#yeah i would say this water is pretty wet. what? yeah the sky is still blue too

[wlw-cryptid]

Opinion on chubby butches/butches with stretch marks?

sweetheart. if my header werent what it is, it'd be "dad bod butches please call me"

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

[michelle4eve]

Talking to the moon..

Word count: 1.3k 

Synopsis: You talk to the moon (Seungmin)

I sit on the rocks, gazing up at the moon, surrounded by the shining stars. I can hear the wind swaying through the leaves, the water dripping from the green leaves, drip drip. A tear drops down my face as I look upon the night sky. I take a deep breath, swallow the lump in my throat and start speaking, voice a bit shaky. 

“Hi Minnie, how are you today? Remember when you said I need to stop viewing myself as something I’m clearly not?”

He looks at me as I glance at the mirror, frowning when I catch sight of myself, he frowns as he realizes this, comes closer to me, wrapping his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder “I know what you’re thinking right now, I’ve been with you for too long, should I chase those bad, naughty, very very bad bad bad thoughts away?” He laughs a little “ You look so beautiful, the most I’ve seen ever, I can’t believe you doubt that jagi, Stop seeing all this-” He waves his hands around my body. I giggle at his shenanigans. “-as something that it clearly isn’t, you’re pretty, cute, handsome, beautiful, gorgeous,” He stops in thought “scrumptious” He wriggles his eyebrows, making me smile more “See that! Sooo pretty!” He pinches my cheeks, “So no frowning when you see yourself, smile and say just one compliment to yourself yeah? You can just say, you’re pretty. It’ll be hard at first but I’ll be there, making you feel better, making sure you never forget you’re breathtaking” He reaches his pinky out to me, as a pinky promise, I laugh and take it, he kisses my knuckles after, bowing dramatically. He winked at me, then took me away to his room…..

 I laugh a little at the memory “Well, I’m saying those compliments every night, when I’m in front of the mirror, even if it’s hard I find one thing about myself I like, compliment it. I’m getting better, for you. I am cooking and baking more! I made some cupcakes. Remember when we tried to bake a cake together?”

I bring out a bowl and read the ingredients we need from my phone, he goes to get them, the eggs, flour, sugar, butter, salt, etc. I preheat the oven “Ok! So we need to add the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt and espresso powder..?” He gets out the flour “How much?” “Uh 1 and ¾ cups” He looks at the measuring cup and adds the flour in (not so) carefully, spilling most of it outside of the cup, all over his face, the table, my clothes “Minnn!” I roll my eyes, wiping the flour off of him “It’s not my fault, the flour just did that on its own!” He grumbles, pointing at the flour, frown on his face. I laugh “You’re blaming the flour now? And It’s only the first step! There’s already a mess” I sigh, shaking my head. He smiles at me “It’s a gift” I roll my eyes again at his winking “Seriously, how do you manage to do that?” I flick some flour to him, he gasps, flicking flour back at me “You little-” ….

A smile creeps on my face “The kitchen was a mess, if someone walked in they would think a wild animal came and wrecked the place haha, but we still managed to get a cake…After a while” I play with a pretty rock I found next to the lake “I visited your parents the other day, I gave them some of the cupcakes I made, they were happy to see me, like you say they like me more than they like you, “favouritism” you say” I laugh “I had a nice meal with them and went to our home, it’s empty without you though..” My smile falters “It isn’t the same without you, there isn’t that familiar comfort, the warmth in the bed, the cleanness, there isn’t someone I can cling on to, talk to, you aren’t there to make my day better just by being there… It’s getting lonely, everywhere I go I see you, I see you in the cute dog plushies in the shop, I see you in the park we went to, I see you in the pouring rain… When we were running with our coats on our heads, trying not to get too wet, laughing and giggling, you dragged me to a nearby convenience store to warm up, holding my hand the entire time, we drank some hot chocolate, we talked and laughed and laughed… It’s one of my favourite memories with you” I smile sadly 

We were walking hand in hand, the sky was really cloudy and it was getting dark. It started to rain softly, I look up trying to catch some, he notices me and laughs “Are you seriously trying to catch them? They aren’t snowflakes dummy” I look at him, a big smile on my face “Anything is possible! And I am a mermaid so I can do anything” I stick my tongue out, he laughs more “How’d I get a gem like you? My dummy” “Hey I’m not a dummy!” “Sure, sure whatever you say” He says, a soft smile on his face, I could practically see the sparkles in his eyes “Whatcha thinking?” I ask, tilting my head “Just how cute you are..” The rain gets heavier, at first the two of us don’t mind until we get so wet, rain pouring and pouring. He takes his coat off and covers the both of us with it, taking my hand and starting to run. I laugh, running along with him. He looks back at me, smiling widely “Well isn’t this fun?” We were drenched, breathless, running to get away from the pouring rain. “Very” We laugh more, he finds a convenience store and drags us into it, panting. He takes me to a seat and makes me stay there as he gets something for us to warm up, he comes back with hot chocolate in each hand, handing one to me “Drink up, love” We drink, talk, laugh, and laugh until the rain gets lighter, until we’ve warmed up. Then we head back home…. 

“I wish you were here, I added some new decorations to ours! I got some pochacco plushies, I wear your old hoodies, your scent is wearing off though.. But they remind me of you, it’s like you’re actually here you know? I sometimes wonder if it was me.. Was it me? If it wasn’t for me maybe you would still be here… happy, with all your friends, with your parents. I shouldn’t think like this haha… I would do anything for just another moment with you.. I wish I could do something, anything… I miss you so much.” I sniffle, more tears collecting, some falling down my face, I wipe my tears, looking at the moon once more 

“The first month or two, I saw the world as black and grey, the colour was sucked out haha, I couldn’t even make myself something to eat, life was pointless, I didn’t see vivid colours, I didn’t smile that smile you loved so much… I couldn’t even talk for the first week… I hated everything,”

“But now, the colour is coming back, I see the pastel colours, the soft colour of the sky, I’m making meals, baking brownies, Felix gave me a lesson, I smile more, I’m laughing too… It’s still so hard, I still miss you more than ever, I still wish you were here, I still wish it were me instead..” 

“My love, Min, I miss you..” I look up at the stars, reaching my hand out, tears falling down my face, not stopping anytime soon. I get up, seeing as it was so late now, I say one last thing before going back to our place.  

“I love you.”

[writerghoul]

I have a prompt for you if you're still looking!

Swiss x Phantom

Sweet, fluffy, spicy. Phantom feels inadequate. Dew thinks otherwise. They make love under the stars, that's the fic!

I hope that's okay!

I know you asked for a different pairing because I already did something similar with Swiss but I couldn't help myself. I really like Swisstom too and I wanted to write it but I'll also write the Rain and Swiss one and other one too.

593 words of Swiss not feeling good about himself and Phantom trying to help. It is smutty and sweet with a focus on Swiss feeling good, also I transed that ghoul.

Swiss felt the dirt clump to his hair as he tilted his head back, eyes locked on the stars. It was rare that he felt like this, inadequate. Like nothing he ever did was noticed or even worth it, especially when it came to hit position in the band. His tail curled around his thigh as he continued staring up at the sky. The multi-ghoul had no clue what set this round of feelings off at him, maybe it was how close the others had seemed when they got back. Aurora and Phantom split off to spend time alone, still adjusting to live up here, the others splitting their time between being alone and with Sunny and Aeth.

His chest expanded and deflated as he tried to calm himself down. He hadn't noticed someone else join him. Swiss flinched as he felt a body press against him, cheek pressed to the dirt as he looked at the person who joined him. It was the younger quint ghoul, Phantom. He turned his head again to look at the stars, waiting for them to say something first. "The stars are pretty around here, less light pollution then the cities we were in."

Swiss nodded as a response to them, what else could he do. His throat felt rough, like glass had shattered and cut up the skin and muscle in there. His body flinched again as he felt their hand brush against his cheek, moving the hair that stuck to it. "Yeah, it is."

"You know we couldn't work without you? You're the only masculine voiced back up singer." It was as if Phantom could read his thoughts, picking apart everything that made him feel horrible. His tail tightened around his thigh as he took in another breath, eyes burned as he felt the water build. They moved in closer and kissed his, now wet, cheek. When had he even started crying? Phantom spoke before he could think further. "Can I please show you what you mean to me?"

Swiss let out a breathy yes as he tilted his head to press further against the dirt. Their lips attached themselves to his neck as he let out a gasp. They were so soft, even if they were teeth bitten. His eyes closed as he felt them shift, pushing the multi's shirt up. He sat up to help them take it off before he laid back down. His hand tangled itself in their hair as he felt them wrap their lips around his nipple, a soft kiss before moving to his other nipple. His tail moved to thump against the ground now.

He felt worshipped as Phantom worked their way down his body, kissing and gently marking each piece of skin they could. Eventually it got to the best part, the little quint ghoul started working him open. His cunt was dripping already from the kisses and teasing bites. Swiss' back arched as he felt their fingers slip into him, eyes opened and head tilted down to watch. The ghoul had such a loving look in their eyes as they worked him over. Swiss spilt over Phantom's fingers with a moan of his name. "P-Phantom."

They chuckled as they dipped down to lap up all his slick, cleaning him with his mouth. When that was done they helped him get dressed and curled up next to him. "Want to come back to my room? We can make a little nest and watch movies together."

Swiss smiled in response and nodded, he would very much like that.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Melancholia [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Right (@optimistic-nihilist) Center (@vivienvalentino) sent to me via my love (@sadgirlzluvdilfs) Right (@citronplume)

Prompt: Characters both duck for cover under the same tiny storefront when it starts pouring, aka, how the reader met Aaron. Also, the reader is feeling down due to the seasonal changes, and Aaron is there to give her some love and support. 

Category: Hurt/comfort/fluff

Word Count: 6.7K 

Content Warnings: Mentions of mental health (depression and seasonal depression), mention of eating (reader has missed some meals), light drinking, minor language 

A/N: This is another one-shot inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute Writing Challenge and this one is actually a meet-cute! The reader is also a non-BAU member. I’ve been having the seasonal sads, so this is sort of based on my feelings a bit. Given that World Mental Health Day was earlier this week I just want to say that you matter! You are loved, and I am so happy you are here. There is not shame in getting help or just talking to someone. I’m very grateful for my friends on here and my messages are always open. If you liked this story, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you have a great rest of your week - Levi. 

List with all stories 

_y/n_ = your name 

_y/f/b_ = your favorite book 

_y/e/c_ = your eye color 

_l/n_ = your last name

_y/b/f_ = your best friend 

_y/b/f’s/n_ = your best friends name 

_y/f/a_ = your favorite artist 

_y/c/f_ = your comfort food. 

_y/n_ checked the weather diligently every morning before she got ready for the day. As someone who had a penchant for keeping up with her favorite aesthetic look, knowing what the weather was going to be for the day was a must. _y/n_ had not planned for a total and utter flood to come down from a sky that was promised to be ‘clear and sunny’ all day. It had started out as just a few drops, but soon it was an unrelenting pelting of water on the pavement. The street offered little cover, and _y/n_ moved more quickly down the road looking for any relief. Finally, she saw it in the small awning of a local bookstore she liked. There was just one small issue, there was already someone standing under the protected space. ‘What the hell,’ _y/n_ thought. She would rather be uncomfortably close to a stranger than continue to get soaked through. At this point the outfit she had picked for the day was a bust anyway, so why not lose a little dignity while she was at it. Thankfully the tall man saw her coming and moved as far to the side as the space allowed. Even with this being the case when _y/n_ slipped under the awning the two of them were standing with their shoulders essentially pressed together. They avoided looking at each other for a moment due to the awkwardness of their close quarters. However, the feeling passed and the man said in a low tenor voice, “This is some storm we’re having here.” At hearing the man’s smooth, even voice, _y/n_ turned her head his way and actually looked him over for the first time. He was tall, as she had seen before, but now that she was next to him, his height was more noticeable. He was more prepared for the weather than _y/n_ had been, but he was still pretty soggy with his shot hair sticking to his forehead slightly. The man was also fit. _y/n_ could tell from the way his nice clothes sat on his body. The stranger might have been wet, but he was also warm. Standing this close to him, _y/n_ could feel the warmth coming off of him in waves. For a moment _y/n_ wondered if the man was sick, but he didn’t look pale or flushed; he looked perfectly fine as a matter of fact. More than just fine. _y/n__ internally berated herself for thinking that a total stranger was attractive, but she couldn’t help herself. It took _y/n_ a second to realize that she hadn’t yet responded to the man’s comment about the storm and quickly said, “Oh yeah. This is like Biblical or something. Do you think we should start building an arc?” _y/n_ meant to make a joke, and she cringed at her own choice of words even as they came out of her mouth. Thankfully the man made what sounded like a small chuckle or laugh, though in all honestly, it might have just been him letting out a breath. Either way _y/n_ didn’t want to think about it too hard out of embarrassment. 

Hotch watched the young woman move down the soaked sidewalks, her eyes looking for a place to land that wouldn’t mean a bucket of water being poured repeatedly on one's head over and over again like being in the open was. There really only was one place for her to go, and that was next to him under the awning of the bookstore he had hoped to stop in on before heading to Morgan’s. The team was celebrating Emily’s birthday, and even though he had a gift and card for Prentiss, both of which he hoped weren’t ruined by the rain, he had wanted to get her something extra. Prentiss had been going through a lot the last couple of months and he wanted to support her in the little ways he could. The book he had wanted to buy was taunting him from the illuminated window. It was Zadie Smith’s new novel, The Fraud. He had also been hoping to get Jack a new book to read to him at bedtime as well. As much as Aaron liked The Little Prince and the few other stories he often read to Jack before bed, he had to admit that he was slightly sick of them. However, the bookstore had been closed, ‘Due to a family emergency’ the sign on the front door had read. At that point, the skies had opened and he found refuge under the small awning. Now the woman was near to him, and in another second she was next to him, pressed close due to the limited space offered by the covering. Hotch moved infinitesimally to the left to give them both a bit of breathing room. There was a slight awkwardness to the closeness of their bodies, and Hotch took that moment to look the woman over. She was younger than him, he assumed, and not dressed for the weather. Neither was he really, but at least he had a jacket. The woman must have been freezing, as she looked soaked to the bone and her bare shoulders kept catching water droplets from the leaky awning. For a moment Hotch had the idea of taking off his jacket and giving it to the woman. And then he had the more outrageous thought that if they stood face to face, there would be more space for them to be dry. Aaron quickly swiped the thoughts out of his brain. Internally Aaron thought, ‘God get a grip Hotchner. You sound like someone from a dime store romance novel.’ 

Aaron resisted the urge to sigh at his life at the moment. He was attempting, keyword attempting, to put himself out there more. It had been a few months since Hailey had left him, and he had tried his best to process the loss of his best friend and wife. They were still amicable, and hearing it from her side of things helped Aaron make sense of her choice -- even if it still hurt him. Rossi had been supportive of Aaron trying it out with a few women just to see. None of his attempts so far had been very successful. He was on a few apps and when he matched with people he tended to panic. The idea of having to open up to essentially total strangers never sat right with him. What would he say? “Hey I work for the FBI and I can tell when you’re lying, and I work 70+ hours a week, and I’ll be gone a good deal of the time, and I have more classified secrets than you can guess?” It all felt a bit overwhelming to him. Not only was it overwhelming, but it was demeaning also. Trying to figure out if he liked a woman based on a few photos and a blurb about their life and experiences just didn’t sit right with him. For a moment he let his mind wander. He wished he could just meet someone naturally, but he knew such occurrences were rare in life, particularly for someone his age. Finally, he pulled himself together and bridged the gap between the woman and him to end the silence lingering between them by saying something about the rain. The woman looked up and over him before responding with a joke. He nearly laughed before responding, “I don’t think we have the time or materials. We might be fated to drown.” His reply caused the woman to laugh, and it was a soft sweet sound, like ice being poured into a crystal glass. The sound was quickly muffled by the rain and the sound of an approaching car. The sidewalk with the awning was very near the street and as the car passed it sloshed a large dirty wave up and around the woman’s legs. The woman said, “Eww” as the extra wetness moved over her body. She stepped back a bit as another car came quickly down the street. Aaron, rather protectively, moved his body in front of the woman taking the splash of water himself. 

_y/n_ didn’t expect the man to move in front of her and as he positioned his body to get wet instead of her, she raised an arm, ever so briefly touching his back. She was going to say, “You don’t have to do that,” but he had already gotten wet and the car was far down the street before she had the thought. The man turned to face her, and they were so close to each other, just an inch or so apart that she could feel his warm breath on her face. Looking up at the handsome man caused her brain to stutter for a moment, and she didn’t even realize that her pupils were beginning to dilate, and there was a small blush blossoming over her face. However, the man did. When _y/n_ had composed herself, she finally said, “Thank you for doing that. You didn’t have to.” The man gave her a small smile and replied, “It’s my pleasure.” He seemed like he was going to say more, but the ping of his phone made him stop. He pulled his iPhone from the pocket of his shirt and seemed to nod at the screen. The man put the phone back where it had come from and then returned his attention to _y/n_. He asked, “How far are you going in this storm? I’m assuming you’re not planning on standing here forever?” There was a sort of mirth in his expression that made _y/n_ momentarily be warmed from the inside. Being this close to a stranger would normally make _y/n_ uncomfortable, but there was something about this man that was inherently non-threatening. She answered his question honestly saying, “I actually really need to get a move on. I was trying to make it to the subway station on 19th Street. It’s only three blocks down from here.” The man nodded undid one of the inner zippers of his jacket and pulled out a folded copy of the days New York Times. _y/n_ could see a fancy car pull up near them and stall. For one fleeting moment, she had a bad feeling about this man and a waiting car, but it was only a moment as he extended the paper toward her and said, “Sorry it’s not much. Maybe you could hold it over your head while you walk? I have to run myself, but have a good rest of your day.” And with that, the man turned around and walked into the rain. His shoulders were hunched as the water hit him once more, and he half-jogged to the Corvette on the street. She could just barely hear the start of a conversation as the stranger closed the door of the car. Now that she had just a slight cover, _y/n_ placed the paper over her head and moved back onto the wet sidewalk as well. She gave the car one final wave as she ran down the road. 

Rossi pulled up and watched as Aaron stood very close to a woman under an awning taking a beating from the rain. He didn’t have a good chance to see exactly what the woman looked like, but he could tell that she was invested in whatever Aaron was saying to her. Rossi sighed softly. He knew that Hotch often beat himself up about meeting new people. He was also still beating himself up about Hailey. Rossi wished that his friend could see that people, women, were actually interested in him. That they wouldn’t pick apart his every flaw or see the guilt that he felt. Not that the woman Aaron was talking to was ‘the one,’ just that people would care about him if he allowed it to happen. If he was vulnerable. Aaron moved toward the car and opened the door, leaning down to sit in the passenger seat. Rossi turned to Hotch and teasingly said, “Having a nice conversation over there?”  Aaron scoffed and said, “It was fine.” Aaron could hear the deeper jesting tone in Rossi’s words, and he was reminded of how many times Dave had been his hype man like he was in his teens going on his first real date. Aaron didn’t mind it as long as he wasn’t being patronized. For now, it was just a reminder of his own personal failings. Hotch didn’t notice, but as he had gotten into the car, there was a tinge of color on his cheeks; Rossi did. 

_y/n_ never expected to see the good-looking man from the rainstorm again, but as fortune would have it, she did. _y/n_ was out at the park taking a stroll and doing some reading a few weeks later. The weather was much improved and the crisp air was perfect to spend a few hours outside exploring her new surroundings. She’d just moved into the neighborhood a few months ago, and due to her busy work-life balance, she hadn’t really gotten to know the area yet. A coworker had recommended Theodore Rosevelt Island Park as a nice place to spend the afternoon and had promised that it wasn’t super busy or loud. The coworker had been right. The park was beautiful. The sprawling trails offered variety a of scenery. _y/n_ had picked a simple hilly paved trail to just enjoy the weather and the crisp smell of fall. After around an hour of walking, she settled down on the grass and started reading _y/f/b_.  After another hour, _y/n_ felt her eyes growing heavy with sleep, and she sat up to get ready to leave. As she shifted to her feet, a glint of sunlight from the ground caught her attention. She stood and moved three yards over to where she had seen the light coming from. The source was a lost phone whose back-facing camera had caught the light at just the right angle to be seen by _y/n_. She picked up the lost item and clicked on the home button. The screen blinked alive. The phone only had ten percent battery left and she wondered if it had been laying out for long or if it being in the sun had drained its power banks. There were five missed calls, three from the same number and two from two separate numbers. _y/n_ assumed that the owner of the phone had gone to separate people in the park and asked to use their phone to call the lost one to see if anyone would pick up. _y/n_ checked and the sound was off, so even that strategy wouldn’t have worked anyway unless someone had found the phone. Otherwise, no one would have heard it go off. As _y/n_ walked back to her spot, trying to think about how to get the lost item back to its owner. While she looking at the little boy who was on the phone’s home screen, it vibrated in her hand with a number with no name attached to it. _y/n_ swiped the answer button and said, “Hello?” There was a small silence on the other side of the line as if whoever had been calling was surprised someone had picked up. Finally, the person, a man, said, “Hey. I lost my phone about a half hour ago and, well you found it. Could I come to you and get it?” The man on the other end sounded slightly breathless. His voice sounded oddly familiar. _y’n_ was sure she had heard it before somewhere but couldn’t place it. _y/n_ responded to the man’s question saying, “I’m on the Drivesdale scenic loop. There’s that big oak tree if you know it. I’m under that tree.” The man replied, “I do know it. I can be there in about ten minutes if you can wait?” _y/n_ nodded and said, “Of course. I’ll be here.”  There was an odd silence before _y/n_ heard a muttered reply on the other end of the line before the phone call ended. 

_y/n_ knew the man the second he rounded the corner in the bend in the path. It was the guy from the day that it was raining buckets. He was far less soggy now, and he was wearing a black t-shirt and back jogging shorts that highlighted his distinct calf muscles. His shirt also emphasized his forearms which seemed strong. _y/n_ wished she could think about other things other than the physical attributes of the man quickly jogging toward her, except that was all she had to go off of. That and the fact that he knew someone who owned a fancy sports car. _y/n_ stood as the man drew near. 

Aaron was highly annoyed at himself for losing his phone. How he hadn’t noticed its weight missing from his pocket baffled him. He wasn’t sure how far he had moved since the phone made its mysterious disappearance. Today was a long run day for him, and he had moved around twelve miles according to his Apple watch. He briefly, sarcastically, thanked god that it wasn’t his work phone that had gone missing. But that would never happen. His FBI-issued phone stayed in a zipped pocket on the inside of his shirt and it stayed on all the time. Aaron had asked a few people if she could use their phones to see if someone had picked up the lost item, and he was close to despair and thinking he would have to go back home and try the ‘find my iPhone app. A wave of relief washed over Aaron as someone picked up for his last attempt at finding the phone while not having to leave the park. He listened to the location of the person who had it and confirmed that he would be right over. He ended the call and thanked the kind elderly woman who had let him use her phone. Hotch set out on a brisk jog, not wanting the woman holding his phone to wait longer than needed. 

Hotch had found himself worn out over the last few cases. Not that they were the worst cases he had ever seen, but the continued horrors and depravity he saw on a weekly basis were wearing on his morale. He was also tired. He’d done his normal pre-workout routine, but the energy drink and warm-up didn’t seem to have its normal effects. Hotch blamed both of these emotional blightes for his losing his phone and his not noticing. As he rounded the corner toward the big oak tree, there were very few people around and he saw the woman he was sure he had talked to a few moments before. As he got closer to the woman, it took him a moment to realize that he had seen her before. As he scanned through his memories of the past weeks, he clocked her as the person he had been stranded with under the bookstore awning. She looked lovely and calm as she was clearly scanning the area for him. Hotch had thought she looked good the day he had first met her, with her bright _y/e/c_ eyes standing out on her slightly flushed face. But now that she was dry and more relaxed, Hotch could appreciate her in a more natural environment. Aaron took a sharp breath in as he remembered how close they had been standing next to each other, he looked down at her as the cars passed by, splashing his legs and soaking his socks further. There was also that brief moment as her hand had touched his upper back. Aaron cleared his throat and moved those thoughts somewhere deeper in his mind. Somewhere fantasy could take root if he wasn’t careful. Hotch put on a small smile as he stopped in front of the woman. She was holding out his phone for him, and he reached out for it. After the cool metal was in his left hand, he extended his right hand and said, “Thank you so much for finding this. It’s a pleasure seeing you again. I see you survived the rain.” There was a beat of silence, and then he added, “I’m Aaron, Hotchner by the way.” 

_y/n_ smiled up at Aaron and took his hand in hers. He gave it a firm yet steady shake and she said, “I’m _y/n_, _l.n_. What a surprise to see you again. How have you been?” _y/n_ wasn’t sure why she asked the last questions, but it felt natural. She was also distracted by his scent. He was sweaty, but there was a sort of brine to the scent. Like when one stood next to the seashore at twilight. When Aaron responded, she smiled and said, “I’m glad you’re doing well. I’ve gotta head out, but it was nice to see you again, Aaron. I hope you have a good rest of your weekend.” _y/n_ didn’t particularly have to go anywhere, but she had the sinking feeling that if she stayed around the figure that was Aaron Hotchner, she might say something silly or stupid, and for some reason, she didn’t want to seem like that to him. As she had the first time they met, she gave a small wave and moved down the path. Again, she thought this was the last time that she would see him. 

They were destined to meet again three weeks later at the local bar in the neighborhood. Seated at a small table,  _y/n_ shared her new life updates with _y/b/f_ who was visiting for the weekend. _y/n_ had just covered the rainstorm incident and she said, “And then on top of that I saw him again later in the month. Let me tell you, if I thought he was handsome in the rain, you should have seen him in his workout clothes!” _y/n_ was speaking openly and candidly given that her inhibitions were down because she had already had three drinks. Her friend who had a similar buzz said, “Okay, wait _y/n_. I’m going to need you to describe this guy in lots of detail. You always have a way with words, and I need the skinny. He sounds like a dreamboat.” _y/n_ flushed further, above the color of the alcohol that had tinged her cheeks. _y/n_ looked at _y/b/f_, and they had an expectant look on their face. _y/n_ couldn't help but giggle before saying, “Well he’s tall, and he has dark hair. It’s cut short and neat from what I can tell, though both times I’ve seen him it’s been a bit disheveled. He’s fit. I mean, I saw him working out, and the first time I saw him his clothes were pretty much hugging his body. And man what a body he has. Apart from his name, and his looks, I don’t have that much more to go off of. When I found his phone there was a picture of a little boy on his lock screen. For all I know he might be married or in a serious relationship. That doesn’t mean that I don’t find him attractive, but I’d never do something with a man who was committed.” If _y/n_ was being honest with herself, she’d probably never do anything with the man ever? What could she possibly say if she even saw him again? The world was small, but not that small. _y/n_ had relegated him to a small dreamlike crush to think back on every now and then. _y/n_ took another sip of her cocktail to try and hide her blush from her friend. The door to the small bar opened and her friend, who was facing the door, looked at the large group that was entering the establishment. The final person to enter the bar caught _y/n_’s friend's eye, and they said, “I think your man just came in here.” _y/n_ incredulously said, “Oh please, _y/b/f_, don’t tease me like that. It’s bad enough that I haven’t dated anyone seriously in years.” _y/b/f_ sobered slightly and said, “No _y/n_, I’m being serious. The last guy that just came in kind of matches the description you just gave.” 

_y/n_ rolled her eyes but looked behind her anyway and low and behold, it was Aaron who had walked through the door. He was with a group of six people, and he was congenially chatting with an older man and a very pretty brunette-haired woman. _y/n_ hadn’t yet seen the man so at ease, but it looked good on him. It fit. The intense blush on _y/n_’s face told her best friend that she had pointed out the correct figure and they said, “Damn, He is hot. He must live in the neighborhood or something if you keep running into him unplanned like this.” _y/n_ nodded along in agreement, and _y/b/f_ continued, “You should give him your number or buy him a drink or something while he’s here. Who knows when the next time is that you’ll see him?” At the suggestion, _y/n_ shook her head in embarrassment and said, “I don’t know _y/b/f’s/n_. What if he’s not interested?” _y/b/f_ sighed and placed a hand on _y/n’s shoulder saying, “Oh come on _y/n_. Nothing gambled, nothing gained, and all that. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? He says no, or that he’s married and then you run into him at the supermarket and it’s awkward and you move past each other in the cheese aisle? Would you just give it a chance?” _y/n_ thought about the cost-benefit of actually making a move on Aaron and found that, as her friend had said, the cost side of the equation was pretty low. After a long silence filled by the ambient hum of the noise inside the bar, _y/n_ said, “Okay, fine. But I’m going to wait for him to have a drink first and make sure he’s not overly attached to anyone in his party, and that will give me time to sober up a bit. I might be taking a risk on my behalf, but I’m sure as hell not doing it drunk.” _y/n_ moved to the bar and got herself and her friend some water. While she was waiting, the pretty brunette and the older man whom Aaron had been speaking to when the group had walked in moved next to her at the bar. As _y/n_ overheard the woman saying, “I don’t know Rossi. He looks sad to me sometimes. Like when he thinks no one is looking? I’m kind of worried for him.” The older man, Rossi, nodded and said, “I see it too. But you see it, and I see it, but Hotch? I don’t know, and I don’t think he would really appreciate us cornering him in his office and asking him about his mental health, do you?” The woman laughed and said, “That’s a big fat no from me. But you know how he gets. I’d just like to see him happy.” As the woman finished the statement, _y/n_ got her water and gave the two she had been eavesdropping on a small smile before heading back to her own table. 

About a half hour later _y/n_ felt more in control of her faculties. Aaron had had two drinks and _y/n_ subtly watched him. He didn’t seem to flirting or attached to any of the women or men he was with; he also wasn’t wearing a ring which was a good start. _y/n_ moved to the bathroom to make sure she looked alright before she made her move. _y/n_ reapplied some mascara and lipstick, but she knew she was just stalling at this point. She took a deep breath and whispered, “You can do this,” as she walked out of the ladies' room. Fortunately from _y/n_, Aaron was at the bar getting a drink for himself, Morgan, and JJ. _y/n_ idled up to him and said, “Hey Aaron, fancy seeing you here. Can I get you a drink?” Hotch turned and looked down at _y/n_. He was a bit tipsy given that he had two drinks in a pretty fast period. Hotch looked over the woman who kept appearing in his life and said, “Hey again _y/n_. We can’t seem to escape each other.” He looked over her face and saw the tells of attraction. He took a steadying breath as he realized that he was also attracted to _y/n_. He cleared his throat before saying “And you can buy me a drink if you like.” _y/n_ beamed. She had fully expected him to say no, and she asked, “What’ll it be?” Hotch thought for a moment and said, “Margarita on the rocks please.” When the bartender came over _y/n_ ordered two margaritas on the rocks. _y/n_ Aaron chatted while they waited for the drinks and at the of the night, in a moment of inebriation and a bit of teasing from Morgan, Aaron had given his number to _y/n_. 

In a small moment of vulnerability for both of them, they had started texting on and off. Then they had had their first date and it had gone well. Then they had a second, and a third, and Aaron realized that _y/n_ was steady, calm, and kind. She wasn’t bothered by his extended absences, or him having to change their plans often because of a case. _y/n_ had slowly started meeting the important people in his life. It had been Morgan first. That happened kind of by accident. Then there was Rossi and Em, and Jack of course. By all means their relationship should be growing, and they would have their rocky moments, but happiness and care should be blooming, but for _y/n_ it simply wasn’t. A sadness was tugging at her soul like a millstone. 

She was lying in bed; she had been all day. It was 11:00 a.m. The day outside looked pretty as the leaves fell and soft light came through the window. She had barely had the will to open the blinds. She had been crying a few minutes earlier but had managed to stop the flow of tears eventually. All _y/n_ had wanted to do over the past few days was sleep. Sleep and cry. She had managed to keep up her hygiene a bit because she had to look and dress professionally for work, but if that wasn’t the case, she knew she wouldn’t have done any of her normal care routines. Her hair was on its last legs with dry shampoo, and she could feel it getting greasy and gross on the pillow. A sound at the door caught _y/n_’s attention. ‘Aaron,’ she thought. She had forgotten that he was coming over today. She tried to find the will to get up, but she was embarrassed about her current state both mentally and physically. She turned her back to her bedroom door and sniffled. Maybe if she didn’t answer he would leave? There was a second of silence and then there was a ping of her phone. _y/n_ was sure that it was Aaron asking if she was okay. Then after that, there was a call and she could hear Aaron’s voice from outside saying, “_y/n_ are you in there? Are you okay?” There was worry in Aaron’s voice and she cringed because it was so silly to be sad right now. She thought it was too early in their relationship for him to see her so sad. 

Aaron stood outside _y/n_’s door. There was a small panic rising in him. He had texted and called with no response from _y/n_. There was an eerie quiet outside her door. Normally at this time, she’d have her vinyl playing _y/f/a_ and making some coffee or reading. Hotch could picture it and it made him feel warm for a moment. But he didn’t feel that warmth now. He sensed that something was wrong, and he called out saying, “_y/n_ if you’re in there I’m coming in, okay.” Aaron punched in _y/n_’s seven-digit code, and the door clicked open. There was no one in the kitchen or living area and the lights were off. He checked the bathroom and it was also empty. Aaron called for _y/n_ saying, “_y/n_ are you here?” More softly he said, “God, please be here.” Hotch moved to the bedroom door and gave a hesitant knock saying her name again. There was a soft sound from inside and, fearing the worst, he opened the door. When his eyes fell on _y/n_'s form under a bundle of sheets and blankets, he let out a momentary sigh of relief. He stepped into the semi-dark room and approached the bed saying gently, “_y/n_, are you alright?” _y/n_ was faced away from him and said, “I’m sorry, Aaron. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be alright.” She spoke so softly that Aaron almost didn’t hear her. There was a sadness in her voice that pulled at his heart, and his concern for her only grew. Hotch sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her upper arm asking, “Honey, would you please look at me. I need to see you.” Hotch needed to know if she was alright. Sluggishly _y/n_ moved from her side and onto her stomach. She turned her face toward Aaron, and he assessed her. It was clear to him right away that she had been crying. Her tear streaks marked her face and her eyes were red and bloodshot. Aaron rested a hand on her cheek and said, “Sweetheart please tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been crying.” _y/n_ sniffled and said, “It’s nothing, it’s stupid.” At hearing _y/n_ say this, Aaron turned to face her more directly and sincerely said, “Whatever it is, it’s not stupid to me. I wanna know why you’re sad.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. There was silence as _y/n_ thought about what to say. Finally, she responded with, “I’m just sad, Aaron, and I have no right to be. I have everything I could want. I have a job I like. I’m finally stable in my life. I have you and Jack, and I’m still so fucking sad, over nothing.” While she spoke the tears started falling again. 

Aaron listened and his heart ached for the pain _y/n_ was feeling. He brushed his hand down her cheek and then moved his thumb to wipe away the tears falling on her face. Tenderly he said, “Darling, I’m so sorry. You’re allowed to feel sad, even if there’s not a reason. And you’re allowed to be sad near me; it’s not embarrassing.” _y/n_ made a small sound as she pressed her forehead to his thigh. Aaron wondered if this was an attempt to hide from him. He looked down at her and asked, “May I hold you, _y/n_” _y/n_ sniffled but nodded yes to his request. Aaron leaned down and undid the laces of his loafer and kicked them both off with his other foot. He slipped his jacket off and moved to the other side of the bed. He pushed up the covers and lay down. When he was settled a bit, he pulled _y/n_ close to his body. When she was cradled close to him, he could feel her relax. Aaron ran a hand up and down her side as he asked, “Have you felt this way before? Have you spoken to your therapist about these feelings?” 

_y/n_ felt better being close to Aaron. She responded to his question saying, “I have sometimes. When the weather starts changing and the days get shorter it can get really bad. I’ve been okay for the last year or so, but now it’s back. I haven’t told my therapist yet. I was going to in our next session. I had kind of hoped that it would just go away, but it hasn’t obviously.” Aaron hummed and moved his hand to her stomach, rubbing soft circles over the flesh there. Next, he asked, “And you’re still taking your medication?” At this, _y/n_ actually chuckled and said, “I have. I know what happens when I stop taking those and it’s not pretty.” Aaron felt a tiny bit better hearing her laugh and make a joke. The feeling in the room lightened slightly. The silence lingered for a few minutes and Aaron broke it saying, “Would you like to stay here for a little bit?” In his arms _y/n_ sighed and said, “Yes please.” Aaron shifted in the bed so his head was resting near her neck, and he circled his arms around her protectively. He planted a few kisses on the nape of  _y/n_’s neck and then stilled his movements as she quickly fell asleep. Aaron looked her over. He was glad that she found comfort in him. His embrace. He would have to do more research on seasonal depression because although he knew it was a type of depression, he didn’t know much about it. The only person that he maybe knew had issues like that was Spencer, as his younger agent had once told him that he had worse thoughts during the winter. But for now, he would just be there to support _y/n_. Her health and happiness were paramount to him, and he was going to do everything he could to make her feel alright. 

After an hour, Aaron and _y/n_ woke and Aaron thought of something. He asked, “When is the last time you’ve eaten, darling?” The moment it took for her to answer told Aaron what he needed to know. When _y/n_ replied, “It was yesterday at breakfast.” Aaron frowned at the answer and said, “Alright. Well, how about we get some food? We could make something here or I could order something for us?” _y/n_ thought and said, “There’s not much in the fridge. Maybe we could order some _y/c/f_ ?” Aaron replied and said, “Of course, I’ll place the order now.” Aaron pulled out his phone and opened Uber Eats to get the food. After this, they both moved to the living area. Aaron opened some blinds to let some light into the room but chose not to turn on any of the overhead lighting to create a calm environment. He turned on the TV and put on Seinfeld putting the volume on low to give them some ambient noise. _y/n_ sat on the couch and Aaron pulled her into his arms while they waited for the food to arrive. Aaron moved to stroke her hair, and as he started, she cringed slightly. He stopped his movements and asked, “What is it, _y/n_?”_y/n_ felt the shame rise in her again as she said, “It’s dirty. My hair. I haven’t washed it in three days.” Aaron nodded and said, “It’s okay, _y/n. I don’t mind.” _y/n_ softly said, “Okay.” She believed him and rested her head against his chest again. Aaron started gently combing through her hair with his hands. _y/n_ listened to the steady thumping of his heart near her ear, and her hands found a place on his stomach. When he sat, Aaron had a little tummy that hid the muscles of his torso. It was actually one of the favorite parts of his body. They hadn’t been undressed in front of the other yet, but when they were, she looked forward to paying that area extra attention. _y/n_ knew that just being with Aaron wasn’t going to fix her mental health problems. She would have to face the emotions and it might hurt, but it was worth it. For now, Aaron was a balm and a light, and she looked forward to moving forward with him in life. She knew that with Aaron by her side, better days were coming. That the sun would shine a bit brighter than it had before.

[vodika-vibes]

I‘m gonna throw my hat in the Mereel ring, but I’m not experienced with asks, so would you be comfortable with writing something for him with a passionate, borderline desperate kiss in the rain? He deserves all the smooches

thank you! 💕

Rainy Kiss

Summary: You're date with Mereel is interrupted by a sudden downpour.

Pairing: Mereel Skirata x Reader

Word Count: 703

Warnings: Mereel makes a suggestive comment at the beginning

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: Sorry that this took so long to answer! I hope this is close to what you were picturing! Also, this is a perfect ask, there's no need to worry! 😊

Divider by Saradika

“You know,” Mereel says lazily as he leans against the wall under the very minor covering that was shielding the pair of you from the rain, “I wanted to get you all wet, but not like this.”

You whip your head around and glare at him, “Awful,” You reply as you fold your arms over your chest, “Terrible, awful Man.”

He grins at you, “And yet, you agreed to come on a date with me anyway, so who’s the terrible one here?”

“Still you.”

He laughs and shifts so he’s standing closer to you, and you lean into his warmth. The rain made the temperature drop, and you’re not dressed for the suddenly cooler temperatures. 

Mereel drapes an arm over your shoulder, “Are you cold, ner mesh’la?”

You lean even more into him, “I’m not your anything, Mereel.”

He grins and presses his lips against your temple, “Mine. My cyare. My pretty little love.”

You feel your face heat and turn to press your face against his shoulder, “The actual worst.” You grumble.

“Not my fault that you’re so easily flustered. I think it’s adorable. My perfect adorable cyare~”

“Now you’re just trying to be annoying,” You accuse as you pull back to glare at him.

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” He grins at you, mischief glittering in his eyes.

“Ugh, why do I find you attractive?” You grumble under your breath.

“You think I’m charming.” Mereel replies, “That’s what you said.”

“I must have had a concussion that day.”

“Nope. No takesies-backsies.”

You shoot him a bemused look, “What are you, five?”

“Technically, I’m 12.” He counters with a growing grin. “Talk about cradle robbing, cyare.”

You stare at him for a moment, and then you turn, “I’m leaving.”

Mereel laughs and catches your hand, “Great, I’ll come with you.” He cheerfully threads his fingers with yours and squeezes your hand as he tugs you into the rain, causing you to let out a startled squeak.

“Mereel!”

He laughs and tugs you further away from the shelter, “Come on, cyare,” Mereel teases, “Keep up!”

“It’s wet, Mereel!” You whine even as you allow him to tug you into the street. There’s no one out, partly because of the weather, though mostly because of the time.

He grins at you boyishly, and then he gives your hand a sharp tug, and you stumble into his arms. Mereel’s free arm settles securely around your waist and he bumps his forehead against yours. His grin never once fades, “Hi.” He whispers.

Your free hand comes up and you lightly caress his cheek, “Hi.” You whisper back. His hair is plastered to his head from the sheer amount of water falling from the sky, and you laugh softly as you use your thumb to brush some of the water off his forehead. 

“I love you,” Mereel says quietly. He releases your hand and drags his fingers up the back of your soaked shirt, to rest gently on the back of your neck. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and never dared hope that I would have.”

You bring your other hand up to rest lightly on his chest, just over his heart, “You deserve the galaxy,” You reply so very gently.

“Don’t want the galaxy, just want you.” Mereel says in return.

You smile at him, “You have me.”

His gaze is intense, and your breath catches in your throat. “And you have me,” He murmurs softly.

You tilt your head slightly and crash your lips against his and his grip tightens around you. He clings to you like you’re his only lifeline in the world, and the kiss becomes frenzied, almost desperate. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, his eyes are closed and he presses his forehead against yours, “Need you to be mine.”

“I am yours,” You remind him, “Always. Forever. In every way that matters.” You flash a lovestruck smile, “I love you.”

He releases a shaky breath, and leans in to kiss you again, and again, and again. “Forever?” He repeats softly.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

He laughs softly, “Forever, then.” His fingers trail lightly down your jaw, “I can do forever.”

You smile at him adoringly, “Then we’ll do forever.”

[laylaackles]

Birthday Sex (Dean Smut)

Warnings: mask kink, Ghostface mask, sir kink, praise kink, rough sex, sweet aftercare

Song: The Summoning by Sleep Token.

I'm posting this fic as a birthday present to myself (November 13th)

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

A taste of the divine

Tonight had been one of the most fun but stressful nights of your life. Dean was dressed in a black t shirt and blue jeans. He had his hunting boots on. But his face was covered by a Ghostface mask. You were dressed in a silk robe with a red and black lace lingerie set.

You had heels on, but you ditched them in a room, then ran for the kitchen of the bunker. Thank God Sam wasn't home.  You wouldn't be able to have this much fun. But you weren't sure what was going to happen when Dean caught you.

You've got my body, flesh and bone, yeah

The sky above, the Earth below

You'd been sipping from a bottle of water in the fridge, trying to regain some strength. You had been getting tired of the running when Dean came up behind you unannounced.

"Oh pretty girl, you weren't supposed to stop running." He'd said.

"Am I in trouble, sir?" You asked.

"Not tonight. See, I would kill you, but you're just too damn pretty. I think I'd rather have you be mine."

"Take me." You'd whispered.

Raise me up again

Take me past the edge

I want to see the other side

See the other side

Clothes began to get thrown around, and Dean had pushed you up against the counter, bending your body.

You've got my body, flesh, and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

He easily slid into your entrance. You'd been so turned on from the moment you saw Dean in the mask. You didn't even have to ask. It was his idea. Your pussy was dripping wet by the time he caught up to you.

Raise me up again

Take me past the edge

I want to see the other side

"Such a good, pretty girl. Youre taking me so good." He'd said as he'd slammed into you over and over again.

Won't you show me what it's like?

Won't you show me what it's like?

"You like this? Like it when I dress up for you? I know you love this mask. I feel you squeezing me, pretty girl."

Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Or are you really here to cut me off?

Or maybe just to turn me on

He'd fucked you so hard you thought you wouldn't be able to walk for days. Something about the mask made you both feel so feral and untamed.

'Cause these days

I would be lying if I told you that

I didn't wish that I could be your man

Or maybe make a good girl bad

"Wanna cum baby?" He'd asked.

"Yes sir. Can I cum please?" You asked.

"Only if you promise not to run away from me again."

"I promise."

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

The taste of the divine

You came hard around his cock. Your pussy was clenching his throbbing cock so hard as you came undone.

You've got my body, flesh, and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

Nothing to say and nowhere to go

A taste of the divine

He'd kept fucking you until he came, and you had both ridden out your highs.

Now, you're settled in the bathtub together. Dean is at one end and you're at the other. He has your left food in his hands. There were still marks on your feet from the heels, even as he massaged them.

"If we ever do this again, you can go barefoot." He said.

"Running in heels is not easy. Or painfree." You responded.

"Well, besides the heels, did you have fun?"

"I did. This is nice too."

You relaxed a little more as Dean continued to massage your foot, then switched to the other one.

You hadn't expected to live out one of your biggest sexual fantasies today, but it was awesome. Best birthday ever.

"Happy Birthday Baby." He said.

"Thank you De."

LA<3

[2darklymelanatedstories]

Nameless crush (ft Piccolo)

Part 1: Curiosity

So beautiful. I found a perfect spot in the forest. A beautiful view of the sun resting on the horizon. Gohan took me her a few weeks back when we were trying to escape fangirls and paparazzi cause I asked to take a picture of him in his Great Saiyan Man outfit. I chuckled at the memory off Gohan almost being stripped naked by a bunch of fan girls.

I stared at the horizon as the fresh breeze hit my face. I enjoyed every minute of it. The peace, the fresh air, the view, nature. You couldn't find any of these in the city. Other than that there was something else about this place that drew me in, I don't know if its just the beauty of mother nature but something in me keeps telling me to come back. Like I'll find something more.

But every time I came back there wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. I took out my earphones from my pocket and placed them in my ears. A song was already playing, probably because I never turn my music off. I listen to music more than I listen to people so I like to something playing just incase I need to tune out someone.

I laid there on the grass and looked up at the semi dark clouds in the sky.

"Hmm, could rain soon."I said to myself. Though I didn't really care if it rained. I don't mind getting wet. I closed my eyes and dozed off. Drifting into my secluded dream world.

I felt a wet, icy drop hit my cheek, though I dismissed it and went back to sleep. It wasn't until I heard a sound of someone moving, that I shot up and looked around, scanning my surroundings.

"Probably just another animal walking past."I said to myself as I let out a breath of relief. Though I couldn't help but feel like I was being watched. It started raining harder. I took out my earphones, my I've already went through my whole playlist so my music stopped playing a while ago. I looked up at the sky, letting the water stream down my face.

"Shouldn't you be indoors right now?"asked a deep, male voice from behind. It startled me but I didn't show it.

"I could ask you the same thing."I replied, my face still enjoying the cool rain. "Its raining cats and dogs out here, why aren't you inside?"

"I like training in the rain sometimes."the man said. "Whats your excuse?"

I stood up and cracked back, my back still facing the man.

"I like the rain out here and I don't feel like going back to the city. Its so peaceful here."

"Don't earthlings usually get sick from sleeping in the rain though?"he asked. "Earthling?" I thought.

Is this guy one of the aliens I've heard of or just weirdo. I heard him take a few steps closer. With my guard up, I turned quickly turned around to face this strange man.

I jumped back in shock to see him right in front of me. His chest so close to my face. It looked like...is he green? His purple gi that stuck to his green, wet, toned body and a white cape that gently flew in the breeze.

"Ok so he's clearly an alien. Dare I look up at his face?"

I slowly lifted my head up at the green man...alien. His dark, ivory eyes looked down at mine. I tried my best to hide my nervousness but I guess he could sense it becuase he took a few steps back.

I stared at his face, his features for a while. He didn't look that bad, actually pretty handsome.

"So are you gonna answer my question or just keep staring?"he questioned with an annoyed tone. It snapped me out of my thoughts breaking me out of the trance I was in.

"Oh yeah, sorry. I was just-"

"Staring at the hideous monster before you?"

I waved my arms frantically in the air, with an embarrassing blush on my face.

"What!? No, no. I mean I was staring but," I trailed off. "You're not hideous, you're actually pretty handsome for an alien. Gah! Not that I'm saying aliens are ugly but-"

He raised his hand, cutting me off. "Its fine. I understand, most people react this way when they see me",he said. "At least before running away screaming. Which I believe now is your cue to do so."

"Why would I do that?"I asked.

"Why not? Most earthlings do." He seemed curious.

"Well I'm not most. Thats stereotypical."I said, glaring at him. His dark, cold eyes staring back.

We glared at each other for about a minute until...I sneezed. He chuckled a bit before going back to his stoic state.

"Whats so funny?"I asked.

"I guess that answers my question."he teased. "You should head home, before it gets worse." He turned and flew up a few feet in the air.

"Hey wait, you can fly? Then why not give me a lift!?",I yelled out. He stopped mid-flight and turned to me with a grin on his face.

"I don't pick up weirdo's who like sleeping in the rain.",he responded. "Sorry but you're on your own. I also noticed that you didn't come here with a car, better start walking."

He then flew off, leaving me here.

"Why you big green–ugh!",I yelled, stomping my foot on the wet ground.

"Guess its my fault anyway. But he could've been a little helpful."

I walked back to the city, it wasn't to far from where I was. Plus it wasn't that bad since the rain lightened. Everything I had on was soaked and the uncomfortably wet clothes made it almost unbearable. But I made it nonetheless.

I opened the door to my apartment, tracking water and mud all over my floor. I stripped and got into the bath. After what happened I didn't feel like another shower. After the 20 minute soak I got into my fuzzy PJs, and slippers and made myself some tea while binge watching My wife and kids. I didn't pay attention to most of it as I was busy thinking of that alien guy I met. I silently cursed when I realised I didn't get his name. My God he was handsome. I needed to take a picture of him next time.

~

I couldn't sleep. My thoughts of this guy kept me up. Question after question hitting my brain whenever I tried to sleep. I needed to know more, to see more, to hear more. I got up around 3 in the morning and packed all my stuff. I wore my favourite black and yellow hoodie, dark jeans and purple sneakers. I left the apartment and headed to the same spot. Multitasking trying to tie my hair and eat a chocolate bar for my "breakfast".

I headed to the spot, the sun started rising in between the moutains. Letting nice warm light hit my face.

"Oh, it's you again." That deep voice, it was definitely him. "Though I didn't expect you to be here so early.",he said, he sounded intrigued. "Or do you always do this every morning?"

"Nope, I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here and explore the forest.",I said.

"Oh really. There's a lot of places to go to but you decided to come to this exact spot. Why?"

I wanted to turn around and look at him but fear of staring into those eyes stopped me.

"I just wanted to enjoy the view first.",I said nervously.

"Ok let me not stop you. Enjoy.",he said somehow knowingly. I heard him walking further away from me with each step.

"Wait.",I said. He stopped. "What's your name?" I turned to him. His back facing me. He glanced over his shoulder, his dark pupils got a glimpse of me.

"Piccolo."he said.

"Piccolo." His name felt sweet when I uttered it. Leaving my lips tingling.

"Nice name.",I happily said.

"I believe this is the part where you tell me yours." He came closer but this time I showed no nervousness. I tried to keep a neutral face but a smile crept out when he took his final step.

"Nope. I don't feel obligated to go around telling my name to strangers."

"You're a weird one."

"Really? Thank you, I was always told I wasn't normal. Now here an alien is, proving everyones point by calling me weird.

He gave me a small smile before levitating with his legs crossed. His eyes never leaving mine. Like he was observing me.

"Didn't anyone tell you its rude to stare?"I asked.

"Thats funny coming from someone who couldn't take their eyes off me yesterday."

I couldn't say anything. I just stared at him as a light blush appeared on my face. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, like he found this amusing.

I let out a fake cough. "What?"

"Why are you nervous?",he questioned. I snapped myself out of it and stood confidently.

"I'm not. Why would I be?" I folded my arms and turned to the side avoiding his gaze.

"Your face."

"What about my face?" I then became self conscious. Was there something on my face?

"Nothing. So you're not going to tell me your name?"he asked, changing the topic.

"No, why do you wanna know anyway?" At this point I was just trying to distract him with questions so he'd stop staring.

"Just curious."

The sound of his feet touching the ground made me quickly turn to face him. He glanced down at my bag for a second before looking back at me.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow then.",he said before walking away.

"How do you know I'll be here tomorrow?",I asked suspiciously.

"I know you will.",he stated before taking off.

I sighed. Sweet breath of relief. His charcoal coloured eyes stopped staring into my soul. At least I knew his name now.

"Piccolo."

[sweetheartsaku]

—choi line ; dancing in rain

a/n ; [fem!reader] non!idol au, beomgyu mullet w blonde highlights era ( aka cultural reset )

amaryllis

yeonjun

'JUNNIE!!' oh how he loved that nickname. it was one of your normal shopping dates around the local mall. in his words, its the highlight of his week.

as both of you walked down the busy roads of the night markets near the mall, looking for something to nibble on.

'jun!! look at the takoya-' GUUSUSHHHHSHSHS ( amazing sound effects am i right ) '-ki.' soaked, you both instantly ran to who knows where; and yeonjun still managed to insist for you to take his hand, and dance your hearts away,, in the pouring, cold rain.

it was mesmerizing. no hesitation in that. you couldnt help but stare at it. but yeonjun would say, 'its like yn, alluring and graceful.' honestly, he cant go a day without thinking about you.

and there you are, looking like the next la la land actors, twirling and spinning around as if theres more tommorow x together.

his hand wrapped around your waist and you softly said;

'there are more butterflies in my stomach for you than the drops of rain in the sky.'

'getting romantic, are we?'

rain cant even compare to how much i love you.

soobin

you and soobin were just in bed in cozy pjs & binge watching with your head on his shoulder; until your window curtain slightly blew from the weather outside. you slowly got up to try and close the curtain securely. as you approached the window..

the rain got slightly louder.

and louder,

and louder.

till you turned back to soobin, still watching tv, you proposed an idea. 'soob, would you be up for a small dance outside?'

as you stepped outside, in the chilly rain;

'will you take this dance, m'lady?'

and honestly, at that moment you couldnt ask for more.

he placed his hand on your waist and one to your hand, while you placed one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand. and there, you waltzed to your hearts content.

you plopped down on a nearby bench and spoke,

'isnt it beautiful, bin?' there was a pause, only to savour the beauty in the rain, staring in admiration. 'yes, yes it is yn.'

but, its not as beautiful as you.

beomgyu

'gyu, why would we buy all this at the gas station when we can just buy it at an actual grocery store.' 'its more cheap!! and priva-' suddenly, the automatic door opened to reveal a gushing rain, as muffled steps swished the water at the enterance of the gas station.

'yn..' 'yeah?' 'do you know what im thinking?' 'suddenly im telepatic.'

you guys immediately dropped your baskets at the door and rushed outside. the puddles splashed all over your pants, and probably got you sick, but its not like you guys minded. all that mattered was eachother. your presence was just enough for him.

your pinkies intertwined and your face flushed a little, but its not like gyu could see it. all the rain drops glided across your face not being able to see the intricate details. his hair was pretty wet, but stunning wet. ( ifykwim ) beads of rain streamed down your face and hair and honestly, he couldnt help but stare for a while till you looked back at him.

'yes, gyu?' 'i love you. more than our love for rain combined.' he blurted. you chuckled a bit, and answered 'i love you too, gyu.'

maybe the rain poured a little quieter when he said it. who knows?

even in the worst rains, your still a sunshine in my eyes. my sunshine.

you probably fell and when he reached out to help you he just brang his hand back before you could grab it. (then you restricted cuddles for a week)

[cutesharkstudios]

Lumity Comfort Ch. 1: Normal Human Date

(This is a post king's tide, pre thanks to them chapter)

In the Noceda household there are 4 universal truths:

The sky is blue

Water is wet

The MCU is overrated

Luz: (Running through the house like it's falling apart) CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP

And Luz needs to learn when to chill

Camilla walked into her house, noticing her daughter in panic mode. She knew what to do in situations like this. She pulled out a small harmonica and played a single note.

Luz immediently stopped, as that note put her at ease even in her most stressed. She turned and saw her mom, looking peaceful and calm, with a warm smile.

Camilla: Mija, calm down, whatever is stressing you will be okay.

Luz: Okay, sorry, I'm just really stressed for my date with Amity tonight. This is my first date and I want it to be perfect.

Camilla: Aye, I've been there. You should have seen me on my first date. I was practically sweating stress.

Luz: I promised her that we would have a normal slice of life date, free from the stress while we fix the portal door. I just want her to be happy after all that's going on.

Camilla: Hey, just don't lose sight of the reason why you are doing this, to spend time with her. Dios mio, you should have seen me on my first date. I practially fell asleep in my food because I lost so much sleep planning.

Luz: Right, I just need to make sure my clothes and gift are ready and I will be set.

Camilla: Don't worry, you're a Noceda, you got this.

Luz: Thanks mom, and thanks for being cool with me liking girls.

Camilla: I know my side of the family is a bit more on the conservitive side, but I havn't heard anything homophibic from them yet. I'll float the idea their way of being cool with queer people, and God willing pave a way for you coming out to them. If that's cool with you.

Luz: I'd like that. (Hugs her mom)

Camilla: Now get ready, you have a date to prepare for. That and I need the laundry room for my uniform, delivered to SO many puppies today.

Meanwhile, in the girls' room of the house, Amity is being dressed up by Willow. She ultimately decided on a cute purple dress with sequens and a pink belt. She also had her hair in a massive bow with the lesbian pride flag.

Amtiy: I'm so nervous. I've never been on a date before.

Willow: Neither have I, but don't worry, knowing you two it will go smooth.

Amity: I just love her so much. She brought me out of my horrible life and gave me a new future. I want to be with her forever. I have so many questions about the future I want to ask her about.

Willow: Well I'm glad you're much happier. And I'm glad to be your friend again.

Amity: Hey Willow?

Willow: Yeah?

Amity: I'm sorry. First for the crap I pulled when we were kids, second for the bullying, and lastly for trying to erase the memories of my actions instead of confronting them.

Willow: Compared to Bosha, I'd say that isn't too bad. You were pressured into doing those things, Bosha had no excuse.

Amity: Well, I still want to make things right. Just ask me when you need me.

(knock knock)

Amity: Come in.

And there stood Luz, wearing a suit top and black pants. Instead of a white shirt under her tux, she had a bi pride shirt, showing that she was no longer afraid to be herself.

Amity blushed, but not her usual bob-the-tomato-would-be-proud blush, but a lighter gentle blush, as the luz of her life look so pretty and happy.

She held her hand with Luz, and the two went to their first ever date.

[sebsxphia]

bath time with preacher rhett abbott and little!reader.

￫ a/n: a short drabble for the ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ universe.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, age regression and preacher!rhett abbott.

you loved having baths and showers with rhett on the road, but you loved having bath time with your dada most. he could make the scratchy motel towels soft as a feather. you came into the en-suite of the motel room with your stuffed lamb clutched tightly to your chest.

“need lambie!” you exclaimed with defiance. rhett was swirling the cold water into the hot water, to cool the temperature down just right for his little lamb.

he turned around with a lopsided smile and gladly takes lambie from you. “yeah, little one? c’ mon, they can sit there ‘nd watch.” he sat your stuffed lamb on the sink counter edge to watch over you in the bath. “‘ere you go, sweet baby.” he hoists you to his hip and lets you down gently into the warm water.

bath toys are non existent on the road, but rhett kindly got you children’s shampoo, conditioner, johnson’s baby lotion and spider-man bubbles. but rhett would make the most fun for you with what little he had. he would trace around the spider-man illustration and make up a story. preacher abbott had never seen spider-man and he never would, but that doesn’t mean what he was saying couldn’t be true.

he would ask you, “‘nd, what colour is spidey’s suit, little one?” and, “what does he do, hm, sweet girl? go whoosh! in the sky?” you would giggle and splash the water as rhett told his animated story to keep you entertained.

you let him keep you occupied as he carted his fingertips through your hair and soothingly onto your scalp, washing the shampoo and conditioner in. “who’s my pretty little lamb, hm?”

you bury your face in your hands with excitement. “me, dada! me!”

“yeah, sweet baby.” rhett’s soft smile in response to you getting shy, makes you squeal and splash a little harder than before, but rhett is there to coo at you gently with a hushed tone. “shh… i know, baby, i know. baby’s s’ excited! but daddy’s gotta get you settled for ni’ nights, alright?”

“ok, dada.” you offer him an apologetic, sweet smile, which happily wins him over. he soothes you down gently with light, fluttering kisses placed to your temple, before getting the towel unwrapped and re-wrapped around you.

regardless of your wet body, you clutch little lamb tight to your frame as rhett carefully dries you off and applies the silky smooth baby lotion to areas of your skin that have caught the sun recently. “sleepy little baby.” rhett hushes into your ear, as he hoists you to his hip and carries you gently to the motel bed.

he dresses you in his larger and tattered christian camp t-shirt, before slipping into bed besides you with something slow playing on the motel television, his bracelet still adorned on his wrist. you mumble out a sleepy, “best bath time, dada. thank y’.” as you’re wrapped closely into his bare chest.

[thinkingjasico]

A silly hc because I love this scene with seth and summer sm

Jason knows that the roof of Nico's cabin is damaged and he keeps saying he'll fix it but every time they are in Nico's cabin and he sees the sunlight entering through that hole and illuminating the almost total darkness of the dungeon that is Nico's cabin. But they always end up getting too distracted in each other's presence and Jason ends up forgetting

So one day there's a storm in CHB and Nico was out running some errands for Hades and the door is locked, and Jason knows it's raining inside. So since he's not afraid of lightning cuz, please, he's the son of Jupiter, but also without an umbrella or raincoat cuz he usually likes to get wet, Jason ends up picking the Spiderman mask he wore last halloween (it was his year choosing the costumes that he and Nico always wore matching >>very platonic<< and jason had chosen spiderman and deadpool) to protect his eyes so he would be able to see what he was doing. So he flies there with some materials but while he's still fixing the roof he slips and falls (very much likd the guy who passes out every two chapters), but the hem of his pants catches on the ceiling gutter and he's left hanging upside down unable to reach for his ankle and thinking that it's too short a fall for him to be able to control the winds before falling if the fabric gives way if he tries to reach it, but high enough to hurt his head AGAIN if he falls. And the rain doesn't stop and Jason calls to see if anyone hears but everyone is in their cabins protected from the storm. Then he sees through the window someone turn on the light in Nico's cabin and it has to be him, so Jason starts calling Nico's name. Nico goes outside and is stunned at first when he sees the scene.

"Jason, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"Oh thank gods you're back. I was trying to fix your roof but I fell and--"

"Did you come to fix my roof in this rain?" Nico goes to Jason to try to see what he can do to help.

"Yeah, you weren't home so it would rain a lot inside and ruin your stuff and I thought--"

Nico looks up and down at Jason hanging there in the middle of that storm. "Did you come here in this rain to fix my roof because I wasn't home and the water would ruin my stuff?"

Jason frowns a little under the mask. "Hm, that's exactly what I said. Anyway, help me out here please. We have to go inside to stop the water--"

But Nico starts to smile, unable to contain it. "And the Spider-Man mask was for...?"

Jason is only now realizing the icing on the cake of his embarrasseing state. "It was to protect my eyes from the water while I was working."

Nico looks at him for a second longer, taking in how stupidly adorable this is- which pretty much sums up Jason as a whole. So then Nico can't hold back the laugh that escapes him.

Jason blushes like never before, feeling pretty stupid right now. "Can you help me here? I can't--"

Nico sighs, stopping laughing, and leans closer. "Gods, you are my favorite person in the whole world, Jason Grace."

And Nico lifts Jason's mask a little, not thinking about how this is a moment he's waited and feared so much for so long, because even though he's been on the verge of this decision many times- never before has Nico been so sure he needed to kiss Jason before the moment passed and his insecurities about it returned.

And when Nico kisses Jason, the storm across Camp Half-Blood becomes clear with lightning exploding in the sky.

[covenofthearticulate]

A rare moment of Lestat giving Louis lessons on SexEd?

This was actually a bit of a challenge at first for me since I’ve always headcanoned that Louis is pretty knowledgeable about sex given that he lived in San Francisco in the 70s. When it comes to anatomy, however…that’s a different story 🤦‍♀️

"Lestat..." Louis bores into the back of his lover's head with a curious gaze and a pinched brow. He’s in a strange bout of bravery, or perhaps foolishness, as is most often the case when his many layers of gentlemanly decorum are shed amidst the rest of his clothes by the foot of the bed and the blushing post-coitus warmth makes his head feel just a little fuzzy.

Still strange, these moments of peace the sanctity of their own room. Still novel. He doesn’t want to break the spell, and yet he knows if he doesn’t speak now, he’ll lose all courage once the swoon wears off.

“Hmm?” Lestat doesn’t bother moving, which is for the best, because Louis might lose his nerve if he had to actually face him. 

“When you were...alive and mortal, you...”

“I what? I was foolish? I had freckles on my shoulder? I stole my mother’s rouge when I wanted to feel pretty? Guilty, on all three counts.”

“You were bisexual.”

He turns around just as Louis had feared, and he’s got that insipid little smirk on his lips just as Louis knew he would, and it’s infuriating and endearing all the same.

“Yes. Yeah, I was. I am!” He laughs, if only because he’s caught off-guard by the blunt observation. 

Just a few years ago Louis had refused to entertain the very notion of labeling one’s sexuality (”why is it anyone’s business who I am attracted to? why must my identity be dissolved into a rainbow flag?”), and now the tone in his voice makes it sounds as if it’s as plain as day. The sky is blue, water is wet, and the vampire Lestat is bisexual. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting for me to come out to you, as they say. It’s a little late for that.” They haven’t strictly spoken about it for some time, though of course Louis had always known for as long as he had known Lestat that he wasn’t particularly discerning when it came to wanting to get laid.

“No. Stop that.” Louis is half-tempted to smack his pillow into his face.

“Alright! So what? I’m bi. You’re gay. And we both lived happily ever after.”

“I wanted to know...” He shifts under Lestat’s suddenly attentive gaze, throwing off the comforter as his face is suddenly flooded with an unbearable warmth. “Never mind.”

“Louis! Oh, come now, Louis, you’ve gotten this far, you may as well ask.”

“I said never mind.” He all but pouts.

“You want to know how I knew I was queer? Or you want to know what it feels like to make love to a woman? It has to be one of those two, I’m not a fool, I know what people think about— well, about people like me, I suppose.”

“What do people think about people like you?” The frown has reappeared across his delicate lips, still raw and blood speckled from their evening together. 

Now its Lestat’s turn to pout as he inspects his nail bed and picks at his cuticles. A petty human decoy that he can’t seem to let go of.

“That I’m confused. That I’m a slut.”

“You are a slut.”

The response earns him an elbow in the ribs, but Louis only uses the opportunity to pull Lestat close for an embrace. 

“That I’m selfish.” Lestat continues, mumbling into the soft canopy of black hair. “That I’m too straight for queers and too queer for straights.”

“Hmm.” Louis hums, appreciative of the candor. “Well, you’re just right for me.”

“Thank you, little miss Goldilocks.” Lestat snorts. 

Louis presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and sweet and sickeningly domestic.

“I wanted to know the latter. What it feels like.” Louis finally says once they have settled into themselves once more, and the air feels a little lighter and the world seems to slow with the rise and fall of Lestat’s chest against his own.

“But you slept with women, Louis. I watched you, those final months and weeks of your life.”

“That was so long ago, I can barely remember. Besides, you know it was different. Of course you know. You must’ve known, even then. I wasn’t...I never felt...the way you seem to.” There is a hint of sadness behind his words, and it’s so soft Lestat can barely stand it. 

“It’s...different. Softer. And wetter. Fundamentally, though, I think it’s roughly the same if you’re doing the fucking. Right down to the angles.”

“The angles?”

“Yeah, y’know. The angles.” He leans in close, brings his hand between their two faces and slowly, sensually curls his two fingers inwards until—

“Lestat! Ugh, you’re disgusting.” Louis knocks his hand out of his face with a scowl.

“You asked, mon coeur!”

He rolls his eyes, holds tight to Lestat’s hand until their fingers link together. “What do you mean, though? What about angles?”

“It’s the same, in women. They have a spot, and if you curl your fingers up and press against it, well...” Lestat gives his hand a little squeeze, turns his head so he can press a smattering of kisses against Louis’ neck.

“Hmm. I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t, Louis. God, those poor women. Do you even know where the clitoris is?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, DO YOU monsieur-know-it-all?!”

“I…it’s…below the…near the…”

Oh, Lestat can hear the blood flushing beneath his skin, like one warm strike of lightning, as he digs his heels into the mattress to keep from fidgeting. GOTCHA! It’s not often he can render the ever-articulate Louis de Pointe du Lac speechless, and he can’t help but smile as he curls himself against the solid form of his lover. 

“Would you like a demonstration? Surely we could entice Bianca, or perhaps Jess—“

“No! God, no.”

“Not even for educational purposes?”

“Lestat, I don’t need to be educated in making love to women. That’s knowledge I’m never going to use.”

“What about knowledge for the sake of knowledge?! My beautiful philosopher, aren’t you curious?” He’s got one strand of black hair twirled around his finger now as he nips at the tender flesh beneath his jaw.

“Lestat...”

“I promise, I’d put on a good show, Louis. I’m a very good teacher, as you well know. Wouldn’t you like to watch?”

Lestat can’t see his face from his position on his chest, but he knows it’s twisted with adorable, stubborn defeat.

“...maybe.”

[airiat]

northern sky, one. ✧˚ · .

{masterlist}

pairing: joel miller x you / f!reader (wc: 35.3k, 10 chapters)

rating: explicit, 18+

work tags: no outbreak, age difference (27/42), hurt/comfort, ptsd, fate, ldr, explicit sexual content (rough/romantic sex, light d/s & sadomasochism, dirty talk, choking/biting, oral (f & m receiving), unprotected piv, aftercare)

work warnings: themes of death (more details here, contains spoilers), depictions of mental illness/alcoholism, light discussion of theoretical relationship with minor (not condoned by either party), light blood kink

{ao3}

note: here. i've cut out my heart and laid it down beating and bloody on these pages. i needed to do this. you get to see it. this work is complete and will update every sunday bc tlou sunday. it'll be on tumblr in its entirety but also on ao3--pls just head to ao3 though i promise it's not scary there

anyway, i hope u enjoy and then comment to tell me u did thanks luv u

one. {8.5k}

Here it is. The witless beginning to the story you said you would never have. Here it is unfolding in the hallowed, wood-paneled walls of your small town’s bar. The one you always went to with your friends in high school because they’d never card, let the cheap beer flow like water. It’s the one that only plays 80s music, at home against the checkered floor tiles and the dull green vinyl of the bar stools.

There he is. The man with calloused hands built to cradle the very shape of your heart. You’d know that if you could see the grooves of his palms. You’ll know that soon enough.

He’s walking through the front door. He’s shaking snowflakes from the salt, mainly pepper, strands of his hair. He’s running a thumb over the etched-in crease between his brows, tugging the edge of his mustache, sitting down on the stool next to yours so heavily that melted snow wets your cheeks.

“Coming down hard out there,” your friend, the bartender, says as a greeting.

“Yeah, sure is,” the stranger says, coat-clad elbows against the bar top. “Don’t think I’ll be able to drive any further tonight.”

Your friend, the bartender, tilts her head in sympathy. “Well, what can I get for ya, then?”

“Beer’s fine,” the stranger answers. “Anythin’ you got on tap. I ain’t picky.”

Your friend nods and moves to fill a glass, setting it down in front of the stranger who wastes no time taking a gulp.

Here they are. The words you toss into the ether that you can never fish back out. Tongue loosened by your fourth glass of whiskey. Almost enough drink to let you trudge home through the snow, fall face-first into your mattress. Just hope you don’t drown in vomit before it’s time to wake up for the first appointment at your salon. Hope your hands stop shaking enough to give a decent haircut.

The sweaty tumbler in front of you is the wound slotted between your ribs, which coats your hands in just enough blood to make a ring slide off your finger. But just little enough to keep you dazzling, to make heads turn to you. 

Still, nothing sticks. It’ll always be your palms alone pressed against that laceration at the end of the night.

“That sure is an accent,” you say. “Must be pretty far from home.”

Here it is now. The first time this stranger looks at you, like he’s only just realizing a full-blooded woman is sitting next to him. He blinks in surprise, long eyelashes framing eyes that must be brown. There’s a corner of his lip raised, but it’s humorless. Your whiskey eyes don’t delude you.

“Damn, that obvious? Here I thought I was blending right in.”

And there they are. His first words to you. You don’t see how the invisible threads are being tied into place by them. 

It could have gone a million other ways. You could have been you in a bar five hundred miles from here, instead. Where they play 90s rock, and the seats are red instead of green. Where the night is warm and a girl, but sober, but with steady hands, will drive home alone and fall asleep in bed with an orange cat curled up with her.

Instead, here he is, sitting next to you. Here he is for you.

“Almost,” you say. “Don’t talk, and you’ll have it down.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he drawls, but then he pauses, seems to consider. “What’s your name?”

You smile, shake your head. “What’s yours?”

“Mysterious, are you? Mine’s Joel. Joel Miller.” The unneeded addition of his last name is pointed. He’ll give you more than you’ll give him. He always will.

“Where did you come from, Joel Miller?”

“The road,” he grunts, taking another swig of beer.

“The road from where?”

“Texas. Austin.”

“To?”

Joel flicks his gaze over to you. The furrowed brow does not go unnoticed. “You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl with no name.”

“I’m making conversation,” you counter. Then, you wave down your friend who would never cut you off, ask for another glass of whiskey. “You could make conversation, too, if you answered them.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna,” Joel Miller says, but he’s smiling at you, something small and secret, just for you. 

“So, where’s the cowboy hat, Joel Miller?” you ask.

Behind you, another Tuesday night regular walks through the door donning the very thing. It’s Colorado, somewhere. Close enough to the mountains, far enough to block them out with a pinky over the horizon. It’s more ranches and dry plains, the endless expanse of watercolor sunrises.

“You think everyone from Texas is a cowboy or something?”

You shrug, take a sip of your drink. Tastes too much like water. You’d make a scene about it–you have before–but this moment with Joel is better than booze, better than yelling. If only for the time being. “Yeah. Aren’t they?”

He squints at you like he can’t decide if you’re fucking with him. “‘Course,” he says. “Just happened to leave mine in the truck.”

You squint back, but it’s to study his sun-worn face, his coat's old canvas. Maybe. But then you duck down beneath the bar to see his shoes. Come back up, grinning victorious. “Wrong kind of boots.” Work boots. The lace-up kind. “Bet you’ve never even ridden a horse in your whole life.”

“Sure I have. Once…when I was a kid.” He snorts a laugh. “No, I’m not a cowboy. And hardly anyone from Texas is.”

“How disappointing.” You give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor.”

You grin. All cheek. “So, you’re good with your hands, then?”

Joel won’t look at you, but the tips of his ears are growing red. You can’t see that it sweeps across his cheeks, too. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answers gruffly into the bottom of his beer.

“Maybe that works out better for us, then,” you say in a low voice, leaning closer. “I’m certainly no horse, after all.”

This has to be the moment. You’ve decided you want this. Want him. Want the heat of him, the weight, his short breaths, the quick snap of his hips, your body pressed under his.

Joel finally turns to you, and his eyes pass slowly over you–your face, your chest swathed in an old flannel shirt, lace camisole peaking through the top. 

“A horse?” he says in a voice like the snow falling outside in the darkness. “No, I wouldn’t say that you are.”

You reach out and brush his hand. “There’s a hotel in town, but it’s kind of a dump,” you murmur. “You could come back to my place instead.”

“Your place?” Joel chuckles. “Kind of you to offer, darlin’, but I can smell that whiskey on your breath from here.”

You smile. Darlin’. “Could be tasting it, instead.”

Joel swipes his tongue along his top lip. “Dunno if that’s such a good idea. You seem a little…young.”

“I’m being served at a bar, aren’t I?” But then you lean even closer, lips next to his ear. “I’m twenty-seven.”

The slope of his shoulders says you’ve eased him, but he still pulls away, shakes his head. “I should really just get to sleep. Have to finish the rest of my drive tomorrow.”

You shrug. You’re not gonna cry about it. This was never really the plan. You would have just been lucky. You say farewell with a soft hand on Joel’s shoulder as you stand up, tossing a twenty on the bar. For you and him, you indicate to the bartender who is no longer your friend.

“Safe travels, then,” you tell him. Kind smile. You’re good at this.

As you leave the bar, you’re stopped by something. It’s not him. No, it’s a voice singing a familiar tune, the one that goes, All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. You can’t go just yet. You like this one, actually like this one. Your hips are swaying as you go to the small space in the bar where people sometimes dance. You’re the only one there tonight, but this isn’t the first time. It never stops you.

But you’re not there for very long this time. Barely even through the second verse. There’s an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up, you meet brown eyes. Those long lashes.

It’s his turn to dip down to your ear. “Changed my mind,” Joel murmurs. “Seeing you move….” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. You’re already threading your fingers through his, tugging him back towards the way you came.

His truck is dusted with snow in the parking lot. It’s an older one. Utilitarian. Nothing like those flashy ones that only pretend they have purpose. You imagine his tools cluttered in the bed. Imagine him driving it, sweaty and tired after work.

But now he’s pulling the passenger side door open for you, holding your hand for balance as you climb into the seat, closes the door, and gets into the seat next to you.

You’re warm with him in the cab now. The interior is surprisingly clean, smells of leather and earth, of cigarette smoke, faintly. The stereo is on from how he must have had it before, down low, playing a CD of some artist whose name is on the tip of your tongue. Minimal, mostly guitar, only one voice like it in the whole world. It suits him. You imagine him listening to it on the lonely road, mouthing the lyrics, thumb tapping against the wheel.

Joel’s driving now. Only, his thumb is brushing against your knuckles, hand resting in your lap. He’s asking you how to get to your house, and you’re directing him as he goes, but your voice is drowned out by the feeling of his hand on yours.

You hadn’t expected this. Maybe he’d have his hand on you, sure. But it should have been on your thigh. Maybe even drifting in between your legs. He should be thoughtless. He should pretend that you are nothing more than a pocket of warmth on a cold night. You don’t know what to do with tenderness. It’ll flounder and die if it’s left up to your heart to hold it.

When it starts to feel like he’s grinding glass into your skin, you pull your hand back to yourself. He glances over, but you just grit your teeth and say nothing. You’re approaching your house now, anyway. 

You don’t even have to direct him anymore. Yours is the only house at the end of the dirt road. Joel pulls into the drive, and you think you should be embarrassed. It’s old and neglected–chipping green paint, sagging porch, bare bulb over the front door. A farmhouse with only your garden beds left of the farm. At least it’s tucked into the trees, so no one really has to see it.

“You leave your car back at the bar?” is the only thing Joel says.

It isn’t what you’re expecting. “No,” you answer. 

“And not one here, neither. So you, what, take a cab?”

You don’t like what your response ought to be. You don’t like that he’s even asking. “Why are you asking?”

“Just confused, is all. How were you plannin’ on getting home?”

“Woulda walked.”

“Alone in the dark? In the snow? And taken you something like thirty minutes?” He’s bewildered. He shouldn’t be. This is how it always goes, and you are always fine.

“I like the fresh air. The adventure,” you reply. “So, are you coming inside…or?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sorry.” He shuts the truck off, and you both exit. You don’t wait for him before you march up to the front door. But he catches up when your unsteady hands take too long with the keys.

“You, uh, you sure you’re alright?” Joel asks.

You won’t look at him; you only catch a glimpse of the white cloud his breath makes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just got a medical condition, okay? I’m basically sober. I barely drank anything.”

Two truths. A lie. But maybe you don’t like playing this game anymore. Maybe Joel and all his questions are more trouble than they’re worth. And so, you snap, “Look, if you don’t actually want to do this, you’re welcome to leave. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

And here it is. The choice. The first exit. The proof of…the proof of what? Desire? Integrity? Pity?

“Just want to make sure you’re…y’know, that this is what you want,” Joel says.

You finally get the key in and shove the door open. The house is as dark as it always is when you arrive.  Quiet, too. Like the inside of the pine box you should have been laid to rest in. But you didn’t get one. You were meant to go on. To live with that.

“Come with me,” you whisper to Joel, careful not to disturb the slumbering darkness.

He follows you as you lead him to your bedroom, just as quiet, honoring the stillness. As though the Earth has paused its orbit and will only begin again once you’ve told it to.

You reach the room and stop to light the single vanilla-scented candle on your dresser. Joel starts to reach for the lamp next to your bed, but you hold a halting hand out.

“No, don’t,” you tell him.

He pauses to look at you, face golden with candlelight, warm like the final rays of a sunset. “Alright, darlin’. Anything you want.”

And what you want is to step slowly towards him, press your hands to his chest, rise on your tiptoes, and kiss him. But you don’t. You pause with your lips a breath from his.

“Never got the chance to tell you how pretty you are, did I?” Joel murmurs, palms sliding against your jaw until his fingers are laced in the hair at the nape of your neck. 

You freeze a little because this isn’t what you’re supposed to hear. Hot, maybe, Sexy, maybe. But pretty? That’s meant for someone without ghosts haunting them. You were never meant to be more than warm flesh. You don’t have eyes, don’t have lungs or a heart. He isn’t meant to tell you otherwise.

But you can’t help how your eyelashes flutter, the bloody corpse of your hope reanimating. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, you are,” he says. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You think this has to be a lie. You make yourself presentable because your business is beauty. Keep up with your hair color, do a face of makeup. But right now, you’re in old jeans and a holey flannel, breath tainted with stale whiskey, eyes rimmed with smudged mascara.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you think so.”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells you. “Now, c’mere.”

Finally, finally, Joel leans in and kisses you. You can’t help your immediate sigh, open-mouthed and slack against his lips, can’t help your hands from fisting at his chest, almost pushing him away. You can’t help it. You’re not familiar with this kind of gentleness. 

Joel pulls back, and your sigh becomes a quiet whine, hands clutching at his coat. If you let him go, he’ll become a wisp of smoke. You’ll wake up and realize that none of this has been real. That your mind is finally deranged enough to concoct such a beautiful illusion.

But those dark eyes looking down at you are too fathomless to be something you conjured. Your sickness would never let you create something so complicated, would never even realize that a life must exist inside of them. Because you see it all there in those eyes: every moment he’s lived, every teardrop, every piece of happiness witnessed.

“You have nice eyes,” you tell him. It’s all you can say.

“Thank you,” Joel says softly. “Now, here, just let me….”

He relocates your hands from his coat to the front of his shirt before he shrugs out of it, draping it over the back of your vanity chair. This is an appreciated change; now you can feel the shape of his muscles, slide your fingertips up to trace his collarbones.

This time, you kiss him, surrendering to your sadness as your lips meet his, aching. This kiss becomes your arms around his neck, rising on tiptoes to press yourself against his chest. His hands find the skin of your shoulder blades underneath your flannel, warm and rough on you. Warm and real. You break away long enough to tear at the buttons and let your flannel fall to the wooden floor. You still have your camisole on. It isn’t too scary.

But you find yourself backing into your bed, sinking onto it when the mattress presses into your calves. Joel is leaning over you, your head craned up, so the kiss never breaks. But, then, it does, and he’s kneeling in front of you, pulling your boots off, then gripping you behind your knees. Kissing you again so soon that it’s like he never stopped.

You wouldn’t have cared about the boots. You would walk through a sea of mud and still get tangled up in your sheets if it meant Joel would be there next to you. But he’s too considerate to even dream of it. He must be. He must care. He must want to make sure there is nothing about this that you’ll regret.

“You still doin’ alright, honey?” Joel pauses to ask you. 

In this new stillness, you notice the heaviness in your chest, realize your breaths are coming short and nearly frantic. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you gulp.

He releases one of your knees to soothingly rub your arm. “We can always slow down, you know. Still got all night. Or, we don’t even have to do anythin’ at all.”

You smile at him. You can’t help it; your mind, in all its sickness, never could have dreamt up a man so gentle. “Are you hungry?” you ask him. “Got some leftover pasta, I think.”

He blinks once in surprise, but a smile comes to his face. “Yeah, sure, I could eat. Actually…that sounds pretty good.”

“Perfect,” you say. “Food, then.”

Joel rises to his feet and holds a hand out to help you up. You walk together to your kitchen, then to the fridge. Opened, it emits the brightest light you’ve seen since the sun as you and Joel stand before it. “Well, I said pasta, but I also have….” You rattle off a litany of dishes you’ve made. The fridge is full of these leftovers, the drawers still bursting with ingredients. You love to cook. You would cook endlessly, make enough food for everyone and then some, but everyone is really only just you.

“You made all of this?” Joel asks, glancing at you, but can’t help but bring his eyes back to the food.

“All of it, yeah. It’s kind of a hobby, I guess.”

“God, wish I had that as a hobby.” He steps back from the fridge. “Well, I couldn’t possibly decide. You pick.”

You hem and haw for a moment before settling on a foil-wrapped dish that contains chicken pot pie. Then comes the decision to warm it up in either the microwave or the oven…the microwave, you decide. It won’t be perfect, but Joel probably won’t mind. You’re still thinking about what came before this. You imagine he is, too.

When it’s out of the microwave, you slice two squares and plate them. Joel’s sitting on a barstool at the island–you put one in front of him and yours at the other seat. “You want anything to drink?” you ask him. “Got wine…other things.”

“Just water’s fine. This looks good, darlin’. I’m sorry, you mind if I…?” He looks at you with his fork hovering over the food. “Think it really has been hours.”

“No, no, please do,” you insist, then watch for a moment as he takes the first bite. He closes his eyes and lets out a quiet groan.

“Yeah, damn good,” Joel confirms.

Satisfied, you turn to the cabinets to find two glasses. With his water glass in hand, you hesitate to reach for a wine glass. It won’t look very good…he’s having water, and you’re…you snatch it off the shelf. Your house. You’ll do what you want. And when you sit down at the island with your wine and his water, he says nothing. Doesn’t even seem to notice, really, except enough to take a drink.

“So, you never told me,” you begin, picking at your food, then relenting and taking a drink of wine. “Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I didn’t?” he says with a mouthful of food. “Headed to Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “What’s there?”

“My brother and his wife just had their baby. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Oh, nice. Girl? Boy?”

“Boy.” Joel smiles. “Be good to have a nephew. Have a daughter, myself.”

You glance down at his hands—no ring to be found—but you still feel funny about it. You take a long gulp of wine. “You do?” you make yourself ask.

“Yeah. Sarah. Think she’s plannin’ to be there, too.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, she and I…she and I haven’t been speaking lately.”

You don’t think you should press, but the wine has reignited your earlier haziness, so you’ll do it anyway. “Why’s that?”

Joel looks over to you, gaze lingering like he’s deciding something, but then he bows his head back to the plate of food. “First, it was that she just started college. Thought I’d give her a little space to grow. But then, she came home this past Christmas with a girl, introduced her to me as her girlfriend.”

You furrow your brow. “You don’t like that your daughter has a girlfriend?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know what I thought about it. It wasn’t how I was raised, you know? To think something like that is alright. And my own daughter?” His voice comes quiet, and he’s picking at his food, too. “We fought about it, and then she left early. Haven’t spoken since.”

You stab your fork into the pie crust. “If I had a kid, I’d just want them to be happy.”

“Yeah, I know. I did eventually come to see it that way, too,” Joel replies, almost defensive, but then he sighs. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, but I’m hoping she’ll forgive me.”

If he were anyone else, you wouldn’t want to reassure him, but he’s Joel Miller, so you say, “I bet she will. You seem like a good dad.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Maybe,” he says. “But thanks. Sweet of you to listen.”

You shrug. “I do a lot of listening. Part of my job.”

“You some kind of therapist or something?”

“Hairdresser,” you answer. “Almost the same thing.”

“Huh, yeah,” Joel agrees. “You been doing it for long?”

“Five years.”

“You like it?”

“Well enough, I guess.”

“Surprised you can, y’know–”

“Why, because my hands shake?” You cut him off with a snap. “All that came after. I can do my job just fine. It’s muscle memory.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. Just that it’d be impressive.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you mutter. You’re taking it out on him. You know it. But your haziness will have you let it fester. The vengeance rolls across your tongue in waves. It’s all you can do not to say it.

Joel leans in towards you, sweeps your hair away from your neck. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve been so sweet to me.”

The vengeance dies when you let him press a small kiss on your cheek. Your cheek. You’d forgotten you could be kissed there. It feels better than you ever thought such a simple thing could. Like a bandaid smoothed over an old wound.

“You done eating?” you murmur.

“This, yeah,” he says, nudging the plate, face still near yours. “But maybe I’m, y’know, still a little hungry for something else.”

You giggle. Actually giggle. It’s a corny line. You know it, but it’s working on you. You’re not ashamed to say so. “Yeah? Well, I have a whole fridge full of other stuff.”

Joel shakes his head, tickling your cheek with his beard. “Not quite what I had in mind. Maybe…maybe I should just show you.”

“Yes, please do,” you whisper.

“Alright,” he says with a small smile. “But first, these have gotta go.”

Your gaze follows his movement down to his boots, which he unlaces with deft fingers. It’s the kind of thing that makes your mind wander, imagine what else he could use them for. You’ll find out soon enough.

Joel leads you back to your bedroom with your hand in his. He doesn’t let go until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, and even then, it’s only to replace your hand with your hips as you stand before him. He’s looking up at you silently, waiting. You’re breathing in the vanilla of the air, marveling as it mixes with his scent: the woods in summer, a piece of the sky, something almost like blood. You could hold it all against your chest when you lay down under the trees and pull the earth over yourself. You’ll remember it.

But you’re not there yet. You blink, and the house comes crowding in around you, too fast and too much, but you feel Joel breathing beneath you, and you settle. His hands slide from your hips to cup your rear as you sink into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Drape your arms over his shoulders, press your face into his neck.

“You smell so good,” you say against his skin.

Joel exhales. “Can I kiss you again, darlin’?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “Please do.”

He lifts your head with gentle fingers underneath your chin, pauses long enough that you start to melt into those dark eyes, but they’re moving over your face, lingering on every feature. Finally, his lips, with their perpetual M-shaped slope, curve up and kiss you.

All the night’s previous slowness is abandoned as Joel’s fingers thread into your hair, tugging at the roots, as you clutch at the back of his neck, forbidding each other from ever letting go. Not as though you would. Not when he’s parting your lips, licking into your mouth, drawing out a quiet moan. Not while his hands travel the road of your shoulders and down your sides, fingertips cautiously dipping under the hem of your camisole.

“Can I…?” Joel murmurs into your mouth.

You don’t answer him yet, instead moving to the buttons on the front of his shirt. You want to undo them, but your shaking hands prevent it. He notices, gently takes your place. 

His shirt is discarded along with the last shreds of your hesitation. You resist the temptation to sink your palms into his chest to find the warmth of his heart. You let him continue. 

First is your camisole shucked off, and then you’re sitting there in your thin bra, bracing yourself as he sees you. There’s nothing wrong with you; you know there isn’t. You know about the shadow of your ribs, the constellation of your beauty marks, the crescent moons of your breasts. There’s nothing ugly about it. But you can only unravel when he smiles, kisses the dip of your collarbone.

Your breath hitches when Joel reminds you of his tongue, licking up the junction of your neck, and again when he introduces you to his teeth as he softly drags them against your skin. You tighten your hands against his back, long fingernails sinking into his spine. He hisses through those teeth, pulling you tighter against him, arms a band around your middle.

“You gonna be sweet for me, honey?” he asks, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t have to be so gentle with you if that’s not what you want.”

Your lips part at his words. Maybe you’d be drooling if you didn’t have your decorum–or if you’d had just one more drink. “I–I don’t know what I want. But I’m not…fragile.”

“No, no, I know you’re not,” he says gruffly. “Well, then, I’m gonna stop asking you about everything. But you’re still going to tell me if you don’t want something to happen, or if something hurts in a way you don’t like, or if you just plain want me to stop. Alright?”

You nod, docile and brainless.

“And you’re not gonna be shy about it, either. You’re gonna be honest with me. Right, darlin’?”

“Yes, I’ll tell you,” you say softly. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, this first.” Joel slips his fingers under the band of your bra, unhooks it with his thumb. “Been wantin’ to see you. Know you’ll be beautiful.”

Goosebumps shimmer on your skin as he guides the straps down your shoulders, slow, making it feel like your arms go on forever. When he’s finally revealed you to him, a shiver wracks through you, probably because of how he’s looking at you: like he’s just sifted through all your layers, reached the empty space in your chest. But it’s not empty, is it? No, the light bathes his face.

He smiles. “Just as I thought. Beautiful.”

You giggle, press your bare chest against his, just as bare, and a kiss to his lips. “And what about you, huh? Most handsome man that’s ever been in my bed.”

“Probably only could have said that about me ten, fifteen years ago,” Joel disagrees lightly.

Then, as if to distract you, he wraps his arms around you and flips you around so you’re on your back. As if to make you forget the thought entirely, he kneels over you and frames your face with his hands, feathering kisses over your mouth, your cheeks. You’re grabbing his shoulders, breathless, floating, but you haven’t forgotten.

“No,” you speak hoarsely. “I’m saying it about you right now.”

His answering chuckle rumbles against your chest as he drags his lips down, attaching themselves to a nipple. You moan when his tongue flicks against it, clutching at his hair. What were you trying to tell him? Something about–he nips at you, just a little bit, and the sensitivity has you seeing stars.

You let it all go as he moves to your other nipple, as one hand grips your waist, slides down to the curve of your hip, where your skin becomes your jeans. There, his hand is all you can pay attention to, knowing what he’s asking of you.

“Joel, please, take them off.”

“You take ‘em off. I got other matters,” he tells you.

His “other matters” are to return his lips to yours and to not let you forget about his tongue, moving against yours in a new way, one that gives you some idea of another use for it. Flooded with the feeling, you’re fumbling with the button and the zipper on your jeans, pouring frustrated sounds into his mouth until he finally reaches down and yanks them off himself. When your hands meet as you go for your underwear next, he laces your fingers with his and presses your hands next to your waist.

“Be patient, pretty girl. Leave them for me.” His voice is like thick smoke.

A small moan is your agreement, enough that Joel gives your hand back, only for you to latch onto his arm braced next to you. His muscles move under your fingertips, and you consider his strength. How your hand was going nowhere, how badly he could probably hurt you, how he never will.

And it’s true: he won’t. Never in all your life. But you deserve at least that much. More.

Joel doesn’t make you wait for very long. His will probably isn’t made with as much iron as he’d have you believe, but his fingers feel sure as he slips beneath your underwear, finds the hollow below your stomach, careful to only just brush the hair there. Maybe he’ll have you beg for it. You look up and see him watching you with a contented little smile. All you can do is blink slowly back.

“Joel…” You try, but your words don’t form.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know, darlin’. I’ll give you what you need. Just let me relish it.”

“No, now. Please.”

His smile morphs into something more wicked at your plea, when you reach down and grab at his wrist. He lets you guide his hand toward your center but won’t let his fingers go where you need them. He’s using his strength for that control. A frustrated whine falls from your lips. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he is an endless well of restraint. He doesn’t even kiss you–only lets his eyes roam your face.

But your own well is more akin to a puddle, on better days, the shallow end of a swimming pool. You show him this when you pull his head down, kiss him so hard that it hurts your lips. And finally, with a growl of surrender, his fingers travel down the length of your slit. Your moan drops into his mouth, his name strung after it.

“God, all of this for me, baby?” Joel rasps at the wetness gathered between your legs.

You can’t answer him because his fingers have made it to where you’ve needed him most, gliding over in slow, but firm circles. You’re tugging at his hair, holding his head, making sure his lips are there to catch all of your noises, to match your shallow breaths to his.

After a particularly sharp pull to his hair, he groans, and then his fingers move down to your entrance, lingering but not going in. There’s almost no sensation, almost unbearable after him having just worked your bud. Your frustration and exasperation have you yanked at his roots, wrapping your hand around his arm in a vice, trying to hold him there so you can move your hips to meet him. But you can go nowhere; his other hand is holding you still at your waist.

“Joel,” you whine, tears pricking at your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, pausing before he leans in and kisses you softly. “Bet I could keep you like this all night, have you delirious by morning. And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath comes quicker with panic, but somehow the thought is still a temptation. To let him work you down until you’re nothing more than your body, until you’re mindless and bent to his every word. It would be a pricklier sort of heaven, but heaven all the same. “Yes, I would. I would,” you say between your ragged breaths.

“Thought so,” Joel says, smug. “But I won’t. Not tonight.”

With that, he sinks two thick fingers deep into your wet heat. Throat bared as you toss your head back with a moan, he closes his lips around the thin skin, nipping until you feel raw, burnt as though by the sun. Your cries are sharp and thin as his fingers work you apart, legs splayed, hands clutching at anything in reach: him, the sheets, your bare breasts.

Soon, the tides change, and Joel pushes himself up, deftly maneuvering so that he’s kneeling on the floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed, all while keeping his fingers inside you. Propped up on your elbows, you gaze down at him between your legs, chest heaving as you realize what will come next.

But your underwear is still devastatingly on, and his mouth is miles and miles away from your center. His lips are on the inside of your leg, yes, but only at your knee. Still, you cannot complain–his fingers have started moving again, and this time, his thumb rubs at your bud.

“Joel,” you breathe, tipping your head back. “I’m gonna die waiting. I’m–I’m…please, my underwear.”

There’s a little spark of surprise as he immediately rips them off you, but you let out a thin wail when he pulls his hand away, leaving you cold and empty. Your arms shoot out to reach for him, but he eases you back with a hand on your stomach, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, breath sweeping across the sensitive skin. “You’re so good for me. It’ll be worth it.”

“Please,” you whimper as he brushes soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, trailing down closer and closer until he finally presses one right onto–

His name falls like fluttering leaves from your lips as his tongue licks up through your folds. There is no easing into it this time; he eats at you like your body is something exquisite. Lips capture your bud as his tongue flicks over it, and you dissolve into a thousand flower petals as you sink into the bed.

“Joel, please, I need your–” Your moan is loud and throaty as his hand snakes between your legs, and he plunges his fingers into you, immediately curling them, all before you can even finish your sentence.

And this will do it. You know it will. The release is already coiling up in your stomach, heavy and tight, and you think maybe you’ll faint before you can get there. That’s how perfectly he works you. That’s how skilled his tongue is, how steady his fingers are in their movement. It’s like he had spent years studying your body, countless nights giving you this divine pleasure. 

But you’ve just met him. You can’t explain this, and you’re not meant to. 

You forget the thought as the warmth pools in the depths of your core, as one of his hands squeezes your thigh so tightly that it aches. There’s a sound coming from deep in his throat; if you could, you would pull it from him and cup it in your palms. His tongue is ceaseless, and his fingers are tapping against the spot inside you that sends your sense scattering.

“I’m almost there, I’m almost there, Joel,” you gasp, clenching down on him, drawing your thighs tighter around his head. He can’t go anywhere. He can’t stop. You need this. You’ll die without it. You’ll–you’ll–you’ll– “Fuck.”

The release envelopes you like an avalanche, pinning you down so that all you can do is arch your back into his mouth. You can hear his low groan amid your rapture, but you are otherwise so lost, so gone. You are meant for this. This is how you should always live. If it was forever like this, you could make it. His mouth, his fingers, him. Yes. Just like this.

It ends so soon. But your woe is interrupted by the simple sight of Joel, lips wet and glistening from you, shaped into a sloppy smile. He’s stroking the outside of your thigh as he untangles himself from your legs. Then he rises and crawls over you, kisses you soft and gentle, letting you taste the tang of yourself. The wetness of the fingers that were inside you trace against your jaw, leaving it cool in the air.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Joel murmurs into your hair, holding you closer to him. “So fucking sweet.”

You sigh contentedly into his chest, but you’re still buzzing, still yearning for more of him in different ways. It’s almost without thought when you reach between your bodies and slip your hand into his jeans. He’s already almost hard in his boxers, and as you trace his length, you bite your lip at just how much there is.

He groans, low and quiet, against your neck, pushing himself more into your hand. “Ah, fuck, baby. You don’t–” he swallows. “--you don’t have to.”

“And I’m not going to,” you say. And it’s true: that was never in the plan. It’ll be a while before you let him into your mouth. You’ve never liked doing it, only would if you loved him. “But you are still gonna fuck me, right?”

He chuckles lowly. “That even a question, darlin’?”

“Good. Then, these–” you withdraw your hand to pop the button on his jeans, yank down the zipper “--need to come off. Right now.”

He instantly sits up, tosses you a cocky grin. “Yes, ma’am. Anythin’ you want.”

You sit up to watch him as he gets on his feet to do what you ask. But, god, he still has the reins in this moment. You know this as he takes his sweet time pulling them down, letting you soak in his body for the first time. 

And fuck, how had you not noticed all this? 

All the delicious muscles in his torso were built by hard labor, not at the gym, but still with a leanness–long lines, not bulk. His arms could lift you like you’re nothing. The expanse of his shoulders could eclipse you underneath him. But his jeans are hanging low on his hips, and your eyes drop immediately to the v-lines now exposed, to the wisps of dark, coarse hair peeking over his briefs.

“You’re teasing me,” you accuse.

He raises an eyebrow. “Tellin’ me you don’t enjoy the show?”

“I do. I just–god, I need–” You’re stammering. You’re gesturing frantically with your hands. “Fuck, Joel, I need you. I can’t fucking stand how–how sexy you are.”

The rich sound of his laugh is at home in the flickering candlelight, but he finally lets the jeans drop to his ankles, standing there in only his tight briefs. Your chest is clenching with stifled pants as he returns to the bed, climbing over you until all you can do is flatten down onto the mattress, caged by his arms and legs.

“I…think…you forgot something,” you whisper as his lips dip down to your neck.

“Did I?” he murmurs between kisses. “Maybe you should fix it for me, hm?”

You exhale a trembling breath as your hands find his hips, a breath that he captures with his mouth on yours. You manage to get his briefs down somewhat but can only move so much with him over you, with his hand cradling the back of your head. At your frustrated squeak, Joel reaches around and takes them the rest of the way off.

Finally, finally.

But he curses under his breath and pulls away. Your heart feels like it’s sunken into a hole in the ground as you stare back at him. The absence of him kills you. “I don’t have anythin’ with me,” he admits, looking like he could punch himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t fuckin’ remember.”

“You mean, like, a condom?”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Might have one in my truck, but this isn’t–this isn’t somethin’ I usually do. And everything’s probably closed now and–”

“Joel.”

He quiets, brings his eyes to yours.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, sitting up. “I don’t really do this either, so I’m clean, and you can just pull out. I…trust you.” You say that last part so quietly. You can’t meet his gaze now.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake,” he says softly.

“I’ve made so many mistakes, Joel. You’d be the least of them,” you say. “I think you’re a decent man.”

“You just met me. How can you be so sure? I coulda, I dunno, killed a bunch of people or somethin’. Just because I’m decent to you don’t mean–”

“Have you killed a bunch of people?”

“Well, no, but–”

You tilt your head, cock a smile. “You’re acting like a dad. Cut that shit out, and please, just please fuck me, Joel.”

He exhales, his shoulders relax, and the easy smile slides back onto his face. “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”

You don’t wait before pulling him to you by the neck, smashing your lips to his. And he’s quick to push you down to the bed, hand behind your back, you arching over it. Your lips never separate. You’ll die if they ever do. He’s roughly palming your breast, licking into your mouth, hot and hungry, desperate and keen. And then, his hand leaves your chest for a moment, finds its way to where your bodies will meet. You tense, knowing what’s coming, and when he eases himself in, your moan shatters into his mouth. The start of his slow, deep thrusts has your eyes rolling back, has you clutching him closer by his shoulders, tossing your head so his teeth scrape your chin.

“Yes, yes. God, Joel, t-thank you,” you gasp.

He lets out another of his low growls before he grabs your head back to kiss you again, quickening his motion as he does. In this way, he continues until your body and your mind belong entirely to him. Every movement you make is to bend with him, to let Joel mold you into something perfect for him, to bear his roughness and welcome his gentleness. 

It’s how he holds your jaw between his fingers to keep you still, but how achingly tender are the kisses that come after. How he hooks your leg under his elbow, folding you into yourself almost painfully, but how attuned to every twitch of your body, every time you react–tempering himself at a wince, going deeper when he earns a moan.

And your every thought belongs to him, too. Every time you catch a glimpse of his dark eyes, the tendons in his neck, the expanse of his shoulders, your world shrinks until it’s taken his shape. And then, before long, it’s just him, and him, and him. 

It’s how he’s looking at you, too, like you’re the woman who filled his lungs with the breath he’s used to make all his beautiful sounds. Every fervent moan, every sweet little nothing he’s poured into your mouth, next to your ear. All because of your shaky hands that coaxed him into being. 

“Baby, I’m gonna…I’m sorry, I have to–” Joel chokes out, bracing a hand next to your head.

His thrusts come rougher, but looser, like they’re out of his control now.

You reach up and let him lean his cheek into your palm. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you breathe.

Not a moment later, he jerks out of you and spills onto your stomach, tugging at himself, groans hanging in the air. You’re stroking his cheek, admiring him in quiet awe, still so perfectly handsome even at his most animal. The prominent veins in his hands and arms, bowed head, face contorted in an unholy mask of ecstasy. Yes, probably, even more so.

When Joel finishes, he leans over to snatch his shirt up from the ground and uses it to wipe your stomach clean. He’s holding you as he does this–arm slid under your shoulders, lips pressed unmoving to your forehead. You’re still and stiff in his embrace; this isn’t what you expected. The shirt, maybe, sure. His tenderness? Never.

“Sorry, darlin’, usually’d have a towel for this,” Joel tells you, wadding the shirt into a ball–messy part inside, it’d seem–and tossing it back to the floor.

“You got your shirt dirty for me,” you say. “You didn’t have to.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I got more of ‘em in the truck.”

You extract yourself from him, springing awkwardly to your feet, still a little unsteady. It was nice, you have to admit. But you can’t let yourself linger with him. It’s not supposed to work like that. “Let me put it in the wash for you, anyway. You thirsty or anything?”

He’s sat up as though to follow you, a bewildered expression on his face. “I’m not worried about the shirt, darlin’.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure in my life.”

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. Now, what do you do? You’re standing at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands. You can’t stay here all night, can you?

“You seem lost,” Joel says gently.

“I–” you start but can’t admit to it. “What now?”

He cracks a little smile, but it doesn’t seem at your expense. “Well, much as I’d love to stay up with you, I’m tired, and I’ve still got a long drive tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay, you should get some sleep, then. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“I do need something, actually, yeah,” Joel says.

“Sure, what is it?”

“You in this bed with me.”

You freeze. Not what you expected. “Oh, um, okay. If you really want,” you say, but you’re still stationary.

Joel shakes his head. “Not want, need.” Then, he casts his eyes somewhere to the side and says so softly that it’s almost inaudible, “Please.”

Your exhale tumbles out, but you nod, going to your dresser to find a clean set of pajamas–little shorts, big t-shirt. You let him watch you dress from afar and then return to his side slowly, cautiously. Like you think he might pounce, claws out. Instead, he stays where he is but leans in to kiss your bare shoulder slipping from the shirt.

“Would you–?” you begin, passing him his discarded underwear.

“Sure, honey,” Joel murmurs, standing up to put them on. But before he returns to bed, he goes over and blows out the candle. The room is almost completely dark, and you’re still until you feel the mattress dip down next to you. That’s when you lean into him, pressing against him like a cat. “Sorry,” he says. “Shouldn’t leave that burning overnight.”

“Sometimes I do,” you admit.

“I’ll bet you do,” he answers, chuckling. “But don’t, alright?”

You yawn wide, the dark conjuring exhaustion into your bones. “Alright, Joel.”

He gives a sigh of defeat, then you feel him peel back the covers and slide under. When you look over, you see the length of his body in the soft shadows. He’s stretched out on his side, head propped in his hand. The space he leaves is perfect for you.

You need to fill that space. Just not with your body. “You want me to set an alarm or anything, or I could–”

“Darlin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Lie down with me.”

You quietly arrange yourself next to him: on your side facing him, a delicate river of space between your bodies. But he’s so warm. He radiates it. And it’s snowing outside like it’ll never stop, and your old farmhouse is so drafty, and the candle’s snuffed, and your pile of pillows is just not gonna cut it tonight. So, you bury your face into his chest, and he wraps his arms around to pull you closer, wraps you both in blankets.

His heartbeat thrums like the pulse of the earth, and you let yourself be lulled by it.

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Four, Part 12

"You can hold anything to me," I said before my brain realised what words were coming out of my mouth. I knew I'd say something completly awkward eventually. I actually lasted much longer than I thought I would. I may not have meant anything, but as soon as i heard my own sentence end, I held my breath.

To my surprise, Addison laughed and lightly slapped my chest. Somehow I dodged yet another bullet. How much luck did I have before I cashed out? Was I in the twilight zone?

We sat quiet for awhile, listening to the lake front soundtrack. In front of us waves crashed and fell apart as they hit the rocky wave breaks. The benches were far enough from the lake that you didn't get wet. Unless It was very windy, I guess.

"Check it out. Fireworks," I said pointing down the shoreline. Of course, as soon as she looked they stopped.

"Where?" Addison asked, scanning the area. She turned to look at me again, as another one went off in the distance.

"Right there," I pointed to the exact spot I saw them.

"I think you're crazy."

"Yeah, I know."

She laughed quietly and put her head back on my shoulder. Maybe I was crazy because I didn't see anymore fireworks, and what kind of fireworks show ends with just a few pops? Where's the grand finale?

Ten minutes passed of us just watching the waves. The wind came off the lake, chilling everything just slightly. Enough so that I regretted not grabbing my jacket. It was nothing I couldn't handle though. I hated the cold, but I could handle it pretty damn well.

"Why did you agree when I call you crazy?" Addison asked, so quietly that I hardly heard her. I wondered for a second why we were whispering. There was no else around us. We could have shouted every word and no one would have heard.

"Because I am crazy. I see a therapist every other Thursday even."

"Oh, you're not just kidding?"

"Nope." I suddenly got very nervous. This was going to be the deal breaker. My brain doesn't work right, and I don't blame anyone who steps away. No matter how bad it hurts me.

"How crazy are you?"

"Batshit. Bipolar, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety. Nothing major, really." I replied, trying to make it seem like it was nothing at all.

"PTSD?"

"I'd rather not get into that just yet."

"Ok."

We sat quiet again. She kept her head between my shoulder and jaw, and she never shook my arm off. Still, I couldn't help but feel afraid. I didn't want to scare her away, but if she decided this is has far has this was going go, I wouldn't blame her. I couldn't. I get it,

The waves continued their never-ending assault upon the shore. The breeze blew off the top of the water, calm and cold. I sat and watched ships blink on and off in the distance. I held Addison, reveling in the closeness. I hoped beyond hope that I hadn't lost this already.

"It doesn't bother me," she said, breaking the silence after what seemed like forever.

"Huh?"

"You're head stuff. It doesn't bother me. I mean, isn't everybody a little bit crazy? I just thought you should know. I mean, you said your in therapy so I know you are at least taking care of it. And you've been nothing but sweetly awkward with me. So it doesn't bother me."

If she had been looking at me instead of the water, I know I would've kissed her. There wouldn't have been any thought in it. It was as if she could see into my head. Like she could read my mind. And somehow knew just how to soothes its constant shaking. I pulled her tight against me, the sweet scent drifting up from her hair.

[az-cain]

I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry.

Jake Seresin ≈ 800 words

This is based entirely on my experiences with PTSD, which is from CSA not war or grief. My apologies if it’s inaccurate to your experiences, but please do not invalidate my own.

TW FOR: First person descriptions of PTSD, descriptions of dead bodies, delusion related to PTSD, self-hatred, alcoholism as a coping mechanism, denial of PTSD/mental illness

@tgm-all4one

Fire. The world’s engulfed in fire. Stench. The world smells like your burning flesh, scorching metal and glass. The oil of the F-14 burns on top of the water, the blue water turning black. The fuselage is floating, bodies glaring in the afternoon light. Your brown eyes stare at the sky, Captain Mitchell’s eyes obscured by bloody water.

Tears. I feel hot tears streak down my face as I hover in the rescue heli. They’re striking my visor. I can’t see. Stop crying. Stop crying. Men don’t cry. Stop crying. It’s part of the job. Stop crying.

Echoes. The echoes of Bradshaw’s words fill my ears. The only place you're going to lead anyone is an early grave; the only place you're going to lead anyone is an early grave; the only place—

The bed’s so cold. I should be used to waking up like this, but I’m not. The sheets are wet with my sweat, so I’ll dry my eyes and rise stiffly from the bed, stripping the sheets and walking to the laundry room.

—

It’s consuming me. Maybe Bradshaw’s killed himself. Maybe I wasn’t able to save him. Not in any way that mattered.

No. He’s alive.

But what if he isn’t?

He’s fine.

No he isn’t.

He’s dead.

Fuck, he’s dead.

Fuck, tears are running down my face. I’m sorry, Bradshaw. I wanted to save you.

I know you’re hurting too. I know you wish you’d died back then. You’d be with your family. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have saved you.

Fuck, my phone is in my hand. His number is pulled up and ringing.

Fuck, he picked up.

“Hey.”

Oh. He’s alive. Don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll think it was a butt dial. God, I wanna say something.

“Hangman?”

“Don’t call me that.” Shit. I don’t wanna be Hangman. I’m Jake, let me be Jake. Let me be Jake.

“Oh. Okay. Seresin. What’s up?”

I was convinced you’d killed yourself. I don’t know if I made the right choice saving you. It got me disciplined. No, that’s not why. Fuck. It was worth it, but do you think so? Do you want to live?

“I’m just checking in on you. Difficult day today, anniversary and all, you know?”

“Yeah.” You swallow so loudly. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out. “It’s definitely been that. And you? Was it hard for you?”

God yes. It was so hard. I haven’t stopped crying all day. My throat hurts. My eyes hurt. My heart hurts.

“Not too bad. I wasn’t the one who almost died, I was mostly just concerned for you.”

“Oh. Well yeah, but you took someone else’s life that day. I’d get it if you were a little stressed.”

Yeah. I did. My second person I’ve murdered. That pilot had a family. Neither of you did. Maybe they should have lived. You two could have died and not been missed so dearly. But I would have missed you. God, I’m so selfish. I’m sorry.

“I’m alright. Just making sure you’re alright.”

“Yeah, Seresin. I’ll make it.”

“Good. Have a good night, Bradshaw.”

“You, too.”

—

This stupid fucking bottle is empty. I didn’t drink it all. I took a glass last night. I know this is a problem. My throat hurts. All the lights are on in the house. I’m scared of the dark again. I can see everything so clearly. My eyes hurt. Fuck. I can't see anything.

I need to vomit. I can't walk. The bathroom is so far away. Oh. I have a trash can. It’s closer. I stumble towards it, falling onto my knees with a groan. Dammit. I’m so useless. Why am I still sobbing? I’m good for nothing, a sissy. They all made it out, you fucking moron. Everyone’s fine but you. Come on. Come on. Come on.

I hurl into the trash can. It tastes really bad. Like stomach acid and whiskey, because that’s pretty much all that’s in it. I think I should lay down. So I will. I’ll lay down right here and sleep.

—

The sun hurts my eyes. The kitchen window is letting too much light in. I wonder what time it is. Usually the light doesn’t come through this window until about noon. I’m trying to cover my eyes, but they still hurt as I look at the clock. 1300. It’s late. I had a date this morning.

Too bad, I guess. Good for nothing.

I should call her. Apologize. Or maybe the military therapist. Apologize. Nah. I’ll be fine. I’ll deal with it on my own.

At least there were no nightmares tonight.