#Keel Road

[hayleylovesjessica]

I'm well aware that classical music is so, so nerdy and that, among all the sub-genres within classical, chamber music has to be the nerdiest, but IDGAF! The Danish String Quartet are a top 5 ensemble worldwide, and one of the things that make them so special is the fact that they make not only outstanding recordings of the key string quartet repertoire but also drop-dead beautiful folk-inspired recordings of traditional Nordic music. Like, my partner couldn't care less about the Danish String Quartet's Beethoven or Shostakovich recordings, but she loves their previous folk album, Last Leaf. The folk album they made prior to Last Leaf, Wood Works, is really good, too! So, I'm really, really looking forward to putting on Keel Road when my partner gets home so that we can listen to it for the first time together.

[dimity-lawn]

Night Watch:

The mob: Let us see what you have there!

Vimes: *calmly sitting on the steps* a cup of cocoa

The Mob: NO!!!

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

ford goes through the portal potty and ends up meeting stan again while trying to hitchhike his way back to oregon

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

Sean Eduardo Diaz once again the prophet of our times.

[saltasaurus-loricatus]

Didn't want to do my homework, so I procrastinated by practicing drawing.

Behold. A shitty OC convo drawn on my favorite dinosaur sticky notes.

Kordin: Road trip with friends!!!!

Litton: We are literally on the run from the government!

[tojisun]

something about best friend simon not knowing any boundaries (or, deliberately bulldozing through boundaries)—

the way he’s the one who picks you up in the airport even though you and your boyfriend already made arrangements for the pick up, but simon just says he offered to take over because your parents needed help setting things up in their lake house and that your boyfriend offered to help them.

(simon made him offer to help. it’s hidden so well behind honest concern that your boyfriend didn’t notice that simon’s been pushing him into the role until simon's calling out his goodbye's, saying he's off to pick you up now.

"oh, i can-"

"don't sweat it, mate," simon replies with a pinched smile. "i'll drive carefully, promise. bring her back, all safe and lovely.")

you didn’t even know simon’s invited to the vacation, but you gladly murmured to him your thanks, too caught up in your exhaustion to notice the little mean grin that tugged his lips up.

you clamber to his rover messily, blinking slowly, and before you can reach over to buckle your seatbelt, simon leans over and does it for you.

"could've done it myself, y'know?" you whine.

"sure you can," he grunts as he pulls himself back to his seat. "not like y'were one blown wind away from keeling over, but sure."

you roll your eyes at him playfully before biting a giggle when he scrunches his nose at you in reply.

he takes the long route back.

"want anythin' to eat?" simon asks after a while.

"don't we—" you pause, yawning. "need to hurry back?"

"not really," he replies, eyes flicking to the side mirror before he rounds a sharp curve. your body jostles, falling to the side, slipping towards the gear, and simon's hand falls to your lap to steady you.

he doesn't remove it even when the road straightens.

"okay," you finally reply, tired eyes blinking at the size of his hand on your leg. "m'kinda hungry."

he huffs a fond laugh and says he knows a place close by.

it's a local burger joint, apparently known for their fries and milkshake. simon buys you one.

"aww," you croon, grabby hands pulling the cold cup closer to you. "thank you, si."

you two eat in his rover, too lazy to actually settle in the diner.

it's greasy and messy and delicious. simon says you look filthy, before reaching over to wipe the stray milkshake on the corner of your lips. you poke your tongue out to him in reply; he says to swallow that back in before he yanks it out.

you laugh, chucking a balled-up napkin towards him before jumping out of his SUV to run to the bathroom.

(you didn't notice the throngs of messages coming in from your boyfriend nor the way simon swiped your phone from your back pocket and kept it.

he remembers your passcode—still unchanged even after all these years—and reads the messages that your boyfriend sent.

he's asking if you've landed or if you and simon are on your way back. he says he also misses you dearly, and that he can't wait to finally be with you again.

simon deletes them all.)

the two of you return when it’s well into the night, and everyone's gone to sleep. you sigh, feeling the exhaustion hitting you harder now, and amble to your room where you know your boyfriend must be waiting for you, only to stop when simon holds your arm.

"wanna sleep with me?"

"what," you begin, turning your sleepy eyes up at him. "no that's alright. my boyfriend's—"

"asleep, already. probably got ordered 'round by your pa, huh?" he smiles, his thumb swiping along the side of your forearm. "y'might wake up the poor lad if you go there so why don't you sleep in my room just for tonight?"

simon's words wash over you and you know, somehow, there's something wrong with them, with him, but your mind is bogged down by your drowsiness. you can't rationalize what's going on, so you say yes.

that's all simon needed to pull you to his room and into his bed.

you slip out of your clothes, per simon's instructions—his words all muffled as you try to stay up awake—and slip into something loose and baggy—stretched in its overuse but so comfortable on your skin.

it's simon's shirt, you'll learn tomorrow, but for now, you drop to the bed, your eyes shut close, and fall in deep sleep.

the last thing you feel is the heavy dip on the mattress behind you before a thick arm is thrown over your side, pressing into the fat of your stomach to push you back and into simon's front.

limbs lay tangled together, breaths shared, and the summer heat buzzing as skin meets skin.

-

simon doesn't get any better after that. he gets so clingy, and intrudes in your space and forces your boyfriend out.

your boyfriend complained, of course he did, but what could you do? what could you say? simon's your childhood friend so there's nothing malicious between you two. there's nothing more into it.

he gave up fighting then, fists tucked close to his sides as you kissed his jaw and told him to trust you on your words.

but—

how can he calm down? how can he not burn in anger when he sees the way simon pulls you to his lap and you readily nuzzle close. granted it's all because the two of you are watching some game on your phone and the position must be the only way to watch it comfortably, whatever, but it rubs him so wrong how familiar you and simon fall into each other.

how can he not doubt your words when he catches simon's eyes narrowed at him in quiet delight, before deliberately curling his arm around your stomach, and throws the other one on your lap, so dangerously close to your crotch.

it's even worse when the family gathers to the lake, and you and simon are chasing each other, playfighting in front of everyone. simon picks you up with ease, big hands digging into the fat of your belly or your thighs or gripping your ass like simon's so intimately familiar with your body.

how can he not hate himself a little bit when he realizes that it was always you and simon. that that's the dynamic.

-

(and if simon successfully seduces you during this vacation, well—)

-

ext

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home.

The streets no longer know them. They do not seem to fit in their own bodies as they stroll the cobbles, Lucy’s hand tucked carefully into Peter’s, Edmund trailing watchfully behind Susan like a shadow. Their eyes are sharp, their smiles crooked, and those who see them cross to the opposite side of the road, afraid of the ancient gleam they see reflected back at them that does not belong in the eyes of a child.

Water murmurs to Lucy when she flits past, and lamplight follows her wherever she goes, even in broad daylight when the lamps are unlit. Their flames sputter into existence when she walks by, flickering at her in a way that seems to whisper I know you. Lucy looks at them with feral teeth and smiles, and vines twist from the cobbles at her feet. She laughs like a wild thing, eyes glowing, but a moment later she blinks and it is gone. Her feet hardly seem to touch the ground at all as she darts through the alleys.

The sky is clearer when Peter walks the streets, clouds vanishing like they were never there at all. His eyes are too much like a lion’s, struck through with gold and filled with a brooding fierceness, yet he laughs as he twirls Lucy around, and claps Edmund on the back as they share a stupid joke, and smiles with Susan when she tells him of the bow she plans to carve. He is all warmth and friendliness, but there is something about his eyes. There is something about all of their eyes.

The sun caresses Susan as she moves about, and she is graceful, too graceful, her hair seeming to be alive of its own accord as she steps lightly along the streets. Her skin is pale like ice, and sometimes her gaze appears almost silver as she stands by the river, gazing into its depths with a distant, siren-cold smile. She is gentle, but her fingers look a little too long sometimes. Her laugh is a little too unsettling.

Trees lean towards Edmund when he walks past, branches scraping his clothing, leaves showering around him. Books and journals and pages covered in notes perpetually fill his arms, spilling from his grasp but never quite falling. His voice is even-keeled, quiet, but there is something wild about it, something unhinged. He speaks of things none have ever heard before, dark hair falling into his eyes, mouth unsmiling and hands perfectly still, and for a moment he seems to be someone else, fangs beneath his lips, dirt on his tongue. He tilts his head just a little too far, sometimes.

The Pevensies are foreign when they return home. They do not fit their bodies. They do not fit the streets. People who encounter them cross to the other side of the road to avoid them, terrified of the oldness they see in the children’s faces. Such depth does not belong in the gaze of a child.

And yet four sets of eyes, ancient and deep and flickering like candlelight, stare out from the children’s faces, and their smiles are sharp, too sharp. Their laughter is a little too wild as they walk, the oldest and youngest hand-in-hand, the middle children trailing each other like shadows.

There is something about those children’s eyes.

There is something about those children.

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[hayleylovesjessica]

Oh oh oh! One of my favorite string quartets, the Danish String Quartet, whom I've been lucky enough to see live two or three times, is releasing a new folk music album in August, Keel Road! For me, this is like when Taylor wins an award somewhere and announces her next album.

[callsign-peach]

the beanery

summary: jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why

pairing: established hangman x female!reader

a/n: the title? has almost nothing to do w the plot, but it’s the name of the coffee shop!!

--- Javy was the first to notice, but it was only because he had gone with Jake to your coffee shop a couple of weeks ago. He had been talking to his best friend about some plans for the newest aviators, and didn’t realize Jake had an end location in mind.

“What’s that?” Bradley asked, eyes honing in on the white take-out cup that Jake was sipping from.

“Hm?” The blonde asked, pocketing his phone and looking at his wingman. “Oh, just some coffee from that new place.”

Javy took a swig of his own Thermos to hide his smirk.

“Oh? The one near the Hard Deck? Penny said the owner’s been in a few times to ask about some tax shit.”

Jake nodded absentmindedly, he already knew this information. “Yeah, they’ve got some good stuff.”

He met Javy’s knowing eye and sent him a look, and Javy was thankful looks couldn’t kill.

Before anyone else could get a word in, Pete entered the room alongside a dozen newly-adorned Top Gun students, raring to go up in the air.

--- You heard the belle chime on the door, calling out to the patron that you’d be a moment. 

Slicing the now-empty cardboard box, you slid it between the wall and the trashcan, hoping you’d remember to take it out to the dumpster before trash day. 

Walking out into the bar, you smiled when you saw your boyfriend leaning along one of the columns in the seating area. “Hey, J. How was your day?”

“Good, you?” Jake asked, thanking you as you handed him a toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese. You almost keeled over when you found out your boyfriend’s go-to pastry at the cafe was a plain bagel, losing it when he spread pink cream cheese over it.

“I can’t believe you go for those bagels over my croissants!” You laughed, taking a sip from the iced coffee you made yourself about half an hour ago.

“Oh, what’s that? New syrup? Sauce? Lemme try.” Jake reached over for the clear plastic cup, puckering his lips over the straw. “Oh, babe, I don’t know about that one.”

Laughing, you nodded over to the dainty chalkboard wall with the featured drink. “Raspberry vanilla iced latte. You don’t like raspberries.” 

Jake hummed, face falling when his phone chirped from his pocket. “Damn, duty calls.”

Duty referred to drinks at the Hard Deck, a weekly tradition the dagger squad kept up once they were stationed at Miramar for good.

“Don’t know why you don’t just offer to have drinks here sometime. I can make espresso martinis or whatever shit Javy’s trying to make at our place.” 

Jake chewed the thought over, pulling his lip between his teeth. “Soon, I just like having my little secret barista girlfriend.” 

Scoffing, you playfully slapped your boyfriend’s chest. “Barista? I’m a full-fledged business owner, Seresin! Get it right!”

Jake laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple with a promise to be home before midnight. --- Stopping the timer on her watch, Natasha stepped into the cool air of the newest cafe in MIramar after her morning run, thankful for the air conditioning. 

“Good morning! Welcome to The Beanery, can I get anything started for you?”

Looking at the woman behind the counter, Natasha felt like she’d seen the woman somewhere before. “Oh, um, sure. Iced coffee, no creamer.”

“Any flavors?” You asked, scooping ice into the branded cup.

“Caramel?” Natasha smiled, and you laughed and pumped some caramel syrup into her cup.

“Oh, this is so much better than the base coffee!” Natasha smiled, depositing her change into the tips jar. 

“Base? You’re in the Navy?” You asked, setting some mugs out on the counter. 

Sure am. Naval aviator, originally was only here for a quick mission a couple years ago, but I guess they thought we were good enough to stick around.”

You smiled, setting the drying towel on the counter as the bell chimed for another customer coming in. “My boyfriend’s in the Navy, I’ll have to ask if he knows you.”

“Who knows! Thanks again for the coffee!” Natasha smiled as she left, taking her time walking back to her apartment and changing into her khakis.  --- “You, too?! Man, everyone’s getting coffee at the new place!” Mickey spoke as Natasha finished off her iced coffee.

Jake looked up from where he was texting you about the chocolate pastries you were experimenting with selling. 

He saw the plastic cup he had helped unpack the weekend prior, curious if his colleague had met you or one of your employees. 

“Yeah, it’s really good, and the food looked so good! I might go after work again to grab another drink.”

“Oh, I’m coming with. I need to try this coffee if you and Bagman say it’s good!” Bradley added, tossing a ball of paper at the blond man’s head.

Soon enough, the entire dagger squad was planning a short jaunt over to your coffee shop, Jake included. --- The bell chimed and took you from your thoughts, thankful for the distraction from the pastries you were trying to laminate.

“Welcome to the Bean- oh. Back so soon?” You asked, smiling as you saw Natasha walk back in, flanked by some other Navy men. “And you brought friends? Man, my confidence is sky-high right now.” 

Natasha laughed, though she missed the teasing look you gave your boyfriend as he walked in. “Sorry, I just can’t enjoy anything. These rats always have to tag along.” 

You snorted, starting on Jake’s drink absentmindedly. “What can I get you guys?”

The aviators all ordered, but when it was Jake’s turn to speak up, you smirked. “What can I get for you, Lieutenant Seresin?” 

Jake smiled, wanting nothing more than to swipe the flour off of your cheek. “Iced macchiato, extra caramel.”

“You know what a macchiato is, right? You bitch about me pouring any milk in my coffee, they’re like 90% milk!” 

You laughed as Bradley pointed to the cup, exasperated.

“Shut up, Birdbrain.”

Silently setting all the drinks at the end of the bar, you slid Javy one of the oatmeal cookies you made earlier. “Since I was out of them last week.”

“Thanks, but you know I was just going to grab some next time I was at your and Jake’s place.”

Shrugging, you watched as Bob seemed to put the dots together, silently sipping his Americano with a knowing look.

“Okay, this is going to sound really weird, but do you know anyone on base? I swear I’ve seen you before!” Natasha said, curiosity getting the best of her. 

You smiled, twinkle in your eyes. “My boyfriend’s an aviator, maybe you’ve seen me around with him? I don’t know, though. I just moved out here recently.”

Javy coughed into his coffee, trying to disguise his laugh. 

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Rueben asked, curious.

Smile growing wider, you simply nodded towards Jake. “Jake.”

“What the fuck?” Bradley asked, jaw falling open. 

Natasha and the rest of the aviator, sans Bob and Javy, all stared at the two, heads swiveling to look at the couple. “In your locker! There’s a photo of her in there, that’s where I’ve seen you before!” 

“You keep a photo of me in your locker? Cute.” You teased, coming out from behind the bar to stand with your boyfriend’s friends.

Jake blushed, offering you a sip of his coffee. “All right, all right, yes, everyone meet my girlfriend.”

You smiled, officially introducing yourself, promising to catch up more with the aviators after you heard the alarm going off for the croissants in the back oven.

“Damn, Hangman, you did good.” Rueben clapped his friend on the back. 

“Yeah, I did.” --- a/n: i like this couple idea a lot but i cannot write it i have too many thoughts going through my head so def expect more !!!!!! send requests, chat to me about this trope at literally any time !!!

[revelboo]

Over it Now

Jazz x Reader- hurt

• Tires screaming on wet asphalt, Jazz rounds a lazy curving stretch of country road, pushing his speed into the redline in frustration. Because it’s his fault and this is the only way he can vent out the poisonous taste of failure. He’s supposed to know everything, be one step ahead of the Decepticons all the time. Optimus won’t say a word, but he has to be disappointed. He’s disappointed in himself. He speeds up, losing himself in reckless anger.

• Elbow deep in soapy water, you hesitate when you hear the crash. It sounds too close and you grab a towel, heading outside. For a moment all you can hear is the sound of frogs in the woods, the world peaceful. Then you see it.

• Breath locking in your lungs, you stare at the distant, fitful glow. People always take the curve too fast, but this lunatic was going so fast his car is down inside the woods well off the road for you to be able to see it from your porch. And then without really thinking, you’re running down the hill, feeling the rain-wet grass soaking your sneakers through.

• You fight your way through the brambles and undergrowth. Even with the swollen moon overhead, you can’t really see much except that glow. Headlights? It can’t be fire, it’s blue. “You okay?” Yelling as you keep pushing forward, you hear something. The sound of groaning metal and a loud crack.

• Fantastic, just a perfect end to a perfect day. Transforming so he can shove against the small tree that is partially on top of him, Jazz groans. But at least it can’t possibly get worse he decides, pushing clear of the tree to send it rolling. A sharp, pained cry is the universe’s response. Because of course it can.

• You’d frozen, staring at the impossibility of the wrecked car unfolding itself into a huge robot and then heaving the downed tree away like it’s a stick. There’s no time dodge, as it rolls into your leg and you crumple with a scream. Tears streaming down your face, you try to drag yourself away as the monstrous robot looms over you, big hands reaching for you. And you black out before the horror looming over you can tear you limb from limb.

• When you come to in the hospital, you lunge and nearly roll yourself right out of the bed as panic sparks through you. Your mind is a confused tangle of fear and pain and monsters. A nurse appears to push you gently, but firmly back down. Apparently your leg is broken and someone dropped you off, dumped you, unconscious at the ER entrance. It’s a miracle an ambulance didn’t run you over. You can only stare at the woman, whole heartedly agreeing with the censure in her voice as she fusses with your IV. What had really happened?

• Certainly not what your brain was insistently screaming happened, because that’s crazy. There hadn’t been a giant robot. You get an Uber to bring you home as soon as they clear you, and your hands won’t stop shaking the whole ride. Pretending you’re not about to have a nervous breakdown when the driver helps you with your new crutches, you struggle to the front door and let yourself in.

• Making your awkward, undignified way through the house, your skin prickles as you pass the French doors in the living room. There’s a car you don’t recognize parked beside yours, a sporty looking thing. White with blue and red stripes that scream not only speed, but money.

• And pity joins the guilt as the little human unlocks the glass doors and limps outside to stare at him. He hasn’t meant to hurt anyone and he’s broken you. Hadn’t even known you were there. Well, this is his fault. He can own up to it. Transforming, he just manages to catch the human in his servos as they keel over. Again. Scrap.

• Groaning, your head lolls back against a hard and warm surface. Something else shifts against you, under you, touching your jaw to gently turn your head. Your world moving like you’re on a boat. Squinting against the throbbing in your head, you stare up at a huge face staring right back at you from way too close. And you scream.

Next

[mintmatcha]

The Inevitable Things: chapter four

aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Five messages. 

Four texts, one video. 

The message preview stares back at you, the LED screen aglimmer in the morning sun, screen bouncing with the tremor of your hand. You're breathing, you're sure of that, but you also think you may have died; no matter how hard you breathe, your chest feels like a popped balloon, deflated and too ripped to hold air. The rush of something whizzing past your ear must be blood, it's too resonant and all encompassing to be anything else--

Five fucking messages. 

You can’t bring yourself to open any of them.

You stand there for longer than you’d like to admit, trying to process exactly what you’re looking at. Maybe it’s a glitch, or a typo, but when you turn your phone off and back on again, the unread messages pop up the same. Five unread messages from Aizawa Shouta. It makes sense logically; Aizawa is right above AVOID AT ALL COST in your contacts, you must have just clicked the incorrect thing in your drunken stupor--

But what doesn’t make sense is the fact that he replied-- and he replied positively. Aizawa Shouta does not respond positively to anything. Not the first cup of coffee in the morning, not his interns, probably not even kittens and rainbows, and yet he messaged you back. I’ve always wanted you. You refuse to reread anything from last night, but that sticks in your head.  

I’ve always wanted you. 

You think about it the entire train ride, nibbling on the edges of your nails to kill the anxious buzz that builds in your jaw. Maybe you should quit. You could change your name and move to some mid-sized city; that’d be easier than the inevitable mess you're headed towards.  Suddenly, you miss yesterday, the yelling, the aggression-- 

It goes back to Touya. You know the question on everyone’s mind when they see you together, when they hear about the fights and the tension and the isolation: why? Why him, why stay, why wait, why, why, why? The answer is as simple as it is stupid: you stay because it's what you know. The turbulence feels like home. 

It's like sea legs. When sailors are on boats for a long time, they stop feeling the rock and roll of each wave. It becomes easy to walk straight, to live life like normal, until they return to shore. There, on level streets, long after the tide has pulled away, is where the waves hit.

You've learned to live in rocky waters- you’ve practically perfected it. Touya is your ship and you know his yaws and keels better than you know stability. 

 This whole situation is the equivalent of stepping ashore and being immediately hit by a semi truck.

The train pulls into your station and you debate staying on for a moment too long. I’ve always wanted you. That sentence makes your stomach turn. What does that mean? Is it solely physical? Is it more?

No, it can’t be. This man hates your guts; there’s no feelings between you other than mild, stupid lust.

Which makes you debate your own feelings. He's certainly… well, he’s not ugly. You’d even say, maybe, perhaps, in the right angles, he’s attractive, especially with this thick thighs and thicker cock-

The train doors almost close before you can scuttle out. Focus, girl, focus. Fighting through your surprisingly aching body and returning headache, you briskly walk the rest of the way to work, trying to think about anything other than the shitshow you’re about to walk into.

Prome is a half mile walk from the station, with only one tiny dash across a busy road. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only option you have right now. The interns have started a carpool, but you’re too old to be riding with them. Besides, Bakugo Katsuki’s car is nice. It’s embarrassing the have worse things than a college student-

  A familiar dented, red car squeaks to a halt inches from your ass, so close that you can feel the wind displaced. The squeal of tires steals your breath away and your body clenches in fear, so hard that your muscles scream. You jump and start blabbering in surprise, shouting out unearned apologies as you skitter back. It takes a second to gather yourself, but, when you do, you see a boy jut his head out of the window, all toothy smiles and bleach blonde hair.

“Hey!” he shouts. “If it isn’t my hero!”

“Denki?”

Kaminari Denki waves to you, sunshine personified behind the wheel of a truck without a bumper.

“Hold on, lemme park!”

The red monstrosity barely fits in a space. In its prime, it was probably a pretty car, but being owned by Denki clearly took a toll. The inside is littered with empty energy drink cans, clinking and sloshing as he throws the car into park and launches himself out. There's a reason he's not a part of the group's carpool.

“I could fucking kiss you right now!” He envelopes you in open arms, manhandling you side to side over and over in an overly friendly display. 

“Oh, please don't-- Denki!” 

He smashes his face into your cheek with a chaste, yet somehow wet smooch. When you try to squirm away, he doubles down; his lips actually make contact with yours, just for a moment, awful and impossibly damp. 

“Ew, gross! Get off!” You pry him off and wipe the slime off of your lips with the back of your hand. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, my bad, I’m just--” he laughs,  “Izuku told me you saved my ass!”

   You don’t mention the fact you’re the reason he was in trouble in the first place because you're too busy processing this information.

“Aizawa rehired you?”

“He called me yesterday and apologized, which was, holy shit, it was insane,” Denki says, with a wave of his hands, like it isn’t a shocking turn of events. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just, uh--” You grimace at the thought. “I talked to Toshinori. And cried a little.”

In retrospect, it does seem like overkill, but it worked.

“Do that more often!” He goes in for another hug and you reluctantly let him. He smells like axe body spray and cheap deodorant. God, he’s so young-- even the accidental kiss feels dirty. You have to remind yourself that he’s early twenties, really only a couple years younger than you-- wait, no. You’re thirty.  “I owe you my life! And my diploma!”

You still can't believe it. Aizawa, hard ass Aizawa, changed his mind? That couldn't be because of you. He's made people cry before, why would you be different-?

Oh. I've always wanted you.

That thought hits you like a punch to the gut.

Maybe it isn't just physical.

You have to shake your head to clear away that thought. You brush your clothes off and adjust yourself. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  

“I’ll buy you a coffee.” He coos as you walk in. The security guard gives you both a curious look, eyebrows wiggling conspiratorially. You just ignore that and focus on getting to your desk. It's almost nine; you're both late.  “And anything you want-- alcohol, weed-”

“-We drug test here?”

“We do?” Denki gapes. “Fuck, good to know.”

Maybe saving him wasn’t a good career move.  You make it to your desk and drop your stuff on the group. Denki has been following you like a puppy, nipping at your heels the whole way.

“Just… please don’t get fired again." You jerk a head towards his department. "Go do your work."

“Absolutely!” He prances down the hall, wrinkled tie flapping in his wake.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You can’t believe he’s here. Truly. All of that worry and stress yesterday feels worth it as you settle into your desk. You clack a couple of keys to wake up your screen-- but there’s no response. After a moment, you try again, then again. A wiggle of the mouse does the trick, but the keyboard still doesn’t wake up when you try to type in your password. 

Crap. You split that coffee yesterday. The circuit or whatever must be fried. Great. Today is going to be pretty unproductive if you don’t solve this issue.

Engineering probably has a couple of extras, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to walk straight into the lion’s den, especially now that you aren’t sure how you feel about it all. The fact he rehired Denki does make you feel a bit better; maybe Hizashi and Nemuri were right and he’s actually a good guy. And, you can’t deny that you’re a tiny bit attracted to him now that you’ve seen… everything. 

Ugh, you need to make up your fucking mind and decide how you feel about all of this--

At that moment, Aizawa Shouta stomps down the hall, expression as flat and hard as ever. He looks the same as he always does, stupid yellow sweatshirt, messy black hair, under eye circles deep enough to worry about, but your chest hiccups at the sight. You don’t have a plan for this, no prepared speech or anything. For a moment, you wonder if he’s coming to kiss you or ravage you, like in one of those romance novels that are popular online-

And then he passes you and heads straight for the coffee machine. Relief washes over you, then confusion.  Not even a hint of attention thrown your way. That’s fairly strange-- you usually get at least a nod or a lukewarm greeting. You push off of your chair and join  him the the station.

“Hey, um-” Your idle hands dig into the sugar packets, jostling them side to side. The pitch of the coffee hitting the inside of his mug changes as he pours, pitch creeping higher and higher.  His jawline is dusted with a five o’clock shadow, flickers of salt and pepper across his skin and down to the curve of his adam’s apple. You said something about shaving last night, you think. You wonder if he listened or if this is how it’s always been-

“Do you need something?”  He interrupts your thoughts, not even looking away from the station.

“I-” What do you need? Confirmation? Reassurance? An explanation? “Uh-”

You suck in a breath and steel yourself, legs shoulder width again from that extra boost of stability. Your voice comes out as a whisper, much shakier than it should be.  I've always wanted you. You don't feel the same, but maybe, just maybe, you could learn to.

“Yesterday-- or, uh, last night- I just want to--”

“Let’s save each other the embarrassment and forget everything that happened yesterday.” The coffee pot clinks back into place, only the legs of droplets left to cling to the glass. “We’re out, by the way.”

And with that, he’s gone.

And a second truck has sideswiped you.

[sadesluvr]

CAT & MOUSE. (I)

Miguel O’Hara x Black Cat! F! Reader Warnings: Fighting, physical injury, pressing + sexual innuendo READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER

The feeling of wind through your hair as you stared out onto the city never got old. 

There was a freeness that came from being the Black Cat. You indulged in the glitz and glamour of material possessions without ever really working a day to get it; spending the evenings into the dark of night scaling rooftops and plotting your next theft rather than packing school lunches. That motherly, parental sort of thing didn’t really amuse you anyway. 

For you, nothing was ever out of the ordinary. You’d had your eyes on the crime world for a while; and the nature of your ‘job’ made it so that PI’s, henchmen or straight up villains were almost always on your tail. More often than not, they never managed to keep up with you anyway. 

That was why you weren’t surprised when one afternoon a portal had opened...literally out of nowhere. 

You would’ve gotten the hint that it had something to do with the futuristic-looking watch that sat around your wrist if you hadn’t been lunged at by a man in a red and dark blue Spider suit.  

Hardly surprising. 

“What, no introduction?” you purred. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”  

Instinctively, you backflipped out of the way, landing behind an air vent and using it as a post to check your surroundings. Though the man was agile, he was also large, and didn’t possess your graceful discretion, allowing for you to roll away as he came up behind you, claws slicing through the metal in his attempt to scratch you.  

You managed to nip at his calves as you did, his knees momentarily buckling before he chased after you, following your sprint along the red-bricked apartments.  

No matter the situation, you always found a thrill in the chase; revelling in the sensation of feeling weightless. 

Most of the buildings were densely built, allowing you to jump between them easily. That didn’t last long as you encountered a large gap that happened to be an intersection of the main road.  

Swiping out your grappling hook, you latched onto a telephone pole as the rope swung you to the nearest surface, the edges of your feet narrowly missing a particularly thick branch of tree. As you did, you were able to catch a glimpse of the man behind you, his hunched form and bared claws evident in his reflection. 

“You shouldn’t be here!” he yelled. His voice was muffled over the whirling of air pressure from your gliding. You turned around to flip the man off, which clearly agitated him. Launching himself into the air, his movement looked like an eclipse as he flipped over you, landing at your feet.  

His actions were so fast and powerful that you barely noticed his hand fly towards you. At the last second, you shielded your hands in front of your face, pleasantly surprised not to be met with a punch in the face, but a throttle. He was so large that only one of his hands held both your forearms.   

With a good hold on you, he held you against the edge of the rooftop, the small of your back pressing into the glass of a balcony. If you shifted too much, you were almost certain that you’d plunge right into the rush-hour traffic, traumatising schoolkids on their way home. 

Your grappling hook was on the floor, leaving you with no choice but to fight your way out. 

Grinning, you etched your leg up so that you pushed yourself even further over the balcony, wild hair dangling 12ft off the ground as you gave the Spider an eyeful of your exposed neck and collarbone. Momentarily he seemed distracted, and you used the leverage to deliver him a quick, but hefty kick to the stomach.  

He keeled over, and you used the moment to pick up your hook. There was something sexy about seeing a Spider-Man on his knees, but you didn’t let it distract you.  

Instead, you geared up for a swift roundhouse kick to the side of his face – only for him to grab onto your thigh, holding you to his strapping chest as he thrust your bodies into the side of the building adjacent to you.  

Perhaps you’d gotten too cocky. 

“Shit!” you hissed, watching as you both fell into an empty, gated alley, with piled garbage bins and random cardboard boxes there to break your fall. 

Your spine hit the brick wall with considerable force, violently knocking the air from your lungs. For a moment, your body went limp, crippling pain from the centre of your back spreading to the other parts of your body, producing a shooting twinge to your skull and toes. The man had one hand around your neck, holding you effortlessly in place as the large flat of his palm pressed against your windpipe. You had no choice but to choke – oxygen few and far between as he showed no signs of letting you go.  

There was something different about him compared to the other Spiders you’d encountered. For one, it was striking that he hadn’t used spiderwebs during his haste to detain you, instead having sharp red talons for jabbing, and secondly – the most damning one of all – there had been no banter. Being the Black Cat meant that repartee with Spider-Man was a given, if not a bit of flirting and even a kiss here and there. This version was so painfully strait-laced, that it you found this romp even more intriguing, if not arousing. 

“How did you come across this watch?” he said bluntly, the red lines of his suits’ eyes narrowing. 

“Hello to you too...” you hummed, wincing as you continued to struggle against his grip. “I’d love to answer, but your paw’s got a hold on my windpipe.” 

He grunted, his hand shaking as he contemplated the situation before dropping you. Not only had you been slammed into a building, but now you’d felt like you’d dropped a thousand feet to the ground, absorbing the force on your already aching thighs. Yes, this Spider was certainly different; stronger, ruthless...desperate.  

Sighing, you took a deep breath as you watched him tower over you, the full scope of his body on show. He was ripped, at least on his upper torso, and had a toned, slender waist and legs - quite literally shaped like an upside-down isosceles triangle. Quite unlike anyone – or anything – you’d seen before.  

“Escucha, no tengo tiempo para esto,” [Listen, I don’t have time for this] he said, the pixels of his mask unravelling to show off the man underneath. “Tell me where you got the watch.”  

You were someone who would always appreciate the finer things in life – Persian cats, historic artworks, jewels – and a good-looking man was no exception. Though you loved being the Black Cat, it was apparent that you hadn’t thanked the universe enough for giving you the position, the very opportunity to fall into Spider-Man's grasp.  

He was gorgeous; almost beyond words. He was looking down at you with a frown, but all you could do was grin. 

“One of your little buddies dropped it during one of our meetings,” you smiled, peering up at the man through your lashes. “You should tell them to be more careful.” 

“I know that means you stole it,” he replied. “I know exactly what you are.” 

“Really?” you whispered, standing on your tiptoes to run your gloved finger along his cheek, claws gently grazing his unblemished skin. You felt the urge to slice him right there, to have rivulets of blood pour down his cheeks as they seeped into the beds of your fingernails; but you needed a moment to continue in admiring him. “Then you know how this usually ends...” 

His eyelids flickered as they responded to your touch, but he merely brushed you off, large hands moving your own to your sides. 

“I’m not like the others,” he said flatly. “I’m taking you home.” 

“Hm, so you are.” 

He furrowed his brows. 

“To your dimension’s home,” he restated. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re an anomaly, a threat to the multiverse --” 

The man stopped as you rolled your eyes, so hard that you thought they might’ve stayed in the back of your skull. Though his demeanour remained stoic, he placed his hands on his hips and twisted his lips into a pout, clearly unamused by your insolence. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t be serious,” you laugh, shifting your weight. “I’m just a girl with expensive tastes...I have no interest in fiddling with the ball of yarn that you call a ‘multiverse’. If anything, you should be worried about the others. They’re the real freaks.” You said ominously, a small smirk on your face as you knowingly swiped your tongue across your lips. 

He didn’t answer but gave you a pointed look, his piercing eyes giving you a once over. Clicking your tongue, you grinned, amused by his fight to put up a front. He was just like any male who was a control-freak, with apparent fits of rage and the superficial compulsion to intimidate people using silence. Luckily for you, not only did you know better, but you knew how to work with it.  

More often than not, there was a sadness; a deep, scathing trauma that lay beneath the surface, and this man was no different. The wrinkles on the corners of his eyes told you so, as did his imperceptible reactions to anything that resembled a positive emotion – someone, something was plaguing his mind, and it was all buried under his impassive exterior. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you cocked your head as you lowered your voice, words barely a whisper as you breathed into his ear. 

“You’re hurting. I can fix that...” 

Something seemed to flicker at the forefront of his mind. 

It was at that moment that he shot a red, laser like web from his hands, its material roping around your waist and arms, once again glueing you into submission. Instead of a pain, there was an ecstatic thrill that you got from being cornered; a breathlessness, a light-headedness, a euphoria, making your chest heave in anticipation. 

“You know nothing,” he hissed, pressing his body into yours. He was so close that you were able to see that he had fangs, pointed and bared just for you as your joint hormones radiated off each other, igniting a palpable heat. The individual hairs on your body were standing up in salute. “I don’t need your help.” 

He seemed to swallow his words at that.  

“Are you sure? Because I can be a real mediator...” 

“Me being here should tell you otherwise.”  

“It’s given you something to do,” you shrugged. “I’m generous like that.” 

 “Qué amable.” [How nice] he grunted. 

“I’ve always been quite the giver,” you said, arching a brow. “You could’ve just asked for the watch. I would’ve handed it to you…” 

Lifting your leg, you slowly began to rub the leather of your costume up his own suit, tracing the outline of his calves and thighs as you worked your way towards his pelvis. Your eyes were locked on his own as you did it, lips ever so slightly parted as you ached for his touch. 

Well, something certainly touched you, but it wasn’t his lips. You glanced down knowingly as you felt a warm mound against your thigh. He was hard. 

His large chest was heaving, and his breaths were shaky. It took a moment for him to pull away, but he was certainly frustrated, choosing to retract the ties around your body.  

Smirking, it didn’t take long for him to shoot at you again, this time cuffing your wrists above your head to the rails of a fire escape, leaving your legs to dangle slightly off the ground. Like a piece of meat.  

“You’re of a cat than me,” you grinned, a gleam in your eye as you spoke. “You like playing with your food, huh? Haven’t even taken me to dinner yet —“ 

“Stop talking.” He said bluntly, and you clamped your lips shut into a line, eyeing him with wide eyes. Diverting his gaze, he took the watch off your wrist, rolling it in his hands before he muttered to himself. 

“LYLA…Radio HQ. I want answers as to who left this.” 

A yellow hologram of an eccentric woman popped up, and she glanced between the two of you, a lazy smirk wiping across her features in recognition. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she giggled before pulling out a camera. “Just marking the occasion.” 

She snapped a pic, disappearing before the man could protest, leaving the two of you alone once more.  

Now you suspected things to get serious. 

Shaking his head, he glanced down at his own watch, pressing a few buttons so that it came apart. A flurry of colours came from it, producing the same portal that had appeared when he arrived. Its edges were jagged and electric, illuminating your skin with a whitish tint, even in the natural golden glow of the afternoon.  

Bracing yourself, you expected to be thrust into the wormhole, but no such sensation came. Instead, the Spider had begun to back away from you and towards the vortex. 

“What are you doing?” You hissed, rather outraged, and feeling painfully humbled. You happened to hate that sensation worst of all.  

Again, he didn’t reply, and it seemed that he was back to being an avoidant asshole. Yet barely five minutes ago had he been putty in your hands at a simple touch. 

The jig was up. 

“You know I love this little dance of ours,” you hummed. “But acting as if you don’t know me? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re getting a little kinky in your later years, huh, Miguel?” 

The dark-haired man scoffed, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye. 

“I’m not one to play stupid games,” he said. “But you started it, and I’ll end it...Como yo decida.” [However I decide] 

And with a flash he was gone, just as quickly as he’d came. 

Divider by @v6que !

[hells-wasabii]

could i request a drabble or headcanons for:

Vox with a reader (male, but can be gn if u want) who is also an overlord, and he is in business with Vox. He tends to annoy Vox allot, and is the type to push people’s buttons on purpose. He is also known for practically being nocturnal, so it’s very hard for Vox to get ahold of him for a business meeting.

Vox subconsciously had a crush on him, but denies it to himself, convinced he just finds him so annoying he must be confused. But one day, during a meeting with him, (which is in the middle of the day) he notices him nodding off. He is annoyed at first, but then suddenly the reader’s head falls against his shoulder….😱😱😱

I’m basically just asking for Vox’s reaction to reader falling asleep on his shoulder LOL, just added some backstory for fun :P

have a good day ^^

A/N: For this request i went with a drabble so i could play into the back story a little more, i hope that's alright! But i really like this prompt! can't go wrong with denial of feelings!

Character: Vox

Type: Drabble (Falling asleep on his shoulder, m!reader, Fluff)

You were late again.

You usually were when it came to your meetings, if you even showed up that is. Sometimes you couldn't help yourself. There was just something special about waking up to a slew of angry emails and voicemails.

Most times you were late just for the hell of it, wearing on the nerves of your host, but this time you really hadn't meant to.

It was common knowledge you were practically nocturnal, after all, you were the overlord associated with nightlife. Your body functioned on a different schedule than most demons.

The video demon hadn't actually expected you to come in for this meeting, he'd certainly been surprised to receive a confirmation email pop up on his screen right as the first rays of sun peaked through his window. Now it was-- the overlord checked the time on his phone again-- 1:12 p.m.. And you'd even set the time. Most of your meetings took place in the evening, sometime near sunset. A little earlier than when you would be waking up if he recalled correctly. Not that he actually cared enough to memorize your sleep schedule. He certainly didn't like you or anything thing, and anyone who said otherwise was a damn liar. That would be completely preposterous.

Especially seeing as to how you were the guy that pissed him off the most. Almost as if it was your fucking job to make him short-circuit and then keel over laughing about it. Just thinking about it made his screen heat up.

The door to the conference room burst open and there you were, huffing and puffing, grinning that insufferable smile of yours that you wore before fraying his wires.

"You're late, asshole." You opened your mouth, undoubtedly with some ridiculous excuse about having to help an old hag across the road, but Vox was quick to continue. "Let's get this over with."

To make matters worse, of all the places you could have sat in the conference room you just had to choose the one next to his. It was like you knew exactly what to do to push his buttons. But it was fine. Totally fine. Vox hoped beyond hope that you would take the meeting seriously at least.

And you did, thankfully. About 20 minutes had passed, the two of you discussing numbers and business. The video demon chanced a glance your way, a grumble in his chest when he notices you were starting to nod off.

Choosing to ignore it he continued on, moving on to the revenue of the project spread out before the both of you. Then suddenly, there was a thud against his shoulder.

There was no fucking way.

Sure enough, Vox cranes his neck and you're passed out on his shoulder.

Great. Just fucking great.

You were lucky you looked so peaceful or he would have shoved you off right then and there. That was what he told himself at least.

Vox does his best to stay still, but not too rigid. He stays there for what couldn't. have been longer than an hour before you finally wake back up. Not that he particularly minded, having taken the time to browse the ratings of his latest shows.

"Shit, sorry." You mumbled an apology as you straightened in your seat. Your eyes never left the other Overlord, looking for any reaction. This time might not be too great if he blew his lid. But you could've sworn he was blushing.

"It's fine," he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. "Just don't let it happen again."

You can't help the smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Sure thing, pictureshow."

[gg-pedro]

Joel Miller's Midwestern Road Trip Fantasy - joel miller x reader oneshot

masterlist

summary: an AU of the journey out to wyoming, wherein you and joel's car troubles take a little more elbow grease to solve than strictly necessary.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, post outbreak!joel, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, tlou hbo, protective!joel, non-established relationship, AU without ellie, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), riding, end of the world sex, rough!joel, heavy on the petnames, porn with some plot, porn with some feelings

words: 2.4k

a/n: im a woman of the people! also: the alternate title became the actual title

-

With Joel kept busy under the hood of Bill’s blue chevy pickup, you spent a few hours sprawled out in the bed of the truck, the wind coming on heavier as the afternoon bore on. It made your hair splay out and then skim across your bare shoulders, ridding you of any protection from the sun as it beat down onto the hopeless open field. 

Your gaze turned hazy and unfocused in the mugginess of the early September day. The clouds in the sky looked thin and delicate, like silk threads or a broken string of pearls. You had already broken a sweat laying out here, but it was far less suffocating than sitting in the truck. Your position at this point felt unmoveable– your body was laden, even your eyelids, struggling to keep them open under the stifling sunlight.

You heard Joel slam the hood of the truck shut, which preceded a long sigh and the sound of him wiping dry hands against his jeans. He slapped the body of the vehicle on his way over to you, staring down at you with an exasperated look. 

“Think it's the heat,” he started, leaning against the blazing metal with his arms crossed over his chest. “Gonna give it some time to cool down.”

Your borrowed truck had started jolting and sputtering a few miles back, right after you had crossed the state line into Missouri. You didn’t exactly feel it was fair for Joel to be so upset by it– you were fortunate to have even made it this far without being on foot. Beggars can’t be choosers, trying to make it all the way to Wyoming on borrowed luck.

“Hope you’re right,” you said, casting your eyes over to him with a hand shielding your brow. “I’m not walking anywhere in this heat.”

He cracked a grin. “Oh, yeah? Is the sun gettin' to you, cowgirl?” He nudged your foot over to the side before hauling himself up to lay next to you in the truck bed, grabbing a hold of your waist to press your bodies together.

The warm daylight was making his eyes look like melted mahogany and the baby blue color of his t-shirt brought out the warmth in his skin. Devastatingly handsome, even with that lingering exhaustion plaguing his expression. He almost never took to your compliments, but in the moment, there were hardly words to describe the feeling pooling low inside of you.

“I’m more worried about you, Eastwood,” you teased, licking your thumb to smudge away the swipe of car grease that had found its way onto his cheek. “I think you’d keel over first.”

You were grinning up at him as he pulled you in by the hips, finally receptive to your efforts to get him out of whatever funk that a broken-down car had put him in. 

“Oh, so now you’re happy, ain’t ya? Think you’re funny? You weren’t so chatty in the car, sleepin’ all the way through Indiana. Hm? Hey, c’mere!”

You tried squirming away, but being in the sun had exhausted you and his grip was just too strong and too enticing. His hand found the space just below your sex, running deft fingers across the thick denim of your light blue jeans. He had a firm grip on your face and jaw with the other, kissing you dizzy and breathless. You moaned around the thumb that had made its way into your mouth, tangling your hand into those wind-swept curls. 

“I’m starting to think the car troubles were just a ploy,” you said, giggling as Joel shifted to hover overtop of you. “I didn’t know this had turned into Joel Miller’s midwestern roadtrip fantasy.” He hooked his thumbs into your belt loops, decidedly pinning you there.

He silenced your teasing with another saccharine kiss, and you could smell the diluted gasoline and warm grass on him. His mouth was so familiar that you feared the two of you would melt into one, breathing through the same dry, shared lungs.

“You are a fantasy, sweet thing, don’t get that twisted,” he breathed out. You did have time to kill, that was true enough– and you could already tell that Joel was going to make it an obscenely slow death.

He couldn’t have shoved down your tight jeans fast enough. Desperate hands nearly ripped your shirt as he pulled it up and off of you, carelessly pushing your bra out of the way to access the soft skin of your breasts, swollen and sensitive with arousal. His lips and the tip of his teeth grazed the tissue, kissing and nipping and biting wherever he saw fit. Soon, wet mouth and tongue trailed straight down your center, kisses placed haphazardly along your flesh. The mere sight of his bulging bicep as he propped himself up above you with both arms was enough to raise chills all over your exposed skin.

You paused him where he was to desperately fumble with the button of his own jeans and rip down the fly, sliding your hand into his pants to palm his growing erection through his boxers. He intercepted the touch, gripping your wrist tight before pinning it back down above your head.

“Don’t remember sayin’ you could touch me, pretty girl. Needy for me, ain’t ya? ‘M not done with all of you just yet.”

In an instant his head was between your thighs, licking along the depths of your puffy, glossy folds. A calloused hand gripped your thigh, forcing your legs obscenely far apart– exposed. There was nobody else out here, in the back countries of a state that barely existed anymore. You didn’t even care that the warm breeze would have carried your pleading and moaning a mile out, not while his tongue swirled and kissed against the expanse of your cunt. His mouth and tongue devoured you, devoured you like he was starving for it. A shrill beg fell from your lips as he started fucking your slicked hole with three hot, pulsing fingers, desperate for him to either end this here or fuck you faster. 

“That’s it, right there, isn’t it?” He said, hunger and aching seeping unabashedly into his voice.

When your walls started closing in around his middle three fingers, suctioning him in even deeper, he finally pulled out of you, leaving you with tears in your eyes and a deep pulse beat inside of you.

“No, no, please don’t stop–”

He licked his fingers clean before pressing his thumb to your lips as he grabbed your face, stopping all of your ramblings for the moment. “Hush, honey. You’re gonna ride me now, and you can fuck yourself as much as you want. Y’want that, doll face? C’mon, I need you,” he said, a stern fondness about his tone.

You complied in strict obedience, letting him rest on his back while you finally peeled yourself up from the hot molded plastic. You finally resumed your work of getting his length free from his boxers, pulling his jeans down to his mid thigh. 

You couldn’t wait to slip the thick head of his cock into your wanting mouth, hardly able to handle the sight of his pleasured expression, that pinch in his brow smoothing away. He always made you feel like your own mouth could be medicine. Your head bobbed down his length, running your tongue along thick, pulsing veins. Saliva filled your mouth and you let it come, using your free hand to slide up and down his base while you focused your attention on the more sensitive cockhead. You looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, grazing his tip against the ribbed roof of your mouth.

“Oh honey, oh honey– not too far, wanna come inside of you. Listen to me now, I know you like feeling all filled up, too,” he said quickly, barely able to get the words out as an involuntary groan clawed its way out of his throat. 

You did listen to him, because you were Joel’s– not because he ever told you that, but because you knew you were his last good thing in this life, his last sweet thing, and you would’ve done anything for those praises to fill your ears and blind all else. 

You lined yourself up with the reddened tip of his cock and sank down on it, your own head lolling back as your walls contracted and spasmed around him. You moved yourself up and down his length slowly, dizzyingly, for your own selfish reasons– you liked having the control to ensure that you could use his cock to satisfy every hopelessly sensitive spot inside of you.

“More, babygirl, more– fuck, fuck, yeah, keep doin’ that– just like that, jesus christ–”

Your pace quickened as you became increasingly desperate to finish on top of him. His cock filled you to the brim, stretching you out and gagging your channel enough to keep continuously shoving your own wetness back up inside of you– stuffing you, suffocating you. The sheer size of him ensured that you hardly even had to move for it to blind you with pleasure, but for his sake, you followed his instructions. 

“My sweet, perfect little thing– oh, holy hell, baby, I can’t– can’t–”

You kept pleading out his name: Joel, Joel, Joel. You said it until you couldn’t even remember how to say it, spell it, form the words with your tongue and mouth. Your orgasm built up frustratingly fast, hitting you in a long moment of nearly unbearable bliss and sweetness. The feeling started so low, nearly where Joel’s cock was hitting inside of you, and climbed its way up until you were lightheaded. Your walls clenched rapidly around his stiff cock, with him blessing your name enough that it would surely memorialize you in sainthood. You were so achy and sensitive by the time you had rode it out fully that you whined and squirmed as he implored you to go on– help him to get there, too. 

He came just as hard and fast as you, gripping at your hips hard enough to leave marks as he guided your movements through it for himself. You could feel the hotness of his cum unloading inside of you, straight to your center, like this was exactly what you were made for. It left him breathless, and you pressed yourself close to his chest to kiss him more as he calmed down. You didn’t want to pull out of him– you wanted to savor that warmth, the sticky clickiness of his liquid filling you up to the point that it was spilling out of you. In the end, it really did feel like the two of you had fused into one. 

He finally helped you to drag yourself up off of him, and you immediately sank back against his truck bed, your head like dead weight against his shoulder. The outside heat left the both of you covered in a sheer layer of sweat, but neither one made any moves to get up and clean yourselves off.

You just let him tuck you in close, close enough to hear his heartbeat go from rapid to steady and sure. It was almost a rarity to hear it so calm, to know that he felt safe for once, content and warm. After a long few moments of basking in the quiet nature and fleeting sun, you propped yourself up on an elbow to stare down at his face.

His lips had the ghost of a smile on them, and he brought his expansive hand to tuck your hair behind your ears and cup your face. 

“Ain’t complaining about the heat now, are you, sweet thing?”

You swatted him on the arm, giving a playful roll of your eyes as you leaned down to kiss him once, twice more.

“I just think we should make a few more of these pit stops before we hit Wyoming,” you drawled, leaning into the touch. “If you can squeeze it into our oh-so-tight schedule, of course.”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth so much and I just might have to.” He struggled to cast a glare at you.

“Mmh, and I bet you’d just hate that, wouldn’t you?”

That got you a rare, genuine laugh from him. “Oh, you know I would.”

-

You stayed a few hours more before Joel tried his luck at starting up the truck again. Much to his delight, the ‘old hunk of metal’ (his words, not yours) sputtered and coughed back to life. He called you his good luck charm, and soon enough the two of you had to get back on the road.

He kept a firm hand on your thigh as he drove, and he didn’t protest when you finally dozed off closer to sunset. He waited until you were asleep to let himself think about the difficulty of the tasks that were ahead of you two. He often felt like protecting you was all that kept him going after all this time, and it hurt like a deep, aching wound to think of the times that he had missed that mark. 

You, though. He could still picture your face in the sun without feeling the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple. You were the last thing in this world that he really felt a responsibility for, his last good thing. The last thing for him to lose, too, but he wasn’t willing to let that mistake happen twice. He had this resolve that he wasn’t allowing anything to happen to you while he was still around. Maybe the way he felt about you was selfish, but the last 20 years would do that to a person.

For now, though, he could try and make it worth it. Drive until the exhaustion forced him to pull over, go on for as many days as it took to finally get you somewhere you could be safe. Be happy, get that life that shouldn’t have ever had to be just a fantasy to you. 

You stirred after a particularly bothersome bump in the road, tired eyes searching for reassurance in Joel’s face. 

“We’re okay, darlin’. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. He ran his thumb across the familiar denim that covered your leg. This is what he could live for. He’d do almost all of it again to get to you. 

But for now, the least he could do was let you rest.

-

[thisapplepielife]

Happy 1st Anniversary, Tuesday's Gone With the Wind.

Twenty-nine years ago in fictional history, Corroded Coffin's plane crashed into the woods of Louisiana.

Thanks and so much love to anyone and everyone that has given this fic a read over the past year. Thanks for braving beyond that opening author's note. Thanks for the love you've given it. Thanks for making me feel seen. You made me feel like this thing that I spent months solely focused on, deep in research, was worth the time invested. You made me feel that it was a story worth telling.

It's my favorite thing I've ever written, and the one that still occupies my thoughts on the regular.

One year ago today, I finished posting it. It's not my most popular fic, not by a long shot. But I don't think it needs to be. It might not be for everyone, and that's okay.

It was for me.

And if it was for you, too, please know how much I appreciate you for reading it, recommending it, or championing it in any way. The audience it found may not have been huge, but the response from those that did read it, was so beyond overwhelmingly supportive and positive.

I said in the beginning that this was a love story. I'll double down on that now, with a year of distance and the continuation of their story in Wildflowers, under my belt.

It's many love stories.

And I miss these versions of them, and the love they all shared.

I miss Eddie Munson, with his big heart that fell fast and hard and forever. I miss Sweetheart and Dragon Slayer. I miss the Eddie that loved wholeheartedly, and despite all the problems he had, that never changed. Steve Harrington arriving in his life was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knew that, from the start. He was all in.

I miss the young and flawed Gareth Jones, and his love for Di that he sometimes squandered like a goddamn fool. I miss his ride or die friendship with Eddie, that feels as real in my heart, as anything I've ever seen on screen. Gareth has changed how I listen to music, fundamentally. The drums snap to the forefront, now. And sometimes, I'll smile and think, damn, Gareth Jones would play this like a motherfucker.

I miss Jeff and Goodie, and their lifelong friendship, from the cradle to the grave. Jeff, for his even keel and ability to be part of the solution, instead of part of the problem, and Goodie for being exact opposite. The dry-witted, fanner of flames, that often made things (and let's be real, Gareth) a little bit worse, just because he could, for fun.

I miss Road Manager Steve Harrington, with his red milk crate and his unwavering competence and love. If love could have kept that plane in the air, Steve's love for them all would have been enough to do it, without a doubt.

If you haven't read it, and might want to, amazing, thank you. You don't have to read it unspoiled, and I'll even answer spoilery questions by DM if you want me to, but I'll always stand by the option to read it unspoiled existing, for those that do want to just dive in, and see where it lands. Or crashes, as it were.

I can only hope that you get, or have gotten, something out of reading it, because I absolutely got something out of writing it.

They changed me.

Thanks, boys.

Oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly what a day.