste on the CPU and carefully lower the cooler onto the mounting bracket before fastening it in place. (also it really doesn't matter how you put the paste on, as long as it ends up covering most of the contact area)

also if you're still using the cooler your CPU came with, you should probably get a better cooler. especially if you're doing gaming or using graphically/mathematically intensive software. sorry. the stock coolers that most CPUs come with are mid as hell. you can get a nice ARGB one for less than 20 USD i promise its worth it

IF ITS THE GPU: like CPUs, your graphics card also needs to have its thermal paste cleaned out and replaced every so often. but they also utilize a second thermal material called thermal pads. these are usually made of either silica gel or a very thick clay-like grease, and come in different thicknesses. my favoured pads are owltree's 12.8w grease pads, the assorted pack comes with enough for about 4-5 GPUs.

taking apart a GPU seems scary, and understandably so; they're incredibly expensive and hard-working pieces of technology! but i've done it twice now, and it's actually surprisingly simple (as long as you keep track of all the damn screws... im lucky there's a magnetized screw mat in the house i can use)

i recommend watching a deep clean/teardown video of the GPU model you have before digging into it yourself. generally, they separate into 4 distinct portions: the outer shell, the heatsink, the board, and the backplate.

the shell contains the fans and any possible RGB elements. it'll have 1-2 controllers plugged into the board, one for the fans and one for the lighting elements if there are any. once the case is unscrewed, unplug these connectors with a firm squeeze and tug.

these tend to be surprisingly dusty on the inside, so it's probably a good idea to blast it with a duster. again, make sure to hold the fans so they don't overspin. you can also remove the fans from the shell and clean them individually if you'd like.

the heatsink is BIG and heavy, and you can do all the same stuff here that you would with a CPU cooler heatsink. it may take a bit of effort to tug off if the thermal materials are really making it stick to the board. once it's off, scrub the old thermal paste, blast it with a duster, and wash under soapy water if needed before rinsing thoroughly and leaving it to dry for a while.

the backplate is just a flat piece of metal that protects the back side of the board. usually all this will need is a simple wipedown.

the board is where all the magic happens, and will usually have a layout that's something like this:

clean up as needed; gently scrub off old thermal paste, scrape off the old thermal pads (but take close note of how thick they are so you can replace them with the correct pads), and brush/wipe down the dust and grease on each side as needed. take care to avoid touching the PCIe connector too much (the bar of golden pins that juts out from the bottom)

thermal padding varies from card to card (i recommend checking thermal pad placements for your gpu in water cooling guides, even if you're not doing water cooling) but it's typically gonna be on THESE spots:

the VRAM chips surrounding the die (main chip) along with the small black chips next to the capacitors will require thermal pads the most. cut each one to size, carefully peel off the plastic films, and press each piece onto the chips.

now you can grab your thermal paste and put some on that big shiny die. now take your freshly pasted/padded board and CAREFULLY lower it back onto the heatsink. i highly suggest having a good source of lightning for this, since shifting around the pieces too much trying to get them to align properly can displace the thermal pads and mess with how the paste spreads.

screw the heatsink tight to the board, and double check to make sure that the pads and paste are snug against the heat sink. now put the backplate and shell back on and BAM YOU'RE DONE! with the paste and pads i used, i was able to bring down the temperature of my cards by a good 10-15 °C.

ok you've done all this deep cleaning shit and your computer is happy and healthy. what can you do for your computer's health in the future?

DUST AT LEAST ONCE A YEAR. haul that thang outside and spray that shit out to stop it from building up for too long.

KEEP IT OFF THE FLOOR. if you can, of course, not everyone has the desk room for it. computers accumulate dust easier when they're close to the floor. if you do need to keep it on the floor, you might have to dust it every 6-8 months rather than once a year.

AND STOP PUTTING YOUR LAPTOPS ON SOFT SURFACES I SWEAR TO GOD

GET A FAN CONTROLLER. motherboards are DOGSHIT at maintaining fan speeds!!!! there are physical fan hubs that use controller software, but if you can't afford that, fancontrol by rem0o is a stellar software-only option.

IF YOU DON'T ALREADY HAVE CASE FANS, GET THEM. the number of fans depends on the motherboard form factor your case can accommodate (ATX cases typically have 6-8), but having that air circulation is very important to maintaining ideal temperatures. arctic makes fantastic budget-friendly fans.

IF YOU HAVE AN NVMe HARD DRIVE: please put an aluminum heat sink on that thang. they get toasty :(

OK THATS IT I THINK. if anyone else has tips they wanna add, go right on ahead. ok thank you bye your computer will love you

[fangswbenefits]

Suit Up

Summary: Miguel craves to mark you as his, but he’ll have to start slow… so he offers to build you a custom suit. For now.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Innocent and inexperienced reader. Pining. Sexual tension and frustration. Masturbation. Breeding kink.

* ˚ ✦ Part 1 (you don’t have to read it to enjoy this one)

Miguel had decided he was going to build you a suit.

Not just a regular one, but an extension of his own.

He craved to have you for himself, and to have others know that. But he’d have to play his cards right. This level of obsession could easily scare someone off at first.

Especially you.

His sweet, sweet girl.

So he settled for this: building you a custom digital suit to match his.

Slowly, but surely you’d start to connect yourself to him more often.

Or so he hoped.

He found you in his lab early in the morning, sitting by the desk while taking your sweet time with a slice of watermelon.

“Good morning.”

As expected, you jolted in your seat, turning to face him.

A few droplets of juice dribbled down from your lips and chin, and eventually landing on your shirt.

You offered him a messy grin, bits of watermelon all over your teeth, but the absolute innocence of that action tore straight down to his cock.

“Oh! Miguel, hi! Sorry—” your voice came out slightly muffled, as you placed the half moon slice on a plate. “This watermelon is so sweet! Want a taste?”

His brow furrowed and he halted right in front of you. “There’s…” his voice trailed off, eyes fixed on your chin.

You immediately picked up on the implication and wiped the sugary liquid from your skin with a napkin, bringing a few fingers to your lips as well.

Miguel cursed inwardly and wondered if you were truly unaware of how suggestive all of this looked.

He slapped that thought away. No. You were too innocent for that. Your words and actions held no second meaning.

You were genuinely so fucking clueless that it only served to fuel his obsession with you.

His cock gave him a warning twitch.

He was all too familiar with those by now.

Would you be this messy while sucking him off? Would you not be able to keep it all in and eventually swallow?

He’d be fine with you not swallowing it all at first. After all, he did cum a lot. It would probably be overwhelming for someone as innocent and inexperienced as you.

“Miguel?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts at once. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for making a mess,” you said, hurriedly cleaning the desk.

There was no doubt you’d be the death of him.

Apologising for making a mess…

“Don’t worry about that,” he managed to say flatly. “I’m sure it tasted really good.”

You then smiled once more and let out a cock-twitching groan. “Oh, yes! But… why did you want me in here my casuals today?”

Right.

He moved to tap the hovering screens in front of him. “I was thinking you suit might need an upgrade.”

“What? But I built this one myself… what’s wrong with it?” you whined softly, sticking your bottom lip out.

His cock twitched again.

“I know, I know,” he reassured you with extreme ease. “But I’ve been working on a prototype of my digital suit and would like for you to test it out.”

A blatant lie.

He had just decided this the night before, after that post nut clarity had hit him hard.

How else would he mark you without you even realising?

You blinked a few times, having to tilt your head up to stare at him, and it was enough to flare his imagination.

“Really?” the excitement in your voice was palpable and he felt a sudden rush of satisfaction. “That… that would be an honour, Miguel!”

His fingers tapped through multiple files. “You’ve been helping me out a lot in the lab lately. It’s only fair that I show my appreciation.”

Your gaze wavered momentarily, broken by his genuine praise, and Miguel nearlt bit his lip from this sight alone.

“I do it willingly, Miguel. I love learning new things from you,” your eyes were back on his, and you were bearing a warm smile. “You’re a great teacher!”

He tried hard to tear his gaze away from your lips, and offered a mere nod.

You deserved more than a nod.

And your eagerness to learn from him made him feel swollen with pride. An ego booster.

It was quite addicting.

He’d teach you so much more if you’d let him. He’d teach you how to embrace your pleasure and use it for him only. Oh, how he’d enjoy teaching you how to suck his cock, or how to use your words to turn him on.

Fuck.

He would teach you all he knew.

You’d have all of him.

But he wanted you to want him the way he wanted you. No. He needed you to need him. To crave and yearn and feel the unfair ropes of despair tighten around you.

“I’ll just need your measurements,” he said, fetching a couple of measuring bands from a top shelf. “These will measure every tiny detail, so the fit is as suitable as possible.”

You nodded eagerly, lips slightly parted. He moved to grab each wrist, closing the metallic band around each wrist.

“Feet up,” he asked, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray his true feelings.

You lifted one leg after the other, and he carefully clasped them around your ankles, the feel of your warm skin and proximity nearly having him bite his own lip.

“Wait, do I have be naked?”

The question caught him completely off guard and he straightened up at once. “What?”

Miguel felt more blood rushing downwards and was grateful his own suit was able to keep most of his strained erection from sight.

You broke into a nervous laugh. “Oh — I mean… you’re naked under your suit, right?”

He nodded. “Your suit becomes an extension of yourself and it should feel like a second layer of skin,” he added, extending one arm out, and allowed you to see the digital layer of fabric quickly retracting from the tips of his fingers all the way down his naked torso.

The reaction was immediate.

Your eyes landed on him for only a split second, before looking away.

For the second time that day, Miguel’s ego soared to incredibly dangerous heights.

You looked so innocent and sheepish, not daring to gaze at his incredible physique once again.

He wouldn’t hold that against you, though. You’d have plenty of time to gawk at his body once he managed to break into your mind, and make you his.

“It feels more comfortable this way,” he added reassuringly, as his suit promptly covered his exposed skin once again.

You turned to look at him again. “Oh! So I don’t actually have to be naked,” you giggled in relief.

“No,” Not for this, he wanted to add.

The height difference was starting to take a toll on his ability to focus. Having you sitting on that chair, perfectly levelled to engange in a more suggestive scenario, was enough to feel the blood boil in his veins.

He needed more.

He needed to touch you.

“Let��s boot the measuring analysis program,” Miguel took your hand in his and helped you on your feet. “I need you to stand still.”

He needed so much more than that from you, but he’d have to settle for silent agony for now.

You were visibly excited, barely able to contain yourself as a smile settled on your face, and he felt the sudden urge to praise you for being so eager and such a tease.

He tapped a few commands on his watch, and came to stand behind you, careful not to stand too close, or you’d notice his hard cock.

“Do you trust me?”

You shouldn’t…

You turned your head to the side to look into his crimson eyes, confusion twisting your face. “Of course I do, Miguel.”

… because he wouldn’t.

He rolled his fingers along the hem of your shirt, slowly rolling it upwards. His heart went into overdrive instantly and he could feel the first droplets of precum dripping down his cock.

You flinched once his knuckles brushed against your skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, halting at once.

You nodded and giggled lighty. “That tickles.”

His sweet girl…

How was he supposed to endure burying himself inside you inch by inch when he couldn’t barely keep his composure now?

Once the shirt was resting under your breasts, he moved one hand to grip it gently from behind, effectively tightening the fabric flat over you. From where he stood, he could see your bra’s outline and how your breasts heaved with each breath you took.

This was driving him mad.

Your cleavage was so inviting and he had to take a step back, ensuring his erection wouldn’t accidentally brush against your ass.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take this off?” you asked.

You were so fucking sweet and innocent, and he wanted nothing more than to rip all of your clothes apart.

“Just let the program scan your body,” he said, voice strained and breath coming out in shallow pants. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied.

Such a good girl for him… his sweet girl…

He would want to ask that same question the day he got to teach you how to suck his cock.

You’d struggle at first.

But he’d be patient.

He’d probably need to come up with a serum to inject himself with to keep from exploding right away, and he couldn’t have that.

You would need proper guidance, wouldn’t you? How he’d love to have you on your knees, mouth dropped open and receptive.

His other hand was now pressed flat against your tummy and he nearly bucked his hips in response.

Careful, Miguel, he scolded himself.

Was this too much?

In reality, he didn’t need to be doing any of this for measurements, but he couldn’t help himself.

He needed you closer.

He needed to feel you shudder against his touch.

He needed you to need him.

You gasped softly once he started to moved his hand down ever so slightly, fingers nearly touching the waisgband of your pants.

“Ticklish?” he asked in a low voice.

You hummed, bucking your hips into him with a faint giggle, and he felt his cock into contact with your ass.

Oh, fuck.

He had to let go of you right away, flinching back.

You turned to eye him, worry plastered all of your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” he said right away, more precum droplets spilling out. “I think the analysis is complete,” he cleared his throat and turned his back to her, looking down to his bulge.

He wish he could set his cock free.

No.

He wish you would offer to set his cock free.

He wanted you to know and see how much his body craved yours.

“Miguel, are you okay?” you asked tenderly, moving to stand by his side, brushing his tense bicep. “We can finish this some other time.”

Was it really possible for someone to be this clueless? Was your inexperience that blinding? Hadn’t you felt his erection?

Against his will, he nodded.

He needed you gone right away.

He had to get off urgently.

“You’re overworking yourself again…”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

How he’d love to make you his and have you take care of him.

Your hand squeezed his muscles gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

Please, touch me… “No. I’ll just finish the suit and have you test it out soon.”

Your hand dropped.

Maybe if he asked you to let him fuck your hand, you’d let him. Maybe.

He’d settle for you watching him jerk off to you, at this point.

“Can I pick the colours?” you then beamed, glancing up at the orange screens. “Can I? Please?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you chirped happily, swiping across the customisation menu on the screen.

Miguel paced quickly into a storage room to his left, groaning into the back of his hand.

In no time, he had the front part of his lower half of his suit vanish, cock springing free, fully coated with precum.

He let out a strained and breathy sigh of absolute relief.

“Ay, Miguel…” he muttered to himself, realising just how badly this obsession had gotten.

His cock twitched, sending strand of precum to dangle from the tip.

From this angle, he could see your back, shirt still nicely tucked under your breasts, revealing so much of your skin to him.

That would do.

For now.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he set a slow pace at first, testing out his limit.

Dangerously close.

It was unfair that you were so close, yet so far. You were completely unaware of your effect on him.

Faint anger took over him.

You should be the one to bring him relief.

This was all on you… his sweet, innocent, inexperienced girl.

The pace quickened and he felt his fangs extending in anticipation.

You were bending over the desk, lifting your ass just enough for his mind to have imagining himself ramming into your from the back.

You’d love that position. Maybe not at first, but he’d teach you to enjoy thoroughly.

Being rawed and bred. You’d be a loving mother, wouldn’t you? You’d let him breed you over and over again, because you were just nice like that.

So eager to please.

He wished you’d bend over a little more, so he could fully immerse himself in his lust.

Feeling one fang dig into his lower lip, Miguel wondered how long it would take to draw blood, considering how hard it was for him to suppress his groans.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and his desire nearly pained him, because his hand would never be as tight as you, and it would never feel like you.

But he had to get rid of this now.

He had to complete your suit and mark you as his.

Everyone in Nueva York and across other universes would know you were his.

They would know not to cross you, for his wrath would be unmatched.

The sweet tingles of an orgasm soon engulfed him whole, and he threw his head back and fluttered his eyes shut, relying on his mind to keep your alive as he fucked himself for you.

Just you.

His sweet girl.

Just his.

He squeezed the first spurts of warm cum with his fingers, allowing himself go roll his hips in a broken rhythm.

The metallic taste of blood pooled in his tongue and he knew his fang has dug too deep, but he didn’t care.

He would break himself for you.

And you would, too.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Part 3

Masterlist

[shotmrmiller]

I like to think that Simon has no game. He's large, he's unapproachable, his stare alone scares away the women. Which was totally fine, until one day, he saw you as Johnny's screensaver on his phone. He was entranced, mesmerized. He's seen more than enough beautiful women on the orange youtube (his hand being his only source of relief for years) but there was something different about you. Maybe it was the tender smile you had on your face, or maybe it was how you glowed with happiness.

Or your eyes. Your eyes twinkled with affection, you looked at the camera with love. Love. That's it.

He can't remember the last time someone aimed a fond look his way. And whenever he stares at your photo, it looks like you're lovingly gazing back at him— and it gets him fucking hard.

Johnny once left his phone behind, for whatever reason, and Simon waited a solid minute, (60) seconds, before he picked it up, and took out his own phone to take a picture of you.

Simon wanked himself raw that night, his thick cum splattering over his screen, over your face. His refractory period that night was nonexistent.

And when Johnny one day was on the phone with you? When Johnny said, "Simon's here too, hen. Say hello." The way your melodic voice said his name? His cock was achingly hard within seconds, and he shifted around uncomfortably, willing for it to disappear.

It didn't. Simon walked with a wide gait, legs stiff, straight to the nearest bathroom and took himself in his hand. He gripped his long, thick length tight, and when he closed his eyes, he squeezed even harder, almost painfully. His tip was an angry red, from how tight he held himself, and that's how snug he imagined your undoubtedly pretty pussy would be around him.

He had to clench his jaw— grit his teeth hard, to keep the pathetic whimpers from escaping. Simon leaked pre-cum like a juvenile, stringy like egg whites, all over his knuckles and he hadn't even started pumping yet.

When someone knocked on the door, the snarl he let out was feral, a "Fuck off" so nasty, no one disturbed him again until he came with his head tilted back, and the vision of you riding him behind his closed eyes.

And then in the comfort of his own quarters, he pulled up your picture again— a blurry, too zoomed-in photo of a photo, and rut into one of his pillows, again imagining it was you. He thought of you on your back, legs open invitingly and waiting for him to fill you. He imagined the delicious moans you'd breathe out in his ear, your nails digging into the expanse of his broad, scarred back. He imagined your walls fluttering around him, the tell-tale sign of your upcoming climax, and you'd squeeze him so bloody tight when you finally did come, he'd move to pull out because there's no way he's not finishing with you. But you, you'd wrap your legs around his waist, and cross your ankles— effectively keeping him inside of you.

He'd cum on the spot, because you were effectively giving him your permission to finish inside. You'd rhythmically clench your walls to milk him dry, to take all of his seed.

And when his warped, fucked mind imagined you whispering an 'I love you' on his lips, he actually came, and he whimpered.

Simon's hips stuttered as his cock twitched and spasmed, spurting thick globs of cum all over his pillow, his bed. His breath came in shaky pants, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

After he stopped shaking, and was able to move his limbs, he cleaned his mess up shamefully, the post-nut clarity hitting hard, and as he switched bedsheets, he saw his phone light up with a notification.

Bonnie just sent this picture. Doesn't she look cute?

It was you holding a cup of iced coffee, and what stood out to him the most was your brightly colored nails.

He touched himself to the thought of those manicured hands wrapped around his cock, as you took him in your mouth 10 minutes later.

this was my inspo for this simon

@pieckyghost i really only have porn on my mind :( pussy on my mind, tighter than a headband.

[luveline]

oooh! just had an idea!!! bombshell reader x spencer where he comes over to her apartment one day on the weekend to suprise her with breakfast/flowers bc they just started dating. however, bombshell is in sweats/no makeup/messy hair when she answers but when she sees its spencer, she FLIPS out/slams the door bc she doesnt want him to see her in that state. spencer, however, is confused ofc because he genuinely doesnt notice her outfit/lack of makeup and thinks she is gorgeous no matter what.

hope this is ok ♡ fem, 1.1k

The song starts slow and ends slower. You could picture Spencer listening to it, his head on your shoulder or yours on his, wired earphones shared between you. 

You grab a pencil to jot a quick post-it note so you'll remember, one knee on your desk chair. You don't want to sit down with the shower running in case you get distracted by your new photo frame.

You and Spencer took a photo to commemorate finally getting together. Or rather, Hotch did, standing behind the camera with an impossible mixture of fondness and disapproval. You look like a true couple with matching graphic t-shirts and beaming smiles, Spencer's arm over your shoulders and yours behind his back. You can't see it without staring; you use all your strength to ignore the photo, pulling your post-it from its pad and tacking the yellow square to your vanity. Tell Spencer about love song from Ocean Boulavard. 

The door to your apartment rings with a knock. If you weren't distracted in your losing don't-think-about-Spencer battle, you'd recognise the timid pattern of it. 

You've been expecting a parcel all weekend. 

"Coming!" you call, tugging a sweater over your vest top, plaid pyjama pants dragging against the floor as you make your way out of your bedroom and into the main living area. "Two seconds!" 

You give yourself a precursory glance in the mirror next to the door before you answer it. You'd never go out like this, but the delivery driver won't see you long. You're mostly clean and fully dressed, though your socks don't match. 

That's another thing to tell Spencer. He must be rubbing off on you. 

"Hello," you say cheerily, pulling the door open with a smile. 

"Hi," Spencer says, big brown eyes aglow at the sight of you, his hands full to bursting. There are enough things in his hands to hide his chest completely. 

You don't have a chance to decipher exactly what he's brought as you flinch behind the cover of the door, not cruel enough to close it in his face, but wanting to. "Spencer! What are you doing here?" 

"Well, you live here." 

His hand comes up tentatively near yours on the door. He doesn't push it further in or attempt to come inside. He might have, if you hadn't squeaked in warning, biting down on the soft inside of your cheek. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Everything is fine!" You squeeze your eyes closed, your pulse a hummingbird hammering between them. 

"Really?" Spencer asks, taking back his hand. "Can I–"

There's a shuffling sound like he might step forward, and that's the last straw, you're fully panicking as you slam it closed.

A too long silence. Your breath comes unnaturally quickly, your thoughts racing to match. I can't believe I just did that. Why did I do that? 

What do I do? 

"Spencer, I'm naked," you say. 

"You were definitely wearing clothes. What's wrong? I brought breakfast, I thought I'd surprise you. I texted you. When you didn't answer I figured maybe you were still sleeping after last night, but… now I'm thinking maybe I read that wrong."

"You didn't read it wrong! You can always come over!" you insist, looking around behind you as if you might suddenly find a full face of makeup hiding in your sideboard, or a fresh change of clothes hanging on the coat hooks. 

"Okay, so, can I come in?" 

You poke at the sore bit of skin in your cheek with a wince. "Spence, I'm not dressed. Like, I'm not ready. I look like a mess." 

"You looked beautiful. For the two seconds that I could see your face, at least." You breathe in uselessly. An answer doesn't present itself. Spencer offers some wisdom while you panic, but you aren't sure you want to hear it. "We're dating, right? So as much as you clearly don't want me to see you like this, it's gonna happen. Hopefully regularly?" He laughs lightly on the other side of the door. "Can I please come in?" 

Nerves gnaw at your fingers, uncomfortable pins and needles. "What if you don't like it as much?" you ask quietly. You're surprised he can hear you. 

"Do you trust me?"

What sort of question is that? This isn't about trust. This is about you, an image of yourself you hold and that you want others to share, it's why you dress as you do, why you wear your intricate hairstyles, and spend hours upon hours priming and primping.

You want to be pretty deeply, especially in Spencer's eyes. Do you trust him to find you pretty still, without all the extra effort? Pretty from the moment you wake up? 

You wait for the verdict as you open the door again. The handle clicks and lugs, the hinge whining as it swings inward. You step backward to allow him space, meeting Spencer's eyes with an insecurity that doesn't suit you.

He doesn't react at first. His hand tightens around the neck of a sprawling bouquet, wildflowers like a burst of colour against his chest, the long white body of a lily of the valley kissing the curve of his neck. He smells like powdered sugar donuts and the food truck they came from, the story of his obsession a remembered delight. I think of you every time I cross the square to the train station by my place. The warm vanilla smell reminds me of your perfume. But I'm usually already thinking of you. He's been bringing you donuts intermittently for months now. 

He finally smiles at you, all manner of morning warmth flooding the room with him. The sun at his heels, the silky brown colour of his hair, you look up as he steps close, as light silhouettes him, turns the silk to fluff. You can see every detail this close down to the baby flyaways, and he can see the same. 

"How could you think I wouldn't like this?" he asks. His words are hushed with earnestness but yards from hesitant. Spencer is unabashedly, genuinely enamoured with you. "You're so pretty. You always are." 

You beg him silently to hold your face, taking the flowers from his hand. He can read you from that small action alone, raising a deft hand to your cheek. 

You lean into his palm. 

[softlyspector]

The second crow

Summary: There's not much in your tiny town, and Joel doesn't expect to stay long.

Pairing: coal miner!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~13.5k

Warnings: once again writing about grief, mentions of suicidal ideation, small town setting and drama, past death of a parent (reader), past death of a child (joel), avoidant reader, mentions of natural disaster, anxiety, brief smut, smoking, alcohol mention

A/N: She wrote another long ass fic! This took months to write and then collected dust in the drafts because I'm scared. This is the kind of thing I post and run away from because there is so much of myself in it. This is probably the most me you will ever get. Please allow me this little moment to be sappy about it in the author's note. I don't know if anyone even reads these but I'm going to shove my love in here anyway. This fic is very special to me for a lot of reasons. It deals with a lot of personal issues I've been grappling with, and it is very much a love letter to where I'm from. I hope you enjoy this fic, can find something in it to relate to, and can appreciate the little slice of idealized love for home I've indulged in here. Thank you for reading! And as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have.

And, he will never, ever know it, but this fic is very much dedicated to my best friend, who was the first person to hang on and say I won't let you go this time.

The door clatters back in the wind; the glass rattles in the frame. Snow swirls into the front foyer before it slams shut again.

A man you don’t recognize steps through the archway, and into the front room. A layer of coal dust lays fine and thin over his coveralls, settled into the creases in his face. He carries a battered miner’s helmet, a duffle bag, a rifle, and nothing else.

“Hi,” you say, surprised from your place behind the kitchen counter, plucking down holiday decorations that had long overstayed their welcome. “Somethin’ I can help you with?” 

“Sure,” he nods and approaches, eyes flicking around the small front room, overcrowded with furniture that was in style thirty years ago, peeling patterned forest green wallpaper that you’d love to be able to replace one day, or at least fix up. 

You can’t be bothered to feel anything but curiosity. 

Strangers are a rare thing.

Rarer are strangers that come from so far away that they do not know not to come inside covered in coal dust and snow, before they have cleaned off. It sloughs off him in minute, shimmering waves, fine lines of black that sparkle in the white, winter light. 

Rivulets of sweat cut through the dust on his face and neck, and pools at the base of his throat. Snow melts in his hair and along the shoulders of his coat from the blizzard outside.

A chunk of ice falls off his boot with his final step toward you. You watch it slide across the floor and under the edge of a battered bookshelf. “I’m lookin’ for a room. Guy at the bar pointed me here.” 

His accent is a drawl and not a twang, the syllables of his words hang long in the air. Not quite southern. It takes you a long second to pin-point its origin. “Tell me, do they have coal mines in Texas?”

He blinks at you, fingers tightening on the rim of the hardhat in his hands. “Yes ma’am.” 

“And did you mine coal there?” 

“Can’t say I did.” 

“And you didn’t get much snow either, I take it?” 

He huffs out a surprised, exasperated chuckle. “Not like this.” 

“I figured so,” you smile. “With that way you’re trackin’ dust and ice across my floor. You’d know better than to come in the front door like that. Or at least to stomp off the snow a little.” 

The stranger looks back at the mess he tracked across the room and then turns back to you, looking sheepish, maybe a little horrified. “I apologize, I shoulda realized—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shake your head. “It’s all right. But most folks along this street will feel the same, except the bar, so keep that in mind.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“A room you said?” 

He nods, then shakes his head. “Well, if I didn’t offend you too bad, that is.” 

“You didn’t. But you should know we got a miner’s shower in the basement.” 

He just nods again, glancing around the room. You didn’t think someone could get culture shock from your little town, but you think you see all the fixings of it on this stranger’s face. The coal dust and the slushy streets aside, the miner’s shower and kicking snow off his boots seems to have done it. 

He looks lost, in more ways than one. Down on his luck, melancholy but different to the kind of sadness you usually see. Tired. Like there's something missing about him.

You go through the motions of asking how long he’ll be staying with you, figuring which room to put him in — end of the hall, you decide, the least drafty of the two. Not like you ever had many guests.

You can’t help feel a little sympathy for him, standing uncomfortable in the middle of the room because you’d pointed out his mistake. 

“So, Texas, what brought you to our little town?” You ask and pull on your coat, motioning for him to follow you back outside. 

The front steps are slick with ice, in need of another layer of salt. You step carefully over it, the stranger offering you an arm to hang onto as you descend, and lead him around the side of the house, the path already dug out from the snowfall of the previous night. 

Dark is falling quick, the sun sinking below the mountains, layering the valley in its usual early darkness, the crests of the hills in the distance cast in an eerie golden orange even through the snowfall. 

Texas doesn’t answer you, the tread of his footsteps quiet behind you. When you reach the back of the house, snow up to your ankles padded in from the yard, you turn to face him, snow battering at both of you. “Just work.” 

“Why here?” 

You like knowing strangers. They’re easy to know, because there’s no chance of them turning and knowing too much, of looking behind your questions and smiles and seeing anything important. You are anonymous to them as they are to you, and that's how you like it. Nothing you might reveal means anything.

He doesn’t answer you and so you leave it. “Well, whatever brought you here, we’re glad to have you. We don’t get many folks from other places.” You turn to the door you’ve led him to, “Now, when you get in from the mines, you come in this way.” You hold up the proper key and let both of you in. “Just to rinse off, y’know? Won’t make you clean up down here, too cold. But otherwise, you can come on through the front door as long as you kick the ice off your boots. All right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He sounds so serious and polite, brow lowered over his eyes. 

“Well, okay,” you smile. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Yours is the first place Joel lands in a long time that he feels comfortable. 

Everything has a worn, lived in feel to it, like generations of families and visitors and travelers have passed there before him, like the warmth of their ghosts still linger in the walls and beneath the floorboards.  

The front room is cluttered with books and all kinds of knicknacks, postcards that look like they were sent by people who passed through or visited before the town stopped getting so many visitors. The wallpaper is peeling and the floors groan no matter where he sets his feet. 

It reminds him of somewhere he’s been before, or something he used to know, and can’t say exactly what. 

Maybe it just reminds him of all the comfortable places he’s ever been, that very particular small town intimacy that he’s tried to remain anonymous and separate from for the last year or so. 

He means to stay just until the snow storm passes. 

And then it does and he keeps on staying. 

It’s funny, how quick he takes to you, feels the ache of something settled just at the bottom of his chest, echoed back at him in your eyes. A kind of loneliness and seeking that he tramps down any time it dares raise its head. 

“You know,” you had said the second evening he was there. He had been thinking about getting something to eat, and instead found himself letting you pour him a cup of coffee. “You can stay for dinner. We used to feed everybody who stayed here. But that was before the passenger trains quit running. Before my time, nearly. Now it’s just those guys that pass through and wanna go over to the bar anyway.” 

“I don’t want ya to go outta your way—”

“Please,” you’d scoffed. “I’d be glad for the company.” 

“All right,” he’d found himself agreeing to that smile, the invitation of company he hadn’t wanted or needed in a long time. “Anything I can help you with?” 

You’d shaken your head and he sat when you’d gestured at the table. “Very kind of you to offer, though, Joel.” 

He hadn't been sure what to say either, that second night, because he’d been alone for so long, and talk had come at a minimum since he left Texas. 

The house sighed and Joel sipped his coffee, watching the points of your elbows, the jut of your hip, as you cooked. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been sure what to say, because you had; well versed in quiet strangers it seemed, which would come to bother him. 

He would come to hate how easily you get on with strangers and push everyone else away. 

But he hadn’t known that the second night. 

Maybe he just hadn’t realized how starved for company he’d really been. But he liked you right away and the way you just talk, every thought you ever had floating up and right out of your mouth without a filter.

It takes his mind off the things he tries to forget anyway.  

So, he had eaten with you that second night and every night that he can afterwards. 

A week passes and you expect Joel to move on, like everyone does. But he doesn’t, he asks for the room for another week, and then another, and another. 

Joel clips steadily into your life, until he’s part of your everyday routine. 

He gives you extra money for the dinner appointment he keeps with you each night, though you tell him he doesn’t have to. 

He makes himself helpful in the evenings even though you suspect he’s always exhausted but never able to get any shut eye. He drinks coffee by the pot full, and though you wonder what it is that keeps him up at night, you don’t ask. You don’t ask anything of him, because it isn’t your place, though your curiosity burns hot.

The stranger is becoming not a stranger and you don’t know how to feel about that. Maybe this time you would manage to let someone in without feeling like the world might cave in on you. 

The stranger, Joel, is kind and sometimes funny. He’s handsome and it’s hard not to like his company. He doesn't talk much but you don't mind.

The dark shadow that hangs behind his eyes has nothing to do with you. But it gets hard to remember that when you end up spending so much time with him. 

It isn’t long before your neighbor, and friend, starts in on teasing you about him. Each time Janie comes to the back door with fresh bread from the bakery she makes eyes at you and asks after your handsome boarder. 

You claim to know nothing of him, despite knowing so much and so little all in one. 

You start to worry every Sunday that he goes out on his own into the woods that he’ll never come back, and that all you’ll have left are the footprints he left in the snow, and even those will be long gone when the year eventually and inevitably warms up. 

It scares you that it worries you at all. It shouldn’t matter at all if he suddenly disappeared into the snow. 

But he always comes back, never with any game even though you told him nobody cares about the no hunting on Sundays rule, and with a look in his eye that says he did kill something, just not something you could see. 

When you figure out he’s carrying nothing to work with him to eat, you insist he go next door and get some pepperoni rolls from Janie. “What is it?” 

“What’s it sound like?” You ask and roll your eyes. “They’re good to take into the mines with you. You can’t work thousand hour shifts and not eat. Don’t you have a lunch bucket or somethin’?” 

“Thousand hour,” he scoffs. Then, “No, I don’t.”

“Jesus, Joel.”

He laughs and it’s the first time you’ve heard it. It’s nice, and sounds surprised in the air, punched out of him in a short burst. “All right,” he agrees. “All right. I’ll figure somethin’ out.” 

But he leaves before the sun comes up and comes back long after it’s set and so you can’t just let it go. His whole days are set in perpetual darkness, and the very least he needs to do is eat proper.

You know you shouldn’t, but you worry about him. 

“Just do it,” you grouse at him, shooing him away from the coffee pot. “She makes ‘em fresh everyday and it would make me feel better. It’s common, anyway. It’s what a lot of guys take down there. And you wouldn’t want me dying of worry over you, would you?” 

Joel grumbles about it, but he does as you ask, and when he comes in in the evenings, he doesn’t look so pale anymore. The bruises under his eyes never go away, the puffy bags of sleeplessness that he supplements with coffee at all hours of the day, morning and night, but he doesn’t look so wan and so it’s better.  

Even quiet as he seems to be, he looks at you when you talk and always says thank you when you put a plate down in front of him, and makes it out to be a great ordeal when he asks if he could trouble you for a cup of coffee.

One evening, a couple weeks on, he slumps down at the table with an unusual amount of heaviness. His shoulders are damp with a thousand snowflakes, coal dust rubbed haphazardly off his face, the weight of a heavy sky on his shoulders. 

Joel asks for a cup of coffee but he looks like he’s been sleeping even less than usual. 

He looks exhausted, purple bags beneath his eyes, and even though it’s none of your business, you ask, “Sure? Might be you won’t sleep.” 

“I’ll be all right.” His voice doesn’t leave room for argument, a tad dismissive. 

“You’ll eat with it,” you snap. “Or you can go find it somewhere else.” 

He blinks up at you, surprised at your tone. “I can be mean, too, Joel Miller.” 

It takes a second but he nods. “I’m sorry. I was raised with better manners than that.” 

“I know it. It’s all right.” 

Almost like an apology, he tells you about Texas that night, about his brother, about what he’s found he actually misses from home, how he used to be a carpenter before he did this, how he can play the guitar.

“What is it you’re lookin’ for?” You ask softly when he stands at your sink with bowed shoulders, washing the dishes, meticulous about it. 

He shrugs. “That’s just it,” he says without looking at you, hands reddened with the heat of the water. “There's nothin’ to look for.” 

“You’re that Mr. Miller, aren’t ya? Lives over at the inn, right? Have all winter long?” 

Joel is in the tiny general store. It’s mid-March and you asked him to get milk. There’s about five shelves total, a freezer, and a refrigerator. He’s been in and out plenty of times without any kind of trouble. 

He glances at the man leaning against the cooler door next to the one he has propped open and gives a vague nod. “Sure.” 

“Well, we was just wantin’ to know what’s got you hangin’ around over there for so long.” 

It ain’t phrased like a question. 

Joel glances over his shoulder, finds two women and the owner of the store looking over at them from the front counter. 

“Mister?” 

He turns back to the man attempting to intimidate him. “That so?” 

“Sure do.” 

“Well, she don’t seem to have a problem with my stayin’ there,” he grabs the milk you’d asked him for, the least he could do after all those dinners you cooked. He tries to repay you, do things around the place but you’re resistant to it, independent and sometimes angry, and damn stubborn about it. “So I really don’t see what that has to do with you, anyhow.” 

The hostility bleeds red in the air. He pays for the milk and doesn’t wait for the change, figuring he wouldn’t get it anyway, and that a few coins didn’t matter anyway. 

When he opens the backdoor, snow and ice and street grit knocked carefully off his boots at the bottom of the steps that led up to the porch, you smile at him. 

“You got some protective friends.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He tells you what happened, lets you put a cup of coffee in front of him on the table and press a friendly hand to his shoulder. 

And, Jesus, it shouldn’t, but it makes something deep in him ache. If your hand lingered, if it rubbed the top of his spine and between his shoulder blades, he’d be all right with that; he’d lean into it. 

But your hand disappears just as quick. 

“Oh, honey, they’re just suspicious of anyone that hangs around town for too long.”

“Why’s that?” 

“You ain’t noticed? We don’t get people from other places around here, and the ones we have take everything. With not a lot to go around. They just don’t know you.” You smile wryly at him over your shoulder, mouth twisted crookedly. Your gaze flicks over him, lingering for a second, but then you shrug and turn away.

“Make an effort, if you care to. They’ll come around. They just don’t know you, it’s not like you get out,” you rib lightly. 

“Cute.” 

“Can’t help you go from here to the mines and back and that’s it.” You’re smiling when you say it, the curve of your cheek visible to him even though your back is turned. 

He rolls his eyes and you laugh when you catch him doing it. 

He can’t figure why it matters to him, but it does. 

So, Joel makes the effort, or does his best to. 

He makes his way over to the neighbor’s place and offers to fix their front step he noticed was loose, wood rotting through. He fixes someone’s leaking roof. Runs deliveries of groceries to the old folks who can’t get out and regale him with stories that take at least two hours to tell. He shovels snow until he’s so exhausted he does actually pass out at night. 

It gets around that he’s handy and not asking for anything in return and a nice young man according to the older people and so he finds he has something to do each evening for almost a week straight. 

Maybe that was a mistake, but if Joel knows anything it’s that small, poor towns run on favors. He knows that you smile when he tells you why he’s back so late each evening. 

A week or so after the general store incident, he receives a parcel of muffins, and overhears one of the neighbors commending him in your kitchen. “Maybe he’s not so bad. We was worried. No one ever sees him. You should bring him over to the church sometime.” 

It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You laugh and say, “I don’t think either of us are the church goin’ type. But I always know a good man when I see one, you should know that by now at least.”

“You sure do. Think he could fix our porch swing before spring comes?” 

“Don’t see why he couldn’t.” 

He makes an effort to be seen. It’s nice, he guesses, that people know his name again. It’s nice to feel needed somewhere, even if it smarts a little. It’s nice to feel like maybe he isn’t looking for nothing anymore. 

Joel tells himself that it just makes things easier for him, just so he can get goddamn milk without being accosted. Milk for you, for dinner. 

No, it has nothing at all to do with you, or the way you called him a good man, or the way the tips of his ears went hot with it.

Not getting to talk to you for a week straight in the evenings almost becomes worth it. 

It has nothing at all to do with that big lonely hole in his heart, or the memories that snagged like sharp teeth at the edge of that wound. 

The mines are way out past the edge of town. 

It’s a long damn walk there and back. The morning is pitch black when he sinks into the cold earth, and only dregs of light are left when he comes back up in the evenings. 

But the town, when he draws near, sparkles with light, bright with moonlight reflected on the snow that won’t seem to melt, even as April begins to creep in. 

Spring should be well on its way, but the world still smells frozen and bruised, like pine needles and coal dust and the enduringly brutal cold. 

Most that stay in town are just passing through town, on their way to somewhere else. He finds he doesn’t mind being the only permanent fixture at your place. 

Some of them are all right, most of them really, but a few make him wary. He worries about you, though you don’t seem concerned about being alone. He supposes you did it long before he got there, and you’ll do it after he leaves. 

They’re gone within days, anyway, so he doesn’t say anything about it. But he wants to, the words like bubbles that want to pop in the back of his throat. He wants to tell you to be careful and not so friendly. 

He’s exhausted by the time he makes his way to the basement door, folds away his coal encrusted oversuit and rises off the worst of the sweat and dust quick. He’ll take a proper shower later. 

You and him have fallen into a routine the last couple months, the fine sharp edge of April waiting just around the corner, and with it the hopes for warmer weather, that the temperatures will rise and the wind won’t bite quite so harshly. 

There’s always something hot waiting for him on the table, even if you aren’t there to see to it. Most nights you’re there, but you are busy. More times than not lately, you’re somewhere else, doing something else, maybe like you’re trying to unstick yourself from him just a little. But you’re just busy, popular in town as a local, a regular nearly everywhere. 

He always sits with you when he gets the chance, eats with you. He likes to. It keeps his mind off of what he’d left behind, what he lost.

Just like working himself to death all day does. It’s hard to think beyond the physical, backbreaking pain of the labor to what lay in back in Texas. 

You and him create a routine together, solid and steady. 

When it’s interrupted, he hates to admit it burns. 

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that you are profoundly lonely, despite the plethora of people in and out of your life—the visitors and guests, but the townspeople, too. You’re a regular everywhere, and somehow always alone. 

You’re friends with the baker next door, at least. As far as he can tell, she’s the only person you’re really close with in the town. 

The baker has started coming to the back door in the morning, a sly smile on her face that he’s not particularly keen on. He has started taking the basket from her, answering the knock that never waited to be answered, the door always pushed in before either of you could get to it, a basket of fresh bread and the pepperoni rolls he’d started buying off her weeks before to appease you.  

He forgets to eat more than he ever has before. It just doesn’t seem to matter. 

A couple times a week, you sit down to cards and cigarettes and drinks with the baker. He listens to the gossip from the front room, a book with words that blur and never sink in propped on his knee. To hear the two of you together, it makes something in his throat close. 

He usually has Sundays off, days where he’d climb out into the great unknown of the valleys and hills that surround the picturesque town, almost village-like with all its holiday lights still strung up to keep the long dark days of the enduring winter season at bay, and, rifle in hand, go hunting. 

It’s illegal to go hunting on Sundays, but you assure him no one cares as long as it’s after the church services are over.  

He never manages to get a shot off anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. 

Everytime he thinks he’ll be able to lift the gun to his shoulder and pull the trigger at the creature sighted in the scope, he doesn’t, he can’t. He sees his daughter instead. He sees Sarah’s closed coffin; he sees her bloodied face, shards of glass spread around her like a halo of sparkling snow; he sees her blonde hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, tubes crawling in and out of her mouth and chest and arms.

And all Joel has to show for it is a scar across the bridge of his nose, a tight pinch in his right shoulder that hadn’t been there before.

There are a lot of deer around, but birds, too, ducks and geese, rabbits, foxes. All of them remind him of his kid and so the rifle remains unused. He can’t help but feel like he might be killing his kid all over again. 

The basement is dark and chilled when he gets in, but not cold or damp. Snow crumbles from his boots and leaves an icy shine behind. There’s a broom beside the door and he does his best to sweep the mess to the drain in the center of the basement floor. 

Something weary weighs on him. He feels heavy all the time, tired beyond belief, and like a hole might open up in his chest at any moment, like the heart of him might slip out, bloody and mangled, right onto the floor. 

This isn’t the first town he’s stumbled onto, lost and wandering, unable to stay in Texas without thinking of his girl. It is the first town he’s stayed in longer than a week. 

It’s been near a year since she passed in that hospital, machines turned off, chest ceasing to rise and fall. 

He thought he could take it, be strong, be there as his child died right in front of him. 

He’d had to agree to it after all, sign all the right papers and talk to all the right people, and get a thousand and one second opinions from all kinds of doctors to be sure. 

No brain activity. No chance of ever waking up. Hung in limbo forever, and he couldn’t abide that, that maybe she was in pain and trying to move on and leave and find rest and he wasn’t letting her. 

They assured him that she would not feel a thing, and that was good, but no one warned him that he would be the one taking it all on. It felt like being carved open, split down the middle, like he was raw and turned inside out and someone was holding a hot needle to his lungs. 

He hadn’t been able to help the way he fell to his knees and howled, sobbed. 

So, after the funeral, he sold his house and left. Did odd jobs and backbreaking seasonal work for almost a year, a different town every week, until he stumbled on this mining town, deep in the hills of some place long forgotten. 

By the looks of the buildings, it might have been busy once, trains and visitors and people, but the mines feel like they’ve been there since the beginning of time. There’s something ancient in the air and down in the deep earth. 

Maybe he stays because he got into town on the anniversary of the accident. 

He’s goddamn stupid if he doesn’t think it has nothing to do with you, though. 

Joel should have already moved on when he heard about your little inn, in the bar down the street, but snow had moved in, so thick and white, he couldn’t see more than an inch in front of his face. The roads would be bad for days after, the least he could do was get away from that shitty company housing while he waited, and get a few more days of pay. 

But the roads cleared, and a week passed, and then another, and another, and he still hasn’t met that urge to keep moving, to put space between him and Sarah. He only thinks of her when he’s trying to sleep, and those fateful Sundays. 

The kitchen is empty and cold when he closes the basement door behind him, a thin wind spiraling in from the cracked open back door. 

The porch is dark but the outline of you is clear, sitting on the plastic-covered porch swing with a cigarette between your fingers. “Those things’ll kill ya they say,” he says by way of greeting, leaning against the siding. 

“And what exactly do you go breathing in everyday down in them mines that’s so healthy?” There’s a snap in your voice that usually isn’t there, that mean streak that lashes out from time to time. 

Joel pulls the door almost shut, shuts the little bit of light leaking outside away. “Are you all right?” 

“Sorry.” 

“S’okay,” he says. “Should I leave ya?” 

It takes a minute for you to answer. “Get a coat and come sit.” After a second you add, “If y’want.” 

So he gets a coat and sits next to you on the swing. The plastic crinkles under his thighs. “Do you smoke?” 

“I used to.” He should leave it at that but more words follow that he doesn’t intend. “Stopped years ago, a couple months before my - my daughter was born.” He falters a little on the words.

Joel braces himself, stiffens, all the bone and muscle inside of him going deadly tight, waiting for the inevitable questioning. Maybe you don’t care to ask or maybe you feel him tense or hear something in his voice because you don’t ask. 

Something pricks at him, disappointment maybe. 

“Well, it’s just us here,” you say simply. “You want one?” 

Sarah never knew he smoked. 

He takes the one you offer and the packet of matches. 

“I don’t usually,” you say without prompting. “Smoke, that is. Sometimes when I drink.” 

Joel takes a long drag and holds it in his lungs for a long minute. It feels good and tastes as bad as he remembers. “Card night.” 

You smile at him, cigarette slowly brought to your lips. “That’s right.” 

He almost asks what it is that has you smoking without your friend, but he figures you’re about to tell him anyway. You talk a lot. He likes that about you. 

So he waits. 

And you don’t say anything. 

There’s just a long melancholy silence where your words normally are. 

On a usual evening, he comes upstairs and bothers you about letting him help you some way. You don’t like letting people help you, like it even less when he just does it anyway. 

On a usual evening, he’s threatened with expulsion from the kitchen, and then gets caught up on local dramas, some of which he is beginning to understand, while he sits at the table with a cup of coffee and you pretend to never need help. 

The snow makes a sound as it hits the piles of the stuff that has yet to melt, frozen hard and unforgiving everywhere. 

He’s never been around snow, much less sat outside as it fell. 

The whole world goes quiet with it, like he got sucked into a black hole and sound got swallowed up around nothing. 

And in the silence, he can hear the individual plunks of each flake settling onto the frozen ground. He wouldn’t have thought it made a sound at all.

“You sure you’re all right?” He asks and slips one arm across the back of the swing, realizing that you never answered him in the first place. 

You just draw in another long breath and inch closer to him on the swing. 

Maybe he’s not as crazy as he thought. When you look at him, there’s something in your eyes, a grief that he feels reflected back in your eyes, sharp like a tack shoved into the delicate skin between thumb and forefinger. 

The ache in his chest is present on your face. 

“Just one of those days,” you say and smile. “Sorry I’m not myself.”

You’re plenty yourself, just muted. Quiet. 

He does quiet pretty well, so you just sit there and listen to the snow, breathe it in, shudder against his arm until he just wraps it around you, trying not to put too much thought into it. 

You don’t look at him. “Thanks.” 

“Mhm.” 

He’s not sure how long you sit there. He just knows he’s numb when your hand covers his, your fingers feel hot against the freezing ache that’s set in.

“My dad was a miner. Pretty much everybody is around here, I guess. Those mines,” you say and shake your head. “They give. We wouldn’t exist without ‘em, but they take too. They take what they think they’re owed in the end. You can’t take that much out of Earth that old and expect nothin’ bad.” You hesitate for a long moment but when Joel squeezes your hand, you continue. “My dad died in a mine collapse around this time a couple years ago. So I guess that’s what I'm thinkin’ about today.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and, slowly, your head tips against his shoulder. The cigarettes are stubbed out, the butts deposited in an ashtray. “Usually, this time of year all the snow is already gone. And then the rains come and everything floods. And that spring, the mine collapsed with it.” 

He thinks of telling you of his own grief, his own loss, and the way he ran away from it. The way he’s still trying to run away from it. But something sharp twinges in his chest and he stays silent. Layering his grief over yours wouldn’t help no one, least of all you. 

Telling someone about her, someone who didn’t know her, having to describe her — he wants to, and can’t imagine doing it, all in one. 

Maybe it isn’t right to, anyway. 

Instead, he squeezes your hand, tilts his chin against your forehead. “You always run this place?” 

“No. Back when there were people still passing through, my aunt did. It’s not like there’s much else to do around here so I just decided to keep it going when she left.” 

“It’s nice.” 

“Think so? One day it’ll be a five star hotel.” 

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt it. Almost too rich for my blood now.” 

“Honorary guest,” you disagree. “Always. Room reserved for you, just in case.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious,” you laugh and relax fully against his shoulder; the tension bleeds out of you, the curve of you spilling softly into him.

You sit like that for a long time, until the snow stops coming down.   

It’s then that the world does go silent as a grave, like the two of you are the last people alive. 

“It’s been real nice havin’ you here,” you say suddenly and quietly, like someone might hear, like you might disturb him. The puff of your breath clouds, crystalizes in front of him like something physical he might pluck from the air and put in his pocket.

Glad to have been here, glad to be here, he wants to say and doesn’t. It feels wrong to be glad to be anywhere at all. 

When you tilt your face up, your eyes are soft. He doesn’t even think about it. 

He just kisses you. 

You taste like blackberries, dark sweet and sour. The cigarette on your tongue is only an afterthought. The sound you make when he cups your head in his hands and tips it back, rehomes itself in his chest. 

When he pulls you into himself, you sigh. 

Five days later, it’s a Sunday. Another snowstorm is passing through the hills, and any snow that had managed to melt that week comes right back. 

Joel only realizes when he’s brushing his teeth—preoccupied with thinking about maybe not going hunting for once, and cleaning the damn rifle instead—that it’s unusually cold. He rinses his mouth out and goes to find you. 

The steps creak and crack as he descends them, like they’re covered in a spiderwebbed ice that might split and send him into some achingly cold depth if he isn’t careful.  

He finds you bundled up in a coat by the backdoor, a scarf wound halfway up your face, just your eyes visible above the fabric. 

“I’m sorry,”  you say, voice muffled and eyes wide. “The heating went out and there’s nothin’ to be done about it until the snow clears up a little and it ain’t supposed to until tomorrow.” You shake your head. “Never snows this goddamn much or this late in the season,” you gripe, a bitterness in your voice. 

“Well, that ain’t your fault,” he says, watching you wiggle your fingers into a pair of gloves. He thinks you’re just layering up, but when you reach for your boots by the back door it becomes apparent that you intend to go outside. “And just where do you think you’re goin’?”

You pick up a basket next and reach for the doorknob. “I need wood for the fireplace—”

“Then let me get it for ya,” he says, stepping into his own boots, tugging the basket out of your hands as he goes. “You’ll freeze out there.”

“No, Joel, you’re a guest here—”

“C’mon,” he says. “It ain’t like that now and you know it.” You don’t say anything but when he looks up, you’re frowning at him. “We got anyone else around?” 

“Just—it’s just me and you.” 

He doesn’t know why you sound so upset about it. “Good. Now where’s the wood?” 

You blink and glance away, pulling at your gloves nervously. “In the shed. Should be enough little pieces but the ax is by the door if some of it needs broken up.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll have some coffee ready for you.” 

“You don’t gotta do that.” He opens the door, snow swirls in. 

“I’m doin’ it anyway.” Then. “Joel?” 

He turns. 

“Thanks.” 

He’s not sure what he’s being thanked for and you still aren’t really looking at him, so he nods and plunges into the white blur that is the back yard, the whip of blizzard wind harsh against his face.

Inside the shed he finds that more of the wood does need axed.

He can’t get the way you looked at him out of his mind. You’ve been busy the last couple days, always out or taking care of something, pushing away any of his attempts to. . .what? He isn’t sure. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he made things complicated, messed something up along the way.

He fears that pushing has nothing to do with the grief that had made a home on your face that evening you spent on the porch together, but what came after and what he hadn’t said. 

You have been different too. Like something wary and stiff.

He chops the wood, feels every lift and swing of the ax. It seems to ache more in the cold. Everything does. 

Joel shoves the wood into the basket and stacks the extra pieces back onto the pile. The house is marginally warmer than outside without the brutal slice of the wind. He leaves his boots by the back door and finds you poking around in the grate of the fireplace. 

You back away when he approaches and it stings that you do. 

“Somethin’ the matter?” 

“No. ‘Course not.” 

But there is. Some kind of wall went up between you the other night. He should have said something. “All right. I’m, uh, I’m gonna get outta your hair for a while.” 

He doesn’t think of being in a blizzard, just that he needs to get out of your house before you ask him out of it, before you kick him out of it.  

The only thing he can think is that he doesn’t mean shit to you. Somewhere along the way, things got messed up, like they always do. His ex-wife’s face flashes behind his eyes, all that happened with her, all of it that always seemed to be his fault. 

Joel grabs his gear and goes out into the blue-white of the snow and makes his usual trek to a spot up in the hills. He sits with his back to a tree and listens to the way the weather beats down. The metal of the rifle goes ice cold between his knees, the bluster of the wind coats him in a perfect white. 

He might just be the only living thing out. The world is quiet apart from that brutal, beautiful shush of wind through trees and snow through air. 

He’d be ashamed to admit it, but the only thing he thinks about that day, is you. 

Joel’s hair is still damp and curling lightly against the back of his neck when he finds his way to the kitchen. 

He’d come back frozen to the bone, ice in his hair and eyebrows and the webbing of his lashes. It’s all melted now, and you have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him there, the back of his neck where you know his skin is soft, the feathery thick hair that grows a little long these days. 

“You have a minute?” Joel asks, right hand toying with the strap of his watch. He’s looking at you the way he always does lately, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A stab of guilt rakes pointed talons along your belly. 

You did that, you always do that. 

Stop it, you think. Don’t do that this time. 

“Hey,” you nod, trying. “Sure, I do. Was gonna ask you to come sit with me anyhow.” 

He pauses, takes the cup of coffee when you extend it to him, fresh brewed, a peace offering of sorts. Peace over what, you don’t know. “Y’were?” He sounds surprised, takes the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours. 

“Sure,” you answer, swiping your hand over your thigh. His gaze follows. “It’s just s’cold upstairs. Electricity’ll be out ‘til tomorrow probably. At the earliest. So.” 

He nods and looks down into his cup and you feel bad about the last week again. Of how you’re pushing again and don’t know how to stop. You held him at arm's length, made sure you were out and busy and away, watched him stop smiling at you again, replaced instead by uncertainty. 

It’s unfair. 

He should probably hate you over it. 

You wonder why he’s still here. 

When he looks up at you, you smile and his shoulders relax marginally. “All right. I’m gonna get more wood, then I’ll be there.” 

You show him the bottle of whiskey when he comes back inside, smelling of frozen air and pine. “Just to stay warm,” you promise. 

He doesn’t say no to the drink you pour him, or the way you inch closer to him. 

Because it’s cold, you tell yourself, just like it had been on the porch that other time.

The pull of longing in your chest hasn’t eased since then. You shouldn’t have let him, you’re bad at hanging on to people and afraid they’ll disappear, and you’d rather hurt by choice. You’d rather be alone and ache. 

But Joel is here and real and still in front of you, still looking at you.

It’s terrible because he wants you to know things about him and you want to run away. You want to push him away, until he leaves or hates you or both. He brought up his daughter and even though you think it might have been an accident, you think he might have wanted you to ask about her. 

And you hadn’t. 

He doesn’t make it any easier on you by being warm and solid and pressing an offering open arm along the back of the couch. 

Just like the other time. 

You accept it, because it's cold. Just because it’s cold. 

It has nothing at all to do with the way he strokes your shoulder and tugs you close to him, the way his head tilts down over yours when you press the cold tip of your nose into his neck by accident and then leave it there on purpose. 

You aren’t expecting him to say anything. The guttering of the candles lulls you to sleep, the pepper of white snow against the black swirl outside soothing. “You know,” the sound of his voice rumbles against your ear. “I didn’t know snow made noise.”

You blink. “What?”

“That sound it makes. When it’s real quiet, you can hear it land.” 

“Suppose you can, yeah.” 

“My daughter,” he starts and your breath hitches. The broken eggshell of memory delicately being pressed into the palms of your hands. You’re being trusted with something. “She only saw snow once, I think. Real slushy and wet. Not like you get around here. And I don’t remember it makin’ a noise.”

You swallow the instinct to change the subject, to say something dismissive, to push and push. 

“Did she like it?” You ask after a moment. “The snow?” 

“Yep. Got off from school. Made the world’s tiniest snowman. Maybe only a foot high. Made snow angels that turned out to be more mud than snow. My brother thought that was real funny.” 

You laugh and lean into his shoulder. He smells like snow and damp cotton and gun oil. “What’s her name?” 

Assuming. No, hoping. You are hoping that he’s just missing her, that the chipped china memory in your palm is of a girl he misses and doesn’t mourn. But you could tell the other day, you could tell by his voice and the way he isn’t with her. If he had a choice, he’d be with her. 

Joel isn’t like you. 

He’s not the kind to leave someone behind. 

He clears his throat. “Sarah. She was, uh, she was twelve.” 

“Oh. Oh, Joel. I’m sorry.” 

And you are. That is a loss no one should ever know, and Joel is not the kind to carry it well. It leaves those purple circles under his eyes, burrows deep ruts into the arteries to his heart, half his blood just drained away. It leaves the coffee pot empty, it whispers fourteen hour work days, and still no sleep. 

It pushes a rifle into hands that always come back without game. 

“Anyway, I think she would have liked this shit,” he gestures to the snow beyond the window with the mug in his hand, coffee and whiskey. “Think she would have liked it here.”

“It’s okay, when you get to know the place.” You follow his eyes. “It’s home, anyway.”  

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.” 

What part he’s agreeing with, you aren’t sure you want to know. 

He looks at you again, and you can’t bear to meet his gaze through the dark that’s fallen on the room, to see too deeply into what lay there. Sharing his daughter with you, that she died so young. A lot of things about him suddenly fall into place in your mind. 

The grief and the love with no place to go. It makes sense why he’s there, running away from something that could never be ignored. 

You take the cup from him and pull him up by the hand. 

He fits against you, pulled in tight, so easily. You feel the brush of his mouth against your cheek, his fingers against your back.

You sway, and there’s no music. You want to say that you’re sorry again. Not for his daughter, because he wouldn’t want to hear it, but for everything else — the running you’re both doing, the snow and the cold, and how clear it is that everything in the world looks like grief and loss and the big hole in his chest. 

“I think you should ask Joel to get a drink.” 

Janie pauses mid-chop, knife hanging in the air. Your friend the baker turns to look at you over her shoulder. “What did you just say?” 

You wince and fiddle with the edge of your sweater. “Joel. You should ask him.” 

“Now why,” she starts, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Would I go and do somethin’ like that?” 

“Well, I think y’all would be good together—”

She sighs heavy and long, rolling her eyes as she sits down across from you and takes your hand in hers, still wet from rinsing the vegetables off. “You’re doin’ it again, you know.” 

“Doin’ what?” You snap, yanking your hand back, accusatory. 

“As soon as you think somebody is getting too close you push ‘em away. I know you know what you’re doin’. And I know if I hadn’t had the sense to hold onto you so hard all them years ago, you woulda done the same to me. And we’d just be neighbors.” 

She raises a brow at you when you sputter. But it’s true. You know it’s true. 

It happens all the time, with everyone. It always hits you so hard, the sudden smothered feeling, the scared, confused, cornered animal feeling, when hanging onto something seemed impossible and wrong. 

“You know that man don’t want nothin’ to do with me.” 

“He always answers the door to you in the mornings,” you defend weakly.  

“As a favor to you. He does everything for you, and I know you noticed or you wouldn’t be trying to pass him off on me. You don’t gotta be so avoidant. Not everything disappears.”

You know, but you what you don’t know is how to stop it. The sharp talons and fangs that spring out whenever someone gets too close are always a surprise. You hate it when people care about you, when you care about them. 

It’s like there’s a box around you, growing smaller with each passing second. So, you flee, before the box crushes you, or before the thing trapped in there with you gets to do it first.

That’s what you’re really afraid of, after all, not that someone might care about you, but that they one day might stop.  

“I told him about my dad,” you admit.

Janie freezes, blinks, and then looks over at you. You look back at her, miserable about it. “Oh, honey.” 

“And he. . .you shoulda seen the way he—” The way he looked at you. You almost tell her about Sarah, but don’t. That loss isn’t yours to tell, no matter what, even if it would tell her exactly how close he’s drifted to you. 

You don’t know what to call it, anyway. The way he looked at you the night of the snowstorm, the air chilled and the whole world cold except for the two of you pressed together. His hand in yours, the mocking remembrance that you had forgotten in that moment to feel trapped. 

No, that had come later. When you couldn’t breathe before going to bed, when your skin felt pinched and tight. That moment is tinged in your mind with the heaviness of a hand pinching the back of your neck, instead of the gentle press of fingers to your spine, his mouth against your cheek but not your lips, not again.

“He’ll leave soon and it won’t matter,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “He’s got to be goin’ soon. I know it.”  

She pats your hands again, pity in her gaze. “It will matter, and you know it. But it seems to me he’s stuck. And it isn’t this town or those mines that are keeping him here. He wants to hang on. You should, too, for once. He’s looked like nothin’ but a kicked dog lately, and one that might bite at that.” 

The snow melts over the next couple of weeks, temperatures rise rapidly. For a while, the sun shines, the weather is nice; the skies a purest bluest blue. 

Joel doesn’t leave. 

He smokes more on the back porch, his eyes far away and haloed with something distant. He stops hunting on Sundays, and starts going fishing at the lake instead, and unlike before he brings back a haul. 

For a minute, it seems like things might be okay. You don’t allow yourself to have any more quiet, secret moments with him, but you don’t push either. You try not to push. 

But you wonder if he wants that, if he might have wanted to kiss you again when the heat went out and you were stupid enough to let yourself reel him back to you. 

Then, one day, the rains come. Clouds so black they appear blue roll in and sit heavy in the sky for a day, winds whipping the leaves of the trees back so their bellies show. Old warnings about just how bad the weather was about to get. 

The skies open up, and the rain doesn’t stop. 

For weeks. 

Suddenly all anyone can talk about are the floods and the landslides that are likely to happen any day. 

You wish they wouldn’t, or at least not to you, or have the decency not to look at you with pity when they talk about it. What if there’s a mine collapse? Well, you think, that too is likely. 

The creeks swell until they look like rivers; the rivers glut themselves with so much rainwater the levees threaten to bend and break, the banks of the lake disappear, silt stirred so deeply that the whole lake goes brown with it. 

Joel stops fishing. 

You expect them to close the mines, at least for a while. But the coal companies have never cared about any of you, and they weren’t about to start. 

“Mornin’,” he says, his voice a soft grumbling rumble. 

“Hi,” you say, not turning away from your spot by the window, watching the rain pour down seemingly harder. 

The rain and all it could wash away, makes you anxious. Makes the whole town anxious. Flooded river plains and lake shores, mountainsides crumbling down to sweep everything away. It’s embedded in you, something your body learned generations before you were born. 

A generational curse, a landscape that could steal everything, that had and would again. 

“You okay?” 

The sound of the coffee pot sliding out of place, liquid being poured, ceramic clicking down onto the counter. 

“Yeah. The rain makes me anxious.” 

“All anyone talks about are the floods.” 

“Same way every year,” you shrug, like it doesn’t keep you awake at night. Like you haven’t stopped sleeping and pace all night long. “Hard thing to forget, once it happens to you.” 

Joel makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and joins you at the window. “It’s gettin’ lighter every day, at least.” 

You think he means it to comfort you. 

“The sound, though.” 

The sound of rain tapping at the window is like nails on a chalkboard — warning. 

He covers your hand with his for just a second, the squeeze of his fingers around yours barely felt. “I know.”  

Too close. 

It’s too close. 

You don’t want him to know that. 

You move your hand before his skin has fully left yours, jerking away like you’ve been stung.  

He clears his throat and shifts, floorboards squeaking awkwardly beneath his socked feet. 

Socked feet. Hand on yours, rough skin against yours. Tender words, gentle tone. 

It all feels like he knows too much, wants too much. You take a step away from the warmth he radiates under the guise of reaching for the handle of the dishwasher. “You think you’ll be movin’ on soon?” 

A surprised silence follows your words. “What?”

“It’s just you been here awhile.” 

He doesn’t answer and you start to unload the dishwasher, carefully stacking the ceramic on the counter even though you’d normally just put them up in the cabinets. “Big waste of money, stayin’ somewhere like here for so long. If you’re waitin’ for better pay or something, I can tell you it won’t happen. Not even if you talk to the union.” 

A long silence follows your words. It’s a buzzing, angry silence. “You ain’t even gonna look at me?” 

You shrug and your body continues on autopilot, still not looking at him, stacking dishes one after another. 

Clink, click, clink. 

The door to the basement doesn’t exactly slam, but it shuts much harder than usual.

You sit the mug in your shaking hands down on the counter and stare at it without seeing. 

The pressure in your chest isn’t gone. It never is, after. You push and push and push, until they finally let go. And then the loneliness and pain rub their hands together and slip back into their comfortable home in your chest. It’s almost a relief to have it back. 

God, why does someone knowing something about you, caring about you, feel like getting your arteries ripped out, one fine line at a time? Why does it feel like your skin is shrinking and your throat is closing up? 

Your eyes sting and you wish you wouldn’t have said it. 

But you did and he’d be on his way soon enough and everything would be simple again. 

You can remain in your little box all alone with carefully constructed walls that push everyone to the periphery of your life. They belong at arms length where you believe it won’t hurt you when they leave, where you convince yourself you’ll have enough time to recognize the signs and do it first. 

He can’t get any closer, can’t see anymore than he already has. 

Joel has to leave. You have to push him away, before he makes the choice himself and leaves you bleeding. 

But Joel isn’t like you, you think again. He’s not the kind to leave someone behind. 

The rain comes down harder. 

The house rattles with it.

You think about the mines flooding, and finally cry.  

Joel doesn’t leave, but you can tell he’s trying to figure out how to. He’s trying to leave because you want him to, and that’s what matters. 

You don’t know how he picks where to roam next and you don’t care. You’re glad he’s going to leave. 

He doesn’t eat dinner with you anymore, barely nods at you when you see him though you try to be busy with something else when he comes in in the evenings, or not in the kitchen at all, not in the house at all. 

Joel leaves so early in the morning that you don’t see him then either. The ache that slices like a knife through the ventricles of your heart tears open a little wider each day. He makes the coffee now, and always makes enough for you, too, the pot left on to keep it warm for you. One morning you find an envelope in the center of your kitchen table.

Panic overcomes you, until you open it and find a week’s worth of money. Scrawled on the outside, I’m sorry to keep imposing. 

You rip the envelope up, angry, because you don’t want to think about what it means that you got scared. Fear that he had already been gone. 

Near a week later, late in the afternoon, when the sky is a deep purple, Janie knocks on your backdoor. Her voice is frantic. She smells like raw flour and sliced apples. 

There’s mud on her boots and that’s the only thing you can think of as she talks at you, her voice far away. 

You think about the mud on her boots and her boots on your floor and how she always takes them off on the porch no matter what. 

She’s still talking, words flowing a million miles an hour, and you just think about the smell of bread and how she normally, always, takes her boots off.  

She shakes you by the shoulders suddenly, hands clamped tight against your skin. “Did you hear me?” She asks urgently. “One of the mines collapsed.” 

“Which one?” You snap, reality snapping sharply into relief. “Which one? They're all shut down but one. Which one?” 

One that is empty, or not? The one with people, or not? The one with Joel, or not?

“I don’t know. Nobody seems to know but—” 

You pull your raincoat off the hook by the door and shove your feet into the first pair of shoes you see, and dart out and into the rain, the hale of it cold against your skin and your face. 

It’s been a cold year. This time last year, it was warm and sunny already, things like a mine collapse a far off, unreal, non-possibility. 

The mud sucks at your boots but soon enough you’re on the road and running. 

You run and run and don’t feel the burn in your lungs or the pain in your thighs. There’s nothing that will keep you from getting there. The town is small and built in relation to the mines. 

You’ve always been a mining town and so it’s not far. It shouldn’t take you long to get there. 

Joel walks in the mornings. It’s not far. 

But time moves slow, and your body seems to move even slower than that. 

Shouldn’t you have known? Shouldn’t you have felt something? The beating heart of the earth tearing something away; that primordial, knowing pit taking back what had been taken from it? What it was owed in return?  

Not him. Not him. 

He didn’t owe this stretch of Earth anything. And it is not owed him. 

The hills and mountains rise up around you, the comforting presence of them, like ancient, silent sentries, suddenly loom a little more sinister. Crumbling and old and vengeful, just waiting to swing a fist down on something you cared about, something you loved, something you always try to push away. Because it would always be destroyed. The town, or a neighbor’s house, or the banks of the swollen river and lake eating up precious farmland. 

That’s one thing, though.

Towns and houses can be rebuilt, the banks of rivers and lakes and the sides of mountains reinforced — other things, well, you can never get back. 

He has to be okay. When you wanted him to leave, this is not what you meant. This is not what you wanted. 

You move backwards in your mind, mapping out all the times Joel has come home. Where he’d usually be in his journey to your house after work. 

It used to be he only came home after dark, but spring has arrived and the sun stays longer each day, and you think you should meet him on the road. You should find him at any moment; unless the mine collapsed and he was unlucky, trapped and lost and suffocating; or lucky and already dead. 

The road twists and turns. You have to slow because you live in the hills, everything and everywhere is steep. Your chest starts to burn and you wish the trees hadn’t started to get their leaves yet even though it's so late in the season because then you’d be able to see further, you’d be able to spot him earlier. 

Maybe it’s too early for him to already be along the road. 

Your coat is soaked and so is the little house dress you’re wearing. Your shins and ankles feel cold from the rain and the chill in the air. 

But then you bolt around a bend, and there he is. 

His name jumps out of your mouth, careens across the gravel road, and echoes around the valley through the din of the still falling rain. It sounds lush against the leaves. It sounds horrible against drain pipes and gravel. 

He looks surprised right before you crash into him and lock your arms around his neck. He drops his backpack and catches you, arms circling you tightly. 

“Joel.” 

“Hey—” The sound of his voice makes your knees weak and you’re afraid for a moment you might slip to the ground, into the graveled mud, and dissolve along with the rain. 

“The mine collapsed,” you say, feeling the grit of coal dust beneath your cheek, the warmth and weight of him leaning back into you, strong arms tight around you. His palm slides against the back of your neck, thumb stroking slowly. 

“I know it.” His voice is gentle, like you’re a startled, feral dog that might turn on him at any second. “S’why I’m on my way back now.” 

You start to shake and cry and he just rubs your back and tugs you more firmly into his chest. He seems to understand what’s wrong. His palm settles against the back of your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his chest as the rain continues to siphon down over you. It’s all right. I’m all right. He repeats and repeats and repeats. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. 

“Hey,” he pulls back eventually, the cups of his palms cradling your face, pushing the tears away. “I’m gettin’ you all dirty.” 

“I don’t care,” you grip his sleeves, press your hands over his. His face is streaked with gray so deep it appears purple, like there are bruises latticed over his face. “I don’t care. And I’m sorry.” 

“All right.” 

It’s too late, you think. Too little too late, pushed too far, and by your own hand, so you have no one to blame but yourself. 

But he’s alive and he’s okay and something precious has not been reaped by the Earth. 

You try to step back but he steps with you, not letting you go. Apologies swim to the back of your throat again, heavy on your tongue, but he’s already shaking his head at you. 

Hazel eyes stare deep into yours, rivulets of water snaking down the side of his face, tracing through the coal and dirt. You don’t look away from him this time. 

Your words get trapped, congested and clogged, sticky and stuck together. 

“Joel—”

“Let’s get outta the rain.” His hands slide down your face, briefly slot against your throat, and then trail down your shoulders and arms. “Let’s do that at least. Before you catch your death.”

“Okay.” 

You bend down to scoop his backpack off the ground, surprised because he lets you keep it and keeps his hand threaded with yours. His skin is wet against yours, the crinkle of your fingers together just a little uncomfortable. 

The rain comes down harder, lightning sparks, the angry slash of violence through the sky, thunder crackling right after. 

The walk goes quicker than your run. Time is moving at a normal pace again, you can breathe again. 

“I’ll meet ya in the kitchen,” he says when the town and your street resolves itself. He turns and takes his pack from you, pinches your chin between thumb and forefinger and tilts your face up. “All right?” 

You nod and release his other hand, and watch him walk away. You know the moment he reaches the back of the house because you hear the clatter of the basement door opening.

You just stand in the front yard for a long moment as shadow fall, as the rain continues down harder than ever.

The rain pounds against the side of the house, the windows when you step inside. The tree your neighbors have been telling you to cut down for years sways ominously, lashing the front window and the siding. The noise of it is awful. 

You stand there, dripping pools of water onto the kitchen floor, anxiously waiting for Joel to come up the steps, like you’d gone and pulled a ghost right up out of the ground. He’s all right, you tell yourself. He’s all right. Real and not some ghost. 

When he comes up the steps, his gaze flicks slowly over you. He holds a hand out. “C’mon. ‘S get you cleaned up.” 

You’re shivering. The material of the dress clings to your skin like webbed silk. 

It’s so pathetic, the way he comforts you and the way you want him to. You shouldn’t let it happen. You feel stupid, all that worry after all that pushing. 

He follows you up two sets of stairs, to the third floor, the loft where you reside even though so many of the rooms below always remain empty. 

Joel settles you on the edge of the bathtub in your little bathroom and fishes around in the cabinets until he finds what it is he’s looking for. He doesn’t ask you where anything is and you don’t offer. 

He smells like earth and pine. He doesn’t complain or pull away when you touch that hollow place in his cheek, when you stroke his beard and watch the muscle jump, jaw clenching and releasing.  

“Joel,” you say when he kneels in front of you with a washcloth in his hand, a first aid kit open on the bathroom counter. “I’m not hurt.” 

He just pats the water away from your face and hands and arms. “Y’are. Musta ran through brambles or somethin’. Legs are all torn up.” 

The surprise is muted when you look down and find you have been scratched all to hell. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer. 

He shrugs. “Nothin’ to apologize for.” 

The way he takes care of you is meticulous. Disinfectant and ointment and bandages wrapped around and around. You probably would have just rinsed the cuts out and slapped the biggest band aid on and called it a day, but that’s not good enough for him and that makes you want to cry.  

There’s only so long you can handle sitting there, shivering, feeling the press of his very warm hands into your cool, bruised skin, before you’re slipping to the floor too, kneeling with him, asking for forgiveness for something that doesn’t deserve it. 

“I’m sorry. And that’s not enough.” 

“No.” Hands cupped around yours, stilling the anxious twist of them. “Shouldn’t’ve got so comfortable. I ain’t anyone to you—”

“But you are.” 

The words bleed. They are red and bone white and raw and drop like stones between you. He thinks he means nothing. He doesn’t know. “You are. You are. And that’s why.” 

Thunder rumbles, and this time, you kiss him. 

There’s only a brief second of hesitation. 

But then he pulls you in and doesn’t let go, doesn’t complain of the cool tiles and your cooler hands or the way you pull at his clothes. 

Joel does jump when you press your hands to the small of his back, when your iced over fingers skim his belly, when you finally get to rake your nails against that coarse chest hair that makes your mouth go dry. 

“Hey,” he’s cradling you to him, mouth desperate and eyes wild. “I’m here.” 

Go easy with it, his voice asks. Go easy with me. 

You knock your forehead against his. “I know.” 

Joel nods and his fingers skim up your thighs, beneath the clinging material of your dress. He’s so warm, even though he’d been in the rain too, and his skin feels like it's burning, like the tips of his fingers might sink right down into your flesh. 

Cloth parts beneath desperate hands. He cups your breasts in his palms, follows with his lips. Fingers tug your underwear down your legs, and then slide through the core of you, circling and stroking. 

It should be a surprise that he’s so delicate with you, but it isn’t. 

He kisses you again, his beard scratching pleasantly along your skin. You gasp into him and let him lie you back against the bathroom floor. 

The rain continues outside, the lashing the house is getting a far off dream. 

The only real thing in the world is Joel, his shoulders beneath your thighs, the clench of your belly, the ache that spreads everywhere. 

He presses his forehead to yours when he’s inside you, eyes closed, jaw clenched. 

Joel’s mouth parts, he groans into you. 

It’s enough. 

“Did you know that crows mate for life?”

Joel looks over at you. 

Morning is sitting heavily on the windowsill, watching. 

His limbs are heavy, sleep pulling at the corners of his vision, darkening the room and dampening the sound of the still falling rain. Your bed is comfortable, and your naked skin pressed to his even more so. “No,” he answers after a minute, just looking at the picture of you, plush curves, the soft spill of softer skin. “Do they?” 

You roll onto your side, watchful eyes riveted to him. Slowly, maybe a little shyly, you stretch your arm across his belly. Your fingertips brush his side, and you use the grip to pull yourself even closer. The light is kind to you. You glow in it, lips swollen, the discoloration on your throat from his lips and beard highlighted. 

Joel touches you there. You close your eyes for a moment. 

“They do. They’re real social creatures, and when their mate dies they make this god awful noise. Sometimes they’ll carry sticks and stones and stuff to leave with the body, like a burial.”

“Mm. Not so different from people.” He thinks of Sarah, the last rise and fall of her chest, the noise that came out of him like something wrenched out of the bottom of his soul. He clears his throat but his voice still cracks a little. “Yeah, reckon we’re the same that way.” 

You prop your chin on his shoulder. “Yeah,” you say, voice soft. “There used to be a flock that came around. Or, whatever they’re called, a murder, I think.” 

“Murder?” He chuckles and you smile and it’s enough. 

“Never heard of a murder of crows? Well, it’s true. The backyard was full of ‘em. For a long time, I fed ‘em. And they’d bring presents to me. Eventually they musta moved on, but a pair stayed. I know I sound crazy but I could tell they were in love. They were mated anyhow, even if they don’t feel love like people do.” You lean into his hand when he presses it to your cheek, like his skin isn’t rough and dry from working so hard, from the long, bitter winter; you lean in like it means something, like the pass of his thumb against the crest of your cheek means more to you than he can know.

He doesn’t know a thing about crows. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t, he has a feeling he already knows what you’re going to say. 

The limbo he’s been in for weeks has finally ended, of knowing you wanted him to leave but not able to figure out how to give you what you wanted and feeling guilty for it. Just another person he couldn’t figure out how to love right.

Maybe this time hanging on was the right thing to do.

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilted close to his on the pillow, the swell of your body pressed to his. “It went on like that for years. I fed them and they brought me little gifts and everything was fine. And then one morning, there was only one. They mate for life. I never saw the other one again, and it was only a couple weeks, before the other one was gone too. It died.” 

Joel leans in, presses his forehead to yours, the rain a painful tattoo against the roof and the windows and the whole wide world. You push into him, returning the comforting pressure, your skin still tacky with sweat. “So you see, I try to avoid being the second crow. But it just means I end up alone and wondering why there was never another crow in the first place.” Your eyes flick open and search his. “So, I’m sorry about everything. I never realize I’m — I don’t know I’m pushing until it’s too late. And I’ve never been good at holdin’ on.”

“I guess I’ve never been too good at lettin’ go,” he admits. “I’m the second crow.” 

“I don’t want you to be,” you say. “I don’t want you to be the one left behind. And I don’t want you to leave.” 

He nods and looks up at your ceiling. Carefully, you slide closer, until your head is heavy against his chest.  

Things change a little. 

The rain stops and with it you stop pacing through the nights. Before, he’d listen to the pace of your footsteps against his ceiling, the crack of old floorboards and the snaking sound of water down window panes. 

You make every pretense of things being the same until night comes along and you ask him to stay with you. “I just won’t be able to stand it,” you say, nervous hands fisting around the edges of your sleeves. “If you go back to being just a guest. You mean more than that.”

He’s embarrassed to hear it, and likes to hear it all the same.  

So, now, he listens to the long overdue hum of springtime insects nestled down into long sweet grass and between the branches of gently swaying trees, like all that snow and rain and blizzards and flooding never existed in the first place. 

Most of all he listens to your breathing, slow and even, to replace the sound of your footsteps. The curve of your spine rests against his bicep, the ridge of it like the comforting heel of the mountains beyond your windows. 

When he turns and tucks his arms around you, you relax and melt into him so easily it’s like it’s always been done. 

So it goes, every single night. 

Winter is over, spring arrives quiet.

Joel agrees to go to the town festival with you. Tiny, even by your standards, apparently. 

Just some drinking and dancing and live music from a local band. A few games, for which the prizes are all donated.

Things go fine. 

He doesn’t mind crowds, though he does prefer to hang on the edges of them. 

The night is mild. Your arm repeatedly brushes his. 

Joel finds he doesn’t mind that either, the way you stand so close and look at just him. There’s no shortage of eyes on either of you. And when you kiss him, he can practically feel the small town gossip sparkling and wasping in the air like lightning gold, like a thousand bees. 

You don’t seem to notice, or maybe you don’t much care. Maybe you’re used to it. 

Either way, you’re happy, and that matters to him. It matters to him that you’re happy, and safe, and that you feel those things with him.

“If you’re still here when its warm enough,” you say, “you’ll have to go swimming in the lake. It’s real nice down there.” 

It already feels like summer. The air is balmy, the sinking, fading sun he feels like he hadn’t seen in months a red blaze on the horizon. 

“Where else would I be?” 

You give him a funny look and sip your drink, enthusiastically greeting a couple who approaches. Joel nods at them, takes a swig of his beer, and thinks of his kid. Sarah would have loved this kind of thing, all the people and noise. 

He hasn't been hunting in weeks.

“You wanna dance with me?” You smile at him. “Just for one song.” 

“Think I’ll say no?” 

“I’m actually sure that you’ll say no, Joel.” 

He just sets his drink down and offers you a hand. You grin so wide, it looks like it must hurt your cheeks. You don’t dance so much as sway together, pressed tightly together.

“Where else would I be?” He asks again. 

“Somewhere else, I guess. Back home.” 

Home. He hasn’t had one of those since Sarah died. 

This place, as brutal an introduction as he’s had to it, is starting to feel like home. He wants to see the lake in the summer and the trees thick with leaves. The hills probably look beautiful, emerald forests not yet torn up for the things that laid beneath. 

It only feels a little like a push. 

Instead, he just says, “Yeah. Sure.” 

You tip your chin heavily against his shoulder, the weight of your head comforting in its press there. 

You aren’t always good about it. There’s a mean streak in you when you feel trapped. Today, you try. 

“I’d like it if you stayed.” You say it against his throat, your fingers tangled into his hair, the movement of your hand fond. “If you wanted this to be home for a while.” 

He nods, squeezes your hips. “And you should come see Austin. Instead of hearin’ about it. Reckon you might like it.” 

“I think I probably would.” 

The next morning, he calls his brother for the first time in over a year. 

If you read this far, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Thank you for reading and being here, and as always would love to hear anything you have to share. 💕

[nickfowlerrr]

i never thought you’d happen to me - 3

part one / part two

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. fluff, teeny tiny bit of angst maybe? allusion to, but no actual, smut. time travel via magic. dad!bucky and mom!reader. steve x nat. if i’m missing anything that should be tagged, please lmk!

words: 2.6k

notes: this idea came from a prompt post i saw not too long ago and coincidentally fell into some bingo spots for my @the-slumberparty bingo card. fair warning: this is so completely self indulgent and a little trope overload lol but i had such a good time working on it and it was fun to write so who really cares 😌 thank you in advance for reading and reblogging! as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated. please let me know what you think!

As you pull up to their house, the soft glow from the few lights still on inside light up the windows along the front face. Bucky parks as you unbuckle and meets you as you open the passenger door, Wolfie in your hand as you stand.

You make your way up their porch quickly before Bucky knocks softly on the front door. It opens not too much later as Steve greets you both, holding Linc with one arm as he carries the still pouting boy, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder and chest as his arms hold onto his Uncle as comfortably as he can.

The second he registers its you guys, his bright blue eyes go wide, turning to Steve with a look of surprise, his mouth parting open like he can’t believe his own eyes, before he turns back to you both and stretches his arms out to Bucky, hitting Steve a bit as he does, but not seeming to register it in his excitement. Steve chuckles as he hands him over to Bucky, who takes him in his arms readily.

“Hi, Daddy,” Linc greets as he cuddles into Bucky’s chest, looking like he’s about to pass out any second now.

“Hey, buddy,” he smiles, “We brought you Wolfie.”

“Don’t need Wolfie,” he shakes his head, burying his face in Bucky’s shirt. “You, Daddy.”

You see the moment it clicks in Bucky’s mind that all Linc really wanted was him, and you can’t help but smile at the gleam in his eyes as he hugs his son tighter. 

“Here, come in,” Steve tells you both, urging you inside. “I think Ellie’s sleeping, already,” he continues as he leads you to the kid’s room. Peeking inside, you can see her sleeping soundly, the spot near her, reserved for Licoln, obviously empty. You stare for a moment longer before Bucky steps beside you. 

“We’re gonna try and go to sleep now, okay?” he tells Linc, who nods softly. 

As Bucky enters the room, you find yourself alone with Steve in the hallway, who is staring at you quizzically. 

“What?” you ask him.

“Nothin’,” he brushes off. “It’s just..” he stops himself, thinking through what he wants to say before he continues carefully. “Are you guys alright?”

You look at him like a deer in headlights. 

“Yeah,” you breathe with a bit too fervent of a nod. “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Just want to make sure. You guys have been acting odd all day. And look, if it’s a secret or something, that’s fine.. But, you know you can tell us anything. I just want to make sure everything’s alright,” he says sincerely, looking at you in the way only he can, a trust and understanding in his eyes that makes you want to come clean just like that. On instinct, you find yourself opening your mouth to confess your situation, but catch yourself before letting the absurdity slip.

“It is a secret,” you say, smiling through a grimace. “But, I promise, we’re good.”

He looks at you thoughtfully once more before conceding with a nod. “Okay,” he says before offering you a small smile. 

The door creaks open a bit wider once again and you expect to find Bucky alone, coming out from getting Linc down.

So when he opens the door even wider and walks out with a twin in each arm, a sorry smile on his lips as he meets your eye, you can’t help but scoff in amusement. 

Ellie is snoozing against him as Lincoln holds onto Wolfie like his life depends on it. His eyes are tired but he fights it still. 

“I tried,” Bucky defends himself, “but Ellie woke up and they sweet talked me.”

“Can’t blame you,” Steve laughs, “Poppy suckered me into extra s’mores earlier with one puppy dog look alone, I can’t imagine what double toddler pouts would get outta me.”

Bucky laughs in turn, a look of pure happiness in his eyes as he watches his best friend in such simple joy talking about his kids. Steve is happy. Nat is happy. And you, he thinks, you’re happy too. He doesn’t know how or when you all luck out on this, but just knowing that this is the future that awaits him, he’s excited to go back to the present so he can live out every moment of this with you.

Ellie’s eyes flutter at the sound of your laugh at Steve’s story and she gingerly picks her head up, her eyes looking around. When she spots you, she lets her eyes close again as a smile graces her precious face, one arm blindly reaching out in your direction.

You see her and gently take her from Bucky’s hold, holding her tightly against you as she nuzzles into you. Her hand is petting you gently, like she’s ensuring you’re there and you feel her. You smile at the affectionate gesture until her small voice makes its way to your ears.

“Momma,” she sighs sleepily as she cuddles into your neck before her movements eventually stop and she’s sleeping once again. 

And that was it. Her sweet, soft voice did it. You had to turn away from her as best you could as you tried not to choke on your cry - not wanting to wake her up and alarm her as your eyes welled and a tear slipped, your hand running up and down her back soothingly.

You could see the concern written all over Steve’s face as he looked at you, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just been feeling really emotional lately,” you try to write off the sudden display of emotions taking over you.

“Oh. Oh,” he realizes. He nods, almost dumbly, “right, right.”

You know what he’s putting together in his mind, but you don’t have the energy to correct him. That can be a problem for future you to tamper down. You sniffle, trying to collect yourself as you hold Ellie securely in your arms. You look to Bucky with an unspoken question.

“I think we’re gonna take ‘em home, this little guy doesn’t wanna sleep tonight,” Bucky says, patting Linc’s back gently. “But thank you guys for watching them today.”

“Yeah, of course. And hey, we can pick them up on our way out tomorrow if you guys still wanted the day. Poppy and Al have been looking forward to it all week.”

“That’d be great,” you nod with a smile. “Thank you, Steve.”

“Anytime.”

You all walk to the front door and part with hugs before you and Bucky get the sleepy toddlers buckled in their seats. This time is much easier than it was this morning now that they’re thoroughly exhausted and not wiggling around like worms.

You shut the doors gently before getting in yourselves, Bucky driving you all back to the house in a peaceful quiet.

—

It’s easy getting them out of the car, each of you holding one as you enter back inside. 

You and Bucky carry them to their room, thinking they’re finally settled, but as you try to put them down in their beds, neither of them will let go of you guys. Ellie is clearly still sleepy as she huffs annoyedly at you for trying to leave her when she’s so comfy, and Linc is awake again as he holds onto Bucky and Wolfie.

“Big bed, daddy,” he mumbles, looking at him with those pleading eyes. 

Bucky looks at you, finding you holding Ellie close once again, not having put her down after her huffing. You shrug and watch as he nods, turning back to grab Lincoln.

“Alright,” he sighs, “come on, buddy. But we have to go to bed now, got it?”

“Mhm,” he nods happily, hugging Bucky’s neck.

You smile at the scene before making your way to the bedroom, thankful that all of you are already in pajamas as you sit on the bed with Ellie.

“I’m gonna lay down with you in a second, baby,” you reassure her quietly before setting her down, her head on a pillow near the center of the bed.

You take off your shoes as Bucky puts Lincoln down next to Ellie and does the same. You look at the twins, Lincoln finally letting his eyes close as his breaths slow and steady and sleep takes him at last. Bucky walks over to you and turns your face to him gently. You touch his wrist gingerly as you look in his eyes, stepping in closer. Being so close has never felt so right.

“What time did you fall asleep last night?” you ask him softly.

“Around midnight.”

“Me too,” you nod.

“Guess we still have a few hours to enjoy this,” he says, dropping his hand from your cheek in favor of pulling you closer by your waist, looking over with a bittersweet smile to the twins on the bed. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “...and then what?” 

“And then… we go back. Start living this all out in real time. Enjoy every second,” he says, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“Not the worst way to start forever,” you muse.

“Forever, huh?” he asks with a smirk.

“As long as we both shall live,” you nod with a smile of your own.

He titters before kissing you again, your lips moving softly against his. “Who woulda thought.”

“Mmm… everyone but us, apparently,” you laugh breathily before brushing his lips with yours once more. You move to pull away but Bucky keeps you where you are, kissing you a little more firmly as his hands lightly squeeze your chubby waist. Finally, you part for air, his forehead falling to yours as you take a second to catch your breath, licking your lips a touch.

A mumble followed by a huff sounds from the bed, catching both your attentions. You turn and see Ellie moving around before she speaks, more clearly this time.

“Mommy,” she eeks out, voice groggy with sleep as she rolls over.

“I guess this is goodnight,” you smile softly.

“Goodnight,” he says, giving you a soft smile of his own, tightening his hold on you for a second as he admires you still before him. “I’ll find you in the morning,” he promises.

You nod, the thought sending your tummy fluttering. “Okay.”

You slowly part and walk around to your sides of the bed, getting in carefully so as not to wake the twins. As you settle in, Ellie senses you near and crawls to you, hugging you as she settles into your warmth. You look over and see Linc already rolled into Bucky in turn. Your eyes meet Bucky’s then as you share a smile. You scooch closer to them, and he meets you near the middle - the four of you comfortable as can be under the comforter. 

“Call me crazy,” he whispers, “but I’m looking forward to this already.”

You huff out a laugh at that before shaking your head lightly, “‘S’not that crazy,” you admit, sounding almost shy to yourself at the confession before glancing over at him again.

He looks so happy, his brilliant eyes shining even through the darkened room. “Goodnight, doll,” he offers again.

“Goodnight, Buck,” you whisper back.

With the twins cuddled up between you both, it isn’t long before all of you are sleeping soundly.

—-

It’s quiet when you wake up. 

And cold. 

You hate that. 

You slowly blink your eyes open, finding yourself in your room back at the tower once again. You check the clock. 3:02am. 

Your mind is racing and a weird feeling is growing in your stomach. You quickly recognize it as anxiety as you try to calm yourself down. The one thought that is at the forefront of your mind, over everything, is this: Was it real?

You sit up and take a second to orient yourself in the dark before getting up. You don’t bother with the lights, you go straight for the door to your room.

You pull it open as quietly as you can manage before walking into the hallway. It’s dark out here, too, but not pitch black. The glow from the soft lights down the hall offer you some sight before you follow them. No one is in the living room when you get there, though, the lights had just been left on apparently. You sigh, still struggling to comprehend if you’d just woken up from a very real seeming dream or if you really had just been in the future for 24 hours. You turn to start back down the hallway again. As you get to the entryway, you see a figure coming down, stopping you in your tracks as you try to see who it is. You step closer after a moment, too, curiosity eating at you - yelling at you to find out who it is. 

Another step and then the figure becomes more clear. When you get to the point where you can both see each other, you both still and idle a moment - both of you seeming to be equally unsure. 

Bucky takes a step to you, testing the waters. And you copy his movement. You stare at one another a second, your breathing getting heavier. 

Suddenly, you lose your patience. You can’t take it any longer, you muster your courage and with a deep, albeit shaky breath, you walk to him again. He moves just as swiftly as you now, more confident in his path before meeting you in the middle of the hallway.

No words pass your lips, the moment you’re close enough to touch, Bucky has you flush against him as he crashes his lips into yours. You’re pulling him to you before he just lifts you off your feet, forcing you to hold onto him - not that you really minded all that much. Your arms are wound around his neck, your fingers in his hair as your thick thighs are around him, his hands holding you with no effort at all. The kiss is intent and fervent and long overdue here. He doesn’t let up and neither do you - every emotion you’d been holding back finally spilling as you lose yourself in him. 

You have to break the kiss eventually, breathing heavier than you had been as you try to collect yourself as you press your forehead to his. Bucky holds you tightly, refusing to let you go as his eyes close - a shudder you almost didn’t notice passing over him.

“I love you,” he confesses quietly, almost pained. “‘M sorry if that’s too soon, but I need you to know. I do.”

“Bucky,” you utter, touching his cheek gently, urging him to look at you. You shake your head lightly, “don’t be sorry.” 

You kiss him again, gentler now. 

“I love you,” you breathe softly against his lips.

He smiles into your kiss, a sense of relief coming over you both as he hugs you tightly before he sets you down on your feet.

You look at him with a smile of your own, taking his hand in yours before you slowly start down the hall again.

“My room or yours?” you ask without pretense, leading the way. 

“My bed’s bigger,” he says, sweeping you off your feet and carrying you bridal style down the hall. “Hope you like it, because I don’t plan on letting you leave it for the next 24 hours. At least.

“We’ve got a lot of time to make up for. And a lot of future to catch up to,” he smiles as he carries you across the threshold before setting you gently down on his bed.

“Hm,” you simper, easily grabbing his hand and pulling him down on top of you, the sight of him above you sending that growing ever familiar thrill of anticipation through you, “we should really get started then.”

[newtkive]

shift shenanigans - social media au (pt. 2)

note: yes there’s the main work chat w carmy, the secret coworker chat w/o carmy, and the secret secret bestie chat w syd, marcus, and yourself. it would be canon.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes

part one

liked by carmyberzatto, marcus.brooks11 and 40 others

chefboyardee: life lately

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syd_adamu: that pho was life changing

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↳ chefboyardee: leave my girl alone

↳ richietheking: I knew you guys were lez

↳ syd_adamu: we aren’t and you can’t say that

↳ chefboyardee: oh.. we aren’t? ☹️😔

↳ syd_adamu: 😑

carmyberzatto: 🍲🔥

THE GOLDEN TRIO

[ 7:45 AM ]

y/n: did you see

did you see

did

you

see

ogmgokggkowkfofsk

syd: pardon??

what did richie do oh my god

did he post another picture of him with the gun from that one day

fuckkkk carmys gonna be so mad

marcus: nope i wish

y/n: he commented on my post 😭😭😭😭

syd: who

marcus: think about it

who else would cause this reaction

y/n: carmy!!!!!!!

i woke up to him commenting 🍲🔥 😍😍😍😍

syd: woah and the heart eyes?

y/n: no that’s my addition

syd: the bar is in hell

HES YOUR BOSS

y/n: AND I WANT HIS BABIES??

marcus: y’all so hype to be pregnant THEN BOOOMMM ‼️ THE BABY’S UGLY AND BALD WITH ECZEMA 😩🤨

syd: LMFAOOOOO WHOS YALL THO????

y/n: bye im done

im leaving for work.

don’t talk to me ever again

done.

marcus: bye 👋

why do you leave so early fool

syd: so she can be teachers pet

marcus: smh always there before everyone

y/n: not true.

syd: i thought you weren’t talking to us

y/n: 😒

marcus: want me to bring y’all an iced latte again

y/n: …. 😁

WORK

[ 8:15 AM ]

y/n: AYOOOO

great job cleaning up after work yesterday 😊👍

richie: Is this a joke?

y/n: why would i joke about such a thing

carmy: Y/n what are you doing

y/n: u said to tell everyone their housekeeping is shitty

carmy: No I said I was going to tell them that, and you said no I’ll do it

This is not what I meant

y/n: well you yell too much

marcus: ouch

that’s my station 😔

carmy: Well clean it better

y/n: im using reverse psychology and positive reinforcement

carmy: Not what that means

y/n: well notice how no one’s mad at me

im making alliances day by day

richie: You’ve worked here for two years and we are already friends

y/n: so you’re saying you aren’t my ally

richie: No

We are definitley in an alliance

y/n: love u richie

richie: Don’t go that far

chefboyardee’s instagram stories

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 3:25 PM ]

y/n:

he so fine im bouta cermmmmm

syd: …..

marcus: :O

y/n: why are you acting shocked

like i haven’t said this daily

tina: Woah girl who?

y/n: HUH

richie: I’m not in the picture I don’t get it

syd: let’s just keep working before carmy notices

tina: I don’t care I’m on smoke break. Who are you talking about girl? Spill the tea..

marcus: she was talking about me you guys

y/n: the guy in the back

oh i mean yeah marcus

tina: The meat delivery guy? He has a wife..

y/n: we are having an affair

marcus: no it’s about me

richie: I didn’t know Marcus and Y/n were a thing..

tina: Something ain’t right. No way they are.

marcus: we aren’t it’s just our sense of humor

y/n: i was just being funny!

tina: What did Jeff just yell inside?

syd: came out of the office and said “just cuz we’re slow doesn’t mean you can play on your phones” 👍💯

tina: Whatever. No chance Y/n meant Marcus. You got the hots for Jeffrey?

y/n: what no

tina: Well I wouldn’t blame you. He’s cute

y/n: OMG RIGHTTTTTTT

its the tattoos isn’t it

richie: You have to be fucking joking

tina: I was playing..

y/n: im confused

syd: that was cruel

marcus: who cares it’s not a big deal

y/n: so you don’t think he’s cute tina?? ☹️☹️

tina: No he is cute… for you 😝

y/n: this is humiliating

richie: I’ll tell him

y/n: NO

stop

sSTOP THATS NOT FUNNY

richie im not joking i’ll put a bomb in your floorboards

richie: I’m just fucking with you kid

tina: This isn’t over.

THE GOLDEN TRIO:

[ 3:40 PM ]

syd: y/n….

marcus: you look like a ghost y/n

y/n: i cannot believe i sent that to the wrong gc

i’m done im so done

marcus: stop looking so sad it’s making me feel bad

syd: it’s okay! just be thankful it wasn’t to the work groupchat with him in it..

marcus: true it could be worse

y/n: i guess so

thank you for trying to cover for me marcus

marcus: anytime you know i got you

syd: let’s get back to work before we start looking obvious

[teaboot]

FISH EMERGENCY

A few months ago I mentioned that my two tail betta fish, Loulou, had the fringe of his tail turning oddly opaque and white. I posted here to ask opinions, and ended up checking everything from new growth, to ich, to velvet, to fin rot, to regular wear and tear.

This was Lou when I got him, compared to about a six months later btw:

Out of my own depth, I went to an aquarist in town and showed them pictures, describing my concerns. They told me that it was most likely damage from something abrasive in his tank

Pics I showed them:

The thing is though, I don't HAVE anything abrasive in his tank??? He has a ceramic skull hide, which is a little bumpy but otherwise fine, and a smooth flat rock, and his substrate. All his plants are real and his water pump is protected by a sponge.

I left him in the care of a sitter about three weeks ago, and when I came back, his fins were noticeably shorter and far more haggard. I gave his tank a super thorough clean in case it was fin rot and told myself I'd go back to the aquarist later this week, when I'm not at work.

Then today I came home to THIS:

Photos are bad cause it's nighttime and he didn't wanna hold still for pictures despite treats but his fins have MULTIPLE broken spines and his upper tail is BLEEDING?

I noticed a bit of red on him the other day and mistakenly believed he was changing colours again, but it's DEFINITELY blood.

He has no other tank mates except for a few snails I put in there to handle the plants.

I thought maybe he was chewing himself or something but he cant reach the spots that are missing.

I'm sorry to post this here, but has anyone with fish seen this before??? I've had him for almost a whole year now and have not had this happen before

Any advice at all would be greatly appreciated, I'm taking everything solid out of his tank until I know what's happening.

Thank you

[sanjisprincesswifey]

helloo~ first of all congratulations on your milestones! your fics are amazing and you deserve all the love on your works🥺 as for the event, may i request for song 1 with eustass kid with an afab reader? nsfw or sfw are both fine with me! tysm in advance 💖💕

pretty in pleasure (or realizing you're falling in love ft. eustass kid)

notes: kid is bad with emotions but oh so good in bed. nsfw!!! mdni!!! p in v sex & riding with an afab!reader! around 500+ words i think ?? thank u sm for participating, ily 4 requesting eustass i luuuuuv him

despite being such a large, strong man, it felt as if kid has always been so gentle with you.

his thick, calloused fingers grip around your hip, your skin bending into his touch. a mewl falls from your lips as he guides you up and down as you bounce around his cock.

a string of curses leaves his own, but he can only focus on how fucked out you look instead of watching himself disappear inside of you as he typically did.

as a dragged-out groan escapes him, he’s not watching your tits bounce with the movement of your body, but how your face contorts with a pleased expression. or how your beautiful, lust-filled eyes stare down at him, which he would never verbally admit that it only drives him further to his release at an exponentially high rate.

a light yelp leaves you as kid effortlessly lifts you off of him in a swift motion, his dick curving as his cum spills onto his own abdomen.

a strangled gasp leaves you once more before you stand up and grab him a towel, giggling as you clean up his mess.

“did you finish?” his nonchalant tone protects the sheepishness he feels he needs to mask.

ensuring your satisfaction guaranteed him more nights with you, so he was eager to know the answer.

you nod with a cheeky smile, “yeah, like three times. was just waiting on you.” you reach for his goggles, pulling them off his head as you ruffle through his hair and wipe the sweat from his forehead.

your gentle touch was so unfamiliar to him that he rejected it at the beginning of your late-night visits, muttering for you to get out and get some sleep instead. but as the days turned into weeks, kid had succumbed to your soft touch, and grown accustomed to you occupying not just his bed, but his thoughts too.

all of which he could never admit to you, deeming himself far too coarse and animalistic for such vulnerable emotions.

somehow though, he had granted himself to reward of imagining you sticking to his side not just in the dead of night when his fist was not enough to get him off, but in his day-to-day activities.

“here,” he murmurs, opening up the blanket for you to climb inside once you have finished cleaning up.

“thank you,” you sigh, a content smile adorning your face as you cuddle up next to him. your arm is not long enough to wrap around his wide torso but rests just above his heart, the soft beating reverberating through your palm.

the exhaustion pools through your body as your eyes lazily shut in the comfort of his arm. kid this opportunity to stare down at you, his gaze memorizing each of your features until his stained, bruised lips rest in a small smile.

“your heart is beating so fast,” you chuckle, glancing up at him.

he grunts, spitting out something about how he was thinking about your session that ended mere minutes ago. you accept the answer, still finding pride in your efforts as you shut your eyes once again.

kid manages to capture a couple more peeks before he’s relaxed enough to doze off too, hoping one day he’d be man enough to tell you how he feels. 

celebrate my 3,000 followers event with me!

this post was inspired by it's complicated written by @bby-deerling , so if you like this go read hers too!

[number1jeonginstan]

Bed Sheets

Lee Know x roommate afab!reader

A/N: This is the longest fic I've made to this day, so I hope you guys like it. I was supposed to finish it yesterday, but I fell asleep... If you want to be added to my taglist please comment under this post! I hope you guys liked this because it was really fun to write!! I really hope you guys like it!!!!!!

CW: Kinda Perv!Lee Know/big dick Lee Know, but the reader is also kind of pervy. One bed trope! Having to cuddle for warmth trope! Unprotected sex (please don't for your own safety), Lee Know calls reader kitten, cum eating. (idk what else)

WC: 2.6k

It was the dead of winter, snow was falling making the ground look like it was covered in a blanket. It was currently 11 at night, and you had just done your entire nighttime skincare routine. The lotion soaked into your face when your roommate’s cat, Soonie, strutted into your room like he did every night. Purring as he wrapped around your legs and brushed himself against you. You felt like that was your cue to finally put your bed sheets on, ready to curl up with a good book on your silk bedsheets after taking an everything shower. 

“Lee Minho get your ass in here!” you yelled across your shared apartment.  As soon as you placed them down, Soonie threw up all over your sheets. “What?” he walked up to your room, leaning his body on the frame. “Look at what your son did to my bed sheets” You looked at him with a face of disgust, but not anger.

“What do you mean my son? Last time I checked you told me Soonie is yours and laughed when he slept in your room at night instead of mine.” He looked at you with his signature stoic face. 

“But that was before he barfed all over my only sheets,” you whined “Please just clean it up already, you know just the thought of someone vomiting makes me nauseous.” 

“Fine,” he said with a sigh, getting some paper towels from the kitchen. “Where are you going to sleep now though? You only have one set of sheets and I know you don’t want to sleep on the… couch” his face ridden with disgust. 

It wasn’t like the couch was that bad of a place, but when you walked into Jisung fucking a girl on it you vowed to never sit on the couch or be in a 5-foot radius without having to take a shower after. You guys even offered Jisung to take the couch but he said how you guys “now have a little piece of him.” You kicked him out of your apartment after he said that and did not let him come back without cheesecake and a horror movie marathon as a way to apologize. 

“I would rather sleep in Soonie’s vomit than on that couch,” you said with a deadpan face. “Suit yourself,” he replied, already ready to leave your room without cleaning up Soonies… incident. 

“Wait! Come back Minho,” you yelled, “please just clean this up for me. I’ll make you breakfast in bed” you pleaded. He was still walking away, about to go back to his room when you offered something he could not resist. “I’ll buy you pudding for the rest of the month.”

Now that got his attention, he came scurrying back to your room ready to clean your room. “You have a deal, now please get out of my way. The faster I finish this, the faster I can find what places sell the most expensive pudding” he said with a grin.

After he cleaned up Soonie’s mess he came back into your room seeing you on the floor reading your book. “Are you going to sleep on the floor tonight?” he asked knowing if you did you were going to complain about your back all of tomorrow. “I guess that’s what I have to do because I have no sheets to cover the wet spot on my mattress,” you groaned getting ready for the most uncomfortable sleep of your life.

“You can always sleep on my bed if you want” 

“Really? The Lee Minho will let me sleep on his bed? Did hell freeze over? Are you sick?” you questioned. “If you wanna sleep on the floor be my guest.” He shrugged turning out of your room. “Wait!” you ran up to him giving him a bear hug from the backside, “I never said no.” 

He chuckled at your response, “Go to bed, I’m gonna finish cleaning this up.” 

Even though you are Lee Know have been roommates for years, you’ve only been in his room a couple of times. Almost all of them were to wake him up or ask him a question when he wasn’t in the living room. You took everything in as you stepped into his room. Lee Know was a minimalist, not having much in his room other than his desk, bed, dresser, nightstand, and a cat tree for Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. You didn’t really expect much from his room. He had a few pictures of him with you, Jisung, and the rest of his friends. 

“y/n, are you done snooping through my room because I’m tired,” he said to you while taking off his slippers. “Calm down grumpy pants, I’m just assessing what’s going to be my sleeping position, I don’t know what side of your room I like better yet. Don’t you want me to wake up happy enough to make you a delicious plate of breakfast in bed?” you pouted at him. 

“Just get on the damn bed” he grunted at you. You finally got into his bed, his comforter was so nice and cozy, but it was weird having a huge warm body next to you. You finally fell asleep after 30 minutes of tossing and turning. 

You woke up to your body shivering, for some reason, the room was so cold. You turned to see Lee Know also shivering, his body shaking with each breath he took. You shook him awake “Lee Know, please wake up it’s so cold” you whimpered, regretting wearing shorts in the winter. “Fuck, why is it so cold?” he asked you finally realizing how the room felt like it was below freezing. He opened his phone to see a text from your landlord. “The power went out due to the snow and the backup generator isn’t working. That means the heat isn’t working either.” You could hear a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “How are we supposed to keep warm then?” you whined to him. Your body was getting colder by the second and your teeth began to chatter. 

“We could cuddle?” he suggested a bit giggle in his voice. You and Minho cuddle all the time, especially during movie nights on the couch. This was the first time he ever asked you to do it on his bed, but dire times are dire times, so it wasn’t a terrible suggestion. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, and he did the same, making you guys feel like a ball. 

Even after fifteen minutes of trying to combine heat by cuddling, you were still freezing. Your teeth began chattering again and you couldn’t take it anymore. “Minho, is there anything else we could do, I’m still freezing.” 

“There is one more thing we can do, but I don’t think you will like it” he sighed. He was afraid you were going to think he was perverted for even suggesting it. “Please anything, I don’t care what it is, but if I don’t get even a bit warmer in the next 10 minutes I might just turn into an icicle.”

He laughed at you, you were so cute when you were angry. “We could combine body heat,” he said affirmatively. “What do you mean, we are already oh…” you replied. “We can do that, but you're getting naked first, I don’t want to be the only one naked” you giggled. 

“Yah! What do you mean naked?” he asked with a concerned face, “We are still wearing our underwear silly.” He pressed your forehead with his finger. “Obviously, you really thought I was going to get butt naked?” you asked him giggling at his assumption. 

“No, that’s not what I thought, I thought you thought that.” He kept rambling until you stopped him. “Please can you just take off your clothes, I’m going to die from hypothermia or whatever it is.” 

He sighed, taking off his shirt and pants as you did the same. You couldn’t see much in the dark of the night, but you forgot how broad his shoulders were. You sometimes forget how beautiful Minho was because he constantly pestered you. “Are you done staring at me?” he asked. You looked at him gobsmacked “I am not staring! Plus you can not even see my eyes, mister. Now get to cuddling.” you said with the most assertive voice you could muster. You were thanking god that he couldn’t see the blush that was riddled on your cheeks, and the same went for him. 

The last time he saw you naked was by accident. You were in your room changing and he opened the door without knowing. Somehow you didn’t notice or hear him, but he saw you. You were wearing a lace bralette and cute white panties with a pink bow on it. He just stared in awe and quickly turned into his room to take a cold shower, which didn’t help, at all. That was engraved in his mind for months, and he would feel guilty every time he jerked off to the thought of you, on your knees taking you in his mouth, or him pulling aside your cute little underwear and fucking you til all you knew was his name. He would never admit this out loud, but he was obsessed with you. He just didn’t have the balls to tell you. 

You finally wrapped yourself around him again, feeling his entire body pressed into yours. Finally feeling warm and at peace, you fell asleep in his arms. Minho, on the other hand, couldn’t fall asleep. The feeling of your body pressed against his was something he could only imagine in his wildest fantasies. It was taking everything out of him to not just rut his hardening cock into you. He tried and tried to fall asleep, that was until he could feel your pussy grinding straight onto his cock, moaning his name. 

“Fuck kitten, don’t do that to me” he moaned. You slowly woke up to hear his moan, rubbing your eyes awake. “Minho?” you asked with such innocence in your voice he felt like he could cum right there and then. “Kitten, go back to sleep, nothing happened.” 

“I can’t, I’m so wet, just for you” you pleaded, he could see your doe eyes pleading even through the dark. “Fuck,” he replied. 

Little did he know, you purposely pretended you were sleeping. Him liking you was no surprise to you. You knew that he saw you in your underwear and you knew he had been jerking off to you. You heard him when you came home early one day. The image of him moaning your name while cumming all over himself was engraved in your mind. You would fuck yourself on your vibrator thinking of him. You were waiting for the perfect opportunity, and you were finally given one. 

You slowly palmed his dick through his boxers. “Don’t start something you can’t finish kitten” he grabbed your hand. “But I want it so bad” you whimpered into his ear kissing it and then his lips slowly. He couldn’t take it anymore. He flipped himself on top of you, kissing your neck. “You wanted this didn’t you?” trailing his kisses down your neck to your chest biting along as he went. “Fuck, I wanted it so bad” you moaned into his ear. “Wanted this for so long you have no idea.”

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered into your ear before pulling your bralette down and sucking on your nipple. You could feel his erection on your thigh. It was throbbing and you needed to feel it inside of you. “Please, need it in me Minho,” you whispered. He waited for you to say those words for the last two years. 

“Fuck kitten, I need you around me, but I gotta stretch you out first.”  He slowly pulled down your panties, removing them and putting them in his nightstand drawer for later. Slowly putting one finger into your soaking cunt. “So good Minho, so good sir.” He moaned in response. “Can’t believe one finger is enough for your cunt to squeeze around my finger like this. You are gonna let me add a second one, let me stretch you out to get ready for my cock aren’t you?” 

“Yes sir, going to be so good for you, going to let you fuck me with your big cock. Please, sir, give me another finger, I need you, need to cum around your fingers.” you pleaded. 

“Awe, does kitten need another finger, I’ll give you another finger.” he slowly added another one, and to give you more stimulation he ran his tongue against your clit. “Fuck!” you yelled and started yanking on his hair. “Fuck, this pussy is sweeter than any pudding I’ve ever eaten. You are going to let me eat it any time I want, right kitten?” he moaned against your clit. That’s all you needed to cum. Your body shaking feeling his fingers hit that spongey spot inside you over and over again.  

He slowly took his cock out of his boxers, stroking it. It was the biggest you think you have ever had, but also the prettiest. It wasn’t too thick, but it was long. You didn’t know how you would be able to take it inside of you. “Don’t worry y/n it will fit, you are going to take my cock so well aren’t you?” 

“Yes sir, going to take it so well” you whined wanting to feel it inside you. He was going back to his nightstand drawer when you reached out your hand to stop him. “Please give it to me raw, I’m on birth control and I’m clean.” Just by you saying that and the thought of cumming inside you was enough for him. “I’m clean too, but are you sure y/n, I don’t mind wearing a condom.” Before he could even finish his sentence, you grabbed his cock, slipping his tip through your folds. “Want it inside of me raw Minho,” you whimpered. That was enough confirmation for him. 

He slowly pushed his cock into you, the stretch not feeling too much because he already prepped you, but it was so deep, you felt like you could cum from him just putting it inside of you. “Fuck kitten, your pussy is taking me so well, wish we did this before, it’s like you were made for me.” he moaned while thrusting into you. He slowly started playing with your clit. “Wanted you so bad sir, wanted you for so long.” That’s all he needed to start thrusting into you deeper. Each thrush hitting your g-spot perfectly. With the stimulation of his finger on your clit, you couldn’t do it anymore. You started clenching down on him harder and harder. 

Your cunt was locking him in and all he could do was groan. The final push was when he moaned directly into your ear. You came all over his cock letting your moans hit his ear. He pulled out of you stroking his cock “Where do you want me to cum kitten, where do you want it?” 

“I want it in my mouth” you begged and that was all he needed. He pushed his cock into your mouth causing you to deep throat it, cumming down your throat. “Fuck, I can’t believe we didn’t do that sooner.” you giggled. He kissed your cheek “I agree.” 

You both fell asleep in each other’s arms only for you to wake up to make him breakfast like you promised. He came up behind you seeing you wearing his shirt and gave you a big hug “You know I could get used to this more often” he said kissing your cheek.

[schrijverr]

Batman Pulling Out the Thumb to Get the Schmutz Off

Nightwing is late to a meeting due to an exploding building. Batman goes to check him over, licking his thumb to clean his face. As Nightwing complains about it, they learn that no one realized that Batman is his dad.

Based on this post.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

“Sorry, I’m late, there was an explosion on the way here I had to deal with,” Nightwing interrupts the start of the annual review meeting of the Justice League.

“It’s alright,” Superman smiles kindly. “Is everything okay in Blüdhaven? If you need to go back to help, we won’t stop you.”

“Nah, it’s okay, Blüd isn’t new to explosions here and there. Thank you, though,” Nightwing assures him.

Before he can go and take his seat so they can resume the meeting, everyone gets jump-scared by Batman, who suddenly appears next to Nightwing. Not many had noticed him anxiously watching the door for the past ten minutes and how he was not playing attention to the meeting, instead listening to someone on his coms.

They watch in confusion as he wordlessly, tugs Nightwing towards him, before starting to check him over, like he sometimes does with victims they’ve saved.

Before anyone can ask what’s happening, Nightwing rolls his eyes, saying: “I’m okay, I’m okay, it wasn’t anything big, you know. Just a warning to between gangs that one was entering another’s turf. Just the usual minor stuff, you know?” Nightwing surprisingly isn’t fighting Batman’s weird overbearing checking, just letting him move him about, even though he’s usually incredibly stubborn around getting injured.

Everyone watches the two with confusion, the meeting even more interrupted than it already was. A few are starting to wonder if anything happened to Batman, but no one is sure how to interrupt tactfully, since the two seem close all of a sudden.

“You were still nearly caught up in it,” Batman says, voice low. It would almost sound like a threat or reproach, if it weren’t for how gentle his hands are being.

“I know exploding warehouses are touchy, but I’m totally fine,” Nightwing assures him. “Didn’t even touch me.”

Batman pokes his ribs and he flinches away slightly. Batman says: “Bruised ribs say it did.”

“It’s nothing,” Nightwing huffs, batting Batman’s hands away, apparently having decided that enough is enough. It’s the most normal thing he’s done yet, though it immediately gets weird again when he sulkily adds: “And you only know that, because O told you.”

“No,” Batman says, taking off his glove – a thing that has never happen before, because their resident Bat is paranoid about someone stealing his fingerprints – before licking his thumb. He brings it up to Nightwing’s face and starts rubbing at his face, admonishing: “I know, because you always forget your jaw when cleaning off soot.”

Again, Nightwing bats Batman’s hand away, but this time he whines: “Daaaaad.”

He sounds embarrassed, but the Justice League doesn’t really care about whether or not having your dad clean your face as an adult is embarrassing, because they’re still wrapping their heads around the fact that Nightwing just called Batman dad.

Dad.

While Robin calls the man father sometimes, both he and Red Robin are always nothing but professional when in the field with the older heroes. And Batman is always professional back. He never lets paternal feelings slip through in public.

So, to suddenly see it play out how Batman would be as a father – with someone they didn’t know was related to him and without introduction to the concept – is quite the shock.

Seemingly oblivious to most of the Justice League around them blue-screening, Nightwing finally manages to wrangle Batman away from him, saying: “I’m too old for this. Go clean Robin’s face.”

Then, right as they think they’ve gathered themselves, Batman replies sadly: “Soon you’re all going to be too old for this,” sounding genuinely heartbroken at the thought.

Nightwing winces, then goes to comfort the older vigilante, patting his back as he says: “Ahw, don’t mope, B. We’re never going to be too old for you embarrassing us in front of everyone.”

Weirdly enough that seems to comfort Batman, who gives Nightwing a final one over, before being satisfied. Then he turns back and says: “Apologies for the interruption, Superman. Please, continue.”

“Wait, hold on just a second here,” Flash says. “You’re Nightwing’s dad?”

“Yes?” Batman replies, his voice giving away that that is obvious. Even going so far as to share a look with Nightwing that screams ‘what the fuck are they on about’ as if the League is being weird instead of them.

“Since when?” Flash exclaims.

“Since I was nine,” Nightwing exclaims back, throwing his hands up. “You know me, uncle Flash. Me and Walls were in YJ together. What the fuck?”

“He never mentioned a Nightwing,” Flash frowns, trying to go through the rolodex of friends his cousin brought around to see who matches up.

“Oh my god, of course not. I used to be Robin, don’t you know that?” Nightwing rolls his eyes, exasperated. A beat of silence. “Okay, wow, so you all didn’t know that.” He turns to Batman and asks: “Why didn’t they know that?”

“You wanted to be your own hero. Besides, if we had a connection, it could be used against us,” Batman replies, not even having the decency to sound apologetic about hiding it.

Nightwing facepalms at that, before taking a calming breath. Meanwhile, everyone else is on the edge of their seat to see how Batman will react to that blatant disrespect. Many of them have never dared to try.

Batman doesn’t react, just stands there as Nightwing says: “B, we had a talk about your paranoia. I get it, but this is unnecessary. Most of them already knew me before I joined.”

“It was more a lie by omission, not a true attempt at obfuscating,” Batman argues and it’s almost a little childish sounding. What the hell has today been? Are they in an alternate dimension? Again.

“Please tell me you have not been omitting my horde of siblings,” Nightwing asks, sounding a little strained as he steeples his hands in front of his lips.

“Siblings?” Superman asks cautiously. “Like Robin and Red Robin? We know them. Not really a horde, but…”

“Oh my fucking god,” Nightwing exclaims. “B!”

“They never asked,” Batman defends himself.

“Okay, I’m getting kind of scared now, define a horde,” Green Lantern interjects cautiously, taking one for the team.

“Do not,” Batman warns, but Nightwing ignores him as he starts listing on his fingers: “Well, obviously there is me, then there’s Red Robin and Robin, you know them. You have Red Hood, Black Bat, and Signal. Oracle, Spoiler and Bluebird are kind of honorary siblings. Batwoman is our aunt and Batwing kind of the uncle slash cousin and Flamebird is also our cousin.”

“What the hell, Spooky!”

[girlbossblackbeard]

THOUGHTS AND LAYERS

i spent literally an hour analyzing this trailer at 0.5 speed. this post is long af and these thoughts are in no particular order and are poorly organized:

-there's a big storm (which I think was already confirmed), and ed gets swept overboard by a bucket on a rope:

he then crawls up out of the water onto the beach

then goes into the forest, creates a hut, has a journey of healing and self-discovery, meets hornigold (or his ghost??)

and kills him thus killing the part of himself that he hated the most (his violence) as a parallel to stede finally getting rid of nigel's ghost by accepting and believing in himself

-in the stede/ed split screen, the stede shot is from the first ep of s2 right after stede finds the marooned crew at the end of ep 10 in s1 (you can tell bc his hair and clothes are still clean, there's no gay bandana around his neck, and that's his lil dinghy buttons is rowing)

-they go to shore and wind up at the merchants shop where "susan" overhears they're tracking down blackbeard

and she invites stede's crew onto her ship, cue the outfit change in the BTS photos:

-the way stede makes that little swishy turn in the red coat -

makes me think this may be first time he's been in fine clothes since his "death" and i hope we get a moment of him reflecting on how he gave up everything for ed only to have him hate him :( but then obviously realizing that ed is worth it and he'd do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant getting a chance at spending the rest of his life with him

-izzy and stede team up, and izzy is clearly training either himself or stede on the revenge (?)

soooooo many questions: what caused him to leave ed and join stede's crew? is he fighting with ed and is training to take him out or is he just done having his love be unrequited so he leaves and just so happens to stumble into stede? is izzy thinking that if he can't cut out the longing he has for ed he has to kill him instead so the pain will go away? what, pray tell, the fuck is going on in here on this day

-wee john in the mermaid costume (and olu in a bunny or donkey costume?):

a fuckery? or just a weird acid trip? OR IS IT THE TALENT SHOW THEY NEVER GOT TO HAVE??

-ed really does force everyone on his crew to wear war paint

-all the tally marks scratched into the walls - is that the number of days since stede bonnet broke ed's heart?

-ed in the forest in PEARL NECKLACE HELLOW????????

-the tear in ed's eye as he moves the cake toppers closer together which he also painted to make the lady look more like him he literlaly is in love wiht stede so bad wht the FUCJ

-ed's crew is murdering SO MANY PEOPLE at the wedding wtf (pic not included bc scary)

-delusional moment but i hope anne bonny on stede's lap is looking at calico jack off screen

-stede and ed are running towards each other on the black sand beach (thank you @sluterastede for pointing this out to me wtf!!!!!!)

which evolves my theory that ed in the forest goes through his healing journey and realizes he wants to openly love stede again but then the navy attack and stede just so happens to have found ed at the same time and they're fighting to get to each other and taking out everyone in their way (what if that was okracoke lmao)

-the swede and spanish jackie hooking up in the trailer

makes me think the bts shot of ed and jackie is them looking at stede and the swede, and ed being SO in love with stede obvi but jackie is watching the swede do some weirdly hot shit so she's gotta have him (what if they got married and he became her umpteenth husband in a drunken vegas-like shotgun wedding where she wakes up the next day to realize what has happened lmao)

-also this pic is DEF from the reunited/make up era bc ed's half-up hair, no makeup, soft eyes, and buttons' clothing. i am weeping

-stede in pain - is it an injury or a tattoo? or torture as @sluterastede posits?? he looks down at his lower body before screaming so maybe he knows what's about to happen to him??

-ed in the forest wearing the pearl necklace (see above), ed saying "fuck you stede bonnet" wearing the pearl necklace (see below)

does he pick it up at the wedding??? (theory credit to @sluterastede!!!! can u tell we watched the trailer together 400 times) i can't tell if he's wearing it in the one wide shot of him in that scene:

but regardless of when he acquires it, does he take it bc he remembers stede said he wears fine things well???? and he starts to believe he may deserve them??

-side note about a LACK of something: ed isn't wearing the cravat at all in the trailer near as i can tell, and he's not wearing the pearl necklace when throwing knives at the wall (at least from what I can see, which is not much) which leads me to believe that scene is in the earlier part of the season

-lastly, the most important song lyrics from the trailer (the beautiful ones by prince):

and that's my dissertation on the ofmd season 2 teaser trailer thank you

[ifangirlalot]

AHH I luv Rich w a shy reader 🤭 Could u maybe do him taking shy!readers virginity ahahhsjdhebskfj

˗ˏˋ 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐇𝐘!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 ˎˊ˗ | starring richie tozier ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

~smut!~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] mentions of prep fingering, oral (fem receiving) p in v, praising, just soft smut in general, sorry guys no filthy kinky stuff here this time <3

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ I think Richie actually would have took time to think out how he'd have sex with you for the first time, which is a first because Richie barely ever puts thought into anything. But really, that's only because joking about having sex is one thing, but actually doing it is like a different thing entirely.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ Truth be told, Richie was nervous as fuck.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ You're a virgin, he's a virgin, neither of you have ever done anything remotely sexual, so how the hell is he supposed to do this? He'd been talking a big game about how big his cock was for weeks now, what if his dick isn't actually as big as he thought it was?

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ Ultimately, he decided the best course of action was to do something romantic to make you feel comfortable. He invited you over when his parents weren't home, and right away you notice that he actually cleaned his room and had done a half decent job at combing his hair (which like, that's fucking pointless cuz like it's gonna end up messy anyways-) ⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ Richie started off slow, putting his hands on your shoulders while he gave you an oddly sensual kiss. Usually he just kissed you kind of roughly, which usually lead to a French kiss. But not this time. ⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ When he finally got down to knitty gritty, he was very careful, because he knew how shy and easily anxious you were. He was sure to ask you if certain things were okay before he actually did them, and asked for your preferences beforehand.

"Hey doll, can you touch here?" "Is it okay if I put my hand there?" "Do you want the lights off? It's totally fine if you do, but just so you know you're perfect and I'd love to see if you if you'll let me."

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ If you wanted the lights off, he'd respect your wishes immediately and flick them off. His breath would hitch as you slowly allowed him to take your clothes off, one piece at a time. His mouth would greedily yet slowly trail kisses along your stomach and breasts while his hands stroked and rubbed at your thighs. ⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ He'd make sure to meet your eyes for consent as his hands ran up your thighs and thumbed at the button of your shorts. As soon as you nodded, Richie would eagerly unbutton and unzip them, tugging them down your legs in a slow, yet clearly excited gesture.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ He would place a kiss over your panties before pulling them down as well and gently lapping his tongue over your clit, eliciting a moan from you. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing? But based on the noises you were making, he assumed that was a good thing and continued with it for a few more minutes before slowly pulling his mouth away, his lips swollen and wet from your juices, before slowly inserting a digit or two between your folds to prepare you.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ Richie would carefully watch your face, see the redness on your cheeks as you anxiously glanced at his bedroom door as though you were afraid someone would hear the lewd sounds and suspect what you and Richie were up to.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ He was quick to assure you.

"Hey, babydoll, just focus on me, okay? My parents are out, no one will hear you I promise. Just me, baby. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. All good, I swear."

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ When he was finished prepping you with his fingers, he slowly undressed himself and removed his glasses with shaky hands. He took his time rolling a condom onto his length. He told himself it was so you had time to prepare, but really it was because he was nervous as all hell.

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ Soft, gentle strokes the whole time. His eyes are crinkled in pleasure while he breathes heavily and moans shakily. He's barely able to think straight, but he manages to ask how you're doing.

"Are you.. fuck, oh God oh fuck yeah.. you okay, baby?"

⋆ ˚｡୨୧˚ When you're both finished, expect Richie to be all over you, in the cuddly, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, kinda way. After your first time, he'd be more protective over you, mostly because he feels more connected to you than he's ever felt.

[A Note From Zee] So, I'mma take a bit of a break on taking requests (since my inbox has like five more I have to answer, which I will get to I promise), but I have some ideas I wanna do first, thank you. My next post is probably going to be a Yandere Alphabet post since I saw someone else do it and decided I wanted to do it so. Look forward to that.

[highhhfiveee]

please i need some dubcon mike schmidt ..,,, like he picks up drunk reader from a party n takes her home n fucks her throat ..,,, ‘you’re so easy to control when you’re all stupid like this’ ..,,, she’s got tears streaming down her face n she’s clawing at his thighs but he just holds her head in place n strokes her hair n tells her how good she’s making him feel ,,

okay okay okay. shiver me fuckin timbers lmaoooo. this is so brothersbestfriend!mike. switched it up a little but i hope you still enjoy! [had this set to post at 12 but tumblr failed me lmao]

sangria

tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, fem!reader, intimate touching, choking, wild dick sucking, deep throating, spitplay, degradation, dubcon (reader is plastered, and while she does consent to be taken advantage of, she is still under the influence); mike is such a protector and i'm starting to think that this is megasub!reader x protector!mike in addition to bbf! [let me know if i missed anything + this has been proofread but there’s always still a chance for mistakes lmao]

link to the original fic, mimosa, here 🍹, and the first part of the finale here, tequila sunrise, here 🍸

okay, so maybeeeeeee you two didn't actually get caught that day.

you’re panting in each other’s faces as you come, clean yourselves off, and exit the shed like your brother's best friend hadn't made you squirt all over the garden tools and pool supplies.

the feeling of mike's come pooling in your bikini bottoms makes you tingly all over again, and you're squirming while you both ease your way back into the fold of cookout attendees, diverting into separate paths so no one can catch onto your attachment; clandestine and kept between the eyes, lips, and bodies of you two only.

you'd wished mike nothing but hell while you were away at school, doing anything you could to get the thought of him out of your head. even though you'd been the one to catch feelings, you never wanted him to have any part of you ever again, restricting him from you.

you'd wanted him erased from the entire galaxy then, but from the cookout forward, nothing excited you more than the thought of being mike’s plaything. you snuck around with him more than you should've; giving him handjobs in the backseat of his car, letting him eat you out in your bedroom with the door open---risky things that made your heart pound with adrenaline and need, a rush to the very end.

you could only get that feeling with mike. it made you sick to your stomach with taboo butterflies, fantasizing about all the ways he could have you thrashing, eyes rolling back, toes curled until your feet cramped.

he'd hooked you on him once again, and this time, he'd decided to go with the flow. he wasn't pursuing anything with anyone else, and feelings had begun to bloom in him. nothing like love, he'd told himself (even though your flirty smile made his heart palpitate before making his dick hard), but like...safeguarding.

you were young, unversed with life, vulnerable; mike could see people taking advantage of you, mistaking your soft, impish act for total naivete. even though he'd hurt you himself, he'd never allow anyone else to treat you that way, or put you in a situation to harm you. there was this urge in him to keep you safe, keep you protected from the mean world that ate girls like you for breakfast.

mukrrrrrrrrrrrr

molwwwwwwwwww

gahdmn i cant tYpe LoL

exhibit a.

y/n are you drunk

….

………..

…………………………….

y/n

4 F R E E dwinks

downnnnnnnnn thw hATCH

pArTyz rool xp

mike's about to ask about your location when your picture floods his screen, phone vibrating in his hand with a call. he answers it with a displeased, "where are you?

"she’s at 8203 harrington circle," someone yells over loud, bass-riddled music and scattered conversations. mike hopes it's a friend of yours, and not a complete stranger. “she was fine, but i think that fourth drink tipped her over!"

mike's been putting on clothes and grabbing for his keys and wallet since your first text message, already sulking to his car as your friend finishes her statement. "stay with her and keep her upright, i'll be there in fifteen."

he can't get rid of the deep scowl etched on his face while he drives, both hands clasped tensely on his wheel at ten and two. he wants you to have fun, of course. he isn't going to tell you not to go to parties, or not to drink---you’re your own person, and he has no right to tell you what you could and couldn't do, but something about you utterly hammered around so many people you probably don't know makes his heart pound against his ribcage with agitation.

harrington circle was a street on a state school campus, one that you'd opted not to go to all that time ago. maybe you'd known some people there, but mike was sure you didn't know your way around, where to go if something went wrong...

he pulls up to a tall, red brick house smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac, immediately throwing his car in park and exiting when he sees two girls walking alongside a guy carrying you out the front doorway. he has his hands hooked under your armpits, pushing your boobs together and "covertly" staring at your amplified cleavage as he leads you down the short stone path.

your head lulls back a little, and you're smiling up at the sky with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed to death. your legs drag under you, and mike's quick to grab for your waist, removing you from that perv's grasp with haste and a grimace.

you droop into him, body leaden with alcohol, and he slides one arm under the back of your knees, bending his own to lift you into a bridal style hold.

you squeal as he turns away from the house, throwing your arms around his neck and dreamily sighing at the way his hands feel carrying you, strong and vigilant and possessive. "mikeeeeeee," you mewl, pulling yourself into him so you can nudge at the column of his throat. your words are slurred almost beyond comprehension, and he commands one of the girls to open the passenger door so he can ease you inside.

he sets you down in the seat, or at least tries to, whispering, "let me go" when you keep your arms wrapped around him. the position has him hunched over, and it hurts his back so badly, but you whimper, "nooooo, want you close" while nearly making him trip and fall across you, splaying his entire body over yours. he smells so good, all warm and musky and mike, and you don’t want to separate from him.

"y/n, please. i wanna get you home," he reaches back to wrench your arms off of him, placing them in your lap and closing the door before you can complain. he walks around the front to the driver's side, monotonously thanking the girl who'd helped you as he grumpily enters the car.

he grabs for your seat belt, stretching it across your torso as he does his own and drives away from the annoyingly illuminated house and party commotion in silence.

you're so gone, but even drunk, it's unsettling to you how quiet mike is, keeping his eyes focused on the road without a hint of a glance or a word to you. his jaw is clenched deeply, and he's stiff as a board against his seat, so opposite from his usual sullen, suave nonchalance. you frown at him, fingering with your strappy, well-tied sandals. "hey, grumpy,"

"not grumpy," you huff at his tone, sour and unwavering, and wiggle your toes as you finally free them from the entrapment of footwear. "i'm fine."

"you've gotten very, very bad at lying," you demur. your head slacks again, but this time against your headrest. you ogle mike through the film in your eyes, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. "mad at me?"

mike writhes in his seat, his jaw muscles flexing at your coy lilt. you know how to manipulate him with your words, sweetening them in just a way that would have mike bending to your will. the way you're gazing at him with your big, unfocused eyes makes him makes him press down on the gas a bit harder.

"i'm not mad," he mutters, all pseudo-nonconfrontational and collected, but you know that he's not telling the truth. something about the circumstances bothers him, and you want to know why. the car comes to a stop at a red light, mike shaking his head as he scrunches his face and rubs his eye with a knuckle. "forget about it."

"i won't. don't like me having fun without you?" he doesn't answer, staring ahead at the empty streets around the two of you. it was so late, nearly 2 am, and it only fuels the exasperation he feels burning in his stomach. he doesn’t like you out here like this, without him to keep you out of harm’s way.

"is it the drinking?" you pout, frustrated with the way he's ignoring you. "i admit, maybe four drinks was overkill, but i feel sooooo good. my body feels like..." you make a subtle buzzing noise, similar to tv static, and cut it off with a giggle, reaching over for one of mike's hands while the light turns green.

you inch it towards your lap, dragging it across the skin of your thigh that skims the end of your skirt, mini and gold and matching with the white corset top you wore. "you should feel."

"y/n..."

"c'mon mike," you pout again, dipping his hand between your opened legs. you let out an astounded moan when his cold fingertips connect with your bare clit, and now he's scowling at the fact that you’re not wearing any panties. he thinks about how many people would keep note of that, combined with your docile, inebriated state, and see it as a way in. it’s clear, with how those drinks have you begging him to ease his fingers into you, caressing your tight, warm walls so he can add another check to "car" on the list of places he's made you squirt. “don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n," he finally says, fingers still against your skin. you're soaking his seats, the excess of your slick dripping down to the cloth, and he has to pull himself out of thinking about someone else feeling you in this way. his eyes stay low on the road as he continues, "did you know anyone at that party?"

"mhm, like one person." mike sighs, a low grumble in his throat. he pulls his hand away from you, putting all of his attention on driving so he can get home. he just wants you inside, away from the world and in his charge. he doesn't say anything for a long while, eventually taking a deep breath and mumbling, "just want you safe, y/n. i'm glad you called me to come get you. there are bad people out there, and i don’t trust them in situations like this.”

"yeah," you purr, leaning against the center console and resting your head on the side of his seat. "you're my knight in shining armor, hmm? keeping me away from all the bad bad people looking to destroy messed up princesses like me?"

mike side eyes your tone, nearly scolding you for treating it like a joke and not something that could actually happen.

"...that's one way to put it, but seriously—-“

"wanna be destroyed though," you interrupt, unbuckling your seatbelt once he cuts the car off in the driveway. he’s turning to you, dark eyes gazing towards your pouted lips. you're reaching your hand across his lap, massaging it over the press of him in his sweatpants. “especially by you. wanna be your little fucktoy. let you use my messy holes however you want because they're yours."

your filthy mouth and shameless confession have mike turned on and hard and thinking about how you've called your holes his. he's seeing you bent over the couch, stuffed to the hilt with his fingers pressed against your tongue while he smirks down on you, veins coursing with lust. he squeezes at your hand, and says,

"let's get you inside, okay? then we can talk more about my messy fucking holes."

you're dizzy, giving him a big, woozy smile and letting all the craving you feel inside pour out through your glazed over eyes when he swoops you up again, carrying you and your shoes to his front door. your arms are back around his neck, and you're placing soft kisses on his lips, jaw, and chin as he drops your shoes by the entrance and carries you all the way to the couch, settling his body into one of the corners.

you're adjusting yourself on him so your bare mound drips over his thighs, and he's got his hands around your hips again, digging his fingers into your flesh as you mindlessly grind against him. you're still kissing against his lips, so uncoordinated and sloppy, and he pulls on the wispy strands at the nape of your neck, disconnecting you from him so he can leer at you with a look that tells you he will be destroying you tonight, guaranteed. "no panties was really bold of you, baby."

"can’t have panty lines in this skirt," you frown, placing your hands on mike's shoulders for leverage to move on him a bit harsher, eventually grazing them over his back and arms as you do. "not cute."

"but it's really not cute for you to have my holes on display for anyone to have, especially not when you're like this."

"mikey, please,” you coo, hunching down to press wet, suctioned kisses on mike's bare neck and rolling your hips into the weight of him. he feels so good against you, and you're aching, the alcohol sending shocks to your clit with every second of friction. "want you in me or something. no more talking, just use—-.”

"aht, don't rush me. trying to get you to understa---" one of your hands goes from roaming his shoulderblades to placing pressure around his throat, shocking him stiff against the back of the couch.

he doesn't think anyone has ever choked him before, and while his eyes burn at you with frenzied astonishment, you're causing him to have a revelation. his dick pulses against the material of his sweatpants at the feeling of your dainty hand squeezing his throat, and he's reaching to grab your wrist and bring your hand down before he comes all quick like he’s 18 again. you stop him with your other hand, coming in close to his face.

there's such a ferocity in your stare, and he knows that you're not going to let him lecture you all night. you need him to fuck you, need him to do something with you and your drunken arousal.

"are you really gonna keep talking, or would you rather just fuck my throat?" you slide your arms down his back, lips placed by his ear as you whisper, "show me how depraved people really can be when i'm like this."

he knows it's sick, but it doesn't take much past that for mike to have you on all fours beside him on the couch, back arched into a 45 degree angle as you drool all over his lap. you're begging for it, whining about how good he feels in your mouth, and he doesn't want to miss an opportunity to give you something you want, even though you're in this state. he's glad that it's him using you in this scenario, and not someone genuinely looking to hurt you. it's his rationale for giving in to your immoral desires.

you pull away from your mess with a sharp inhale, your jaw trembling as you sit up and give mike an eager, spit-slick smile. your eyes are even more distant than before, and it's almost like you’ve checked out. mike can see all the brashness and attitude you give him on the regular is gone, currently replaced with servitude and the intent to please, nothing less.

"wanna feel you ruin my throat, mike," you rasp, grabbing his dick in your hand and stroking at the soft skin, suckling on his tip as you flash him the hunger you feel inside through a grin. "please."

he's silent, having a quarrel with himself as he takes in your blank, mindless expression. it’s so wrong of him, but you look so pretty like this, and he reaches out to hold your cheek as you pout at him again.

"pleaseeeeee," you whine, tears nearly welling in your eyes. "want you to wreck me, use me however you wanttttt. gonna be your obedient, drunk little whore, do whatever you ask."

mike loses all resolve then, and demands you to drop to your knees in between his own. you're quick to assume the position, letting him put one hand on the back of your head and feed his dick into your throat.

"shouldn't like this," mike mutters, wrapping your hair up into a ponytail with both of his hands, watching you rub his dick over your face after slipping it from your mouth to spit on it. he almost can't take you like this, spacey and pliant and all his to destroy. so drunk and willing and--- "shouldn't let me take advantage of you like this."

your face is stained with tears and spit, streaks of dried liquid overlaying your burning cheeks and swollen lips. the neckline of your top is soaked too, saliva glistening on your chest.

"maybe i wanted it," you muse, winking leisurely as you wrap both of your slim hands around his base, smirking up at him. "maybeeeeeee i went and got plastered cause i knew you’d come get me if i called," you're feeding him into your mouth again, and without warning, mike is holding your head stationary, shoving his hips up into your warm mouth while you gulp every time he hits the opening to your throat. of course you'd do something like this. your admittance makes mike feel a plethora of things, good, bad, ugly, but right now, all he's focused on is making you feel like the toy you wanted to be.

"you're a fucking slut, y/n," he hisses with gritted teeth, throwing his head back as he feels you open up for him, allowing him to raise his hips and sink further into you.

the muscles of your throat flutter around his length, and it makes his toes curl, tangling together in his socks. "only sluts go to a party to get drunk so they can be turned into pretty little fuckdolls later...like being fucking mindless for me, huh?"

"love it, mike," you whimper, laying your tongue flat so his dick can slip in and out of your mouth with less resistance. it's covered in thick spit, a droplet resting on the tip, and mike leans down to collect all of it in his own mouth with a sloppy, obscene kiss, before releasing it all over his pelvis with a groan.

it was a fucking mess, and he loved it. he knew you loved it like this too, and your enjoyment of the raunchiness is reflected in the way you patiently wait for him to plunge his dick in you, eyes twinkling with everything and nothing at the same time.

your hand is moving under your dress, fingers stroking along your sodden walls, but he doesn't care; not when your eyes are rolling back into your skull as his dick infiltrates your throat again, filling the room with a persistent gluckgluckgluck as he rhythmically slams your face into his base.

you're sure you'll have no voice after this, but fuck, will it be worth it. you're basking in every second of this, so happy you decided to go out tonight. you were unexperienced in some ways, but you knew how to get to people, or at least to mike. you could get him to do whatever you wanted under the guise of him being in control, and all it took was a bit of sweetening with your voice, a flutter of your eyelashes and a crooked, "innocent" smile for mike to be wound your finger, abusing your face in a way you shouldn’t have dreamt of. you're running out of breath, and your fingers dig into his thighs with the message, but he ignores you, gripping your hair so that your mouth gently snaps up around him every time he pulls his hips back. the sensation is godly, and mike's not sure if he deserves this really. you'd fallen so hard for him at one point, and he'd crushed your hope to be with him under his thumb, but now you're here, letting him have you like this despite those memories. he's lucky, for whatever force is keeping you in his orbit.

"letting me do this to you while you're fucked up...letting some older guy take your throat like you're just free use...you're not getting into heaven," you laugh around him, forming your mouth into a makeshift smile as he slowly slides you off of him, overstimulated by the ridges of your throat muscles clinging to him. he doesn't want to come on your face, not this time. he wants you to beg for him to come in you, for him to fill you until you're overflowing, leaking down your thighs while he gives you more and more and more and more...

"i know," you mewl, pretty face smeared with saliva and pre-come. "i'll be in hell with you. wouldn't have it any other way." mike sits up, thumbing at your bottom lip and hissing as you unhinge your jaw and suck the tip of it inside. your eyes are getting dimmer by the second, but you're still wanting everything mike can give you.

he won't stop until you say so, and he strangely finds himself buzzing with lust at the thought of you bossing him around for his pleasure and yours. how had you gotten in his head like this?

"go in my room and strip, baby. sit in the middle of the bed and don't move." you're on your feet in a flash, clumsily dashing down the short hall without a look back.

it gives him time to get some towels, a washcloth to clean your face up, some lube, and grab waters for the both of you, thinking about all the ways he's gonna contort you. he might even make you watch in the mirror, make you take in your glassy eyes and lack of autonomy, the way you're letting him, your brother's best friend, have you in such an obscene way.

he cracks the door open with all the items in hand, and scoffs when he sees you naked, but stretched out on the bed, mouth hanging open with soft snores.

he walks over to the edge, dropping the things he's holding onto the comforter and shaking your shoulder softly. "baby," you lurch awake, murmuring "huh?".

you blink the bleariness out of your eyes as he uses one of the towels he brought to wipe off his drenched groin, and he smirks at you. you two are done for the night, and that's fine with him. something about your small figure, safely sprawled against his sheets has him seeing hearts and stars and rainbows and everything else he's tried so hard to push away.

when he's dry, ditching his shirt and boxers, he leans against his headboard, cradling you in his arms and lap as he begins using the washcloth to wipe at the dried spittle on your face. "here," he announces, cracking open a water bottle and bringing it to your lips, tilting it so you're able to get some water between them without much effort.

you swallow the sips he gives softly, wrapping your arms around his neck again. you loved being skin to skin with him, and right now, you felt tranquility.

this is but a fraction of that 100% he wanted to give, you think. something has changed in him, and now he wants to show you care. he still wants you to need him, need him to keep you protected from the world outside while he corrupts you in his own. you want that, too.

"mmmmmmm, you're so boyfriend," you muse, placing pecks on his collarbones as he continues cleaning you up. he's able to maintain a pokerface towards you, wiping at your cheeks with passive strokes, but inside, he feels nothing but chaos. why does he like hearing you call him boyfriend, like having you in his arms like this? why did it all seem to fill a hole in his heart, one he always thought would stay a cavity?

"really do love you, mike," you add, staring at him full on now. you might as well be sober, with your attentive, doe-like eyes. "tried hard not to, but i do."

you've broken him down, so easily, and somehow, he's giving into you with a deep, irrevocable sigh. he has nothing else to do but finally accept the truth.

"me too, y/n. me too."

this was rough for me to write because my brain just couldn't work properly, so i hope it's not the dogshit i think it is lmao hope this satisfies you anon!

faire's seedlings ✿

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