#It is strait up what it sounds like

[somerandomdudelmao]

@tapakah0

This little bunny means the world to me

[notmyenergy]

Ok I know we’re all seeing the end of Paladin Strait as some sort of final confrontation between Clancy and Nico, but…… right after ‘At The Risk Of Feeling Dumb’..….. have we considered that in some way Clancy is actually there to check up on Nico/Blurry, or vice versa?

As Tyler said, this album and this story is about breaking cycles, understanding who the real enemy is (internal or external) and the connection between saving yourself and saving a friend…. Idk maybe this is Clancy’s way of breaking the cycle, putting his money where his mouth is, and just going for it because it’s too late to turn back anyways. Might as well give it one last shot (at the risk of feeling dumb)

[neil-gaiman]

I'm sorry Neil, although I love your writing and agree with your opinions on most subjects I have to disagree with you on the writers' strike. No-one should have a more privileged life as a result of being clever and creative. I worked from the age of 15 to the age of 65 in low-paid jobs, taking 1 year off to go to drama school and 3 years off to get a fine art degree. I worked in terrible but necessary jobs, labouring, stacking boxes, unloading trucks, running errands, filing, going to work on a bicycle at all hours of the day and night on shift work in all kinds of weather. Even when I was a student I was still working in part-time cleani8ng jobs and even during periods of unemployment I worked in volunteer jobs for charities and social services.

According to Mensa I have an IQ of 160 and according to Plymouth University I have a BA hons in Fine Art but I cannot accept the idea that writers and other creative people should avoid normal jobs like driving an "Uber" or working in an office/shop/factory/construction site. To accept that idea would be to create a new aristocratic class when we should abolishing the old princes and aristocrats.

What we need, I feel sure, is a redistribution of labour so that everybody who can do so would spend some time each year in blue collar work and everybody who can would get higher education and a chance to make art of one sort or another.

The idea of doing other jobs to supplement writing or drawing shouldn't be seen as a terrible thing, a punishment or a suffering. Sharing the jobs around should be seen as normal.

I mean, I've done my half century of sweat labour and it didn't hurt me too much. I'm retired now and still making art of various kinds and I've never asked anyone to pay me for any art piece I've made. making art, writing, drawing etc. is the fun stuff which we get to do in exchange for the blue collar stuff which puts food on the table.

The worst pop song ever written was Sting/Dire Straits song "Money for Nothing" which ridicules the working class from a position of educational privilege.

So what's my question? My question is: What's wrong with a writer doing other jobs to make ends meet? Sounds perfectly fine to me.

Nothing's wrong with a writer doing other jobs to make ends meet. Writers and artists have been doing that since the dawn of time. Actors too.

But by the same token, there's nothing right about assuming that writing isn't a blue-collar job, or that writers and other people who make art can only make it for love and that thus they need other jobs to subsidise their craft.

I like living in a world in which the people who make the things that make the world worth living in get paid for their work. For me, that includes the people who make films and TV, books, art and music and comics.

Having spent a lot of time on film and TV sets, it's a blue-collar world on set, and everyone is working long and hard to make the shows you love. I'm never going to suggest that the riggers or the gaffers or the make-up team or the focus-pullers should drive ubers in order to have the privilege of being on the set and working there.

Or to put it another way, from the most blue-collar writer I ever knew...

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, reverse cowgirl, creampie, mentions of ovulation, dom!Dabi, Dabi is a warning himself, ass spanking

A/N: what starts as a reckless kiss ignites into a desperate need you can't control. It's frustrating to admit, but ovulation turns you into a desperate, needy bitch — craving dick you shouldn’t want so badly...

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

Who would’ve thought a single heated makeout session would leave you completely at Dabi’s mercy, again? Ah, you hated how vulnerable you felt while ovulating, every nerve in your body betraying you with raw, undeniable need for being stuffed with a dick.

Dabi’s scarred hands trailed over the skin of your back. Heat radiated from his fingertips, leaving a lingering ache that was equal parts thrilling and dangerous.

With a sudden, fluid motion, one of his hands captured both your wrists, twisting them behind your back in a firm, unyielding grip. The restraint forced you to arch, pressing your chest forward and sticking your ass out, leaving you utterly exposed beneath his smoldering gaze.

A low, involuntary moan spilled from your lips as the tension between pain and pleasure coiled deep within you. 

His breath ghosted over your ear, his voice a rough, sinful murmur. "Keep making sounds like that, and I might not let you go, never."

In a sudden shift, you paused riding his dick in a reverse cowgirl position, drawing yourself up and away from his throbbing cock. Your fingers wandered down to your pussy, delicately tracing circles around your clit, spreading the slick wetness that had gathered at your entrance over your sensitive folds, only to spank them a few times later with the hood of your palm. Then, with deliberate slowness, your hand reached out for Dabi’s dick again, and guided his angry red tip to the very brink of your entrance. You tantalized both of you, using just the head of his cock to rub your slit and part your swollen labia. "Fuck," you whined.

She’s oozing juices like the slit in an overripe peach, Dabi smirked to himself, amused by just how obscenely cute the comparison truly was. He couldn’t take his eyes off your strait pussy as you guided his dick back into your cunt, trying your best to not spread your legs too wide to make yourself tight for him.

The skirt he had gifted you the day prior — a scandalously short piece — flared with each descent, its hem dancing teasingly up your thighs, showing the thick, plushy meat of your ass. The black stockings, tight and silky, sculpted your legs, accentuating every curve and contour as they ended in the middle of your thighs. Your shirt lay forgotten somewhere in the shadows of Dabi’s room, leaving you only in your bra, straps slipping carelessly off your shoulders. It sat slightly askew, offering a teasing glimpse of soft, firm skin as your breasts bounced while you rode your boyfriend’s cock.

One scarred hand improved the grip on both your wrists, pressing them tightly behind your back, pinning you in place as he controlled your movements. The other rested lazily on the arm of the couch, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazily around his face. Dabi’s cerulean eyes, sharp and lidded, were locked on your ass, watching how his cock disappeared into your soaked pussy from behind. His shirt had long been discarded, but he hadn’t bothered removing his pants. As the heated makeout session intensified minutes earlier, breathless and driven by need, he simply unzipped and freed his cock out of its confines.

The burn in your thighs intensified with every passing second, your trembling legs barely holding you upright as you struggled to maintain the punishing position. Each strained movement sent electric pulses through your body, your muscles taut and aching, yet utterly consumed by the way Dabi’s cock stretched and claimed your seeping cunt — relentless, demanding, leaving no inch untouched.

A sharp tug on your captured wrists wrenched you deeper into the overwhelming sensation, forcing your back into a perfect arch. The position left you entirely at his mercy. 

He spanked your ass, growling like an animal. “Faster, bitch. Fuck, I love how wet you are during these days.”

Every thrust pushed his veiny cock deeper, dragging over every sensitive spot deep within you, the stretch burning painfully. The obscene sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room. 

His azure eyes, dark and hungry, locked on where his dick disappeared into your abused cunt, the wetness between your legs leaving a pearly shine on the rock-hard shaft that made his lips curl. “Look at that,” Dabi muttered, his voice low, gravelly, like the rough edge of sandpaper against your skin. His smirk widened as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke, the heat of his gaze fixed on your pussy making your stomach tighten. “Taking me so well. Bet no one’s ever stretched your little cunt like this before. Such a needy bitch. Who’d have thought you’d get so damn needy just from a kiss? Didn’t figure you were the type to melt just from someone else’s spit on your tongue."

“Dabi!” Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your thighs trembling as you struggled to keep up with the pace of his hips pistoning into you and maintain the balance of the position. His cock was slamming into you without mercy.

“Keep going,” he commanded, his grip tightening on your wrists just enough to make you whimper, your body responding to his dominance even as it threatened to overwhelm you. “Don’t make me do all the fucking work.”

The sound of your slick pussy meeting the hilt of his cock filled the room, louder than it should’ve been. Your mind was teetering on the edge of coherence as the burn between your thighs grew more insistent. Your body moved instinctively, hips rolling back against him despite the strain, desperate for more.

Dabi’s grin widened as he watched you struggle, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of your flushed cheeks as you turned your head slightly to look at him while moaning his name like a whore. “Knew you’d be a good bitch for me,” Dabi praised, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Look at how perfect you are like this. Made to take my dick. Bent like a string, just for my pleasure.”

You improved the hold on your skirt up around your waist and slowed down your pace to gyrate your pussy on Dabi’s cock. You leaned forward just enough to give him an unobstructed view of your slick, thoroughly filled cunt, stretched and claimed by his cock, the lips of your slick pussy sliding up and down his throbbing shaft with each roll of your hips.

After a moment, Dabi continued to thrust into you rhythmically from below, deepening the penetration. The cigarette in his hand flared as he took another slow drag, the ember casting an orange glow across his face. He exhaled the smoke directly toward you, the sharp scent mixing with the sweat on your skin as he chuckled darkly. “Bet you’re close, doll,” he rasped, his voice rough and low. His free hand slid to your hip, gripping with bruising intensity, his long fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The cigarette still rested lazily between his index and middle finger, smoke curling in the air as he thrust up into you with brutal precision, forcing you to take every inch of him, deeper and harder. “Don’t stop riding my cock,” he commanded, his tone sharp but lazy, as though he was enjoying every second of your submission. “I want to see you work for the orgasm. Make me believe you deserve to cum.”

You straightened your back as much as you could, holding yourself upright with grace. 

Dabi’s eyes traced the perfect curve of your spine, from the dip of your lower back to the elegant line of your neck. 

Your ass pressed firmly against his lower stomach with every drop. Gasping for air, you leaned forward, bracing your hands on his knees, your back arching again. Slow at first, you started rolling your hips faster, twerking your ass in a way that made Dabi’s cock throb inside your abused pussy which already was clenching around him.

The white haired man watched your ass cheeks bounce with every move, every arch of your back perfectly calculated to drive him insane. 

You glanced back over your shoulder, a wicked, tired smirk playing on your slightly parted lips. “Do you like my ass?” You teased, voice sultry.

“Fuck yeah,” Dabi rasped, tightening his grip on your hips as his nails scraped along your skin. “Keep going,” Dabi replied, accenting his words with a sharp spank delivered to your left cheek.

You bent even further forward, reaching your hands out, spreading your butt even more for him while furiously riding his dick, going up and down on his shaft. 

Dabi’s cock was wet and shiny with your runny juices, gripped tightly by your pussy walls.

You ground the tip of your boyfriend’s cock into your g-spot as you bounced up and down, your clit repeatedly smashing into his clothed thighs. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he flicked ash into the tray beside him, the smoke curling lazily around his hand. “Good fucking girl. Look at you — so desperate, so fucking ruined.”

Your head tilted forward, gaze falling to where your bodies joined, where his cock thrust into you with relentless precision. The sight made your pulse race, the way your slickness coated his dick, creating rings of white juices that slowly streamed down his shaft to his base, the way every inch of him disappeared inside you to reappear a second later. 

He noticed where your attention was, and his smirk deepened, his hips shifting upward to meet yours in a sharp thrust that made your vision blur. “You like watching, don’t ya?” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement as he exhaled another plume of smoke. “Bet you love seeing how fucking ruined you are for me.”

Dabi reached a hand with the cigarette out and stroked your cheek, but you abruptly turned your head, snagged one of his free fingers with your lips, and sucked the whole length into your warm mouth, not paying attention you might have got burnt by the cigarette. He groaned and pumped his hips up into you. You sucked harder on his digit, and lifted your pelvis up until only the head of his cock remained inside you. For a heartbeat, you hovered there, then slammed down against his jeans-coated lap.

Rose, slammed down, rose, slammed down, over and over.

"Love feelin' how wrecked that pretty pussy is, all stretched and ruined from takin’ my cock,” Dabi chuckled lowly, spanking your ass with his free hand.

The sound of his voice, the raw dominance in it, sent you over the edge. Your body clenched around him, trembling, and you gasped, barely able to catch your breath as waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you shaking in his grip. 

His smirk never faltered, his hand loosening slightly on your wrists as he let you collapse backward, your back pressing against his chest. Dabi erupted inside your cunt, spurt after spurt, but still keep thrusting.

Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the coil in your stomach tightening until it snapped, your second orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled, your vision blurred, and your entire body shuddered as pleasure overwhelmed you being, your pussy clenching around his cock painfully as he groaned low and deep, still cumming inside of you.

Dabi held you there, pinned in place as you slowly rode out the aftershocks, your body trembling with exhaustion. His grin didn’t fade, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he finally released your wrists, letting them fall limp at your sides. “Good girl,” he murmured again, leaning back into the couch as he stubbed out his cigarette, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. 

Finally, you lifted yourself off him, feeling his unnaturally warm semen spill from your thoroughly fucked cunt, dripping onto his still-clothed lap. With a slow, deliberate grace, you stretched yourself lazily, his essence trailing down your trembling thighs in tantalizing streaks. Before you could even consider heading to the bathroom, his hand shot out with practiced precision, gripping your waist and yanking you back onto his lap. Your bare, overstimulated pussy, still slick and chilled from the cool air in the room, brushed against his cock — a touch that should have met soft flesh but instead found him thickening once more.

“Don’t ya dare thinking we’re even close to finished,” Dabi rasped, his breath hot against your ear before his teeth grazed the sensitive shell, sending a shiver down your spine as his calloused hands started fondling your tits. "I’m just getting started.”

♡ The art on the banner was made by @explosion-island ♡ I'm a member of @pixelcafe-network

[momolady]

Kirilka the Orc

𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔵 𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔒𝔯𝔠

ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔭𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔶 - ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 - 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔵𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔶 - 𝔄𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢

When your brother married Tashka, the whole kingdom thought he was insane. What was the future king doing marrying an orc woman? But you knew exactly why he did, because Tashka was exactly what your brother always wanted. Sure, she wasn’t the frail princess everyone imagines for someone like your brother, but he never wanted frail.

“Hurry, the baby!” Your brother was fretting while you were doing the best you could to hobble down the hallway. Since you were little you needed leg braces, now you hold a cane to keep steady.

“Pasha! I am doing the best I can!” You tried to comfort him, after all his first baby was just born a few short days ago. The birth had been hard, but you had studied and trained for all that, helping Tashka through the difficult birth. Now, Pasha was worried about the state of his daughter and wife.

“Is he fussing at you?” Tashka asked softly as you went into the room. “I told him not to worry! I just had a simple question.” She tsked while gazing back down at the baby.

“You said-” Before Pasha could finish, both Tashka and you quietly shushed him.

“What’s the matter Tashka?” You set your cane aside and took your bag from Pasha. “Is she feeding okay?”

“Oh yes,” she said proudly, if not a bit sleepily. “But she’s getting these little bumps around her mouth.” She showed off the baby, pale soft green and already plump. Around her mouth was a bit of small red bumps and dried skin. 

You smiled, gently brushing the soft, fawny hair on her head. “Nothing to worry about. Just a bit of drool rash.” You reached back for your bag. “Nothing a little ointment won’t fix.”

Paha had tears in his eyes already.

“I knew it wasn’t anything too bad.” Tashka’s gentle smile was so beautiful, you could tell why Pasha fell for her. “But Pasha and my brother,” she scoffed.

Ah yes! Tashka’s brother, Kirilka. You had run afoul of him since coming home. He didn’t seem quite trusting of your medical background, despite the years of training you had taken. He seemed assured only orc knowledge would be good enough for his sister and brand new niece.

“Firstborns have the ability to make panic occur with the slightest sound,” you say while applying some of the specialty made ointment to the baby’s mouth, making sure to wipe away excess.

“I’ll say,” Tashka chuckled, glancing towards her husband.

Pasha pouted but then broke into a smile as he took his wife into his arms, hugging her while gazing lovingly at their child.

“I’ll go make you a little kit.” You take your cane back in hand. “So you can be better prepared for rashes and the like.”

Tashka sighed, exhausted and relaxed in the same breath. “Thank you. I’m very relieved knowing this little one is getting the best care..”

You puffed up with pride.

“This little one also still needs a name,” Pasha remarked.

“It’ll come to us,” Tashka mused. “I didn’t get my name until I was a month old.”

You rather liked the orc tradition of letting the baby’s name come naturally. You found it much more personable. “Well, I’ll come back later. You three should rest.” 

“Thank you again,” Pasha sighed.

You nodded, leaving the royal bedchamber and heading back out into the hall. Pasha had made you private work quarters down the hall, but it was still quite the long hall. You were nearly down it when Kirilka started walking up it.

“Dammit,” you grumbled to yourself.

“And what were you called for?” Kirilka grumbled. This beast of a man towered over you, casting a dark shadow wherever he went. Growing up on one of the largest farms in the kingdom, probably on this side of the Cobra Strait, he’d grown up a farm boy, rearing animals, tending to fields and working day in and day out. He was built for it, built for a lot of things probably. His long hair was always tied up into a thick, ropelike braid that he kept coiled up into a bun.

“The baby had a little drool rash, nothing awful, nothing even too concerning. I'm going to make a kit of ointments and the like for them now.” You said sternly, if not a little brusk. 

His amber eyes looked you over, taking in the cane then focusing on your own eyes. You knew you weren’t his version of a healer. You dressed prettily, wearing fancy but comfortable dresses you had collected from your travels for education. Compared to him you were a dumpling beside a steak, that probably also irked him.

“What sort of ointments?” He sounded like he was ready to discourage all your ideas.

You sighed. “Look, Kirilka, I know I’m not the healer you want for your sister. But I’m using my education for what it is for and it is taking care of her and that baby. And you, if you should walk into a doorway.”

He sneered, his upper lip curling ever so slightly. “All I asked was what ointments you were planning on using. Orc skin isn’t like human skin.”

“Oh?” you feigned ignorance. “Is it not?”

He scowled.

You stomped your cane in lieu of your foot. “I’ve been trained in such things, you know! And if you must be so nosy, I am making a comfrey mixture.”

His brow raised slightly. “Comfrey?”

“I did train with orcs at the university,” you scoffed. “We shared our knowledge, rather than test one another.” You continued to try and walk ahead, but to your dismay, Kirilka kept following.

“Kirilka, please,” you huffed. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No,” he snarled, stopping you from continuing forward.

Dammit, you thought. This wasn’t what you wanted today. You knew the tension between you and Kirilka had been building, but you didn’t realize he was willing to throw down over it. Maybe you could get in a few good jabs with your cane. You knew you should have accepted your uncle’s offer of a sword cane. 

“I know how people look at my sister here! I know how we are treated amongst your circle. I also know how I look, and if I can use it to protect my sister and niece I-”

Your mouth hung open. “Protect them? From me?” You slapped your hand against your chest. “I adore Tashka! I brought that baby into the world with my own hands, I would die for that child!” Your voice was raising, your blood was boiling. “Even if I didn't, I took an oath to care for people and see after their health. How dare you?” You stomped towards him, clomping down your cane like you were going to take one of his toes. “I love my family, which now includes you unfortunately! I helped convince my father to accept Tashka! Did you know that? I was almost thrown out of the castle! Protect them?”

Kirilka was backing down now, looking frightened.

“Let me work, farm boy!” You snapped and stormed past him, getting to your office and slamming the door shut. You huffed, glaring into the room. “Who does he think he is?”  

After working for a few hours to distract yourself, you came out of your office, a new baby kit prepared and placed into a beautiful tin. You knew how Tashka liked roses, so you had painted the tin with them just for her. 

You knocked on the bedroom door and waited, admiring your handy work on the tin when the door opened. You smiled to greet your brother, but it was Kirilka. Your smile vanished.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “They’re finally asleep.”

“I’ll just leave this with you then,” you grumbled, offering out the tin.

Kirilka took it. “Wait,” he set the tin inside the door then stepped out himself. “I want to apologize.”

You furrowed your brow. “Really?”

He returned the frown as he gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t realize all you had done for Tashka.”

“You’ve treated me like scum since I got here. Don’t mind me saying I feel the apology comes a little late.” You then rolled your hand in the air. “But go on.”

Kirilka walked you a little further down the hall, away from the bedchamber. “Ever since Tashka became queen, I have heard the most vile things spoken about her. The past two years my head has been full of them, and being in this castle makes them sound like cannons in my head.”

You sighed. “The moment I met Tashka I liked her. Pasha doesn’t fall in love easily, you know. Surrounded by dancers all his life, I never saw his eyes turn once. Not until Tashka.”

Kirilka looked away, pouting.

 You moved to stand in his line of sight. “I stood up for your Tashka against my father. I stood beside her when she was crowned. And I am going to fight for that little girl to be heir. She’ll be queen one day.” You watched him, waiting. “Now what do you say?”

“I’m sorry,” he growled under his breath.

You cupped your hand around your ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I. Am. Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. He turned those amber eyes back upon you and huffed. “I misjudged you.”

You nodded in agreement. “That’s right, you did!” A smirk crossed your face. “I’ll forgive you. But that may take time.”

His lip curled and he clicked his teeth. “I get it.”

This was such a good feeling! All this time you wanted to smack him around, now it felt like you’d gotten in the first whack. “But maybe now we can be friends! After all, we’re both the eldest sibling, we should have a lot in common.”

He looked distrustful, eyeing you up and down wondering where the rest of you was.

“That’s right! I came out of the womb first,” you announced proudly, puffing out your chest. “But for health reasons I abdicated my spot to my brother.”

Kirilka’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even know you were twins.”

“Yes , well, Pasha went on to train in ballet while I read in bed with several illnesses. That can change figures.” You patted your belly. “And hobbling around isn’t the exercise I make it look to be.”

You saw it! He was suppressing a smile!

“I blame it on Pasha sitting on my head in the womb.” You peeked at him again, seeing the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly upwards. “I’ve delivered orc twins, you know?”

“Those are quite rare for us,” he muttered, wiping away any semblance of his previous smile. “How did that go?”

“Very well, my teacher and I together came up with a new method that made the birth easy for the mother and safer for the babies.” You then offered your hand to him. “Since our siblings are asleep, why don’t you and I have tea together?”

He looked unsure, eyes darting away. “I don’t like tea.”

“Then you can eat scones the entire time. Come now, we have a lifetime to deal with one another. The first foot was awful, like mine, but the second foot can be a strong one, like mine.”

He was forcing that smile down hard again, but he took your offered hand, shaking it heartily rather than be delicate. His fingers flexed after touching you. Perhaps he was more used to rougher palms?

He was silent for most of tea, taking sweets and cookies eagerly while you went on and on about your schooling. Afterwards, he made an excuse to leave while you finished the teapot by yourself. 

Over the next few days you passed him in the hall, attempting to make small talk. It took a while, but after a while he began offering more than monosyllabic responses. He was also joining you for tea more often, actually offering you bits and pieces of his life. He had prize cows he loved, bison he raised from birth, and sheep he spent summer nights sleeping beside.

“Where do you harvest your comfrey?” He asked one day, having come into your office with a rather large cut on his palm.

You were cleaning it, using a cloth and a strong alcohol, watching to make sure there was no debris in the cut itself. “I was gifted a plant by a friend of mine at university. I came home and planted it in the garden a few years ago. It’s spread out quite a bit, I have decades worth now.” You were even surprised he came to you with such a wound, but you were glad he did.

“We have large patches of it all around the farm. Our mother loved it,” he murmured.

“Tashka told me she was quite the gardener,” you murmured. You dabbed away some blood and remarked on an old fairytale from your youth. Something about a field mouse and a lion. 

“She loved flowers. Her roses were used during your parents’ wedding. So it’s funny how this all worked out.”

You stilled and looked into his face. The way the light from your small lantern hit his face made him look much handsomer than you were used to seeing. “I didn’t know that.”

He nodded, long lashes falling to his cheek. “They bought every single one she had. I had never seen the farm look so…empty I guess is the word. She worked hard all year to make sure there was enough.”

“Wow.” You were more remarking on how differently he looked, how long his lashes were, how full his lips appeared. You swallowed, trying to hide your blush. “I’ll just put some of said comfrey on here,” you laughed nervously.

“Thanks,” He muttered. 

You bandaged him up, flexing his fingers to make sure nothing was wrong. “There. Should be good as new eventually.” His hand then captured yours, locking his fingers around your own. You looked unsure up at him. “Arm wrestle?” You chuckled.

“Let me thank you.” He pulled you close, closing the gap between you and placing a soft kiss on your lips. Oh, it was heaven! You leaned in, closing your eyes and melting. You then came to your senses and hurriedly pulled back.

“What was that?” You snapped.

Kirilka chuckled. “What do you think?” He focused upon your eyes, freezing you in place with how intense his gaze was. “You impress me. I like a woman who frightens me a little.”

Your stomach flopped. “Oh.”

“You remind me of the ram who guards my sheep. Small, soft, but very ferocious. I’ve seen him take down a mountain lion. I want you to do that to me.”

What was this? Your mind was racing, your heart was trying to keep up with it. Your mouth hung open but you closed it back quickly. “Th-that’s enough out of you!” You stood up quickly. “You should go check on your sister.” Turning around, you tried to ignore him while cleaning up your desk.

“If you’re at all curious, meet me in the garden tonight. Right near your comfrey.” Kirilka got up and left.

You huffed, clutching your chest as the door shut. “Fucking hells! I’ve not been turned on like that before,” you whispered to yourself. You glanced back at the door. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓 𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖔𝖓!

[bitter69uk]

Hagsploitation truly is the horror sub-genre that keeps on giving. Sparked by the unexpected success of 1962’s What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? in the 1960s and 70s, maturing female stars of golden age Hollywood extended their careers by swallowing their pride, embracing their inner scream queen and plunging into exploitation shockers: think of Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Tallulah Bankhead, Olivia de Havilland, Agnes Moorehead and Shelley Winters starring in the likes of Strait-Jacket, Hush … Hush … Sweet Charlotte, Berserk, Lady in a Cage, Die Die My Darling, Dear Dead Delilah and especially the “question movies” Whoever Slew Auntie Roo?, What’s the Matter with Helen? and What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice? Roaring back from career doldrums (I last remember her playing Miley Cyrus’ mother), 61-year-old Demi Moore finds herself in a similar position in director Coralie Fargeat’s grisly and stylish satire The Substance. In a gutsy, exposed (in every sense) performance, Moore plays Elisabeth Sparkle, a middle-aged television celebrity abruptly fired by ageist and sexist network executive Dennis Quaid (really chomping the scenery). Despondent, Elisabeth takes desperate measures to rejuvenate her “best self” with a mysterious unregulated black market scientific procedure called The Substance … and things swiftly unravel. Characterized by stunning art direction and a visceral sound design that emphasizes every repulsive squelching noise, The Substance ratchets up maximum dread and offers a goldmine of knowing movie references: Basket Case. Carrie. Death Becomes Her. Every single David Cronenberg “body horror” flick but particularly The Fly. Thematically, it reminded me of two specific b-movies from the late 1950s: The Wasp Woman and The Leech Woman, in which the anti-heroine experiments with science (or voodoo) to restore youth and beauty with monstrous consequences (and – it must be noted - these films make their point with a fraction of The Substance’s budget and two hour-and 40-minute running time). The Substance is bound to be divisive. There was multiple “walk outs” when I saw it. And has Fargeat lost control of the material by the ultra-gory splatter fest finale? However you cut it, it’s a wild ride and destined for cult status.

[mycatishandsome]

How I Shift: a step-by-step

So to start, I want to remind ya'll that what works for me, can and wil work for you, if you assume it will.

For context, I like to believe that the multiverse theory is true, but like mixing it in with the LOA (3D/4D/etc.) theory. I could sit here all day and talk and talk about those theories, but that's not what this post is about. If you scroll on my blog, you'll find plenty of posts that can do it better than I.

SO, where do we begin?

1.) As an obvious start, it's good to pick where it is you'd like to shift/ what you'd like to shift into this "reality". It's not super necessary, but it's great to reaffirm where it is your going/what you're bringing in.

2.) I like shifting at night (like most others), so before a shift, something I'll do is carve out a bit of time to go through my Pinterest boards. This is a great way to visualize what you want (what you technically already have) This is also great for my non-visualizers (or just those who have trouble doing it on the spot). it's a great way to reaffirm.

3.) Then depending on my DR, I'll choose an ambiance sound that is related (for example: star wars-space/ship sounds, harry potter-train sounds, pirates??? ships creaking/wind)(also sounds can be super broad, like rain/thunderstorm sounds) personally, I feel like ambience is crazy helpful for me (as I assume it is).

-The way I see it, and how I use it: The sounds I'm hearing ambiance wise, are the sounds I hear in my DR as well. They will not distract me! I have animals and loud roommates. Rather than sit there and get annoyed, i think to myself, "wow my house mates are rowdy tonight" in my DR. I apply those sounds TO my DR. This goes for the ambiance as well!

4.) At this point, I then pick how I'm going to meditate. So because I have autism, I tend to use the same two mediations because it's what I'm comfortable with (and they help me the best!) I'll tag them here :)

I start with this one: Law of Assumption meditation

Then listen to this one immediately after: Law of Assumption Meditation part 2

I listen to these one after the other using an app called musi. I set them to a timer so i don't have to stop a playlist or anything, just set it and go!

5.) I sometimes strait up fall asleep and shift, and sometimes i shift during these meditations. It often depends on how my mind set is, as sometimes I've had a tough day, or i just can't stop thinking about the exam i have tomorrow. Generally when I feel like this, I listen to another meditation before these other two. I don't have a specific one to link, i usually just look up 10 minute meditations. These will usually help me to relax and empty my mind.

Notice how none of these are shifting meditations. if you think it will work for you, then it will! I've always found that even when i was in the right mindset, shifting meditations were very.....not what shifting is. I always felt like they played against what i was trying to achieve. I'm sure there are some that are great and incredibly helpful!! I personally just haven't found that one yet. Shifting is generally simple, and to the point, there's no need to use complicated steps. (ONCE AGAIN, UNLESS you find they work for you! in your reality they may work just fine!)

I hope this helps, or at the very least gives some of ya'll some ideas on what to try!

Happy shifting!

[scramratz]

Rant abt your Cds I'm curious

OK HERE GOES SCRAMS 2024 CD COLLECTION TIER LIST

(Disclaimer: these are just my personal opinions and if yours differ from mine, fine. It’s not a sin to be wrong)

S TIER-

Goo-Sonic Youth: Straight bangers all the way through. Girls love it when you show them your Sonic Youth cd. Extra points cuz the pamphlet unfolds into a sick poster

Midnight Vultures-Beck: Good album to clean the house to. Every song a banger. Beck as a person sets off alarms, though 🤔

Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot-Sparklehorse: Genuinely my favorite artist and album of all time. Fall asleep to Homecoming Queen often.

Siamese Dream-Smashing Pumpkins: Fire straight though. Good when you’re in a depressed 20-something mood. Better than Mellon Collie in my humble opinion.

Gorillaz-Gorillaz: The start of one of my favorite bands and objectively one of the best bands in the world don’t fight me on it I’ll kill you.

A TIER-

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots-The Flaming Lips: Solid album. Iconic cover art. “Do You Realize??” always got me feeling feelings

Violent Femmes-Violent Femmes: Top 3 favorite band. Every song went platinum in my household. Would have been higher but reminds me of my mom too much.

Dig Me Out- Sleater-Kinney: Got it because the name sounded familiar. Ended up loving them! Doesn’t sound right if it’s not played loud, though, and considering I live in an apartment, I don’t play it often.

Fear Yourself-Daniel Johnston: Got it because I love “Hi, How Are You” but haven’t been able to find it anywhere. Was pleasantly surprised! Hits the same melancholy spot but slightly more upbeat.

Figure 8-Elliot Smith: My favorite sad boy that definitely DIDN’T kill himself. Not my favorite Elliot album but every one of his albums is A tier personally.

The Diary of Alicia Keys-Alicia Keys: WENT QUADRUPLE PLATINUM IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. Prime cleaning the house on Sunday music. Dragon Days is seriously underrated.

Garbage-Garbage: Don’t know how to say this without sounding insane but this album sounds like the color #DC007F and I like that color a lot

2-Mac Demarco: The CHOKEHOLD Mac Demarco had on us artschool bitches in 2016 OMG. Was gonna change my name to Viceroy

B TIER-

Money for Nothing- Dire Straits: Top tier dad music.

Lumine fever- The Adrenals: Got it cuz the cover looked cool. Was pleasantly surprised! They rock the adequate amount

Rocket to Russia- Ramones: They’re good but I don’t get the hype honestly. They’re the Flavor-Aid of Punk

Starfish- The Church: Only love one song on it, the only song anyone likes tbh. The rest are your standard 80s deal

Crooked Rain-Pavement: I really love Pavement but there is a thing as too much Pavement and I think I’ve reached it

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-Wilco: Honestly should have been in A tier but all the pretentious music dudes I’ve met has soured this album for me so it goes in B outta spite. Jesus Etc my fave song tho

An Evening with Silk Sonic- Silk Sonic: Nice, short, gets me in a happy mood. Does what it needs to do!

Prolonging the Magic- Cake: John McCrea don’t really be singing, do he? He just fancy talkin

C TIER-

Gigantic, Fuel, and The Nixons: I got all 3 on sale and they all sound the same and that sound is…ok? Like it’s alright background music

Blind Melon-Blind Melon: What was with 90’s bands putting random kids as their album covers? Decent listen, though.

Summerteeth-Wilco: Good background music. I can’t remember any songs off it.

Los Angeles/Wild Gift-X: I like X but I hate that fucking album art omg it’s so hard to look at. I like their songs individually but as a cohesive album, eh.

D TIER-

Throwing Copper-Live: bought it on sale with the above 3 but liked this one substantially less. Only redeeming quality to me is the album art.

Ben Folds Five-Ben Folds Five: Misleading considering there’s only 3 of them. He sounds like my ex boyfriend from highschool before I realized I liked girls

F Tier-

The Ragetones/Fall Apart-The Ragetones: Saw them play at a shitting basement show. Everything sounds better when you can barely hear yourself think.

F Punk-Big Audio Dynamite: Found it at the thrift and rehomed it outta pity. Sounds like the 80s in a bad way.

[seokgyuu]

hello mitchie beloved 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ how abt joshua and consensual free use/somnophilia <3 i'm in dire straits rn and i actually need to get used by this man for his own pleasure 24/7 🫶 /hj

++ hugs and kisses for being one of the sweetest people ever actually !!

A/N: kai, my beloved! i hope this is to your liking! thanks for the request, i loved writing it!! sending you love and hugs and kisses back <3

PAIRING: Joshua x Fem!Reader

GENRE: Smut MDNI!

WARNINGS: free use/somnophilia, fingering, unprotected sex, degradation (usage of the word slut) creampie

WORDCOUNT: 1.4k

Request are open! Check out my 1k special!

Smut under the cut

the thought of your boyfriend using you for his own pleasure has always been one that extremely excited you. joshua was sweet, a true angel most of the time. funny and kind and always trying to make you feel good, to take care of your needs before his own. for the longest time you felt almost ashamed of wanting him to use you whenever he wanted, but at some point you decided that the worst thing that could happen would be him saying he wasn’t really into that. and you’d be fine because it wasn’t like your sex life wasn’t fulfilling enough. 

what you had not expected was him growing beet red, his eyes wide in something like shock when you tell him. he is baffled, speechless really. and it takes him a few minutes to regain his composure. you smile at him, caress his hand and reassure him that it is just a thought. he is not obligated to act on your wish if he doesn’t feel comfortable. when he asks you what exactly you mean when you say whenever he wants, your answer makes him swallow. it makes his cock twitch in his underwear. it makes his mind go wild with thoughts he normally wouldn’t allow himself to have. you were his princess, his everything, so precious and good. you deserved to be pampered, to be treated like a queen. never would he ever allow himself to… but now this. now you’re telling him you want him to use you and it begins a process in his brain. 

a few days go by and you think joshua might just not be into it. and you’re cool with that. you go through your day as you usually do until one evening you come home from work and joshua is sitting at the dining table with his laptop and work notes scattered around. he looks up at you when you enter the room and gets up, his ears as red as his face a few days ago.

“baby,” he begins, his hands finding your hips and he kisses you once, twice, before placing his forehead against yours. 

“josh, what is it?” you ask, worried, one of your hands cupping his cheek. he licks his lips.

“what we discussed the other day… about me and you and…,” he looks at you and you know what he means, a small smile on your lips as you nod.

“well i was thinking … do you- do you really mean it when you say i can use you when you’re asleep?” 

your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but you are quick to nod. just the thought of it alone makes your cunt clench. 

“yes, honey, i mean it. i really… really would love for you to use me when i’m sleeping, or… any time at all, really. just want you to feel good, joshy.” 

your sultry voice and the way you look at him almost make him bend you over the table, doing as you wish right there. but there is still a report he needs to finish and so he just nods, kissing your cheek with a semi hard cock in his pants before sitting back down. 

he lays awake that night while you’re sound asleep. he had been worried you might not be able to sleep after what you’d discussed but here you are now. soft and cute snores proving you are really gone, one hand tucked under your cheek while the other lays flatly on the mattress. you are laying on your side, your backside turned to joshua and he contemplates. his cock has been hard for hours he feels. his heart is beating rapidly, even echoing in his ears and he thinks back to the words you had said a few days ago as well as tonight. you want him to use you. want him to feel good. so you would definitely be okay if he-

he finds himself pressed against your ass five seconds later. his cock is right there between your cheeks, still behind his boxers, but, god, does it feel good. he moans quietly, one hand moving to the front of you, touching your tit over your (his) sleep shirt. he wonders if your nipple will harden when you touch it. another moan escapes his throat when it does. he lets his hand slide underneath your shirt, thumb and index twirling your nipple, his cock growing even harder against your backside. he kisses the back of your neck, licks the spot underneath your ear and finally moves to touch you between your legs. 

joshua loves your pussy. loves it so much he literally can’t get enough of it. ever since your first conversation about this topic, he hadn’t touched you, so he’s a little scared of coming sooner than later. still, he feels your folds underneath your panties, letting a finger get coated in your juices to eventually push it inside, your tight walls clenching around him right away. he groans again, beginning to rock his hips against your ass, the friction making his eyes roll back. he ruts against you, free hand getting his cock out to actually feel your skin against his hard length and, fuck, it feels heavenly. he soon adds another finger, stretching your cunt open, letting it get adjusted before he’d finally sink into you and fuck you until he filled you to the brim. 

“so good for me even when asleep… my perfect princess,” he whispers, softly shoving you onto your stomach, leaving your cunt open for him to access. he licks his lips, lets his hand pump his cock a few times, before finally pulling out his fingers and replacing them with his leaking cock. 

the moan he lets out when he feels you around him almost wakes you up. just almost. your body reacts accordingly to what is happening - your pussy sucking him in as it always does, dripping onto the sheets as if your subconscious knows how fucking hot you find this. it probably does. joshua bottoms out, his hands are on either side of you, his hips rutting against your ass, cock now going in and out of your pussy in a speed that has him see stars. 

“f-fucking hell, such a good, perfect pussy, sh-shit,” he can’t keep his voice or his noises down and it doesn’t come as a surprise that you wake up with arousal shaking your whole body, all sleepiness gone within mere seconds. you cry out, your hands gripping the bed sheets as your cunt clenches around joshua’s cock over and over again.

“j-josh!” you whimper and he looks down at your face, sees your eyes staring at him, the hotness radiating from you. something inside of him shifts and his angelic demeanor disappears once and for all as he moves one hand to push your head into the mattress, his thrusts getting harder.

“such a slut, wants to get used like a toy doesn’t she? wants her cunt to be nothing but a cumrag, wants to wake up in the morning with it still dripping out of her, fuck,” he hears your cries against the mattress, feels you coming on his cock, the waves of pleasure almost getting him off the edge too.

“o-oh my god- j-josh, don’t stop!” you know there is more, know he can make you come at least one more time and joshua picks up his pace again, letting off your head and instead wrapping his arm around you to press his thumb down on your clit, your whole body jerking as you arch your back.

“what a good slut i got myself, such a good filthy slut, isn’t that right?” his eyes can’t stay open anymore, his hips moving at an uncontrollable speed and the second you cry out that, yes, you are nothing but a filthy slut, his cum shoots out his cock and into you, his moans music to your ears as he gets you over the edge once more, fucking the both of you through your orgasms. 

josh collapses on top of you, heavy breath against your ear and you feel sweat rolling down your forehead. your pussy is still pulsating around his softening cock and joshua jerks forward once again, kissing your neck.

“you’re incredible,” he mumbles against your skin and you chuckle, turning your head so you could see him a little better.

“i know,” you grin back and joshua laughs before pulling out of you and going back to his angelic self, walking to the bathroom to get you a warm wet cloth to clean yourself up.

[crybaby-bkg]

His Muse

Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader Warnings: Yandere Bakugou, Obsessive Tendencies, psychoanalyst therapist reader, smut, extremely dubious consent, stalking, kindapping (tagging to be safe), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampies, kitchen sex, strength kink, threats of violence (not to reader). please let me know if I missed anything! Word Count: 6.5k Notes: this isn't a more violent yandere fic, and has lots of bargaining and dub con, just as a warning!! but I can't believe I came up with this idea in November omg I move so slow when it comes to full fics. also I tried gradient style for the title and I love it lol it was so fun to try. anyway, please enjoy!! Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI! Also available on ao3!

When Bakugou comes to you to be his therapist, you don’t think twice about it. He filled out his application correctly, he answered when you called, his insurance went through, his problems sounded legit. You had become wary taking on new patients in your field—dealing with criminals, those with hardened and extensive records, people with all kinds of issues that an everyday therapist wouldn’t be able to handle accordingly. But you did it all (someone had to), so your vetting process was a little heavier than usual, if the therapy wasn’t state mandated. 

But Bakugou Katsuki passed with flying colors. If anything, he sounded a little too normal for your line of work, but he kept promising that his issues would be better discussed during sessions. With a little hesitance, you agree and take him on. 

He’s…okay, for the most part. A little gruff, rough around the edges and snappy when you try to touch on certain topics of his life. But in general, he’s a great patient; he pays on time, shows up five minutes early, doesn’t linger when your next patient comes buzzing, doesn’t try to touch you or seek out personal information from you. 

If anything, he still seems a bit too strait-laced for you. That is, until he starts to delve into why he really wants to come to therapy—to deal with his tendencies of rage, lashing out, and obsession. You had told him that you didn’t deal much with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but he had assured you that, no, his obsessions and compulsions weren’t about checking the locks a certain amount of times on a Wednesday, but instead about people. 

He obsessed over people, and when things wouldn’t go his way, his rage would rear its ugly head. He still hasn’t told you what his rage specifically looks like, especially with how he momentarily glances over at your little message pinned on your wall that warns people about admitting criminal acts that you’d have to report, damn the confidentiality. 

“When did these obsessions start?” You ask him, body tilted toward him even though your eyes and hands move to your open computer. You document what he says, take note of it all, skimming over previous notes from other appointments. 

“Maybe about eighteen months ago?” Bakugou’s voice is gravelly, deep and grating against the column of his throat. As he answers, he shoves his hands in his sweats pockets, scoots down a little further on your adjacent couch, looks around the room as if he hadn’t been in here a few times before. 

“So this is a more recent development?” You ask, humming under your breath and nodding when he grunts an affirmation. You type, obsessive tendencies over people started less than two years ago, could be trauma based, and you wonder if he can read the words through the reflection of your glasses when you look over to see his eyebrows screwed down. 

“Was it sudden for you?” You cock your head to the side, before shaking your head. “Let me rephrase; did these tendencies ever show their faces in other aspects of your life? Different time periods, situations? Or was it just a sudden thing that happened, something you realized once the obsession had already begun?” He starts nodding his head before you can even finish, his ash blond bangs shadowing his eyes for a second in such a way that sends a prickle of chills up your arms. You don’t know why, so you try to swallow the feeling down until it burns at the back of your throat, shifting a little in your cushioned seat. Bakugou watches you for a second before he opens his mouth to speak. 

“It was sudden.” He answers, plainly, doesn’t offer up much else until you cock an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to go on. He rolls his eyes and huffs under his breath, shifting again before he shrugs dramatically with his hands still in his pockets. 

“I dunno, I was fuckin’ normal until I wasn’t.” You chuckle a little at his tone, crossing your legs under the desk, watching how Bakugou’s vermillion eyes dart down to catch the sight of them, before they slide back up to your face. 

“You’ve been in a relationship before?” You state more than ask, eyebrows slid high on your face in question, watching Bakugou roll his eyes a little before he nods. 

“Yeah.” He offers, his mouth set in a thin line, obviously not wanting to offer up too much information on the topic. 

“How many?” You push. How the hell does he expect you to help him when he keeps giving you short answers, nothing to work with? Why even seek out your help if he acts like being here is such a nuisance to deal with?

“Two.” Bakugou says through gritted teeth, eyes cutting at the decorations you have hung on the walls. “What does this have to do with anything, anyway?” He spits, cuts his eyes at you once more as you narrow your own at him. 

“I’m trying to find a connection between your sudden obsessive tendencies with your relationships with people in the world.” You clarify for him, sitting up a little in your seat as his own irritation bubbling off of him starts to sink into your pores, too. 

“People rarely have sudden personality flips and switches with no leading causes beforehand. Did these tendencies start because of preexisting mommy issues that were suddenly uncovered after being repressed for years? Were you in a long and committed relationship, which ended in such a way that it wasn’t necessarily on your terms, even if it was ultimately your own call? Was it an accident you were in? Have you always been like this and never realized it? Do you understand what I’m saying, Katsuki?” 

…

Bakugou isn’t taking in a single word that you’re telling him. He wishes he could; he’s sure you’re saying some real shit that he should most likely take into consideration. But its so hard to focus when you look at him like that, when your neck rolls a little with every word, when your foot bounces under the desk, the way your lips curve just so. 

You’re the reason he’s even here right now. The bane of his fuckin’ existence, but also the  only thing that matters to him in the world. 

You are his obsession. His muse, his fantasy, his daydream turned reality. And it’s all your fucking fault. With how you prance around your home with your curtains open, wearing nothing but slutty little shirts and no bra, no pants, just panties that sink into the curves of your ass and thighs. How you just go about your life without a care in the fucking world, always so oblivious to everything around you. 

You hadn’t even noticed him, the months he spent watching over you. Didn’t catch his lingering stares, or how his ash blond head of hair always seemed to be at least ten feet behind you with every step you took. How your long time neighbor from across the hall suddenly disappeared, how a new tenant moved in when he knew you’d be out. How you forget entirely too often to lock your door, to put your used panties in the hamper. How you tease him with everything, how you’ve been fucking leading him on for over a year and a half now. 

So, he had to get desperate. Had to search you up and find what qualifications he needed in order to be seen by you, a psychoanalytical therapist for those who want to be reformed. 

But Bakugou had no plans on reformation. There was nothing for him to be reformed on. He just wanted you, and goddamnit, if he wasn’t going to have you. 

“I understand you, doc. Loud and clear.”

***

It was your day off, and you had plans on spending it in your bed, catching up on some reading and maybe finishing that one show you started a while ago. But, lunch time came around, and you were craving something specific and didn’t have all the ingredients that you needed. You figured you could go out to the grocery store to grab them, get some fresh air on the way there, and maybe stop at that book shop you had been eyeing for a while. 

You get ready quickly, closing your front door behind you, pausing for a second to stare at the door across the hall. You still can’t believe Ms. Hayashi had so suddenly moved out, especially after living in this complex since it was first built. She hadn’t even said goodbye, and you never got the chance to return the Tupperware she lended you. 

It wouldn’t have been as weird if someone hadn’t supposedly moved in the next day. You were a gossip with your landlord, a nice older lady, and she gave you all up the updates on the people who lived in the complex. She had said that he was a nice guy, kind of scary and intimating in stature, but respectful the whole time. Said that he didn’t even look at the apartment before giving her the first six months rent and despot in cash. She told you to ever call her if you smelled meth cooking from that apartment, as no one who works a regular job just has that kind of money laying around. 

You shrug to yourself, coming to the conclusion that maybe the new owner just needed to get out of town, away from somewhere or someone else. Everyone has their reasonings, and you can’t analyze every single move someone you haven’t even met before has ever made. 

You continue down the steps until you’re out of the building, unaware of the crimson eyes that follow your every movement. The walk to the store is a little longer than you’d like for it to be, but you figure that the exercise can do you some justice, and it’s always nice being out in nature. You stop and pick a flower that grows from a crack in the sidewalk, twirling it in your finger the whole way to the store, finally tucking it behind your ear when you have to grab a grocery cart. 

And still—and still—you don’t see the eyes that watch you. The figure that follows your every move, that disappears behind walls and aisles every time you turn your back. You feel it though, he can tell, because you move a little quicker and look over your shoulder more than usual. 

You go to the self checkout, trying to hurry now, as an uneasy feeling starts to wash over you. You get these often, especially working in the field that you do with the patients that you choose to take on—hardened criminals, fresh out of jail and still ready to harm society, people that just like to see the world burn for the fun of it. 

The therapist is typically one of the first few people to be taken out, after parents. You’re always too high on the list for your liking, despite loving your job. 

You keep trying to scan an item, but it’s not working, and that only makes your panic settle in deeper into your bones. You try to remember the techniques that you give people when they start to feel overwhelmed by their emotions and what goes on in their heads, but its hard when that sinking feeling only grows deeper and heavier by the moment until—

“Need some help with that?” You jump away quickly, eyes wide as you hold up the can of soup you were gripping tightly like a weapon. You let out a breath though, only in slight relief, to see that its one of your patients standing beside you—Bakugou Katsuki. He looks different than he usually does in your sessions together; he’s wearing a tight compression shirt that hugs his wide shoulders, navy blue in color, sweatpants that wrap around the thick muscles in his thighs, and plain running shoes. 

For some reason though, the panic in your stomach doesn’t fully quell at the sight of him. 

“No, I got it. Thanks though, Bakugou.” You tell him politely, smiling shakily. Why does the sight of him unnerve you so bad? You’ve run into patients before on the street, and they never make you feel like this, this uneasy, even when it was dark and you were dressed more scantily than you are now, with your baggy pants and too big shirt. 

“You sure?” He grunts, cocking his head at you as he gently pries the can from your still tight grip. “I watched you struggle with it for like, two minutes. Let me.” He tells you, never taking his eyes off of you as he scans your item easily enough. He only looks away when he bags it for you, and starts to scan the rest of your things as if you weren’t standing there. 

“Oh no, it’s okay, I can finish that myself.” You wave him off him with a shaky smile, finally breaking out of your stupor when he’s damn near finished. You reach out to stop him, but Bakugou only waves you away with a grunt. 

“’S alright. It’s the least I can do for you helping me figure my crazy out.” Bakugou shrugs at you, a joke you’re presuming, as he glances over at you with a tiny lilt at the corner of his mouth. It calms you, only for a second, before something ever so slightly changes in his eyes, in the way he looks at you and takes you in, makes you feel like something sinister is sinking deep into your bones. Your stomach tightens again, and you have to force a smile when he finishes, before it drops when you see him reaching for his wallet. 

“Oh, I really can’t let you pay for my groceries.” You tell him, stepping up to him before pausing when he looks at you out of the corner of his eye with an expression so terrifying, that it makes stone drop into the pit of your belly. 

“Let me.” Bakugou tells you more than asks you, and you nod slowly, swallowing the thickness that has settled into the back of your throat. You can only watch as he pulls out a wad of cash, counting through it before inserting it into the machine, mouth set in a thin line all the while. You try to take him in, figure out where his own groceries are to be in this section, where all this money is coming from, if his address that he put on the file is even anywhere near this area. 

It’s not. 

“Cmon.” Bakugou snaps you out of your trance, big veiny hands holding all of your groceries as he nods his head to the exit. You’re stuck there, wondering if this is really happening, if these are just boundaries being crossed or a crime about to be committed. You feel tears stinging at your eyes as you try to blink them away, hiccuping slightly as you slowly shake your head. 

“Please give me my groceries, Bakugou.” You don’t even recognize your own voice, soft and shaky and purely terrified. Bakugou fixes you with another deadly expression but this time—this time he smiles at you, and its everything but friendly. All big white teeth and too sharp incisors, all falsely charming and all weaponry, all threat with no escape from his drooling maw. 

“I think we should go home, now. Don’t you?” He asks you with a cock of his head, body still turned to the exit, his stature eery with how the veins in his neck throb with every second you stay rooted in your spot. “Before something happens to these nice people in here, right? Before they have to bear witness to a massacre, all because you don’t want to walk home with me.”

You have to bite back your sob that bubbles up in your throat. You’re terrified of what will happen to you, but you’re a caretaker first. You have to put yourself before these people, put yourself before the monster that wants you as a sacrifice before he burns an entire village down for you. 

So you nod, and take the hand offered to you as he switches the groceries to one hand, just to squeeze yours in the other. 

You leave out of the grocery store with tears muddled in your eyes, a quivering chin that you try to conceal, hope no one wants to be a hero and find themselves hurt, or worse, because you can’t school your expressions. 

This was taught in a psychology course you took in college, you remember. One of your classes after you started working on your highest degree—what to do in real life situations as a psychologist. How to avoid more conflict when a patient is erratic. How to deescalate. How to survive. 

Everything you’ve ever learned has gone out the window now. 

You and Bakugou walk down the street hand in hand, looking like a normal couple for the most part, besides your trembling jaw and shaky steps. You glance up to him, watching him squint in the sunlight before he glances down at you, squeezing your hand gently, as if to comfort you, as if he weren’t the cause of your panic. You notice that he’s walking right in the direction of your apartment, as if the route were memorized. 

“How do you know where I live?” You ask shakily, mouth full of cotton as Bakugou keeps his head forward, grinning. He glances at you again, eyes bouncing between the delicate flower tucked behind your ear, and the terrified expression your eyes carry. 

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t offer up anymore information until you stand outside of your building. “You know, for you to be a therapist to fuckin’ weirdos, you don’t watch your back good enough for my liking.” 

You didn’t think your stomach could sink any lower, but it does. It does when the realization settles, when his words kick in—that he’s been watching you, but for how long? How could you not have noticed? Did he even contact you because he needed help, or was this only a way to grow closer to you, to his obsession?

Before you know it, Bakugou has walked you up the stairs until you reached your floor. Your body turns to instinctively to your door, but you’re pulled in the other direction. 

“Wha—” you go to ask Bakugou, before you notice he’s set your groceries down to fiddle with the key to…to the apartment across the hall from you. You feel the tears flood again, letting them flow this time since no one is around to try and save you and put themselves in harms way anymore. 

“It’s been you? This whole time?” You ask slowly, starting to pull away when Bakugou opens the door to Ms. Hayashi’s apartment, still decorated the same before she mysteriously disappeared—you don’t think its so mysterious anymore.

“Of course it’s been me.” Bakugou scoffs as he grips your hand tighter, pulling you closer until you near the doorway. “I had to watch  over you—do you know how careless you are with everything? With your life?” He snarls, whirling around on you when you plant your feet and try to keep him from pulling you into his lions den. Bakugou is all snarls and teeth, invokes such a deep fear within you that you can’t help but shrink under his gaze. 

“Now come on. I’ve been waiting for this for entirely too long.” His voice is downright salacious, eyes turning sharp and hungry, and in a way that makes you feel like nothing more than hunted prey. 

Bakugou damn near drags you within the apartment, despite your whimpering and pulling at him—he’s just too strong. He walks you a few feet inside before he dumps the groceries on a coffee table, finally letting go of your hand so that he can lock the door, emerging a key from his sweatpants pocket to one of the many, many locks, an insurance policy of you never leaving him unless he allows it. 

You try to put on your therapist boots for a minute, swallowing your fear as you try to reason with him, swallowing thickly when he turns around and takes your trembling form in. 

“Bakugou,” you start shakily, “this doesn’t have to end bad for us. You can just let me go, and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t report you, or anything. Please, please, PLEASE!” 

He comes rushing at you before you know it, on you in seconds, despite trying to turn and outrun him before he pounces. But it’s too late and he’s too big and too overwhelming, and he grabs you up in his arms, shushing your screaming with his mouth pressed against yours. 

So this is what he wants, you think to yourself, terrified to say you’re slightly relieved. You’ve worked with men who liked to torture women for fun, and you were scared that he was secretly one of them, but it looks like he just wants—

“You.” Bakugou whispers with a swallow against your mouth, hot and breathy. “I want you so fuckin’ bad, wanted this for so long, fuck.” He’s wrapping you up within him in seconds, arms crushing your ribs, tongue sneaking into your mouth, hands grabbing handfuls of whatever he can reach. 

You’re stunned, mostly. Finally putting the pieces together of everything that is Bakugou, his coming to you about his obsessions, his secrecy despite needing your help, the way he always looked at you, how he devours you now like a mere schoolboy. It all makes sense now. You pull away from him, eyes round and wide as you take in his lowered ones, how he dives back in to nip at your jaw and chin and cheek. 

“I’m your obsession.” You whisper shakily, hands on his shoulders, despite them making no moves to move the large man back. Bakugou groans at that, damn near sinks to his knees at your realization, wraps you up even tighter as he buries his face into the skin of your neck. 

“Fuckin’ finally. Thought you would’ve caught on sooner by now, dumbass.” He scolds you, licking up the expanse of your skin as you shiver and try to back away. But Bakugou only holds you tighter, and you whimper at the bulge that nudges your hip. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve—could’ve worked on exposure therapy, had someone there to monitor you for our safety, could’ve—”

“Too much work. I just want you.” Bakugou moans, nipping at your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass when you squeak. He walks you backwards until your back meets a wall, the breath being knocked out of you as you gasp, eyes wide when he finally pulls away from your skin. 

You’ve never seen him like this, all fucked out and relaxed and even a little excited. Always saw him with a bored or irritated expression, one of indifference. But now, Bakugou looks high on euphoria, with kiss swollen lips and low eyelids as he takes in your still shocked expression. 

“Let me taste you,” Bakugou rushes out in a quick breath, diving in once more to lick at your mouth before he pulls away, big hands squeezing at your waist and ass excitedly. He’s like a dog with a bone, like a pup with no master, waiting for you to give the command, the permission to go. 

You wonder if you have more control of this situation than you originally thought. So you try your hand, see how far you can push before you can wiggle your way out of this entire thing and get the chance to call the police. 

“Bakugou,” you start, quickly being cut off by him with a sharp nip to your chin. 

“Katsuki,” he corrects. You nod. 

“Katsuki, if I—if I let you do this, this one thing of…of tasting me, will you promise to let me go?” You try to reason with him, cupping his cheek when his eyes wander over your form instead of your face, leaning into your touch instinctively. 

“We can,” you pause with a swallow. “I can do this. I can create a therapy plan for you, for your obsession over me, and it can be fully consenting and healthy, but you have to let me help you and let me take control.” You try to reason with Bakugou, hope he understands what you’re saying, that he won’t catch on to this just being a trick. But he only groans and turns his head, sucking your thumb into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at your gasp before he releases you with a pop. He turns half lidded vermillion eyes to you, frowning as he rests his heavy head in your palm. 

“Whatever you fuckin’ say, just let me taste you, goddamnit.” He mutters petulantly. You can only hold your breath, wonder if what you’re agreeing will hurt you in the long run before you nod. 

“You can—you can taste me, Katsuki.” 

You think you might’ve sealed the deal with a devil, with the way you can practically see horns protruding from his forehead and a tail flickering behind him when he drops to his knees. Bakugou is too quick for your liking, yanks your pants around your ankles too fast, hurries you out of them, rips your underwear away from your skin until it tears and falls limply in a pile on the floor. 

You squeak when his face is suddenly pressed right against your cunt, his nose buried into your pubic hair, the sound of a big sniff echoing throughout the room. You can’t help but cringe, but don’t dare push him away—people need to be exposed to all aspects of things in order to overcome them, even if those things are sniffing what lies between your legs. 

“Fuck, smells so good.” Bakugou grunts under his breath, huffing a few times before he forces your legs further apart until you can accommodate the wide expanse of his shoulders. You grunt from the stretch, trying to make yourself comfortable, but Bakugou picks up on it quickly, and grabs your knee to hike your leg over his shoulder to rest on. 

It creates a better angle for him anyway, with your lips glistening with your arousal—you were aroused. Turned on by him just as much as he was with you. You were wet, even if it’s not as much as he would prefer, as he would get you to that amount in only a matter of time. 

You throbbed when his tongue traced the hood of your clit, of your lips, your folds. You twitch hard against his mouth when he keeps licking and licking at you, until your slickness and his spit mingle and he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. Until it makes a mess of his mouth and chin and the floor below him, and you, with your pretty moans and grabbing hands. 

Bakugou has waited for this moment longer than he can really care to remember, at this point in time. Waited to worship you on his knees, be able to look up from between your soft thighs and see the scrunch of your brows when he sucks your clit between his lips and runs over it with the flatness of his tongue. 

It’s an addictive feeling, really. Makes him feel higher than any drug could ever take him, makes his eyes roll back and his cock throb so hard that he has to grab it from beneath his sweats to keep from busting his load already. 

You can only stand there and take it—take the incessant licking around your hole, and the dipping of his tongue inside of you, and the sweet little kisses he plants on your clit. You try to reason with yourself, convince yourself that this is an improvised session with a client that needed your help so badly that you decided to take him on your day off. Try to tell yourself that this is all apart of the therapy that he needs in order to get over you. 

You only hope that the taste of you doesn’t become so addictive, that your plans for him will go flying out the window the moment you try to reason with him. 

But its hard to reason even with yourself when Bakugou is sliding a thick, middled finger inside of your dripping hole as he noisily sucks your clit between his lips. You cry out at that, knees wobbling, but he’s there to catch you with his free hand, his shoulder. Holds you up steady like a pillar as he lashes his tongue against you, twists his finger, curves it slowly, before he’s adding another one before you can even register what’s happening to you. 

“Shit, Katsuki,” you moan out, cursing yourself for letting him make you feel so good, for getting so wrapped up in this ‘therapy’. You can only hope that the board doesn’t take your license if they were to ever find out about it. 

“Thats it, baby, ride my fingers just like that.” Bakugou breaks you out of your trance with his groan. You hadn’t even realize how your hips were moving against him, grinding down on his digits that curl up inside of you, that slide against that swelling spot that makes your knees weak and your eyes cross.

“Gods, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” Bakugou whispers against your mound, trailing spit from his mouth down to your clit once more, eyes never leaving the pleasured look on your face. 

Did you know he imagined this, in damn near every session he’s ever had with you? While it wasn’t plenty of sessions (he had only started seeing you about six months ago), it was all he could think of. Every Tuesday at 2:45pm, in office number 218, first door on the right, the mint green office—all he could think of was you. Even when you asked him questions with a professional and friendly smile, even when you were covered head to toe, even when you ripped him a new one for his shitty answers and responses. 

This was all he wanted, all he craved to see. The way your mouth dropped open when he starts damn near directing you in how he wants you to ride his fingers. How your hips move and swivel and tremble when he keeps bringing his fingers close to his face, inside of you. How you grip so tightly at his hair and pull when he won’t stop sucking and licking and messily kissing your clit. How he damn near makes out with your hole, tongue drooling and smacking against your soaked skin until he feels himself about to burst in his pants. 

This was all he wanted, and Bakugou always gets what he wants. Even if its you—especially if it’s you. 

“I’m—oh, I think I’m—shit!” Your brain is damn near fried when you start to orgasm, an earth shattering moan slipping from your throat as you throw your head back, hips bucking against Bakugou’s face and hands. He has to hold your entire body up steadily, fears that you may fall from how hard you’re coming, how you shake in his arms. 

His fingers are steady inside of you, and only slows when you start to finally come down from your high. Bakugou kisses the inside of your thigh sweetly, nibbles at it when you groan and complain about feeling too weak from the intensity. But that’s not a problem for him at all. 

“Hey—what are you—” Bakugou cuts you off with a wet kiss pressed to your mouth when he stands to his full height. His tongue slides against yours and you can’t help but moan when you taste yourself on him. He doesn’t give you a chance to step away and try to slink back to your own apartment, instead hoisting you up quickly in his arms as he starts to walk to a room behind you. 

Before you can protest, you’ve been dumped on the kitchen table, Bakugou pressing you down with a hand to your sternum when you try to sit up, shooting you another one of those eery looks from earlier. You still instantly, before slowly lowering yourself back down on the table, eyes wide again when he levels you with a stare for a beat longer before he steps back to yank his shirt over his head. 

“I thought,” you mumble, trying not to stare at how well built Bakugou is, how his biceps might literally be bigger than your entire head. “I thought that we agreed for you to only, um, taste me, and then you’d stop.” Its hard finding your voice when Bakugou stares at you like that again, not scarily, but hungry like before. Hard to fight back and push him away when he grabs your shirt in two hands and rips and pulls until your torso is exposed, like the fabric meant nothing to him. 

You clench your thighs at the display of strength and hope that he doesn’t notice. (He does). 

Bakugou shrugs at you, pulls your bra down until your tits are on display, grabbing a handful of each and massaging them in warm, sweaty palms. He ducks his head down and gives a sweet kiss to both of your nipples, licking one crudely before he stands back up to his full height, your breasts still in his hands. You think he must’ve forgotten what you said, or simply didn’t care to answer, but he surprises you when he squeezes your tits tightly and speaks, 

“Think I need a little more exposure before I have to be reduced to doses only, doc.” Is all Bakugou gives you, squeezing your chest one last time before he pulls away. You try not to show the panic on your face when he reaches to pull his sweats down until they bunch around his corded thighs, cock damn near bursting from its confinements. 

Bakugou reaches inside of his boxers, biting at his bottom lip when he touches it directly for the first time since he’s gotten you, groans a little at your gasp when he fully exposes himself. He’s thick, curved a little to the side, his head a dark flushed color, a fat vein forking up the side of his shaft. He rests his cock over you, makes a soft little noise in the back of his throat when the precum slides from his tip and pools in the dip of your bellybutton. 

“Shit, I love you so fuckin’ much,” Bakugou mutters under his breath as he positions himself at your entrance. Your eyes bulge at his confession, but before you can even touch on what he’s said, he’s already sliding his way inside of you. 

Your head falls against the kitchen table, the dull pain quiet compared to the overwhelming pleasure that settles low in your pelvis. You groan, thighs hooked around Bakugou’s waist as he fucks his way inside of you, a moan on his tongue as he watches the way your lips split and suck him inside so, so sweetly. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t wait anymore,” Bakugou mutters against your mouth. As he soon as he settles inside of you, he’s pulling out until his tip kisses your entrance, before he fucks his way back in. You shudder, his cock warm and heavy inside of you, his tip brushing against your sweet spot with every stroke until you start to cling to him and ask for more, more, more. 

And Bakugou gives it to you, with feral growls, hiking your legs up higher until they rest on his shoulders, hunching over you with every wet slap of his balls against your ass. The position forces him even deeper, makes your feet dangle entirely too close to your face, Bakugou leaning over to kiss you sweetly on the ankle. 

“So, fuck, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” Bakugou taunts you, grinning down at you when you blink bleary eyes up at him. He’s sweaty and golden and has a halo of light behind his ash blond hair from the overhead light. He’s prettier than you want to admit, but its hard trying to keep a face of professionalism when his cock keeps kissing your sweet spot and his chest pressed against yours makes your nipples harder than rocks. 

“Huh? What happened to that fucking smart ass that would lecture me in our sessions?” He teases, smile wide and feral as he holds your cheeks tightly between his thick fingers. He forces your mouth into a pout, kissing it, when you blabber nonsense up at him. 

“Fucked you dumb already? All those years of college right out the door, huh, baby?” Bakugou’s so mean, makes you whine and claw at his shoulders and nape. You could answer him, give him your professional opinion—not like you even had one in the first place—but he makes it so hard to think. When his cock is balls deep inside of you, when he looks at you with his teasing and yet adoring little grin, when he keeps shaking your face at him with a taunting coo, when he sneaks a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. 

“It’s okay; I can think for you. You don’t have to use that pretty little head even once when you’re with me.” Bakugou’s coos sweetly, reaches down and pecks your forehead and mouth when you whimper pathetically up at him with teary eyes. 

“Gonna cum? Yeah?” He asks you, hips never faltering as he fucks you into the table, his mouth pressed against yours as you grab him tightly, feeling the oncoming orgasm starting to flood your system. 

“Yeah,” you whine softly against his mouth through your puckered lips, making Bakugou groan as he fucks you through your orgasm. You tighten up around him so deliciously, sound so pretty with your fucked out moans and hoarse voice, look so gorgeous all high out of your mind and pliant on his kitchen counter. 

How could he ever remember to pull out?

You try to protest when Bakugou holds you tight and starts to cum inside of you, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. He only holds you tighter against him, groaning loud in the skin of your neck as his cock spurts his hot seed deep inside of you. When he finishes, he collapses on top of you, breathy and sweaty, and you’re in no better position. Its quiet for a while, despite your legs and back aching, and the cooling feeling of his cum starting to spill from around his softening cock still buried inside of you. 

“So,” Bakugou starts, and you’re almost fearful of what he might say next. “Can you start scheduling my appointments to your apartment instead of your office now?” 

You’re at least a little thankful that he has plans to let you go back to your life, even if he’s forcing himself to be apart of every little aspect of it. You nod tiredly, wondering how and if you’re going to tell your boss. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Twenty-Two- Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with the Chapters 1-21 on the Masterlist! :)

Chapter Twenty-Two - Haggard, Jennings, and Strait

You had just left the gas station a couple of hours away from the small town where Auntie B lived, starting your journey to your parent's house. While you were filled with excitement, you were also quite nervous. You hadn’t brought any man home to your parents since your ex, Derek. Your parents were in love with Derek more than you think you were. They viewed him as the perfect boyfriend for you. He was pursuing a law degree and planned to have his firm in the Big Apple. 

Your parents listened to you, but there were times you felt your words landed on deaf ears for what you wanted in life. Every parent wants their child to be happy and successful in life, but everyone views success differently. 

While accelerating onto the highway, you leaned against the armrest and gripped the wheel tightly. In all honesty, it wasn’t just nerves you were feeling; you were scared, too. 

Tyler decided to lean his seat back and put his hat to cover his face, in hopes of taking a brief nap. You slid one of your earbuds into your right ear and selected a random playlist from your ever-growing list of music. The piano intro of Merle Haggard’s ‘That’s the Way Love Goes’ flooded your ear. You hummed along softly, but it was one of your favorite songs of Merle’s so it was hard to not sing along. 

“That’s the way love goes, babe, that’s the music God made, for all the world to sing, it’s never old, it grows,” you sang softly,  “Losing makes me sorry, you say, honey, now don’t worry, don’t you know I love you too, and that’s the way love goes.” 

Little did you know, Tyler was not asleep beside you but was listening to you the whole time. You grew up listening to Haggard, Jennings, and Strait so it brought you back to a time when life was simpler. 

Your phone dinged and your phone read it to you in your ear.

“A text from Mom, hey honey, what time do you think you will be at Uncle Oliver’s? Say what you’d like to respond with.” 

“In an hour or so,” you said, “Who’s driving the truck and trailer?” 

After it was sent, the fiddle on ‘Amarillo By Morning’ took over. You slightly started to rock your shoulders while listening, your fingers tapping the beat of the song on the steering wheel. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tyler shuffle, glancing over you noticed he was disconnecting your phone from your ear bud and connecting it to the truck. 

“What? I like this song, too,” he said, turning the volume up.

“Ah, okay,” you laughed softly. 

“They took my saddle in Houston, broke my leg in Santa Fe, lost my wife and a girlfriend somewhere along the way,” he sang, sitting up in his seat, “But I’ll be lookin’ for eight when they pull that gate and I hope that judge ain’t blind. Amarillo by mornin’, Amarillo’s on my mind.” 

“I never took you for much of a singer, Owens,” you said, turning the radio down slightly. 

“Auntie B and my Mom would always have music playing, no matter the time,” he said, “Especially if it was classic country. They always played Alabama and Johnny Cash.” 

“Sounds like my household,” you chuckled, “Hence why my boys are named Waylon and Willie.” 

“Same for Cash, ain’t that right, bud?” He asked, turning around and seeing his dog passed out in the backseat peacefully. 

“He’s had a lot of excitement the last 24 hours, babe,” you said, “Let the poor pup sleep.” 

“I know,” he said softly, reaching his hand over and placing it on yours, “My last few days have been a lot of excitement, too.” 

“I bet, you’re with one crazy lady,” you laughed. 

“The only thing she doesn’t know is that I’m crazier,” he laughed. 

Your phone dinged again, this time it playing over the truck sound system. 

“A text from Mom, your father planned on having you drive and use your truck, then we’d have your boyfriend help out with some of the manual labor. You know we have to see if he is even worth your time. Say what you’d like to respond with.”

You pressed the button on the screen to not send a reply. 

“Well that isn’t embarrassing at all,” you groaned, rubbing your forehead while turning off the main highway. 

“It’s okay, they just want to see if I’m good enough for you,” he said, “Normal protective parenting.” 

“That’s what you think,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Just wait until they bring up my ex and won’t stop talking about them.” 

“Why do they like him so much since he broke your heart?” Tyler asked, squeezing your hand gently. 

“Because in their eyes he was the perfect boyfriend,” you mocked your parent's tone, “Meanwhile our relationship was far from perfect. I’m glad he cheated, even though it did give me trust issues.” 

“Okay, now I’m lost,” he said, leaning to be facing you slightly. 

“As much as my parents viewed him as perfect, after year two I was starting to fall out of love with him. We would fight, a lot and about the dumbest things. I’d want to go listen to bands and dance in downtown Salado, yet he would want to go to the city and bar-hop with his college friends,” you said, your mind going back to how those days made you feel, “He’d be gone to the cities for a whole weekend if not longer sometimes. He never helped out with the farm chores when we’d go to my parents. It’d just be that his soft little hands can’t get rough, it doesn’t look good in a courtroom.” 

“Was he going to be a judge or something?” Tyler asked.

“Lawyer,” you said, “My parents viewed him as going to be quite successful and would make me happy my whole life. So, I swallowed my pride and stayed with him to make them happy.” 

“Why though? If you were miserable,” he started to say.

“Because back then I was a people pleaser,” you snapped, “And others abused that so I’ve been working on not being one.” 

“I see,” he said quietly. 

“But what I view as being happy isn’t what they view, so I just suffered until I had an actual reason to leave him,” you said, pulling into a rest stop and putting the truck in park. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that for that long, baby,” he said softly, reaching over and moving a piece of hair from your face. 

“It is what it is, Ty,” you sighed, resting your forehead on the top of the steering wheel, “I’ve moved past it to what actually makes me happy.” 

“I make you happy?” He asked, a smirk coming to his face. 

“Yes, you dummy,” you said while sitting up and smacking his chest lightly, “I wouldn’t have said yes if you didn’t.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” he chuckled, kissing the back of your hand. 

“Are you okay to drive? I need to text my mom that we’ll be there in twenty and I need to calm down so I don’t lose it the next couple of days,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. 

“Anything for you babe,” he said, “I’d rather not have to bail you out of jail.” 

“I wouldn’t kill anyone, just say some not-nice things,” you said, opening your door and sliding out of your seat. 

“That’s what they all say,” he chuckled, getting out of his side of the truck to go around to the driver's side. 

While you messaged your mom back that you’d be there soon, you leaned the seat back slightly and rubbed your face with your fingers. There was a reason you rarely visited your family, and this was it. The home wasn’t a happy place anymore without James there. Your view of life changed, along with what priorities you had. You moved to stay focused on one thing and one thing only. Yourself.

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg @nerdgirljen @winterassassin1804 @smoothdogsgirl @xbox5angelx @ifilwtmfc @djs8891 @watashiwababy

[baronessvonglitter]

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 2 🍒

“Coffee & Garth Brooks”

pre-outbreak! AU!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 1,247

Summary: Joel visits you at work and during some innocent flirting, you reveal something that you probably should have just kept quiet about.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, however this chapter is pretty tame, age gap (reader is 18, Joel is 35), reader is tomboyish but otherwise no race mentioned and will not be throughout the series, until specified this story takes place in the summer of 2003 and is AU with no outbreak, flirting, reader has mild fantasies about Joel, no use of y/n

Series Masterlist

Mondays at the cafe are hectic. So as eager as you are to see if Joel will show up, you're also swamped with orders. It's not until the crowd begins to clear that you see him. He's smiling at you and you can't ignore the way your heart does a little backflip.

"Hey!" You greet him with a smile.

He approaches the counter. Today he's wearing a heather-gray t shirt and jeans. His hair is tousled, beard neatly trimmed, and you catch a whiff of clean-scented shower gel coming off him. "I remember you," he says, a playful glint in his dark eyes.

"I remember you too. . and I remember I owe you a coffee for helping me yesterday."

"Hang on there. Where's that ring I labored so arduously to free from your kitchen drain?"

You smile at his wordiness. "Why, it's right here." You extend your left hand to show off the ring, a lot cleaner and shinier than the last time he saw it.

He surprises you by taking your hand with a delicate touch. "It would've been a shame to lose somethin' so pretty." His eyes move up to yours, as if to gauge your reaction. "That offer still on the table?"

This small yet meaningful gesture mesmerizes you. "The… offer?" you mumble. "Oh! The coffee." Crimson, you fix his coffee, giving him a bigger size than you're supposed to. "Are you on your way to a site?" You ask as you hand him his drink.

"Thank you. Yeah, I've gotta check in on a site before noon." He sips his coffee, leaning against the counter. You try not to stare but you give a quick glance - his body, even when at rest, seems powerful.

"What's it like, being a contractor? Do you like it?" Before the words come out of your mouth you realize how immature you sound. Of course he likes it. He wouldn't be in that business if he didn't.

You feel a little relief when he smiles. "It depends on the day. You get plenty of sun, and you have to deal with a lot of bullshit, deadlines.. but it pays. So I don't mind it all that much. What about you? You enjoy bein' a barista?" Joel smirks and you wonder if he's enjoying your exchange as much as you are.

"It's thrilling," you say in a deadpan voice. "Wanna trade places for a day?"

"I'll pass," he laughs. "Sounds like you're tryin' to get out of work right now," he teases you, leaning over the counter. He places his elbows down and rests his chin on his clasped palms.

"Can you blame me? At least you get your choice of music in your truck, not whatever this is," you roll your eyes at the indie jazz playing over the speakers.

"I'm in charge of the radio in my truck. Just the way I like it."

"What do you listen to?" You also lean against the counter, subconsciously angling yourself towards him. You're only vaguely aware of the cafe, of your surroundings. As you talk with him it just feels good.

"I'll listen to almost anything: rock, oldies, anything really. I guess I don't like anything too artsy and pretentious-soundin'," he answers.

"You strike me as a country music lover," you give him a little bit of teasing.

He tilts his head to the side. "You got a read on me already, huh? Well I won't lie, I listen to some country, but only the old stuff. Not this new, pop-py, overproduced stuff."

"Do you like Garth Brooks? George Strait? They're the greats. You have to like them."

"Girl, you're too young to tell me who the greats are," he grins. "George is the king of country music. Garth's a given. He's kinda cheesy sometimes, but his songwriting is great, no denyin' that."

"When I was a kid I used to go around singing his songs to anyone who would listen. I would put on a show, sing at the top of my lungs.. I was a pretty rambunctious kid," you laugh at the memory.

"Bet you're just as rambunctious as an adult too," he says playfully.

You smirk. Joel's flirting with you, there's nothing more obvious. "I'm a college girl. I'm supposed to be rambunctious."

He gives a low chuckle and an intrusive thought slides into your brain: you want to know what that low rumble in his chest sounds like, with your ear pressed against him… When you come back to your senses you catch his eyes scanning your face. "Fair enough. I'm sure you've got all the boys chasin' ya, huh?"

There it is: the question you thought was only ever asked in books, in movies, and Joel is the one to ask it about you. "Oh.. not really.."

"I find that hard to believe."

You look away a moment, wiping an invisible spot on the counter with a cloth. "Truth is, I kind of have someone.. back home in Houston." You dare a peek at him only to see something like relief cross his face.

"That's great," he says, maintaining a smile.

You regret saying something like that. Trevor isn't someone worth bringing up to Joel, yet you have used him almost as a shield, and you don't know why. "It's, uh.. kind of uh.. ambiguous," you add. "He's going to university there. I guess we're still figuring things out."

Joel nodded slowly. "So.. it's complicated, is what you're sayin'?"

"A little.. I don't really, you know, want to talk about it." You smile and shrug as if it's a minor thing.

"Of course." He puts his hands up, then he looks like he wants to say something but he stays quiet. Looking at his watch he says, "I gotta get to the site."

"Yeah.. I should also get back to work." You turn your back for a moment then turn again to say something else to him but he's already outside going to his truck.

The rest of your shift goes by smoothly and you pocket your tips and start home. Once you're comfortable in the house you allow yourself to think about your interaction with Joel. Of course the first friend you make in Austin would be the ruggedly handsome, middle-aged man next door. A man with a daughter only a few years younger than yourself.

You've never really been in this position before. You don't really recognize your own feelings. You've had crushes on older guys before: teachers, coaches.. so why is this time different? And why are you struggling with it?

Joel, meanwhile, feels himself in almost the same predicament. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but he really likes you. The age difference is too much for him to even consider, but your presence.. it's getting to him. He likes talking to you, wants to be close to you.. but he can't. He doesn't want to mess up his life, and it will only cause problems if he doesn't keep his distance. He worries he won't be able to fully shake you off his mind.

A few days later he spots a paper on his truck windshield. It's a handwritten note from you:

pool party at our place this Saturday @ 2 pm

and your name signed underneath. Joel smiles and gets a pen from inside his truck to write a reply.

We'll be there, he writes beneath your message and he leaves the paper on your car windshield.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[fluentmoviequoter]

hi hanna! since your requests are open, i was wondering if i could request a deacon fic where he comes home late from work one night. and when he comes home, he hears music coming from the kitchen, and when he walks in the kitchen, he sees wife!reader in the kitchen baking cookies (maybe she couldn’t sleep, so that’s why she’s baking late at night) and she’s singing and dancing while she’s baking them too! and then while her cookies are in the oven baking, her and deacon end up slow dancing in the kitchen with each other!🥰

Hi, Rachel! I love this idea so much!! I'm sorry it's short but I hope you like it!🫶🏼

0.5k+ words of pure fluff and the king of country music

Just Want to Dance With You

Deacon sighs as he unlocks the front door. You’re not there to greet him, but Deacon’s smile grows when he hears music playing in the kitchen. Deacon follows the soothing melody, intermixed with the quiet sounds of pans moving and your soft singing, until he reaches the doorway. Deacon leans against the counter as he watches you dance to the music while evenly spacing homemade cookie dough on a pan.

It's late, and while Deacon feels bad about not being home when he was supposed to be, he’s happy to see you. Even if you should be asleep. After you place the pan in the preheated oven, you turn in time with the music.

When you see Deacon, you stop. Smiling, you beckon him closer.

“What are you doing up?” he asks softly, as if speaking too loudly will shatter the moment.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. How are you?”

Deacon’s eyes flutter closed as you brush your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“Better now,” he admits, pulling you closer by your waist. “Dance with me?”

“Forever.”

Deacon opens his eyes and smiles as he reaches for your phone. Lifting it from the counter, he finds a song. As the music begins, he lifts his arm and twirls you. Against Deacon’s chest, you look up at your husband and smile.

The sound of George Strait’s I Just Want to Dance With You fills your home as everything else fades away. Dancing with Deacon has been one of your favorite things to do since you first met, and since getting married, it serves as a reminder of the love you share and your past together.

“I got a feeling that you have a heart like mine,” Deacon sings. “So let is show, let it shine. If we have a chance to make one heart of two, Then I just want to dance with you.”

“How are you really?” you whisper.

“We’re all okay,” Deacon assures you. “Hicks needed a team on standby while the fugitive squad served a warrant. We spent the night at the station. What about you? How are you really?”

“Well, I’m dancing with my husband, who I love more than the cookies in the oven, so I’m doing pretty well. Thanks for asking.”

Deacon smiles and spins you around the kitchen before he dips you. His lips brush against yours, then he pulls you upright, cups your cheeks, and kisses you as if it’s the first and last time.

“I love you,” you say against his lips.

“I love you,” he replies. “More than the cookies in the oven.”

“We’ve gotten better at dancing since our first date.”

Deacon laughs at the reminder of when he tried to dip you but slipped and fell with you. “We’ve gotten better at everything, I think.”

“I agree. We’re great.”

“George was right,” Deacon muses. “Holding you in my arms is what they intended dancing for.”

“I’m glad you’re home. And in time for cookies.”

“I’ll always come home to you,” Deacon promises. He holds you close, swaying around the kitchen with nothing on his mind but you. When the smell of cookies spreads throughout the house, he might think about that, too. But mostly you.

[envysparkler]

Everything was too loud.

Everything was too loud and…spinning somehow, the lights of the club swirling sickeningly around him.  He—he was here with someone—he was supposed to be—everything was too hot and there were people pressing against him and his skin was crawling.

He needed to get out.

He needed to—something blared in the back of his head, shrieking a warning, but he—there was a door.  Outside.  Away from the crush of bodies and the sharp scent of alcohol and the way everything was getting a little fuzzy.

He’d definitely had too much to drink.

He wasn’t—he didn’t even remember—why had he come here?  Something about—spite and sadness twisted up inside of him and—he’d wanted to—to do something—and—

Air.  Sweet, blessed, cool air.

Tim staggered out, letting the door swing shut behind him and muffle the pounding bass of the club.  It was a cold night, and Tim shivered—he was wearing a thin shirt and skinny jeans, not at all dressed for the weather, but the cold was enough to wake him up a bit.

Not enough to help him walk straight, and Tim groaned as he leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway.  He’d only had two drinks, and he already felt like absolute crap.  Fuck.  At least his goal of forgetting this past day and passing out was a success, he was already…losing track…of his surroundings…

Fuck.

Tim tried to push upright, and the alleyway swam around him, the brief jolt of panic failing to clear the fog.  This wasn’t the alcohol.  This was drugs.

But he hadn’t—he’d been careful of his drink, he—he remembered turning away, but only for a second, he didn’t, no one could’ve—he wasn’t—

His head was spinning, and Tim rested his forehead against brick and tried to remember how to breathe.

He should—should call someone.  Tim patted his pockets before remembering that he’d left the phone at home, fed up with Bruce’s paranoia.  No panic button either—not that that would’ve helped, Batman was off-planet and Nightwing was on a mission.

Steph—Steph would help, and Tim curled his hands against the wall as he tried to think.  Steph was—was inside, with the pounding beat and the people and it was too hot inside but he needed to tell Steph he’d been drugged.  He had to.  He had.  He—

That sounded like the whine of a grapple.  But Batman wasn’t supposed to be here.  Was he?

Tim pushed away from the wall, vision swimming as the ground roiled beneath him, and—and that was a red helmet.

Even the drugs couldn’t stop the sudden lance of pure terror.

He didn’t hear the footsteps, but he felt the hand fisted in his collar, and he felt the brick digging into his back as he was pressed against the alley wall.  The mechanized voice was difficult to follow with his head so fuzzy, but fear forced his attention to focus.

“—the fuck are you doing, Replacement, you’re sixteen and you’re fucking drunk in the middle of Gotham, I can’t believe that B didn’t even check for some basic common sense when he went trawling for new sacrifices—”

Tim couldn’t suppress the soft whine as Hood shook him, making the world spin hazily around him again.  The red helmet was now far too close to his head, and he couldn’t do more than blink, shivering, his arms unwilling to raise.

“Are you on drugs?” the distorted voice sounded pissed.

Hood’s rules were clear—no drugs to kids.  Which meant that Tim was in even worse straits than he’d calculated.  “S—sorry,” he stuttered, but he got shaken again, the world tilting around him.

“Sorry?  What the fuck is sorry supposed to mean, you fucking—”

The roar of the club’s music cut him off, and Tim stared blearily at the back door—let it be Steph, please, he wanted Steph, he’d seen what Hood did to the dealers that sold to kids and he didn’t want to be beaten up again, especially not when he could barely even lift his head.

It wasn’t Steph.

It was a group of men, maybe three, maybe four, it was too hazy to make out.  He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but they sounded annoyed.

Hood’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and then loosened.

“You called dibs,” the distorted voice said, the crackling evenness somehow worse than the growling rage, and Tim blinked at him, confused, but the red helmet was tilted away from him.  “Dibs on what exactly?”

Something from the hazy figures, and a burst of raucous laughter.  Hood let go—Tim’s legs were jelly and the ground refused to stay in one place and the brick dragged painfully against his back as he slid to the ground.

“Oh, I do know what you mean.  I just wanted to hear you say it.”

That sounded like gunshots, Tim noted distantly, but the world was fading out.

[full-of-terrors]

Letter from Dr. Stanley to Dr. Fergusson written on board HMS Erebus July 12, 1845- Awe of the Arctic Exhibit 2024 NYPL

Transcript: My Dear Fergusson, having a few moments to spare before the letter bag is finally closed, I hasten to drop you a line to say that, although within the Arctic Circle , I'm not yet frozen to death and therefore in the land of the living and very jolly. We had a fairish passage out here but had a mighty gale of Cape Farewell, which sent us flying with closed topsails and courses to Cape Desolation, where in spite of the dismal name we found comfort. There's smooth water and a moderate breeze. These islands, and in fact, the whole of this western coast of Greenland, is the most barren and uninviting I ever beheld.

Some of the land is very high and serrated and has the appearance of being volcanic. On the bare rocks, large quantities of tripe-de-roche may be gathered, but as we were not reduced like our excellent captain on a former occasion to such a means of subsistence, no one I could find tried its qualities as a nutrient. We are completely surrounded with icebergs, some of them upwards of 200 feet high. They are, however, from the extreme heat disappearing fast and by their constant disruption, almost frightening your very life out of you.

I and a boat crew had a very narrow escape the other day out shooting. I had just fired and killed an eider duck when I observed that we had drifted closer to an immense iceberg, which I had previously noticed a day or two before in a decayed condition. I said to an officer who was with me "What luck it should come down by the sun!" And then ordered the men to pull quickly from our dangerous neighbor when it fell with a crash. Most stunning and awful to witness. There never was so lucky an escape. The discharge of my two barrels had no doubt hastened its overthrow. And although we were at a distance upwards of 100 yards, quite near enough we were knocked and tossed about by its displacement in the sea in a most uncomfortable manner.

The island swarms with mosquitoes and they are now flying about the gun room in all directions. They are the largest I ever beheld but not the most stinging. We sailed tonight for Lancaster Sound and the transport to dear old England with a report of our proceedings up to this period. At this season of the year, in this latitude, as you are aware there is no darkness. The sun never dips below the horizon. The nights I have there for devoted to shooting and the day to skinning and preserving the specimens I have killed. Since our arrival I have not slept more than 2 or 3 hours in 24. Goodsir is working harder than medusas and desires kindly to be remembered to you.

We are all sanguine and getting through the barrier into Beechey straits this year. Every one of the native Eskimos say this is the most open season they ever remember. And on the strength of our prospects I and the other officers have ordered letters to be directed to us at Panama and Kotzebue. The latter place will, of course, be the first port we shall make when we get through.

I have not a single man on the list and I have not had for several days. Sir John Franklin is not like the same person. He is so much improved in appearance and energy. He is almost always the first on deck and the last to leave it in all weathers. I must conclude now, old fellow, with best wishes and kind regards to Mrs. F and the bairns.

And believe me, your very sincere friend, Stephen S. Stanley. I had intended to have written to Fortnum and Masons. Pray tell them like a good soul that we are delighted with everything they furnished us and the members of the mess unanimously declare them to be trumps and we should be sorry to return before we have consumed all their good things.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Happy Together

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 16. Hostile Environment Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader Summary: From the moment Tyler met you in your karaoke bar, he was smitten. However, he's terrified to tell you how he feels even as you start a friends-with-benefits situation. Will he find the courage before it's too late? Word Count: 4906 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Storm Damage, Storm Injuries, Undefined Relationship, Friends with Benefits, Implied Smut, Communication Issues, Love Confession, Character Death, Language, Tyler's POV Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

“Come on, Ty!” Lily whined, pulling at his arm. “We’ve been coming here for months and you’re the only one who hasn’t sung yet.”

“Yeah, T!” Boone nodded his agreement. “If they made me sing that song from Frozen, you can at least sing some George Strait.”

Dani rolled her eyes. “First of all, Boone, no one made you sing that song. You picked it yourself. And if I remember correctly, you barely needed to look at the lyrics.” Turning to Tyler, she added, “But they’re right! Tonight, you are getting on that stage!” 

Tyler shook his head as he rested the mouth of his beer against his bottom lip. “Not gonna happen. When I first agreed to come here, I told y'all that it was only on the condition that I don’t have to sing. Ever.” 

His friends looked like they were going to continue arguing, but then Boone perked up in his seat. Calling out to someone behind Tyler, Boone said, “Hey, MC!”

Tyler froze, nearly choking on his beer, as he heard someone approaching the table. The person stopped just behind his chair and he caught a faint whiff of cinnamon and vanilla. It was a smell he had come to both crave and loathe these past few months.

He’d been flirting with you since the first night the Wranglers stumbled into your karaoke bar, but so far he’d only ever struck out. You always seemed super receptive to it, often returning his advances and even upping the game. Yet, every time he was just about to move in for a kiss, you would turn and sashay away. 

You stopped just behind Tyler’s chair and your melodic voice—always containing a smile—rang out, “Howdy, Wranglers. How can I help you guys tonight? Anyone wanna sign up for a song?”

“Tyler!” Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Boone all said at the same time. 

You chuckled and nudged the back of his head. “Well, Mr. Owens, it sounds like your crew has spoken. What do you say?”

Leaning back in his seat so he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye, Tyler answered, “I say the same thing I say every time: I don’t sing.”

Your eyes narrowed and he instantly knew he was in trouble. Quickly scribbling something on the notepad resting on the tray in your hands, you ripped it off and slammed it down on the table. “Well, sorry to have to tell you, but we have a new rule around here.” 

Everyone leaned in to read the paper. It had Everyone sings by their 5th visit. Refuse and you’re banned for life scrawled across it. Tyler’s stomach sank as everyone else snickered at the dread on his face. 

Giving him a dazzling smile, you said, “If I counted correctly, you’re well overdue for a song. So you either get up on that stage tonight, or you don’t come back. What’ll it be?”

The thrill-seeking part of him wanted to call your bluff and refuse to sing just to see what would happen. However, he had gotten to know you well enough these last few months to know that there was a very good chance it wasn’t a bluff and you would indeed ban him. And this had become one of his crew’s favorite places to stop while on the road so he couldn’t jeopardize their fun just because he was being stubborn.

So, reluctantly, he sighed. “Fine. One song.”

The Wranglers all cheered, and you patted his shoulder. “Atta boy. And, hey, since I’m feeling generous, why don’t we make it a duet? Me and you, and you and me. I’ll make sure to take care of you up there.” You winked at him, and most of the annoyance that had been building in Tyler’s chest towards you melted away. He just couldn’t stay mad at you however hard he tried. 

Giving his shoulder a quick squeeze, you looked over at another table. “I gotta go, but I’ll meet you backstage a few minutes before the start of the show.”

You turned to leave, but Tyler grabbed your wrist. “Wait. What do you mean ‘the start of the show’?”

Your smile took on a slightly more mischievous edge. “Don’t you know, cowboy? I always sing first.”

And just like that, his annoyance returned.

Half an hour later, Tyler found himself behind the curtain that was currently closed across the stage. He kept wiping his hands on his jeans as he peeked through the crack in the middle where the two sides of the curtain met. It was a full house tonight which meant he was about to make an absolute fool out of himself in front of more than a hundred people. He couldn’t do this.

But as he turned to flee, he crashed into you as you skipped up onto the stage. He grabbed your arms to steady you but you just laughed. “Where you running off to, partner? It’s showtime!”

Tyler shook his head. “I can’t do this, MC. I’m sorry. I really did try but singing…it’s just not my thing. Not even in the shower when I’m alone, let alone in front of all these people.”

“Didn’t you used to be in the rodeo or something for a long time?” you asked, your brow furrowed causing your nose to scrunch up adorably. “And you have a world-famous YouTube channel where you drive into deadly natural disasters! Now you’re telling me you can’t stand in front of these people for three minutes and sing a little song? Come on, Ty. You’ve heard some of the people that get up on this stage after three or four too many drinks. However bad you think you are, they’re worse.”

Tyler looked back at the curtain, his jaw clenched. Placing a soothing hand on his arm, you cooed, “Hey, it’s okay. I picked us out the perfect song for beginners. Everyone knows it. And you don’t even really have to sing. Just say the words, use the monitor if you need it, and, when it gets to the chorus, yell it at the top of your lungs. Trust me, they’ll eat it up.” The spotlights turned on, illuminating the center of the curtain. You gently shooed Tyler off the stage and whispered with a smile, “You’re gonna do great!”

The curtains opened and you strutted out to the middle of the stage. “Hello everybody! Thank you for being here! And welcome to another night of music and drinks at The Crooning Cowboy! I’m your lovely Mistress of Ceremonies, but y'all can call me MC.” You gave an exaggerated wink to the crowd who went wild. It was the same intro you gave every night to a room of mostly the same regulars, and yet, it brought the house down every time. There was just something about your confidence, your spark, your attitude, that made it impossible for people to not fall under your spell.

And Tyler had fallen. Hard.

He watched you play it up for the crowd, telling a few naughty jokes and poking fun at a few familiar faces. And soon, he was so engaged in your act, that he forgot to be nervous. 

That was until you held out your hand and gestured for him to join you. Suddenly, all the nerves and fear came surging back. But Tyler stepped out from behind the curtain and grasped onto your hand. He knew his was sweaty and warm but you didn’t seem to mind. You just handed him a microphone and pointed at the monitor. 

Then, the two of you began your duet.

As promised, it only lasted three minutes, but the moment the music ended, Tyler wanted more. Not of him singing—that he would never feel comfortable with—but singing with you. It was electric! The way you stared deep into his eyes, never once needing to look at the words. How your energy transferred to him and he found himself jumping up and down alongside you as you both belted out the song. He had never wanted you more.

And you must have felt the same because you grabbed his hand and dragged him off stage as the next performers set up. Leading him into your office, you shut the door and lunged at him, your lips slamming into his. Immediately—hungrily—he kissed you back just as he had dreamed of doing for the past several months. His hands grabbed your hips and he pulled you flush against his body. You groaned into his mouth as you felt him hardening against you and you broke away only long enough to swipe everything off your desk (something Tyler thought people only did in the movies). Then you hopped on top of it and crooked your finger at him, beckoning him over. And he happily obliged.

From that day forward, every time the Wranglers stopped by your bar, the same series of events would occur: You would welcome them in and serve them drinks. Tyler and you would sing a duet (the same song every time). You would take him back into your office and the two of you would fuck each other’s brains out. 

Afterward, you would sometimes come sit at his table and talk with the other Wranglers (often sitting on Tyler’s lap). No one knew exactly what your relationship was—hell, even Tyler wasn’t sure—but it was obvious to everyone that something had happened after Tyler’s first performance, and, thankfully, no one questioned it. 

For almost a year, this continued. Even when the storm season was over and the Wranglers had returned to Arkansas, they would all make a road trip to The Crooning Cowboy a few times a month to have some fun and to see you. It seemed like a perfect arrangement….until it wasn’t.

“Well, well, well. It looks like the Wranglers are back in town,” you smirked as your latest patrons filed into the bar. 

Tyler grinned and placed a soft kiss on your cheek. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“Fine. But you’d know that if you ever answered any of my calls,” you said, placing one hand on your hip while the other balanced a tray full of beers. 

Tyler’s face grew hot, knowing what you were referring to. “I’m sorry but you know this is our busiest time of year.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure that’s it.” You turned your back on him to address the rest of his crew. “Your usual table should be open and I’ll be right over with some drinks.”

“Thanks, MC,” Boone said as he gave you a side hug, narrowly avoiding knocking the tray from your hands. Dropping his voice, he muttered, “Sorry T hasn’t been keeping up with you. We really have been having a busy season these last few months.”

Smiling, you patted his cheek. “Oh, honey, I know exactly what Tyler’s problem is. And until he decides to do something about it, I don’t give a fuck what he does or doesn’t do.” Tyler dropped his eyes to the beer-soaked floor but you didn’t give him a second glance as you said, “Now, if ya’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta drop off these drinks before I get a table of thirsty bikers on my hands.”

As soon as you walked away, all eyes turned towards Tyler with annoyed glares. Dani crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you do?”

Tyler held up his hands, pleading innocence. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, obviously you did something based on that response,” Lily said. “So, what was it?”

“Can we at least sit down before we get into this? Please?” Tyler asked, looking around the room to find where you were. He couldn’t see you on the floor but you could return at any minute and he didn’t want this conversation to turn into a huge thing in front of the whole bar.

Still giving him the stink eye, the rest of the Wranglers agreed and they went to settle into their favorite table on the side of the room. It still provided a great view of the stage and the performances but offered more privacy than the tables in the middle of the room.

Once they were all seated, Tyler placed his cowboy hat on the table, then sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “So…MC found out about me and that girl in Enid a few weeks ago.”

Boone, Dani, and Lily all exchanged a look. Then Dani asked, “That’s it? I mean, I didn’t think you guys were exclusive so why does it matter.”

“It matters because I had a video call planned with her that night and I forgot to cancel before I took that other girl back to the motel. I turned my phone off so I never saw her calls. After an hour or so of getting sent straight to voicemail, MC got really scared that I had gotten hurt on a chase or something. So…she called someone who would know what had happened.”

Three pairs of eyes scanned the table…only to land on Dexter who had sunk low in his seat. 

Dani slapped the older man’s arm. “How did you not tell me!”

“It’s Tyler’s business. I figured if he wanted you to know he would tell you.” Dexter lifted his eyes to look at Tyler. “I’m still sorry I got involved in the first place. I didn’t mean to—”

Tyler held up his hand. “It’s not your fault. I messed up. I still don’t know what this is between me and MC, but I should have let her know something came up instead of just ghosting her.”

Boone nudged Dani in the side and muttered, “Something came up alright.” The two of them snickered as Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Haha, very funny.”

“What did MC say when you explained everything?” Lily asked.

Staring down at the table, Tyler fidgeted with his hat. “I haven’t talked to her since.”

“What!” Boone, Dani, and Lily exclaimed at once.

“I was embarrassed! I didn’t know what to say. So…I had Dex call her back the next day.”

“Tyler…” Lily covered her eyes with her hand, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’m surprised she let us back in here.”

“When I talked to her, she seemed okay with the whole thing, all things considered,” Dexter said. “I think she was so afraid something had happened to him that it was just an extra shock to find out the truth.”

“So, what does this mean?” Boone asked, looking from Tyler to Dexter to Tyler again. “Are we not gonna be able to come here anymore? Because this is the only place we go to that doesn't kick me out when I get drunk and start singing.”

Tyler sighed, picking up his hat and placing it back on his head. “It means we just see what happens and act accordingly. 

A few minutes later, you came over with a tray full of everyone’s usual orders. The air was tense, no one was sure where to look or how to act now that they knew what they knew. But if you noticed, you didn’t react.

Instead, you smiled at Tyler and asked, “We singing tonight?”

Tyler leaned back in his seat and peered up at you from under the brim of his hat. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

All the other Wranglers stared at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. This kind of banter and teasing was common between the two of you, but after what happened, he should be groveling at your feet instead of playing coy. Tyler realized his mistake immediately but it was too late to take it back.

You pursed your lips as your fingers drummed on the back of Boone’s seat. “Ty, I have fifty guys in here right now who would trip over themselves to get on that stage with me. So if you don’t want to—” 

You turned to leave but Tyler grabbed your arm. You raised your eyebrow at him and he held up his hands with a sheepish smile. “Okay, okay, point taken. You know I wouldn’t miss our duet.”

“That’s more like it.” You walked away, calling over your shoulder, “Be ready at 9 or I’ll have Boone take your spot.”

The younger man’s eyes grew wide as he choked on his beer, sputtering and coughing at the proposition. By this point, everyone knew that your duet was always followed by an encore performance in your office. And if you wanted Boone to replace Tyler there as well as on the stage….

Luckily for all involved, Boone was not needed. Tyler took his usual place next to you on the stage, and then on top of you back in your office. Everything felt exactly like it always did and he should have just let things be.

However, Tyler once again decided to put his boot in his mouth and decided to poke at the wound instead. As you slid off the desk to get dressed, he sat up and asked, “So…we gonna talk about what happened?”

With your back still towards him as you put your bra on, you said curtly, “Don’t see why we need to. Apparently, it wasn’t important enough for you to call and explain yourself. Instead, you had Dexter try and smooth things over.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘Hi. I’m not dead. I was just banging some chick I picked up and forgot I was supposed to call you.’” Your head emerged from inside your blouse and you looked over your shoulder at him. “I don’t see what’s so hard about that.”

Thinking about it for a moment, he asked, “And you would’ve been okay with that?”

You sighed, putting your hand on your hip. “Ty, I see you two, maybe three times a month. What do you think I’m doing the rest of that time?” Tyler shifted uncomfortably on the desk. He had never given much thought to who you might be spending your time with or what you might be doing while he wasn’t around. “I didn’t have an issue with the girl. I had an issue with the fact you didn’t respect me or my feelings enough to even send a text saying you were busy. That’s all I needed but I guess I don’t even warrant that in your eyes.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve handled the entire situation differently. And I promise to work on my communication.” He handed you your skirt where it had fallen behind the desk. Then, tapping his finger on the wooden desktop, he asked, “So is what you said earlier true? You’ve got fifty other guys hanging around who you sing with then bring back here? I thought what we had was special.” 

You rolled your eyes as you tucked your blouse back into your skirt. “How special can it be when I only hear from you when you’re walking in the door to my bar? What did you expect? That I would be pinning away for you, just hanging on to the hope you might grace me with your presence again?”

“No…That’s not…” Tyler slid off the desk and took your hands in his. “Sweetheart—

“No! Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!” You ripped your hands away as your voice began to rise. “Tyler, I have never once asked you to define what this is between us or pressured you into giving me more attention than you do. But you better believe I’m not just sitting here on my ass, twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to show back up. If you’re allowed to have a life outside of us, then so am I.”

“What if I don’t want a life outside of us?” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours. “What if I just want you?”

All of the fiery attitude you had seconds before faded until you stood before him more vulnerable than you had ever seemed. Swallowing, you murmured, “Then you just need to tell me that and I’m yours.” 

There was a long pause as you gave him a chance to speak. But he couldn’t. He had stared down 1000-pound bulls and driven head first into some of the deadliest storms imaginable, however, none of that ever scared him as much as the depth of his feelings for you. Even now, the words sat on the tip of his tongue begging to be set free, yet try as he might, he couldn’t open his mouth to release them. You deserved more than someone who could only give themselves to you a few days a month, and he would rather disappoint you as a fling than as a boyfriend.

When he remained silent, you set your jaw, straightened your shoulders, and nodded. “Right. Well, until then…I guess I’ll see you the next time one of your storms blows you into town.”

You walked out of your office, slamming the door behind you. 

“Tyler! T, be careful! You can’t just charge in there until we know it's safe!” Boone yelled, scrambling out of the truck after his best friend.

But Tyler barely heard him as he tore down the road, jumping over debris and dodging the wreckage of the once vibrant town. All he knew at that moment was that he needed to get to you—now. Nothing else mattered until he was holding you safely in his arms. 

Everything that could have gone wrong today did. First, he had woken up with a hangover and a world of regret from how he handled the situation with you the night before. He wanted to tell you how he felt—he needed you to know—but he just couldn’t. Then you were gone and refused to speak to him the rest of the night. So he drank…a lot.

At first, the hangover didn’t seem like a big deal considering the storm he was chasing was only supposed to be an EF1, EF2 at the worst. Yet the moment he spotted it on the horizon, it was clear to Tyler that the storm was much bigger than that. Then, the storm changed paths, putting it on a direct course for town. Tyler had tried calling your phone and then the bar, knowing you’d be in by now getting everything ready for that night’s customers. But the call never went through. He was on the other side of the storm and couldn’t make it in time to try to warn you in person. Instead, he and the other Wranglers were forced to watch as the town that had become a safe haven for them on their chases was decimated.  

The moment the storm had finished its destruction, he floored the gas and weaved in and out of debris as he tried to reach your bar. But eventually, he reached a point where even his modified, reinforced truck couldn’t make it through. So, he threw it into park and took off running even as Boone called after him.

He was just a block or two away but the utter devastation around him made it hard to maneuver. He felt horrible running past these places where he knew people may be trapped or in need of help, but nothing and no one mattered until he knew you were safe.

As he rounded the corner, he stumbled to an abrupt stop. 

In the place where The Crooning Cowboy had stood the night before, there was nothing but a pile of rubble. 

As Tyler’s legs almost gave out beneath him, the only thing that kept him standing was the near-impossible hope that you might still be alive under there somewhere. Waiting for someone to come to your rescue. 

He surged forward, screaming your name as loudly as he could. When he reached what was left of the bar, he dropped to his knees and began digging through the debris. Broken glass from windows and bottles sliced his fingers and wrists, twisted nails stabbed into his palms, and splinters embedded themselves deep under his skin—yet none of that stopped Tyler from searching. 

He dug and dug and dug and dug but there was no trace of you, alive or dead. The area he would have to cover in addition to how deep the layers of wreckage were made this a nearly impossible task. Without some sort of clue of where to look, there was no way he could find you in time. 

Collapsing to the ground, Tyler buried his head in his hands as tears began to stream down his face. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Not after he shattered something that meant the world to him and he hadn’t had the chance to try to put it back together again.

How could that have been the last conversation he ever had with you? How was it possible he would never get to tell you how he really felt? What you really meant to him?

“...matter how they toss the dice, it had to be.”

Tyler’s head bolted up, tears still clinging to his eyelashes, making his vision blur. Was that…? Holding his breath, he closed his eyes and listened.

“The only one for me is you, and you for me. So happy together…”

“MC!” 

Tyler was certain now. That was your voice singing your song—the only song you ever managed to get him on stage for. Your duet. You were calling out to him.

At the top of his lungs, Tyler shouted, “Sweetheart, keep singing! Please! Help me find you!”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then…

“I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life…”

It was faint—not just from the distance or debris, the voice itself was weak—but Tyler heard it coming from off to his left. Nearly sobbing, he scrambled towards the sound.

“When you’re with me, baby, the skies will be blue for all my life…”

When he thought he was right above the sound of your voice, Tyler began to dig with everything in him. Glass, wood, and concrete were thrown to the side as he prayed to anyone who might hear him that he would reach you in time.

And then, he saw three fingers poking up through the rubble. Grabbing them, he squeezed them tightly and was flooded with relief when they squeezed back. After another few minutes of digging, his knuckles hit something wooden, and, with a start, he realized he had found your desk. When the storm hit, you must have hid under it for protection. His brilliant girl.

Finally, he moved a large slab of concrete and he saw your face, eyes blinking in the bright sunlight. There was a large gash on your forehead that was leaking blood, and you were covered in dust, but amazingly, you seemed relatively okay from what he could see. 

When your eyes adjusted and you saw him, you let out a shaky chuckle. “Ty…you actually answered my call this time.”

Tears streaming down his face, Tyler grinned. “You know me. I wouldn’t miss our duet for the world.”

You smiled but then gasped in pain. Tyler’s face fell and he moved some more debris to try to get you out. As he worked, you muttered, “I don’t know what happened. One second everything was fine, the next, the building was falling down around me.” 

“It’s okay now. You’re gonna be okay,” Tyler murmured as he continued to uncover your body.

A piece of debris laid across your chest and Tyler grabbed it to lift it off you—only to immediately recoil as his fingers touched something sticky and wet. Trembling, he looked down at his fingers to see dark, crimson blood coating them and dripping steadily from the tips. 

Smiling sadly, you whispered, “I’m sorry. Piece of the stage broke off and went all the way through from my back. I knew it was over before I made it to the desk. But I had to try. I…I knew you’d look for me and I—I didn’t wanna be alone when it happens.”

Tyler’s tears of relief turned to tears of sorrow. Staring at your blood still coating his hand, he choked out, “MC…I…”

“It’s okay, Ty. You found me. You came through when I needed it most.” There was an odd peacefulness to your face as you stared at him, as if you truly had accepted what was about to happen.

But he hadn’t. There was so much he still wanted to say to you. So much he wanted to do. He had wasted so much time you could have spent together all because he was too scared to tell you how he felt. 

“Ty?” His eyes darted to your face and he saw blood slowly dribbling from your lips. “I need you to know…after the night we had our first duet, I never wanted to sing with anyone else ever again.”

Tears streaming down his face, Tyler cupped your cheek in his hand. “I felt the same, sweetheart. I would have sung with you for the rest of my life. And only you. I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. ” 

You smiled as you leaned your head heavily into his palm. “I’m just glad you finally did.” 

As your eyes fluttered closed, you whispered, “So happy together…how is the weather…… so happy together……. we’re happy toget……………”

In case anyone was wondering, their song is Happy Together by The Turtles