#Magnetic Mattress Pads
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thenhscenter · 3 months ago
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Top Magnetic Mattress Pad Reviews You Can Trust
Explore the latest magnetic mattress pad reviews to find the perfect fit for your sleep needs! Our comprehensive analysis covers comfort, effectiveness, and user experiences. Make an informed choice and enjoy restful nights with the right magnetic mattress pad. Check out our reviews today for better sleep!
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revitalizeorganicstore · 1 year ago
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Most Effective Magnetic Therapy Mattress Pad - Price: $15
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lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months ago
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Birthday Sex
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Synopsis: Miguel is working late on his birthday, leaving you needy and you can't resist getting started without him. Words: 859
CW: MINORS DNI, x Fem!reader, Miguel wears glasses(had the dadbod version of him in mind tbh). Masturbation ,Mention of breeding, fantasizing, just smutty in general lol
A/N: Happy Birthday to our Migs!!🎂 idk if I still got it tbh but this was in my drafts for a sec so I cleaned it up a bit and here ya go. Idk if it's good but I couldn't not do anything for his bday! 😭😭 @melpomenes-garden thought of you on this one ;)
MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN FOR FLUFFTOBER🎃 (don't worry, I'm cooking on my pending requests, I have 5 to write, I promise I see it💕)
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Of all nights for Miguel to be working late, his birthday certainly was particularly inconvenient for you.
A burnt out candle that lingered in the air of toasted marshmallow pumpkin, gathering clouds outside your window that threatened to drizzle more raindrops onto the October city line of Nueva York. 
Leftovers that were boxed up hours ago in the fridge had lost their freshness. They didn't taste the same without your boyfriend eating with you. 
A chocolate cake and half drunk glass of Cabernet that was working its bitter rich magic and traveling swiftly to your neglected pussy. 
A finger stained with melted frosting, you allow the tip of your tongue to swirl around it, closing your eyes and imagining for just a moment that it's Miguel. 
Fffuck, Miguel...
No thoughts, only thoughts of Miguel. 
Miguel. 
Thoughts of his body...
You really should wait for him to get home so you can celebrate properly together but the desire is one step ahead of you, led hopelessly by the wine. 
His arms...his thick forearms with dark hair. Imagining the soft pads of your fingertips running all along them memorizing the pattern, feeling his veins, feeling his strength enveloping you, encased underneath his scorching skin. Him tugging you closer to him as he laid you on your back.  
This fine, strong man handling you and holding you down like you were his toy. 
Imagining his weight on top of you now, trying to picture that he was using his fingers instead of your own, aching to recall his delicious scent and that masculine musk, imagining the shape of the shadow of the outline of his naked body, those shoulder muscles rippling as he holds and cages you under him.
His plump, juicy lips and the way they felt as they trailed down your neck, feather light and dancing across the pattern of your skin, as though he was trying to burn their impression onto your body from his touch alone. 
Those thick fingers of his, calloused and rough yet handling you so delicately as they roamed your body in a loving search until they landed and magnetized to the treasure of your clit, his mouth falling open as he rubbed the aching bud in circles, endless mantra  softly pleading with you to cum for him until you were quivering. 
His hands pressing into your palms as he'd pin them into the mattress, squeezing them tenderly as he gave you every inch of his cock, over and over again, even lightly gripping your chin, his thumb slipping over your bottom lip as he made you watch his wet cock slide torturously in and out, bathed in thickening slick with each steady thrust. 
The way those delectable brown eyes of his utterly melted into yours, deep like the mocha you drank every morning, oozing with a lust only you could awaken.
Maybe even imagining he'd keep those narrow frame glasses of his on as he fucked you. Imagining them sliding down his nose as he looked up at you skillfully, slowly circulating your hips, keeping his cock nice and warm within you. This enormous man whimpering and trembling underneath you as you slid up and down and grinded your clit against the thick veins of his ample length.
Imagining his face dizzy red and delirious with passion as he gripped your ass cheeks, letting gravity do the work as he held you up then let you slap against the base of his cock with the sloppiest plap. The cream oozing out of you adding to the pooling juices of his love mixed with yours he was already planning on making you clean off of his fingers while he pounded you from the back later on. 
You feel your body quake under the overwhelming snap of pleasure that manifested in more wetness seeping out of you and onto the silken sheets. The apex of arousal rendered you numb as you imagine listening to Miguel softly panting above you, his happy trail smeared in glossy strings of cum. 
You hum peacefully, sleep already descending rapidly upon you, but a voice yanks you promptly out of it. 
"Started without me?" 
"Miguel!"
Your face heats deeply, but you bite your lip, concentrating on his voice, the way it seduces and settles you, the way it drips so beautifully. The baritone awakening the latent heat settling between your thighs. Not bothering to close your legs, gifting him his first present of many tonight with your shiny, glistening cunt. 
"No te preocupes, definitely not complaining about what I'm looking at right now..." He whispers before he captures your lips in a soft kiss that quickly escalates into something heated and sloppy. "Though so impatient..."
He pulls back momentarily to breathe, his sharp jaw completely slack that weakly curled into a smug look of satisfaction, eyes darkened as he gripped your thighs before flipping you on your stomach.
"Happy Birthday to me..." He mutters before his thick tongue teases then flattens against your soaked folds, burying into your ass as you softly whine. 
"Gonna give me at least two more before I make you a mommy tonight, right baby?"
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hungharrington · 8 days ago
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okay steve definitely wouldn’t care about body hair, but i just know that man goes feral over your freshly shaved, smoooooth legs
i took this to make him a sillay boyfriend 🫶 sorry if u wanted HAWTNESS this is just silly LUV…. forgive me
The sheets feel cool against your bare legs.
You can feel the scratch of your hair tucked against your neck but you’re too content, all but sinking into the mattress, to be bothered to move it. Your legs are tucked up, your arms splayed wide across the bed. You’ve just done the hard job of an everything-shower and lying down is your well-earned reward.
Across the room, Steve pulls the curtains to cover the window. Shadow falls across the room, banished after a moment when Steve pads to the bed, turning on the lamp. Amber coats the ceiling.
It’s balmy tonight. You feel warm without even being under the covers. Dozing off sounds like a pretty amazing idea right now.
“Not falling asleep with me, are ya?”
You smile at the sound of Steve’s voice, lifting your heavy eyelids to gaze at him.
He looks scruffy the same way he always does at the end of the day. His hair has lost some of its magnificent volume and he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt from high school. You can see the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow on his jawline. He’s gorgeous.
And you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. The thought makes you smile wider.
“Mm,” you hum, definitely giving away your sleepiness. “Nope.”
A warm hand touches your knee, Steve’s hand reaching out and rubbing it tenderly. He tsks playfully. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby.”
You huff a quiet laugh and let your eyes fall back closed. Steve’s touch has always had a magnetic property, drawn to you whenever he’s near. It has a similar effect on your heart, which always feels like it’s surging forward in your chest to reach him.
The touch shifts, skimming down your shinbone. You expect him to maybe begin a half-hearted massage on your calves— he’s prone to giving them to you— but then, unexpectedly there’s another touch added to your legs.
You lift your head, peering down at him with squinted eyes. He’s crouched down beside the bed and he’s rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of your legs.
When he knows he’s been spotted, he only grins, shifting his cheek again. “You’re so… smooooth.”
There’s definitely awe in his voice. You laugh, a real laugh this time, and shake your head. You should really stop being surprised when Steve’s a dork — he’s proven to be one time and time again. If you didn’t know different, you might assume this was his first ever relationship.
“Mhmm,” You hum. “That’s part of the appeal, handsome.”
Something glitters in Steve’s eyes at your pet name for him and his grin melts into something softer. His hand on your shin moves again, stroking softly up your calf. His face shows his bewilderment at your supremely smooth skin— and then betrays the look of mischief that crosses his face.
Your brows furrow instinctively. “Steve—” You warn.
He does it anyway, turning and licking one big stroke up your knee. You squeal, surprised at the sensation, and jerk your leg away from him.
“Steve!”
“What!” He mimics your tone, finally getting up onto the bed and crawling up to meet you. He’s smirking, looking terribly proud of himself. He plops himself down, half of his weight pressing into your shoulder as he nuzzles himself into your neck.
“S’just wanna a little taste, that a crime?”
His breath is hot and almost tickles against your neck. It’s impossible not to dissolve into quiet giggles, leaning into him. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling the two of you closer.
“You’re a dork.”
You can feel the little puff of air he lets out in a laugh as well as the smile that spreads on his mouth. He pokes his tongue out, a minuscule touch against your neck that has you shrieking again— except this time, Steve’s holding you too tight to squirm away.
“Mmhm,” He says. “Your dork.”
You grin, turning to nose against his temple and make a noise of agreement. “Absolutely.”
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moonchildstyles · 10 months ago
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y/n is an angel and harry is a demon whos taught her how much fun it can be to sin
wordcount: 7.8k+
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The first time (Y/N) floated down from the clouds, she had no idea what a Pocket was, let alone where to find one. That time felt so long ago with the way she could now navigate herself to her favorite Pocket without a second thought. The route had become one of familiarity, guiding butterflies flitting through her stomach the closer she made it with every step. 
Slipping out of sight of the main street, she counted thirteen paces down the quiet alleyway before finding the brick that needed just the right touch before it would show off the hidden doorway she needed. The brick was grainy and rough under her palm, her skin catching on the mortar as she pushed against it until it finally gave away underneath. Just like that, the seemingly solid wall opened up, revealing an entryway for her eyes only. 
(Y/N) felt giddy as she stepped inside, the doorway vanishing behind her when she crossed the threshold. She knew it was secure once more when there was a breeze that skated over her skin and fluffed through her wings, seemingly sealing her away from the rest of the world. In a way, it was, but there was still a waiting invitation to the one other person who knew about this Pocket—the one that had shown her the way in the first place.
Getting comfortable while she waited, (Y/N) was happy to see the place was untouched from her last visit. When she had first seen this Pocket, it was the closest thing she had ever seen to an interdimensional "bachelor pad". There hadn't been much of anything to see that first time, only the bones of someone’s presence though they were too busy to return much. She remembered it had felt stale as if it had been abandoned for years despite the unmade bed in the corner with messy sheets and tufted comforter. 
Harry had told her it was a place he barely used—it was one of the first Pockets he conjured on his own, and he'd since honed the craft into bringing something more extravagant to life. He still visited just to keep the curse fresh, but he otherwise only stayed there if it was necessary and no other options were available. 
His last resort had since become their hideaway. Special for just the two of them; another secret for them to share with one another. 
It had come a long way from when she had first visited with Harry on her tail, leaving behind the less than ideal bed set up, and vacant walls. (Y/N) had used all of her inspiration from seeing countless humans decorate their homes, turning the dreary Pocket into a cozy getaway. Heaven didn't necessarily allow for a lot of individualism when it came to living spaces, seeing as how everything was ordained to be pristine and creamy. Here, (Y/N) got to use as much color as she wanted—as long as it didn't spur any headaches for Harry, anyway. 
Now, there was an actual bed frame holding up a cushy mattress, the pillows feather soft and always cool to the touch. The bedding was a warm orangey color, playing off of the greens and pinks throughout the space. There were pictures—canvases full of paint Harry said he "found" through his travels—pinned to the walls, playing into the bright hues (Y/N) was toying with. A rug now sat in the middle of the room in the shape of a paint blob in a creamy green shade that made her think of Harry's eyes. The kitchen—though near unnecessary given their statuses—was given the same treatment as the rest of the studio-sized space. There were magnets covering the unused fridge, appliances and bowls of always fresh fruit sitting on the counter. A bouquet of flowers that never died were sitting on the bedside table, perfuming the air with a light fragrance that drew her in. Her favorite part was the mirror by the bed, ornate and carved with cherubs. 
Walking in felt like a breath of fresh air. As much as she loved being an angel—guiding humans in need, taking care of those who needed her touch, changing lives for the better—being here in this Pocket was the one thing she could see herself loving more.
It would be a little bit better if she wasn't alone, though. 
Sitting on the edge of the bed, fluffy wings tucked against her back, she fixed her eyes on the doorless portal, waiting for the telltale creek and scrape of concrete that would signal Harry's arrival. This was the bad part of being chronically early, she thought, never being sure when the other would show up and keep her from being lonely. 
Lucky for her, it was only another handful of minutes before her ears picked up on the familiar sound of footsteps trailing over the pavement. Her breath caught when they stopped just outside where the Pocket's door was, a smile unfurling on her features when that first creek sounded through the room. She rose to her feet just in time to see the first uniform crack in the wall before the rest of the doorway came to be. 
Slipping inside, Harry didn't wait for the portal to shut behind him before he was crossing the room to meet her. 
"(Y/N)," he sighed, his grin toothy and completely with dimples, "Sorry I took so long." 
Wrapping his arms around her, (Y/N) melted into his embrace. His hands settled just below her fluffy wings, holding her close while she rested her cheek on his chest. 
"It's okay," she murmured, eyes fluttering to a close as she soaked in his warmth, "I'm happy you're here." 
Harry's response came in the form of a small kiss being dropped on the top of her head, the contact decidedly delicate as opposed to his nature. He'd told her before that she was the only one that could draw that side of him out—the docile side that had no alignment with chaos or sabotage. This side of him was just for her, he'd shared. 
Shifting his hands on her, his fingertips brushing her wings with a shudder shooting down (Y/N)'s spine, Harry repositioned until he had his hands cradling her cheeks as he tipped her head up to face him. His dark eyes shimmered green, taking in each of her features as if it were the first time again. 
"I've missed you," he crooned, "So much, darling. What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?" 
Despite there being no way for anyone, mortal or otherwise to overhear them, every word he spoke to her was uttered like a secret. Just for her. 
"I missed you," she smiled, unlooping her own arms to settle with her hands on his chest, "But, I've been okay. Just doing angel stuff." 
His lips quirked into a lopsided curve, his thumb brushing along the height of her cheekbone. "Always angel stuff with you. No breaks." 
"No breaks," she played along as if she wasn't currently in the middle of a break with him right now, where not even her creator could spot her if she tried, "What about you?" 
"Just the opposite of angel stuff," he teased, managing to bring a smile to her face despite knowing the reality of his joke. He had a certain way of putting it, describing his job, that made it not sound so bad when it came to (Y/N)'s sensibilities. (Truthfully, it could be because she just liked his voice. He could make anything sound heavenly). 
"Fun?" she smiled, letting him walk her back towards the bed. 
"Always," he hummed, escorting her backwards until her legs hit the edge. 
Tumbling back, a bubbling laugh left (Y/N)'s lips as she clung to Harry. He fell atop her, her thighs splitting to settle him between. Underneath, the mattress conformed to the shape of her wings, Harry's hands pressing into the planes of her back as if she wasn't close enough as is. 
Before the world had a chance to settle around her, Harry tipped his chin and pressed his lips to hers. Though she didn't have much to compare it to, (Y/N) had little doubt that there could ever be a better kisser out there than Harry. Her point was proven every time he sealed his mouth to hers, her top lip cradled between his two. 
This was never going to get old, she knew. Not with the bubbling that ignited under her skin at the contact, the way there was nothing more she wanted than to cling to him and bask in his warmth. With every angling and tipping of their heads, movements made in tandem, she was drawn deeper and deeper in everything that was him. Tucked underneath him like this, mouth coming together and parting with soft breaths between, it was hard to think that the universe had crafted them to be enemies. 
Tracing his mouth down from hers, dotting a line over her jaw, Harry murmured in her ear, "I don't have much time, darling." 
"No?" she asked, a pout evident in just the single syllable, "Why not?" 
Harry drew back only to give her an apologetic smile. "Opposite of angel stuff, remember?" 
"Since when does that have a schedule?" She sounded petulant even to her own ears, but if there was one sin she was willing to commit, it was greed when it came to Harry. 
"Since I told Sarah I would meet up with her soon," Harry offered the challenge with a raised brow. Sarah wasn't like the others of his kind, she was more stubborn and would actually go looking for him if he stood her up, if only to wreak havoc for him personally as revenge. 
"To do not-angel stuff that I'll have to clean up later?" she pressed, feeling her attitude leak away now that she knew her time was limited with him. 
His smile was brilliant at her words, wide with bracketing dimples. "Of course. That's why we work so well, darling." 
It was that kind of language, the sweet one that made even demon activities sound silly, that had her splitting into a smile before tipping her chin in hopes of coaxing him into a kiss. It didn't take much convincing for Harry's lips to press into hers, resuming the lingering kissing he'd interrupted before. 
On her back, Harry shifted his hands until he grazed the stem of her wings. The second his fingertips glanced against the base of one fluffy, tightly packed feather, a shudder wormed down her spine. Her breathing stuttered in her chest, a furrow pinching at her brow. From the way he had to keep from smiling against her mouth, she knew he was aware of the effect of his touch—undoubtedly intentional. 
It was the easiest way to get her riled up, and that was exactly what he needed for their time limit. 
Just as he'd surely hoped, there was a change in the pacing of their kissing. (Y/N) leaned into his touch, anticipating another lingering touch against her wings. Her hands slid over his chest, fingers denting the blocky muscles that made up his body, landing on the shelf of his shoulders. Her fingertips hooked into the solid muscle, clinging to him. 
Her heartbeat stutters behind her ribs when she felt his hands shifting on her back. This time, he dared to run his fingers through the feathers, the structure underneath down was grazed by his warm touch. An involuntary moan slipped from her mouth and into his.
Instead of something smug crossing his features, Harry only kissed her harder. His mouth was hot, taking in her sudden pants from his touch. 
"Harry?" she murmured, breathless against his mouth. He didn't bother drawing away from her as he hummed, the pillows of his lips dragging over hers. "Do we have enough time?" 
This finally had his lips quirking. He nodded his head gently, the tip of his nose grazing her own. "I'll make time."
When she felt his hands drift away from her wings, she wanted to complain. She wanted to whine enough for him to know she didn't like that he was moving on, but that need was quieted when she felt his palm settle on the plush of her thigh. His touch was heavy and warm, denting into the soft skin while the other hooked around her waist in a cradle. 
In one fluid motion, he had her on her back with her mouth dropped open in a gasp. Instinctively, she had tightened her grip on him, her legs wrapping around his waist during the roll. By the time Harry was underneath her, her surprise had morphed into laughter, her chest pressed to his as she slumped into him. 
"You scared me," she bubbled, shifting in his lap with her knees bracketing his hips. 
"Sorry, darling," he murmured with a soft smile, the pitch of his pupils blown wide as he took her in. 
Steadying her, he settled his hand on her hips as she planted her hands on his chest to prop herself up above him. She could feel her wings fluff out behind her, no longer confined against the mattress. Harry's eyes followed the span of her feathers, the stretch reaching just slightly wider than her shoulders. He'd told her more than once how cute he thought her wings were—he'd never seen any quite as fluffy as hers, especially compared to his own. 
He looked up at her with reverence in his gaze, something adoring and smothering dancing in his irises as he watched her from below. She felt warm under his eyes, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt to keep herself from preening like a dove under his attention.
His adoring gaze translated into his soft hands trailing over the curve of her form, his palms warming the ladder of his ribs with his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. Even through her dress, his touch elicited a round of gooseflesh to prickle her skin. Her breath lagged in her lungs. 
Though time hadn't ever felt like much for (Y/N), seeing as she was immortal, Harry had made her impatient. It'd been a handful of days since the last time they had snuck off to their Pocket, but those days had felt like years to her body without his touch. 
The trail of his gaze almost felt tangible, warm and heavy, the longer he watched her. 
"What?" she asked, feeling breathless when he ran his thumbs against the swells of her chest. 
He didn't bother to pull his eyes from where they lingered on her body, especially liking the way her thighs were split around his hips under the hem of her dress. "Nothing," he mumbled, shaking his head against the pillows cushioned underneath, "Jus' haven't had y'on top in a while. I like it." 
She had thought before that greed was the only sin he could inspire in her, but lust was quickly overtaking the top spot. He was right; she didn't usually get a chance to look at him like this. While she loved lying underneath him, at his mercy while he drove himself home between her legs, there was something to be said about the perspective she gained while sitting astride his lap like this. 
His hair laid in soft waves against the linen of this pillows, curling towards his face as if a frame for a portrait. His lashes were long and dark, framing his eyes and drawing his prey in at a glance. There was a spray of freckles glancing off the bridge of his nose, faint against the cream of his skin. Though his eyes were dark, there were shatters of green that could be seen if one were close enough to spot the hues. His body was made of strong lines and angles, his jaw, much of the same despite the soft skin of his lips and the gentle way he admired her. 
He was the perfect demon—the perfect temptation. If not for the fact she knew what was hidden away, she would have argued he was an angel like her. 
"I like it, too," she told him, breathless, "I like it when you look at me like that." 
"Yeah?" he prodded, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth when he finally matched her gaze. His hands on her sides drifted down until he met the hem of her dress, taking the delicate material between his fingers. "Can I see more of you then, darling? Promise I'll keep looking at you like this."
Biting back her smile, she drew her hands away from his chest to grab for the hem of her dress. Moving his own hands back, he watched as she pulled her dress over her head, wings tucked against her back with the material drifting over her feathers. The familiar butterflies that came with revealing her body in a way she had never anticipated she would in her angel life flittered through her stomach. Their fluorescent wings flew high enough to glance over the chambers of her heart, feeling just as real as the warmth of his eyes draping over her newly exposed skin. Between Harry's legs, she felt a ridge thicken, pressing into her core with every drawing breath she pulled into her lungs. 
Throwing her dress to the floor, her form was left with only a dainty pair of underwear sitting on her hips and a matching bra barely covering her breasts. 
Harry's dark eyes seemingly left behind the slight hue of green, instead revealing only pitch black irises that blended seamlessly into his pupils. If any more of his control slipped, the whole of his eyes would match the inky darkness—a sight (Y/N) used to fear that now had her blood pumping. 
He couldn't help himself before he had his hands on her once more. His touch was adoring, lingering and warm. 
"Y'planned for this didn't you?" he mused, raising a brow when he met her eyes. 
"What do you mean?" she asked, canting her head with her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
"You know," he drawled, his hips shifting underneath her own with a cursory roll, "I thought y'were an angel, and here y'are dressing in lingerie to seduce a demon. How'd y'even get into heaven, hm?" 
The way he spoke to her was thrilling in a way that could rival his touch; he made her feel dirty, questioning how someone like the girl in his lap could have snuck into heaven, while touching and looking at her with reverence she could only keen under. 
"I thought you liked it when I did this," she countered, her lips tugging into a faux-frown. 
"Oh, I do, darling. Can't you tell?" 
With that, the slow roll he'd given with his hips morphed into a strong buck against her hips. The ridge she'd felt before was now a bulge, heavy and pushing. Her wings fluttered recalling the last time he had stuffed himself inside her, her legs thrown over his shoulders and tears in her eyes. 
The memory had her shifting her hips against his, rolling her core over the bulge she felt in his lap. Harry's breath hitched just as a petite moan hummed from her chest. His hands on her waist tightened, fingertips denting the soft flesh. 
"Do that again for me, darling," Harry murmured, his voice a low rumble as if it were a secret only to be shared with her, "Put on a pretty show for me." 
Planting her hands on his abdomen, feeling the blocks of muscle underneath his shirt, she steadied herself on him as she began rolling her hips against his once more. The rough texture of his jeans could be felt through her thin panties, both his thickening cock and the seaming of his pants pressing into her clit. Her knees planted on either side of his hips were digging into the mattress, spreading that much wider the more she rocked against him to sink herself onto him that much more. Her wings fluttered behind her, her feathers fanning in a short fluff at her back. 
Under her hands, Harry's stomach was tense, muscles densely bunched together. She glanced up at him to find him watching her with hooded eyes, his gaze feeling just as heavy and tangible as his hands on her waist. The sight had her grinding her hips that much harder against his cock, a shiver thrilling up her spine until a breathless moan fell from her lips. 
"I could watch you all day, darling," Harry mused, his voice rumbling under her hands as much as it reached her ears, "But, we don't have that kind of time, do we?" 
"No," she answered automatically, a whine to her voice as she shook her head. She didn't really feel like thinking about how quickly their time would be cut short. 
His hands on her waist slid down until he reached her hips, his grip solidifying until he had her stopped in her tracks. Her fingers curled in the material of his shirt, her bottom lip sinking under the weight of her teeth. 
"Get me out, darling."
Maybe it was the deep rumble of his voice, or the steadfast contact of his eyes with hers, but (Y/N) could have melted in that moment. Her lungs squeezed with her heart rattling behind her ribs. It was only when a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth that she realized she had lingered too long admiring him. 
Unfurling her hands from his top, she fumbled at the waist of his pants. Every shifting of her hips against his lap had her in a daze, making it that much harder to concentrate on following his instructions—something he was well aware of with the way he had his own pelvis rocking upwards as if he didn't know what he was doing. 
Pulling down his jeans enough to expose his black briefs, (Y/N) could have breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to hook her fingers in the waist of his underwear. A spray of goosebumps touched at his skin, his cock visibly jumping when she reached for his cock. 
His skin was heated, shaft thick with his head leaking by the time she had her fist wrapped around him. Shoving his briefs down enough to pull him out, (Y/N) had her attention stolen and pinned to his cock. The head was leaking and red, a pearl of precum glossing from his slit. She instinctively wrapped her hadn't around his shaft, feeling the ridge of his head under her palm and the pumping of the vining vein wrapped around. A heavy breath shuddered through his chest at the touch. (Y/N) couldn't keep her eyes off of him, lusty adrenaline sparking through her system at the thought that he was in this state because of her. 
"You're so cute, darling," Harry said, breathless as he drew her out of her head. 
"Huh?" she murmured, tearing her eyes away from his ruddy cock and the shallow pumps she made around his shaft. 
If he'd had an answer at the ready, he'd cut himself off as he sank into the mattress with a sigh. The pristine pillow compressed under his head when he threw it back in the preludes of ecstasy. 
"Jus' you," he murmured, recovering with his eyes only opening to a slit, "'S always like the first time with, isn't it? Y'always look at me like you've never seen me before—'s cute."
She felt shy all of a sudden, as if she didn't have his cock in her hand. Her wings tucked to her shoulder blades, cocooning her together as if they could shrink and hide her. 
"I like you," she told him, "That's all." 
"Yeah?" he pressed smugly, his cheeks beginning to flush as (Y/N) just laid her hand on him without offering the relief of her fist, "Jus' like me?" 
A bashful tug had her lips curling into a small smile. "I love you." 
"That's what I thought." 
With that, one of his hands on her waist abandoned post only to land on the back of her neck. His palm was a cuff around the warm skin as he curled upwards and tugged her down in the same sweep. His lips met hers in a warm press, his tongue snaking out with the tip dragging along the full of her bottom lip. She didn't have to think before she was opening up for him, running her own tongue across his to get a taste. 
It was (Y/N)'s turn then to get a taste of his pleasure, a moan spilling from his throat and settling on her tongue. Her hand around his cock tightened, the grip snug and clinging. The longer he played with her, his hand tight on the back of her neck as if in fear she would pull away before he was ready, the seat of her panties grew that much more wet. Her toes curled in the bedding at his sides, her free hand pawing at his chest in the lone need to feel him. 
Drawing away just enough to speak, (Y/N)'s lips brushed against his own as she whispered, "I-I want to see you, Harry." 
"'M here, darling," he answered her simply before attempting to dive back in for more. 
"No," she practically pouted, puckering her lips for one more kiss before pleading again, "No, I want more—it's not fair if I'm the only one without my clothes on" 
She could feel him smile into her mouth, his hand offering an affectionate squeeze to the back of her neck before he pulled away. 
"When have I ever been fair, darling?" he prodded, giving her a raised brow as if he wasn't going to give into each and every single one of her demands. 
"You are with me," she countered with a cant to her head.
Something softened in his expression then, as if she didn't have her hand wrapped around his cock. "I suppose I am, aren't I?" 
Peeling his shirt off, the material becoming a black puddle on the bed behind her to reveal the tan skin and inked marks covering his musculature. 
(Y/N) had heard time and time again throughout her existence how demons could never be trusted, that they were a creation that an angel like her shouldn't taint themselves by even breathing next to. She had been told they were slimy skinned, rows of teeth stuffed in their mouths, with eyes that could pull you straight to hell if you looked into them long enough. 
Looking at Harry the way he was now beneath her, she could see why her ancestors would craft such tales; if she had known there were creatures out there that looked the way Harry did, she would have tried to find him the first time she floated from the clouds. 
She couldn't help the way her hands drifted up his chest. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, dancing over the butterfly inked on his stomach and he birds up high by his collarbones. There was a flight layer of goosebumps that rose in her wake. 
A breathy laugh that fell from his lips brought her attention back to the surface, pulling her gaze to flick up and match his. Amusement floated in his irises, a slight smile on his raspberry lips. 
"You're cute," he told her simply. 
"I'm not trying to be cute," she answered, a stubborn set to her jaw. 
That only seemed to amuse him more, a dimple now denting his cheek as his smile grew. "Right," he drawled, "As much as I love letting y'touch all over me, I don't think we have enough time left for y'to have too much fun." 
The reminder was enough to have her mouth fixing into a pout. That wasn't what she wanted to hear.
"Oh, yeah," she answered sullenly, stilling her hands on his shoulders with her body leant over his. 
"I know," he said, craning his neck to press a small kiss to the corner of her mouth in a lingerie draw, "Next time we're here, we'll spend all night together. I promise."
A dreamy sigh fanned from her lungs at the thought, her eyes falling closed. It'd been a while since they had been able to spend a whole night in the Pocket together—the last time had left her in love and flying wonky the next day. 
She could hear the smile in his voice when he pressed, "Sound good, darling?" 
"Mhm," she hummed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, "I want that now." 
"I know y'do," he murmured, "You'll jus' have to settle for me fucking y'fast, then." 
He said it like it was a punishment, as if her heart wasn't in her throat with adrenaline when he flipped her over once more. She was flat on her back, wings cushioned against the mattress when he sunk in between her spread thighs once more. Now, she could feel the weight of the muscles she had grazed her hands over, the width of his form she had been grinding against. 
The movement had stolen her breath, leaving her chest heaving as he looked down at her. The intensity was back once more, keeping his irises dark as he glazed his eyes over each and every line of her body. He lingered on the line of her bra, surely pinpointing where her rattling heart was scheduled by her ribs. 
"What do y'need from me, darling?" Harry mumbled, the blunt of his nails grazing the soft skin of her stomach as he dragged his hands towards the waist of her panties. 
Speaking through her shudder, she shook her head, "No-Nothing—I want you." 
Harry looked entirely too smug, the curl on his lips one she recognized even as far back as the first time they met. Back then, she couldn't stand the sight—unsure of how a demon could be proud of anything they did. Now, it was one of her favorite things, knowing she had made him feel proud of himself (at least she liked to think of it that way). 
"Y'can have me, darling," he assured her, one of his hands dripping from the waist of her underwear and down between her legs, "But, are y'wet enough for me, or do y'need some help?" 
His thumb grazed her clit, her body jumping at the slight touch. She could feel her insides pulsing, grasping for something that wasn't there yet. 
"I-I don't need help," she stuttered, pushing her hips against his hand in impatience, "Harry, please. I don't want you to leave before we're done." 
A pinch appeared between his brows then as he hooked his fingers into the gusset of her underwear, pulling the material to the side. "I would never leave y'like that, you know that. I'll always take care of m'angel."
As if to prove his point, she watched as he fisted his cock and ran the head along her folds. The air had been seemingly sucked out of the room at that moment, leaving her with a shuddering breath leaving her lungs and eyes fighting to close. She could feel his heavy gaze watching her as he nudged his cock against her pulsing opening, a small tease before he pulled back to slide through her folds once more. 
"Y'sure you're ready for me?" he teased, drawing out his words for just a second longer of the torture. 
"Harry, please," she told him, sounding a bit pathetic to her own ears though there was no guilt in the act. "I need you." 
He loved it when she pleaded with him like that. On longer nights, he would have pressed for more, taken any and every bit of begging she could offer, but she was sure the time limit was in the back of his mind when he didn't continue teasing. 
With a fluid push of his hips, he sunk in between her hips. (Y/N)'s lips fell open at the stretch, a moan getting stuck in her throat to leave nothing more than a heavy puff of air falling from her mouth. Harry's gaze was concentrated on where they were connected, his length disappearing inside her. His hand stretching back her panties let go when he bottomed out, his base pressing into her budding clit. 
His chest was heaving when he finally looked up at her once more. She could see the boundary of his irises beginning to waver, the black bleeding into the sclera. He was losing control in the most thrilling sense, the idea causing her walls to pulse around his splitting length. 
"'S been too long, darling," he told her, voice a low rumble. 
"Uh-huh," she sounded, giving a pathetic nod of her head with her hands fisting the bedding at her sides. She wanted so badly to reach for him, feel his skin under her palms, but feared flying away if she let go before she had her head on straight. 
"Never gonna wait this long again, 'kay?" Rearing back his hips, he grunted when he pushed through her channel once more. 
A puff of air left (Y/N)'s lungs once his hips pressed against hers in a slap, as if he had knocked it right out of her. Settling his hands on the bones of her hips, his thumbs stretched up towards the curve of her waist in a gentle sweeping that opposed the strength of his grip. He held her steady as he curated a fluid pace, knocking the breath out of her each time he sank inside her. 
(Y/N)'s breathing came in puffs every time she felt his tip nudge deep inside her, her body being pushed further and further into the mattress. Without his hands on her body keeping her place, she would have hit her head on the headboard by now, she figured, the thought being one that would have made her laugh if not for the fact that she was in the middle of something. 
"You're so tight," he gritted out, his voice deep and rumbling through his chest, "Thought y'said y'were ready for me." 
"I am, I am," she rushed out, pausing when he gave her a particularly punishing thrust, "I-Its been too long, re-rememeber?" 
His hands squeezed her hips that much more at her words. "I know, darling. Gonna have to make this one last then. Can't stretch y'out every time we fuck, can we?" 
Mindlessly, she shook her head, willing to agree with any and everything he was saying at the moment. She wouldn't mind him taking the time to stretch her out every time he pulled her to bed, but now wasn't the time to get greedy—she already had his cock rearranging her organs, there wasn't much more she could pine for, was there?
Except for maybe touching him herself. 
Not wanting to distract him from his job, (Y/N) unfurled her fingers from the sheets at her sides, reaching towards the thick of his arms. Her fingernails sunk into the skin, leaving small moon shapes that would no doubt still be pink by the time he was having to slip out and meet his friend. She liked the idea, her fingers clenching that much more, that a part of her would remain with him even when they couldn't be together. 
Harry was seemingly spurred on by the touch, hips knocking into hers in heady strokes. She was going to have bruises tomorrow, but she didn't care. Her mouth dropped open, small uh's leaving her parted lips in time with every push of his hips. 
"Harry, I-I," she started, her voice catching in her throat before she could say much more. 
"'M right here, darling, 's alright," he attempted to soothe her though his voice was strained and breathy with every thrust he sunk inside her. 
Her mouth was dry by the time she found her voice again, her eyes fluttering to a close. "I—Can—I want to touch—" 
That was all she managed to get out before a bubbling moan fell from her lips when he dared to grind against her once bottoming out. Through her taut underwear, he pressed against her clit, her body jumping at the touch.
"But you are touching me," he drawled, bringing her back down as he pulled his hips back. 
She knew he was only trying to goad her, get her stubborn and petulant in the way that always made him laugh, but she didn't care. It was going to work, but she would leave her scolding for later. 
"You know what I mean, Harry" she argued, peeling her eyes open to find him looking at her with that smug smile as if he wasn't exerting all of his energy into stealing her breath away. "You're being so mean to me!" 
"I'm being mean to you?" he repeated, the rhythm of his hips slowing just a hair when he brought the intensity of his gaze to match hers. "You really think that right now, darling?" 
"Yes, I do," she whined, now upset by the fact he was slowing down and not letting her touch him. She wrapped her legs around his hips from where he was knelt between her thighs in hopes of spurring him on, feeling the ridge of his length pressing through. 
One of his hands on her hips slid up her body, skating over her tummy and between her breasts until he landed on her neck. His palm laid flat on her collarbones with his fingers wrapping around her throat, a slight pressure. His hips worked in shallow thrusts, barely pulling his length out before he was pushing in once more. 
"Are you sure?" he pressed, a slight pressure closing in on the side of her throat as he squeezed that much more, "If this isn't enough for you, I can show y'how mean I can really be." 
(Y/N) felt her eyes round out as she gazed up at him, her heart stuttering in her chest. Time seemingly stood still in that moment, every detail melting away to leave only Harry in focus. 
"Oh my god," she murmured, her voice squeaking through her throat.
A slow smile tugged up the corner of Harry's lips. "No god, darling. Jus' me." 
(Y/N) couldn't help but to buck her hips against his, urging him for more. She could feel her walls fluttering around him, her wings at her back struggling against the mattress with their own restless energy begging to fluff out. 
Harry kept his hand as an anchoring weight on her throat as he dropped back into the rhythm of his hips, tightening in pulsing squeezes just long enough to have her eyes rolling to the back of her head before lightening up once more. His own control—despite the facade he was offering to (Y/N)—began to waver that much more. His eyes were almost completely black, the inky veins snaking out to envelope the sclera with every punishing thrust. The moment (Y/N) was back on Earth, peeling her eyes open enough, she swore she saw glimpses of his glamor fading, revealing the large black wings shrouding his back. 
He was close, that much she was sure of. 
"A-are you going to cum?" she asked, voice rumbling under his hand.
Shaking his head, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "Not until you, darling. Angels first." 
"But, I can see your wings." 
His breathing came in pants. "I know, but you're still finishing first, darling." 
Taking his hand off her neck, the ghost of his warmth left behind, Harry wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her off the bed. Repositioning himself, he knelt on the mattress as he dragged her into his lap. His cock was snug inside her when she settled over his thighs, feeling just that much deeper with the new angle. 
Wasting no time, he had his hands stationed on her hips once more, setting a pace for her to bounce on his cock. 
"Think y'can fuck yourself like this, darling? Do all the hard work for me?" he murmured, dragging his lips over the same parts of her neck where he had choked her moments before.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she answered, a mindless reflex as he concentrated on matching his grip. 
Using the leverage of her knees on either side of him, she lifted herself off his cock, allowing his head to stretch through her pulsing walls, before sitting herself back down in a smack of her skin against his. It was a relief to put her hands on him, feeling every inch she could reach. Her palms skimmed over the broad of his shoulders, planes of his back, and the thick of his arms all with her nails following closely behind.
Harry did much of the same, trailing up the curve of her spine until he found the base of her wings. (Y/N) couldn't help but to keen into his touch, back arching through it took everything in her to keep from getting distracted and keep riding him like he had asked. 
The first graze of his fingers over her feathers was enough to get her stomach tightening, and mouth dropping into a moan. She could feel him smiling against her neck, too proud over her reaction. 
"Always so cute, even when y'don't mean to be, you know that?" he murmured, dotting a kiss just below her ear, "All I've got to do is touch your feathers, and you're done for." 
She wanted to say something, tell him that it wasn't that easy, but there was nothing that would escape her lips other than puffs of heavy breath and whining moans.  
Rocking his hips up to meet hers, that much more pleasure settled in her stomach. As much as she wanted to argue with him that she wasn't that easy to make cum, there was some truth behind the fact that she was flying towards the finish line with every brush of his fingers and rock of his hips. 
"I can feel y'squeezing me, darling," he murmured, dragging his mouth over the line of her jaw in a lingering kiss, "Y'gonna cum for me? Did I finally work hard enough for you?" 
Despite the fact he'd asked her a question, there was no way he had been expecting an answer with the way he wiggled his fingertips through the brush of her feathers and coasted along the bony structure underneath. He knew she wouldn't be able to survive that, a long moan choking out from her throat with her stomach too tight to bear. 
(Y/N) tried to keep her pacing as best she could—something she couldn't believe Harry was able to do all the time—, but the rhythm was undoubtedly interrupted as she came around him. She could feel every inch of him as her insides pulsed around him, taking in the ridge of his head and the length that had split her open in the first place. His base was pressed heavily against her clit, rivaling the pressure of his fingers dancing through her feathers. 
She wanted to be present but the heavens called to her then, the Pocket left behind for a few lingering moments. By the time she was floating back down to Earth, Harry's hands settling on her hips as he lifted her off his cock, the sight before her was enough to get her back to square one, wishing they more time. 
Harry's eyes were now completely pitch black, no more white sclera or shatters of green to be seen. His glamour had faded away, leaving the leather stretch of his wings visible, the span much larger than her own as they fanned out around them. The webbing cocooned around them, creating a curtain around her body as if there wasn't enough of him touching her already. 
His cock shone in the low light between them, her slick coating him as he fisted the length. It only took a few passes of his hand before his cum blurted out in thick ropes across her stomach. 
"Fuck—(Y/N)—I—" Nothing of coherence fell from his lips then, every bit of concentration laid to rest as he watched himself cum on an angel. 
A furrow had his brows pinched together, his eyes hooded and dark. His mouth was stagnant in a gape once he stopped trying to speak. 
It wasn't until the remaining spurts of his cum rolled down his shaft and his ruddy head was seemingly beginning to stain purple that he pulled his shaky hands away. Using his wings as well as his hands, he hugged (Y/N) to his chest with his softening cock between them. Even with the mess that was beginning to dry on her stomach, he held her tight, pressing hard kisses to her temple and side of her face until he met her lips. 
"Y'okay?" he panted to her, the tip of his nose nudging against her own. 
"I'm okay," she murmured, wrapping her own arms around his neck. 
"Happy?" he asked, just the same as he always did in these quiet moments after the storm. 
A small smile stretched over her lips. "Happy." 
Gently laying her backwards, Harry kept himself glued to her, wings and all, as they settled among the sheets. Despite the fact he had no discernible pupil, she could feel his gaze traveling over her features and taking her in as he always did. She felt bashful under his eyes, her own wings shyly tucking into her back. 
"What is it, darling?" he asked, sweeping a few stray hairs from her face. 
"Nothing, just... You." 
"Just me?" he countered, reaching blindly for his discarded shirt he'd tossed earlier. 
"Just you," she repeated with a breathy laugh, allowing him to wipe his mess away with his shirt. (How he had the courage to clean her up with it knowing that he'd have to wear it out to meet his friend later, she wasn't sure). "How long can you stay?" 
Harry's features took on a somber set at her words, just the same as she felt. "Not long, darling. Jus' long enough to make sure y'get to sleep, then I'll have to leave." 
"What if I don't fall asleep?" 
The smile he gave her told her that he was very familiar with the game she was beginning to play with him. 
"Guess I'll have to stay." 
Despite the black eyes and leathery bat wings sprouting from his back, the sweet smile and boyish dimples in Harry's cheeks could rival that of any angel in (Y/N)'s opinion. 
That was why they worked, she thought as she snuggled closer to him: she brought out the angel in him and he showed her just how fun sinning could be.
—————
ahhhh I guess this is my little contribution to the valentines day vibe this year! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas send them in!! I also have more writing available on my patreon if you want more :)
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Imagine accidentally falling through the gate and straight onto Eddie…
You saw Eddie hit the mattress on the right side up. As the kids celebrated with fist-pumps, you were filled with excitement knowing that you were finally leaving the nightmare of the Upside Down. It was also what made you hurry forward and climb the knotted rope of sheets a little too quickly.
“Wait, Y/n - slowly!” Steve called out but it was too late.
You whispered a soft “shit” as gravity pulled you through the portal and down… right to where Eddie hadn’t cleared the landing pad.
There was some confused shouting from both sides and Eddie panicked, thinking that it was Vecna. He turned on his back just in time to see you hurtling through the ceiling.
Then you made contact, crashing hard and fast on the young man below. You heard him groan as you did something similar and lifted your head to see him directly beneath. Honestly, you weren’t really sure if it was the fall or the close proximity but it felt like the wind was knocked from your lungs. 
His eyes weren’t always this beautiful, right?
…then you felt the light touch of his fingers.
“Um… Eddie?”
He was clearly smitten, letting out a small hum to let you know that he was listening.
“Your- uh- your hands are in… certain places.”
“Yeah… I mean - shit! Sorry, I-” Eddie frantically began to apologise as he removed his hands from your body, allowing you to roll onto your back beside him.
You laid there for a second and exhaled. Was it always this warm in his trailer?
Lucas stepped forward and helped Eddie off the mattress while Robin extended her hand to you with a mischievous smile on her face. You took the offer, gripped her hand and let her hoist you back up. 
Now steady on your feet, you looked around the room but your eyes caught Eddie’s and it was like being drawn into a magnet.
“Kiss and get together already!” Dustin groaned as he walked in between to get to the portal, looking up at the remaining duo. “Hurry it up, you two.”
~ More imagines here ~
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raven-ovs · 4 months ago
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On This Night Of Ritual | Papa IV x f!Reader
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Summary: On Lust, and Love, and all the sweet emotions in between. Copia and his partner choose to spend their night in a special way, expressing their devotion to Satan and to each other through the pleasures of the flesh.
Content: ~6.5 words, 18+ MDNI, established relationship, religious imagery, ritual sex, body workship, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, soft, they're in love love
Ao3 link - Full art
🥀
You shiver in anticipation, pulling the robe tighter over your chest, your eyes flitting around the bedroom. Your shared bedroom, you remind yourself, little bits of your own style scattered around, mingling with his, a quiet reminder of how your lives have intertwined since he asked you to move in with him.
The fabric feels soft against your bare skin, reassuring. He gifted it to you for this occasion specifically.
You glance down at your bare legs framed by the rich blue silk, a sigh escaping your lips.
Faint sounds of him getting ready reach your ears from the en-suite bathroom. A thud followed by a muttered curse makes you smile. He must be just as nervous as you, even though you've both agreed to this. You've talked about it so many times, fantasised about it, dipped your toes into it without fully committing.
But now... You're ready. Or at least, you want to be.
The bathroom door creaking open snaps you out of your thought, and you look up to find a very flustered Copia making his way to you.
He looks stunning, to say the least.
Divine.
He's wearing a silk robe as well, matching yours. His is in a deeper blue, though, and has golden embroideries all around its lapels and cuffs. It fits him.
A familiar warmth settles low in your belly at the sight of him, all your anxieties starting to melt, replaced by a much more intense eagerness.
You can spot a few lines of his tattoo, barely hidden by the robe tied loosely around his waist. His facepaint is pristine as always.
"Hey," you smile tentatively, searching his eyes. The white one almost seems to glow in the faint candle light of the room, and its magnetic pull only gets stronger as he steps closer. It's mesmerising.
"Amore," he whispers back as greeting, the mattress dipping when he sits down on the edge of the bed.
"Everything's ready." You gesture vaguely around you, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine as he looks around as well.
The crimson red sheets underneath you, the candles burning on every free surface of the room, the little bowl of red paint waiting on your nightstand.
He nods in approval, and you see that flicker of excitement in his gaze that always makes you swoon, until he jolts up, genuinely scaring the shit out of you.
"Copia, che cazzo!" you exclaim, only getting a dismissive "sorry" in return before he's padding off to the other side of the room, mumbling to himself.
"Shit, how could I forget? Eh... Just gotta... Where the hell did I put it?"
You raise an eyebrow in his direction, but don't comment further. Silly rat man.
How you love him.
A pleased little "ha!" follows, and before you know it, soft notes are filling the room, coming from his record player.
Oh... Right.
He's back at your side in an instant, and his grin tells you that he's waiting for a reaction from you. And that this is meaningful to him.
You listen carefully to what sounds like religious music at first, the sort of solemn hymns that you used to hear echoing in Catholic churches, a long, long time ago.
You're confused, until you begin to make out the words of this first song. They're definitely not Catholic.
It sounds like a Ghost song, but not quite... It's softer, more intimate in way, despite still having a grandiose feeling to it. A bit of an oxymoron, just like the man in front of you.
"Unreleased," he chimes in, filling the gaps in your thought process.
"Hm?"
"I... wrote this. Some time ago. Never released it." he explains, a vulnerable note to his voice that you don't fail to notice.
"Oh." You take another moment to listen in silence, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as his rich voice reaches your ears from the recording. *Oh.*
"Copia... It's beautiful. Why didn't you release it?"
A shrug, dismissive. You nod, realising that it'll be a story for another time.
You both have a plan now, and you want to get through with it.
The music is just an unexpected, yet perfectly fitting addition.
“So…”
“So.” He gives you one of his lovely smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his cheeks, you assume, turning pink under his facepaint. You melt on the spot.
You've come up with it together, this… ritual you're about to do, if one might even call it that. It's a mix of you two, really. Your beliefs, your journeys, your shared faith. A manifestation of your devotion, for each other, and for your Lord, Satan.
You return his smile, and adjust your posture, sitting cross legged in front of him, a silent confirmation that you're ready, that you want this.
He mirrors you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it and then folding his hands in his lap. The gray strands at his temples stand out in this light, and you love it.
So… There you are. First step. Soul gazing.
You scoot a little closer, trying to get comfortable before your eyes meet his. You sigh. Focus.
This part is all about building connection, stating your intentions, tapping into the right mindset.
“Our Father who art in Hell…” You hear him whisper, his low voice taking on that edge he has when delivering a sermon during Mass, but more muted, just for the two of you. You glance down when his inverted cross catches the light, shimmering in the middle of his sternum, then your eyes return to his as soon as he starts speaking again. “Guide us through this journey. Let the worship of our bodies be a token of our devotion to You. Watch us sin, and rejoice.” A pause, a breath escaping his painted lips. “Nema."
“Nema.” you repeat, your voice small compared to his, but no less firm.
You already feel the hypnotic nature of this exercise, your breathing slowing down the longer you look into his eyes, trying to sync to his. The mismatched green and white of his irises draws you in, and you can see every emotion playing out on his face, just as he can do with yours, you think.
His soul… Can you really see a person's soul, through their eyes? What does it even mean, soul? As a child, you were taught that your soul would be damned and cast to Hell if you sinned, but you don't believe in any of that anymore. It's not you, and it's definitely not him.
What you can see in his eyes is an energy, burning bright. It's the same energy you see when he's singing to his fans, when he's eating his favorite dish, when he’s petting his rats, when he's making love to you. Now that energy is focused, though, and it's all on you.
It makes your breath hitch, but you immediately school it back into the slow rhythm you two have built. In… Out… Again. Again.
His pupils are dilated, be it from the darkness or from arousal, you cannot tell. Most likely both.
You're not sure how many minutes pass like this, but it doesn't matter. Not when his hands reach forward, nimble fingers gently tugging your robe open. You do the same to him.
Step two.
You break eye contact to take in his revealed torso, the brown and gray dusting of hair on his chest that turns into a darker trail from his belly button down. So beautiful. Yours.
His gaze almost burns your skin in its intensity, and you imagine him already painting symbols on your body, his fingertips tinged red, making you shiver and sigh with every brush. Not yet.
“Still good?” You hear him ask, his voice barely above a whisper, an hopeful light in his eyes.
“Yes, yes, of course.” You smile.
The music has already faded in the background of your mind by now, but you're still grateful for its presence, for the way it fills your silences between one breath and the next. With measured movements, you each bring your right hand to the other's chest, over the heart, and then cover that hand with your own left one. A deep breath, and then you’re gazing into each other's eyes again.
There's a part of you that wonders at the single minded focus he shows in this moment. He's usually easily distracted, his thoughts scattered between his endless tasks and nerdy interests, fluttering from here to there like a moth at a lights fest. But not now.
The more you breathe, the clearer you can hear his heart thrumming under your fingertips, your pinky finger barely grazing his nipple. If he feels it, he doesn't let you see his reaction. When he's thoroughly fucked you, and lets you rest with your head on his chest, that's when you feel his heartbeat the strongest. That, or when he gets really anxious, and comes to you for reassurance. When he looks at you with eyes wide, a little lost, and you place your hands on his chest, guiding him to breathe until the darkness dissipates enough to keep going.
Now it feels just as strong, a steady, reassuring rhythm that proves to you that he's actually there, in front of you. The man of your dreams. Not a figment of your imagination, but real, solid, human.
You wish you could read his thoughts right now. Is he thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him? You almost want to ask him, whisper a “penny for your thoughts” just to see one of those smiles that light up the whole room, but no… No, this is about something else. This is about laying yourselves bare for the other to see, and to love. Words are not needed for that.
You breathe in his love for you, and breathe out your love for him. An exchange. Again and again. Time passes, but again… It doesn't matter.
For the next step, you need to be bare. Literally.
You're not sure who reaches out first, who switches position first, but your next breath is taken on your knees, his hands on your shoulders, sliding the robe off of you. You let it fall somewhere behind you, and watch him kneel as well, his own robe open, splayed out from his back down to his feet like a wedding veil.
He almost looks too good to take it off, but you know it's part of the process. Both of you naked. Vulnerable.
“Sei bellissimo,” you find yourself whispering as your hands find his sides, sliding up his torso and towards his arms to start guiding the robe off. The blush you earn in response is enough to make your heart stutter, the red so vivid that it's visible even under the layers of white paint.
Copia averts his gaze, but you know he's silently preening at your words. Always a sucker for praise.
He shimmies out of the embroidered sleeves, and then the robe falls behind him just like yours did, discarded. It almost feels like unwrapping a gift.
“I can feel Him,” he mumbles, making you look at his face again.
“Who?”
“Satan. Watching us…”
“Oh.” You blink, finding that notion a bit foreign, but not unpleasant. You can't deny the buzz in the air around you, the almost palpable promise of what's coming. Your Papa knows what he's talking about, that much you're sure of.
“Is He pleased?”
He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his shoulders raising a bit. Cute. “Think so. But… He, eh… He's waiting for the next bit.”
That makes you chuckle, and you find it reassuring that now, now that should be the most ritualistic phase, you’re acting more casual, connecting in the way that you're used to, that's familiar to you.
“Right, yeah.” As if on cue, you turn around to grab the little bowl you had left on your nightstand, bringing it between you two and placing it on the covers. Strategically red, yes, but alluring too. Red paint on red sheets. That will look good.
You discussed which symbols to draw and on whom. You remember his words distinctly. The way his rich voice explained to you the meanings and differences between each one, the fervour of his belief as he spoke to you of his life’s work. That had ended in a very intense, unforgettable night of sex. But tonight will be different, in a way.
“Should I, uh… Should I start?” you ask tentatively, seeking his approval.
He nods, laying his hands back against the mattress, leaving his whole front open to your view and to your touch. You know he'd trust you with his life.
Trying to rein in your trembling, you dip your fingers into the bowl, shivering at the feeling of the cold, burgundy liquid. Not blood, of course, but it does look like it. You take in a shaky breath, and let it out, and then your clean hand is cradling his jaw, tilting his head up as you lean closer.
As precisely as possible, you draw a small, inverted pentagram on his forehead. The first symbol of your faith. The stark contrast between the red and his black and white face paint is striking. Gorgeous.
Next, you draw an inverted cross on his left arm. The design matches that of your own makeup, a gothic feel to it that reminds you of the tapestries and stained glass artworks you always admire around the Ministry. He simply kneels there, watching you, embracing the solemnity of this moment.
One last symbol for him. The Sigil of Lucifer.
You take your time drawing it, your index finger sliding along the curves of his stomach. His abs tense as you pass over them, and you have to bite your lip at the noise he makes when you draw the little swirls at the bottom, framing his happy trail. Framing his cock.
You've tried not to focus on it, but it's near impossible now, knowing that you’ll be touching him soon. He's been hard since the moment you started all this, but now… Oh, by now he's leaking, his head flushed a deep red, the vein on the underside evident as his cock twitches against his belly, almost smearing the paint you've just placed there. You barely stifle a giggle.
“Don't be so smug about it,” he grumbles, his brow furrowing as he glances down at himself. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments, his lipstick fading in that spot, but as soon as you're done painting he lifts his head again, an air of confidence about him that makes your cunt throb. “Your turn.” he declares, reaching down to grab the bowl and slide it closer to himself.
You brace yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his fingers dipped in red tracing lines around your nipple, drawing a pentagram of his own. You clench your thighs together, and you know he notices, but he doesn't say anything. Only smirks.
“Turn around, tesoro,” he instructs in that seductive voice of his, a voice that could bring a nation to its knees if he only ever asked. He doesn't need to, though. He has you on your knees for him, almost every night.
You do as told, and present your back to him. Your ass, actually, as you shift to place your hands on the mattress, on all fours. He actually groans at the sight, the little bastard.
You huff in reply, your head hanging low between your shoulders to hide your blush. “Don't get distracted…”
“Never, piccola.” You can practically hear his shit-eating grin in his voice, but you press your lips together, silencing yourself from further remarks. Not the time for banter, as much as you love it.
Without another word, his fingers meet your skin again. He starts at your hip bone and makes his way along your ass, drawing another pentagram. This time, though, he adds more strokes, tracing lines with practiced ease to form the Sigil of Baphomet.
He hums once done, sounding pleased with himself. You turn around again, careful not to sit on your heels any longer, not wanting to mess up the paint before it has dried. A small penance for the ineffable amount of pleasure that you're going to experience soon.
“Last one.” He reminds you with a smile, his expression softer now, more caring. You wonder what came over him. “You're being so good, baby.”
That really makes you blush, hard. You're not sure who likes praise more in your relationship.
“Ah… Grazie.” you mutter, your gaze falling to the bowl in front of you, unable to sustain his stare.
He laughs fondly and shakes his head before dipping his fingers in the paint one last time. You did his belly, so it's only fair that he should do yours too. Satan's Cross. Right in the middle of your stomach. All goes well until he draws the infinite under your belly button, his finger scorching like fire on your already over sensitised skin. You moan, unable to stop it. He winces, his hand trembling as he pulls away.
“Amore… If you keep making sounds like that, this will be over much sooner than we want.”
You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. You're both more worked up than you've probably ever been, and you can't help but wonder how exactly you're going to last as long as you're meant to, edging each other to ecstasy. Satan will guide you in that, you hope silently.
You take a moment to appreciate how perfect he looks with all those symbols painted on his skin. A fallen angel, worthy to stand beside Lucifer himself.
You wipe your fingers on the sheets below you, and watch him do the same. The paint is sex friendly, sure, but you don't want to stain his whole body with it. Neither does he.
“I want you, Copia… I want you so bad.” You search his eyes, finding that same desire reflected in them.
“I'm all yours.”
That's all it takes for you to move forward, still on your knees, and cup his face in both hands. Is this what they mean when they talk about holding the world in your hands? The thought makes you grin.
“What?”
“Uh? Nothing.”
“What?”
You can't deny him when he's looking at you like that.
“I love you,” you whisper simply, hoping it can somehow convey the depth of your feelings. You're not sure, but if his smile is any indicator, at least part of that sentiment reached him.
You brush your thumbs over his temples and at the corners of his eyes as he whispers an “I love you” in return. You must have heard those words coming from his lips thousands of times, but they still make your heart flutter like the very first.
“May I kiss you?” As if you even need to ask. He hums, pretending to think about it, that mischievous twinkle crossing his gaze as he leans closer, your lips now mere inches apart.
Copia looks up at you through his lashes, in a way that looks almost coquettish, and you're unsure whether to slap him or kiss him stupid.
“Ti prego…” he murmurs, his breath fanning your lips.
Fuck, this man.
Before you can stop yourself, you've closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don't know if it was the synced breathing, the symbols, or just staring into each other's eyes for so long, but this kiss feels so powerful, so meaningful that it makes you swoon, and you have to grab his face tighter, ground yourself. He moans in response, feeling that same intensity.
Heat pools in your core as you feel his tongue swiping along your lower lip, asking for entrance. His arms snake around your waist to pull you closer, and could almost swear you heard a muffled “please” against your lips. You’re powerless.
The kiss turns messy the moment you part your lips and let him in, your tongues pressing against each other, lips fusing together as if you can't get close enough fast enough. You swallow each other's moans, licking and nipping until you're both panting.
You pull back just enough to breathe, your gaze falling to his kiss-swollen lips. Fuck.
“Amore���” he starts, but goes silent again when you wipe the spit off his bottom lip with your thumb, your fingers grasping his chin.
It shouldn't be like this. You should go slow, keep that energy going. But dammit, it's hard.
“Sorry, sorry… I know.” Your hands leave his face, and you breathe harshly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like before. Kinda.
“I can't get enough of you.” you admit, your fingers trailing down his chest, following the contours of his tattoo. Focus. Focus.
You always knew there was something about you, a craving that you never seemed to satisfy. You deemed it wrong for so long that it almost felt like second nature to chastise yourself. He's taught you to indulge, though. He has embraced that part of you, and that flame has grown, threatening to consume you both. What a way to die, that would be.
Still, he looks hopeful now, and his eyes are burning, yes, but so soft. So soft that it makes you think you would do anything to make him proud. Suddenly you feel calmer, and reverence replaces hunger. After all, works of art should be admired quietly, carefully, taking your time. And he's the ultimate masterpiece.
“That's it, sì…” He nods down at your hands on his torso, and soon reaches out to touch you as well. Slow. Gentle. Light as if touching the most delicate porcelain. It's almost funny, when you know that he can fuck you hard enough to make you cry. And that you can do the same to him.
Your hands wander, fingertips still stained red, even though the paint has dried by now. You do nothing to suppress the sighs and gasps that his touch elicits, knowing it emboldens him, lets him know it's okay to make noise. Knees parted, you both lean closer, breathing each other in as fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He mirrors you, you mirror him. Like a dance. A slow… Slow dance.
You let your nails scrape lightly at the juncture of his pelvis, and he groans, a deep, needy sound. You love it.
He spreads his legs some more, encouraging you, and you take in on his offer. Of course you do. You reach his taint, your touch so light that it's almost ticklish, and you can hear the thought forming in his head even before looking at his face. He's grinning like an idiot.
“You're impossible.” You shake your head, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, and then press harder on the spot, your thumb massaging his skin until-
“Oh! Fuck…” His eyes widen, the noise coming out of his mouth sounding positively sinful.
You won't be going into a full prostate massage, but you know what it does to him. Indulge, no? That's the whole point.
You keep rubbing there until he goes a little cross-eyed, and you have to stop then, worried that he'll come right then and there. You can't have that.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain his bearings. “Cazzo, amore… You can't just do… That.” He pouts, and it's the most adorable look he's given you all night, with his lips still puffy from your kiss and his lipstick smeared into a dark gray around the edges.
You giggle, but retreat your hand, resorting to stroking the top of his thigh in soothing motions. Copia huffs, running a hand through his hair to brush some unruly strands out of his forehead.
“Better?” you ask with a small, self-satisfied smile which earns you a glare from him.
His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you closer, one of your knees going between his. He leans back with one hand on the bed, exposing himself to your gaze in an almost challenging manner, his eyes roving over your body, almost as if trying to commit it all to memory. Then, his hand reaches between your legs for the first time tonight, and you're done for. You're drenched. So drenched that it actually draws a gasp from him as he dips his fingers between your folds. Satan below, how are you meant to last?
His thumb finds your clit as his eyes meet yours again, your lips parting in anticipation. “What a sight you make, piccolina…”
“Copia…” You close your eyes, trying to maintain at least a semblance of control even as he starts rubbing tiny circles around your clit, his moves practiced and precise.
He's grown confident with it. Not that he wasn't great to begin with, but oh, now he knows just how to play your body, how to make you gasp, and moan, and whimper, and scream until your throat feels raw.
You try to focus on your breath, as you're meant to, and let your hand slither back towards his crotch. It needs to be mutual.
You cradle his balls in your palm, feeling them hot and heavy in your hold, ready to burst. His lips part in a silent moan, so close to you that he could kiss you if only he leaned forward a little bit. He doesn't. So instead, you slide your fingers up and wrap them around his cock.
“Ahh-” His eyes widen, and he does brush his lips against yours then, his tongue barely peeking out. He slides a finger inside you, another step in your dance.
A stroke, all the way up to his tip, and his finger pushes further in. Your thumb swipes over his slit, slicking him up with his own precum, and his finger curls inside you, the pad of it pressing against your front wall just right. You're staring at each other through half-lidded eyes, and it doesn't feel like you're fighting anymore. You’re both breaking in front of each other, bit by bit, unashamed.
“Copia…”
“Mmmm…” He leans in properly, and your mouth finds his. It's wet, and just as messy as before, with him licking past your lips, and you sucking on his tongue. That makes him growl. The sort of noise that you sometimes beg him to make. Deep, and feral, and so fucking hot.
You clench around his finger, desperate for more, and he seems to sense your need, sliding a second one inside you with almost no effort at all. Your left arm rests on his shoulder, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull back to look into his eyes again. They're almost pitch black now. Two pools of pure Lust, surrounded by thin crowns of green and white.
You stroke him faster, the slide made easier by his own arousal. “Cazzo, ahh…”
“I'm… I need you. Fuck, I need you. Please…”
Your words snap him out of his pleasure fueled haze, and he blinks at you before glancing down between your bodies. So connected and yet so distant. It's not enough. His fingers pull out of you with a sloppy sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.
“Shhh… I know.” He reaches down to grasp your hand, stilling it with your palm against his tip. Your fingers intertwine with his, and for a few precious moments, you move together, your thumb rubbing along his frenulum as he guides your palm back and forth, your slick on his fingers mingling with his own. He whimpers, actually whimpers, resting his forehead against yours. And then he's pulling your hands away, to your disappointment.
“Amore, please…” You watch him pull away, and rearrange himself so that he's sitting with his legs in front of himself instead of kneeling.
“Come here, piccola.”
You scramble towards him, eager, and straddle his firm, perfect thighs. “Like this?” you ask. He shakes his head.
Last step.
He reaches for your hips, squeezing affectionately, and guides you up. “Oh…” You know what he wants. What you both want. Yes. Oh, yes.
You reach down, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. The way he twitches against you is almost enough to make you come.
“Breathe, yeah?” he reminds you, even though he's pretty far gone himself.
“Yeah, yeah.”
He waits for eye contact, for your nod of consent, and then slowly, slowly pulls you down, breaching you.
“Ah- Fuck… Fuck…” It's agonising, almost, how good it feels.
You have no idea how much time has passed since you started, but it feels like hours. Hours in a constant state of arousal, each sense heightened, bringing you higher, until every touch feels like pure bliss. Pure, damned bliss.
“A-amore… Mmmm.” He holds your hips in a death grip, and you can almost feel the bruises forming, knowing you’ll smile at your reflection tomorrow when they'll remind you of the night you had, of the pleasure you shared.
He bottoms out, your ass meeting his thighs, and you've never felt so full. Physically, yes. But not only that. You're in tune with him, your chests rising and falling in sync, even as your breaths grow laboured. You can't look away from his eyes, not for an instant. You're one.
No more words are needed then. There's just him, and you, an “us” that feels more genuine than it ever has.
You breathe, and breathe, feeling the pleasure building despite you both staying still. A thought strikes you then, that Satan actually is watching, and that he's letting that energy build more and more. How could it feel so good otherwise?
You shift forward, angling your hips so that his tip can press against that perfect spot inside you, your arms circling his neck. His hands unclench from your hips, and he hugs you. Properly hugs you. His arms around your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You close your eyes, sighing. You can practically feel his heartbeat inside you.
It's intimate, more than you think you can bear. But it's with him. Him, whom you've loved for years. Him, whom you've admired for even longer, silently, from afar. Him, who’s yours. Your Papa. Your Copia.
It's intimate, and raw, and a little scary. And perfect.
You stay like that for as long as your bodies allow, your walls clenching around him in a vain attempt to get some friction. You hug, and breathe, your nose buried in the crook of his neck. And then, you start moving. A slow roll of your hips, a timid rock up of his. You gasp in unison, stars sparkling under your closed eyelids.
It wouldn't be so bad, dying like this, so wrapped up in each other. And if you did things right, you will die soon. A wonderful little death, or a few, maybe.
The rocking of his hips soon grows more purposeful, and you feel him pressing deeper, where he belongs. You moan against his neck, your lips parting to mouth at his earlobe.
“Ohh… Oh, please…” He squeezes you tighter against himself, snapping his hips up until you feel like you're going to pass out from the pleasure.
“S-shit. Slow down. Oh, Satan… Slow down.” you pant into his ear, not wanting this to end yet.
Not yet. You're greedy like that.
He groans in frustration, but eventually stops moving, just in time. You pull your head back to look into his eyes, finding him with his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. It reminds you of when he's trying to poke the straw into one of his juice boxes. You giggle.
“I love you… So damn much, you know?” you whisper, your voice rough from all the moaning, and shaking with the effort of still holding back.
“And I love you. Ti amo.” he whispers back, just as wrecked at you.
“Ti amo.”
And with that you're moving again.
It builds much faster this time. It's exhilarating, and it goes straight to your head. You're both overstimulated, your bodies quivering. And yet… More. More, more. Satan, please, more.
You don't want to stop. And that fire spreading in your core tells you that you can't stop. Not now.
“Amore- I can't… So close…” He seems to voice your own thoughts, and you nod desperately, struggling to keep looking at him with your eyes rolling back at his every thrust.
You brace your hands on his shoulders, and ride him as you've done countless times before, but with more purpose now, more focus, and with hours, fuck, hours of buildup. You start out slow, lifting yourself up almost all the way, and sinking back down, your thighs burning.
He's holding on for dear life, and you can see it clearly. His chest is heaving, his eyes unfocused, his lips parted, a flush spreading from his ears and cheeks all the way down to his chest. Debauched. And yours. You're sure you're not doing much better.
He grabs your hips again, and makes you speed up, the litany of moans escaping his lips telling you that he's past reason. Like a destructive tsunami, it can't be stopped.
You cling to each other, and it builds, and builds, and builds. And oh, the edging worked, because the more you move, the surer you are that you’re going to touch Heaven, only to fall down past the crust of the earth after, down right into the pits of Hell. You'd be welcome there.
His moans and yours mingle in a symphony of your own, and an outsider could almost think that they're in time with the music still playing in the background. That you're part of that music now.
You climb higher and higher, and wonder for an instant if that is how the people of Babel felt, as they got closer and closer to God. But you're not looking for God. You have your own piece of divinity right in front of your eyes. The love of your life.
“Ahh- Ah!” your love cries out, and you feel him tense beneath you, rocking his hips as far up as they'll go, burying himself fully inside you as his eyes roll back into his head, and his orgasm hits him. You feel his cock kicking inside you, his familiar warmth flooding your core, and you hold him tighter, hoping to prolong his high.
You're right on the edge yourself, and he's still twitching in you when he reaches his hand between you two to rub your clit. Just a few strokes, and you're joining him.
You press your mouth against his still open one, muffling your scream, and clamp down around him, your walls, your whole body really, pulsating with ecstasy. It's all consuming.
He gasps sharply when your climax seems to trigger another one from him. Unlikely, but even if it is just one, it lasts an ungodly amount of time. Thank Satan.
You keep grinding down on him until every last ounce of pleasure has been pulled from your body, and you're left drained, completely. You don't really know how many orgasms those were. Maybe one, maybe five. Who cares, when you're practically about to pass out on top of him.
Copia pants against your shoulder, sounding pretty close to hyperventilating. But then it dies down, the euphoria, leaving just buzzing static in your minds, your ears ringing, your hearts still racing.
“That was-”
“I think-”
Your voices clash, and you end up laughing, his cute little chuckle in your ear making your heart do a somersault.
“You first, amore,” you prompt, pulling back a bit to meet his gaze. He's a whole damn mess, but you know you look the same.
“Eh, just… That was… One of the most intense experiences I've ever had.” he mutters, sounding back to his usual self, not the agent of Satan on earth, just Copia.
“Yeah. It was… A lot.”
“Mmm.”
You smile at him, but then that smile splits into a full on-grin when you watch him making a face and shifting his legs under you. You know what that means, yet you ask anyway. “What?”
“‘M sticky…”
It's true, you can feel his seed dripping down your inner thighs as he goes soft inside you, but it doesn't bother you, it never does.
You roll your eyes, but still gently lift yourself off of him, wincing when he slips fully out. You miss him already. He flops down on his back over the mattress, and you join him, draping yourself against his side, your arm around his waist and your head resting on his shoulder.
Sometimes he likes it too, staying inside you, letting the feeling linger. Sometimes that turns him on again, and he fucks his seed deeper into you, until you’re both completely exhausted. Other times, he just wants this, and you love it just as much.
“Shower?” you offer.
“Hmm, in a bit.”
“Alright.” You tilt your head up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. It always makes him shiver. “I think He liked it.”
“Huh?”
“Satan, He liked it. I could feel it, I think, near the end…”
That makes him peek down at you, a hint of a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “He likes you.” he tells you in that rumbly, sultry voice that never fails to make you weak.
“Well…” You avert your gaze, blushing, and fix it onto the inverted cross resting over his chest, your fingers coming up to toy with it. A reminder of the power that this man holds. Your man.
He hums, clearly not pleased that you looked away from him, and you feel his hand cupping your cheek, covering half of your face, really.
“Your Papa still demands your attention, topina.” He pulls you up to him, guiding your face towards his so that he can kiss you, nice and slow, almost languid, the way he kisses you when his mind is still floating in post-orgasmic bliss.
“Want me to wash your back, Papa?” you whisper against his lips, and he smirks, making your stomach flutter. Maybe the night is not quite over yet.
“If you'll indulge me…”
“I always do.”
The moment after, he’s dragging you to the bathroom, his eyes sparkling with teenage-like excitement. As if you didn't just go through a whole damn sex ritual.
But you do indulge him. You always do.
You'll just have to remember to put off all the candles before collapsing back into bed, loved like only he can love you.
136 notes · View notes
wroteclassicaly · 2 years ago
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Summary: Sometimes, you just gotta use Steve. And sometimes — he’s just gotta let you.
Warnings: Language, NSFW, PWP, vaginal sex, overall filth, etc.
A/N: Something I came up with last night because some of us are sluts for Steve’s tight little jeans, and the monster he’s got caged inside of them. ;) This has zero plot, and it’s just filth, but I’m proud of myself because when I was writing it, I felt like I was able to form sentences again (that I actually liked, lol). Hope y’all enjoy it too? And I am working on more stuff, plus the plus sized Eddie angst/comfort that I promised! ❤️💘❤️💘
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The explosion of cinnamon amongst a molten, midnight black is impeccable — it’s delicious. He’s completely gone and you’re not sure what reality you’ve landed upon, your body not still or sound. If there’s control you aren’t exactly sure who has it (does anyone, really)? There’s a rumbling sound that’s dislodged from his diaphragm, his chest — thick with chestnut curls — expands on a jagged breath. Your back arches again, that undeniable shift helping you push your hips with all they’re worth, owning your movements.
“Oh, fuck. H-honey, I can’t —“
He cuts himself off, pearly white teeth sinking into the swollen skin of his stubble bitten, top lip. Your sclera is shrouded in tears, the crystal liquid overflowing, spilling down your lash-line. He almost has to check in with you, but as your fingers find your nipples and give them that extra stimulation — he ceases, his abdomen muscles crunching beneath the tremors. He’s about to speak and you beat him to it, bearing the tendons in your throat.
“Yeah… s’ fucking good. Love it.”
He has to drop his head to crest into focus, bowed between defined shoulder blades, his large hand reaching to cradle your cheek. He nearly blows his load right then and there, a wince crackling across his features like an electric shock. Your fingertips are the pulsing magnets, his body your dynamite to explode. His mouth feels chapped and dry, but he knows that it's his throat that’s raspy, brimmed with velvet arousal, stroking the flames that lick below his navel everytime you work your heat back onto his cock, using him.
And he tries another turn at coherency. “You love what, baby?”
You’re without pause, humming, feet planted into the mattress, toes curled into his baby blue bed sheets. Mingling scents of your soft perfume, his cologne, laundry detergent that littered the laundered sheets, and sex — it’s fanned with your possessive rhythm. Still, you sound more capable of speech — albeit — drenched in a honey wrapped heat, capable of destroying you both in the most aching burns. “Love having my cunt filled with your big cock, Steve.”
“That right?” It’s through clenched teeth that it separates itself free of his throat. His calloused thumb pad finds your cheekbone, pathing a way only he can ever know, one that slithers across your jaw and presses into the corner of your mouth, prying open your lips to hear you beg just a little more. “You know that you take it better than anyone else ever has, honey? Like you were made for it.”
Those words ignite your blazing inferno, your hips raising off the mattress and pushing, retracting into a rough bounce, an encouragement, a plea. Steve has never seen you like this before. A goddess amongst his broken knighthood (he needs to stop hanging around Eddie when the dude has Hellfire and goes all nerdy on him with metaphors), summoning his body for your sole pleasure, bringing him to the brink and shattering the release before he can even begin to sample a taste. Everything stings, prickling his tongue, locking his muscles into submission, his hair constantly swaying in his sweaty forehead and matting there, leaving him to blink rapidly. He isn’t sure what time it is, aware that he’s been bouncing you in a painstakingly, agonizing rhythm over his swollen cock, no one cumming, left to graze that high with fingertips.
Steve can barely take it anymore, his balls throbbing with unshed release, posture growing sloppy with choppy exhaustion. But damn it feels so fucking good, with his bones satiated and melting, fusing into his overworked muscles. And then you run your fingers through his chest hair, your digits stretching to splay across his jugular, arm elongating to assist. Steve wraps a limb around your back, using his forearm to propel you forward, your pussy taking him the rest of the way with a slick squelch, an immediate press of your milky white cream seeping out around where you’re joined, soaking him. His fingertips press into the meat of your back, tapping idly, squeezing.
“My dick is fucking soaked, honey. You’ve just been using me up for the last hour, huh?” His plush mouth finds the skin behind your ear, your breasts smashing into his chest and sticking.
He nibbles a little, alternating with that diabolical swipe of his tongue along the side of your neck, seizing your salty exertion — your body dusted in layers upon layers of it. It’s Steve who takes this movement, falling back onto his haunches and raising a bit to tighten his hold around your lower back, the other lacing your hands together and wiggling them between your thighs, making them part further, your limbs still wrapped around his waist, now draping over top his hips. He uses his nose to nudge your gaze, redirecting it to where he slides out enough for you to see his cock shining with a mess of you. “Look, honey. You see all this mess?”
If you weren’t totally in love with this man, you would’ve been flooded with shame. You’ve gotten yourself so fucking wet from simply riding him at a cruelly, leisurely pace, that your thick essence has patched itself around the public hair at the base of his shaft, slicking it back and bubbling away with a peeling squish — one that drizzles down and strings across his full balls. He can’t take it anymore, his hand sliding up your back and fisting into the back of your hair. You surrender, almost letting yourself get swept out to sea once more, but Steve brings you back into the moment. “Watch this with me, baby.”
Finding that overwhelming scene between your legs, Steve uses the strength in his hips to bounce you, your cream dripping onto his thigh, and — what’s at his base, sticking to your skin, the hair tickling your clit in ways that have your eyes rolling back. Everything inside of you shouts and tightens, taking hold and bolting you to him. He already feels it inside of your warmth, your walls fluttering, squeezing, pulling him impossibly deeper inside. “Fuck, I’m cumming, Steve. Baby, I can’t hold it, please —“
“Shh, shh. I know, honey. You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” He buzzes through a partial hiss, jaw agape as he feels it right on through with you. The pressure is almost too much, enough to knock him onto his ass.
You’re a whimpering, quivering heap of bones and flesh, body stuck so tightly to him that he’s holding you in his lap, fucking you on his cock as you take it now, Steve in charge of capturing the high. Another squelch in the quiet of the room, a warmth of arousal that’s accumulated below your ass, Steve’s palm shoving into yours, and his lips pry yours apart, tongue rudely licking its way into your mouth and you completely come undone, drenching him into his orgasm. If pulling out was on the table, the forsaken table is in shambles at the moment, Steve’s thick, hot release sinking into your insides, body welcoming him home.
By the time the prolonged highs end, Steve piles onto his back and takes you with him, silence blanketing the room as his hand finds the flesh of your tummy and massages. Aftercare will come soon, as your limits were damn near overpowered by your cock hungry need for your boyfriend and that monster he keeps in his pants. It makes you giggle as he smiles breathlessly, welcoming your cheek onto his hairy chest.
“Never seen you like that before,” he mumbles.
Your hair is a mess when you raise to answer. “It’s not my fault you wear those tight little jeans, Harrington.”
~*~
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squintyeyedjoel · 2 years ago
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Through Your Eyes | Part 1 - Hit the Ground Running (Joel x Reader)
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A/N: Ahhhh! This is here!!! So. This is just an idea that I had, and I literally texted my friends screaming about it, and it’s been nonstop for the last few days, it just kept developing. It’ll be multi-part, unsure yet how long, it keeps growing. I’ve always loved Jackson Joel, his relationship with Ellie, and I’ve wanted more of their dynamic since day one. So here is a weird hybrid of both the game and show universe, but mostly game. I haven’t decided where exactly this will or will not deviate from canon yet, so bear with me. Here we go!
I do not own The Last of Us or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.
Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, and Joel is a warning in and of himself in this one. Canon typical swearing. No specific age specified for reader, aside from her remembering life before the outbreak, so I leave that up to you. No use of Y/N. Mention of loss. (Spoilers if you haven’t watched the show/played the game.) Ellie is a menace and having a Hard Time™️. Arguing? Banter. Some of Joel’s Texan accent. (You’ve been warned.) I guess kinda sorta spoilers for TLoU 2? Like if you squint? And not really???
Word count: 8,885
Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex and @grippingbeskar for your endless hours helping me over goodness knows how long since I started this, for reading this over for me and letting me know I’m not crazy, and screaming with me about this man that captured our hearts first in the form of pixels.
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Next
Xxx
The door slamming below made some trinkets on your shelf rattle. That’s the third time today. A soft groan drifted up to you through the floorboards, coated in frustration and anger.
When you’d arrived in Jackson, the only new, private space available had been a spot above somebody else’s house. Technically in somebody else’s house. And technically it wasn’t even a place. When you arrived, you realized someone had literally volunteered their attic, spacious as it was, with several windows and a private doorway leading down through the home.
A mattress had been tossed in the middle of the floor, and it’d been so long since you’d seen a real, honest to goodness mattress, you didn’t care about the rest of the place. It suddenly felt like a castle.
That first night you’d flopped down on the fluffy padding on the floor, smiling as your body bounced a few times from the impact, the springs inside whining in protest, before you promptly fell asleep.
Sunlight streaming in through one of the windows early the next morning woke you up, making you blink bleary eyes open when it danced across your peaceful features.
With a stretch and heavy sigh, you didn’t move a muscle, but simply darted your eyes around your new small space, fully taking in the barren walls and the pile of junk leftover from whoever owned this house before the world went to hell. Curiosity got the better of you, pulling you to the pile like a magnet, on a search for something, you weren’t quite sure what yet.
Several hours later, you were lost deep in thought, the tip of your tongue sticking between your teeth in concentration when someone clearing their throat just off to your side made you jump. “Fuck!” You hissed, tossing the little metal toy you had in one hand in surprise, the screwdriver from your other hand being clutched in your grip like a vice, reared back and ready to be thrown at the intruder.
“Just me,” the man from downstairs mumbled. What was his name again? “Sorry.”
Sighing, you deflated, letting your hands fall to the mattress below you with a thump, your face scrunched in pain. “Shit, I bit my tongue.” Reaching up to rub your jaw, you glared at the man. “Maybe knock next time?”
He stared at you for a long minute, his eyes watching as you cradled your face, mumbling forlornly about your tongue. “I did,” he finally said lowly. “Twice.”
“Oh.” You heaved another sigh, this one heavier than the last, before plopping back on the mattress behind you, wincing and reaching under your back to pull out the plastic action figure that had poked you in the back. Looking at it, you grinned softly. “Was that your gun, or were you just happy to see me?”
Something between a scoff and a snort left the man still standing awkwardly by your door, pulling your attention back to him.
Everything had been so rushed when you’d moved in, something about a patrol spotting clickers nearby and the lack of space giving everyone a headache, you’d barely caught a glimpse of your housemates as someone ushered you past them, up into the attic late last night. You’d also made a point to stare at the floor as you walked past, not wanting to see the ire of the people who’d been woken up to open their home to you.
With no desire to dwell on your time before Jackson, you focused on the man in front of you, taking in his curious eyes and weathered features. The tilt of his brow told you people tended to run from him, his jaw set in a stern angle as his eyes darted around the room.
“Sorry, I know it’s a mess, I’ll clean it up.” Pushing up onto your elbows, you tossed the action figure to the side. “I assumed that pile was from before the outbreak, I hope I didn’t-”
“It was. All that was here b’fore Ellie and I moved in. Seemed a shame to waste it, and didn’t bother me none to sit in a corner, so….” Taking a few steps, he picked up the little metal car you’d been scraping at when he walked in, smiling fondly. “I had one’f these.” His expression darkened. “‘till my brother broke it.” After staring at it a moment, he looked up at you, handing it back to you gently. “What were you doin’ with it?”
“Oh.” Flustering a bit, being caught out for something you usually kept relegated to your home wherever that happened to be, you took a minute to think, staring at the chipped blue paint on the little car. “I…. I like to restore things. Bring little pieces of what we lost back. Especially toys. I remember as a kid…. As a kid the joy of just one new toy was….”
“Nothin’ like it,” he agreed softly.
You nodded, meeting his eyes, the kindness you saw hidden there catching you off guard. You’d expected judgment. In this world nowadays frivolous things weren’t usually accepted so readily.
“That yours?” He pointed to the little fanny pack overflowing with various tools, the contents spilling over the mattress.
Eyes darting over to the bag, you nodded again before looking at him with a soft smile. “Yes it is, kind stranger.”
This time his scoff was decidedly amused, and he rolled his eyes, making you grin.
“Joel.”
“That’s right!” Setting the car down, you got to your feet, dusting the back of your pants off, then your hands, before you extended one for him to shake. “Nice to finally meet you more than a passing face in the ‘welcome to Jackson’ shuffle.” He nodded as he shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Thank you. Again. For your attic, I mean.” Dropping his hand after holding it longer than you should have, you turned to look around at the space.
“Tommy said you needed your privacy. Didn’t say why, but I can respect the need.”
You turned back to him, hands on your hips where they had settled as you’d looked around. “That’s not by choice.”
His features darkened. “What’d’ya mean?”
“Oh! Nothing like that.” You waved your hands in front of you. “Nothing weird, I swear!” Chuckling nervously, you shifted your weight to one side. “Because I tinker, I often…. People don’t like the noises…. The smells….”
He just stared at you, silently waiting.
You looked down to your feet. “I’ll just pack up. I’m sorry, I’ll be out of your-”
“No,” he cut you off, reaching for your elbow gently but firmly. “No,” he said again, a bit softer. “Just explain a little less…. Vaguely, please.”
“It’s very hands-on. Lots of tools like hammers and whatnot, sanding…. And then if I can find it, paint thinner for some, or just paint for others…. And it doesn’t always help, despite all the windows being open, but I try to keep the place ventilated…..”
“People complain about a day job?” He sounded upset for you. 
“They get upset when I do it when I can’t sleep.”
He hesitated. “How often is that?”
“Whenever the nightmares come.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Well people are stupid.”
You blinked before a laugh burst out of your mouth.
“I used to be a contractor, and I’ve been doing some odds and ends here since moving into town. I don’t mind some smelly noise.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. “Let’s just try to come up with a schedule of some sort, maybe nothing too loud after nine at night or somethin’. Not for me, I don’t mind, but the neighbors might, and I dunno about Ellie. Girl sleeps like the dead, so probably….”
“Ellie?”
His smile grew brighter. “Come downstairs for breakfast.” He gestured behind him with a tilt of his head toward the stairs, his body beginning that way. “Maybe she’ll say hello between bites.”
Xxx
Walking down the stairs, you looked around in the daylight, trying to discern what was your host’s and what was left behind twenty odd years ago. 
Outlines where pictures once sat on the wall, faded by years in the sun now decorated the outdated wallpaper, a layer of dust along a line of decorative trim halfway up. A fancy carpet was tacked to the stairs, worn in the middle most of the way up, zagging to the sides near the top, and you watched as Joel carefully stepped in the threadbare bits without thought, one of the steps squeaking under your weight when you didn’t follow suit. 
Noted. 
Once you were at the bottom, an open door down the hall showed a small little workshop, tools strewn everywhere. You smiled, glancing up at Joel to see him follow your gaze, realization dawning on him as a hand came up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. 
“Stay here,” he mumbled softly, holding up one finger before he jogged toward the door, pulling it shut. “Sorry about that. Had a, uh…. Last minute request.”
“My ears are burning. Are you talking about me again?” A young female voice yelled amusedly from around the corner behind you, a girl in her early teens stepping out with a plate full of food in one hand, a fork loaded in the other, and a mouthful as she continued. “Yeah, you were. It’s me. He’s talking about me. I asked him to fix the hole in the ceiling,” she looked at him pointedly, before turning back to you, “like fifty thousand times-”
“Since yesterday,” Joel murmured, making you chuckle.
“It only showed up yesterday,” the girl said unamused.
“I’m just sayin’,” Joel held up his hands in surrender before walking around the girl and into what you assumed was the kitchen. “Point was, I got right on it.”
Rolling her eyes, the girl set her plate down before wiping her hands on the front of her jeans, coming over and introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Ellie,” she spoke pointedly over her shoulder, “since grumpy in there didn’t feel the need to introduce us.”
Some dishes clattered and quiet grumbles were heard  as you smiled at the girl, introducing yourself. “If you ever need any help around here, just ask. I’m pretty handy, if I do say so myself.”
“Finally,” Ellie groaned, “Someone besides that lug who can help me out!”
You leaned in closer to her. “Why, you got bodies to hide, or somethin’?”
She leaned in as well. “You have no idea.”
“Time for food!” Joel called loudly, placing a steaming pile of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. “Ellie made ‘em so I’m not makin’ any promises-”
“Hey!” You smiled at her protest.
“-but it’s nourishment, so…. Good as any.”
“I’ll have you know,” Ellie began, looking down her nose at Joel as you all sat at the table. “Tommy’s been teaching me how to cook.”
“Then we’re all doomed,” Joel deadpanned.
“Tommy, I met him last night. He’s….”
Joel and Ellie spoke at the same time.
“Oh no, what’d he do now?”
“His baby brother.”
Silence hung between you as you looked back and forth between the two of them, Joel’s eyes shut as he let out a sigh.
“He’s my brother,” he amended, adding quietly, “so you can tell me what idiotic thing he’s done now.”
“Joel,” Ellie warned.
“I’ve heard it all, just lay it on me.”
You shook your head. “Nothin’. Was just asking how he knew you two.” You gestured between them with your fork. 
Joel tucked into his food after a moment of silence, staring down at his plate.
“I tried to tell you,” Ellie muttered, shaking her head as she cleaned the crumbs off her dish. 
“That accent I keep hearing pop through, is that…. Texas?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joel kept his eyes down, slowing his eating just a bit.
“I thought it sounded like home,” you smiled, the corners of your mouth pulling higher when his head shot up to look at you.
“You’re from….” 
You nodded. “Born and raised. Ain’t nothin’ quite like the Lone Star State, is there?”
“No, ma’am,” Joel grinned.
“What do you miss the most?” It was an honest enough question, you expected something like barbecue, late night drives down country roads, or the smell of bluebonnets each Spring….
But the joy on Joel’s face fell ever so slightly, just enough that you could see, the light in his eyes dimming, as his shoulders rounded forward just a bit. He stared at the table top for only a moment, lost in thought. You could have sworn his eyes flitted to the watch on his wrist briefly before he shook his head, lifting it back up, his gaze meeting yours and smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Too many things to mention. What about you?”
Holding his gaze for a moment longer than you should, you smiled softly before turning back to look at your plate. “Gotta say I feel the same.” Stabbing a bite of egg, you brought it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as you pondered what had just happened. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
“Please do,” he said softly. 
More silence filled the space, Ellie heaving a sigh after a few minutes. “Well this has been fucking amazing-”
“Ellie,” Joel chastised.
“But I’m gonna go-”
“Sit,” Joel said in the most authoritative voice you’d heard yet. Gesturing with his fork, you caught the smallest smirk crawl up his face when Ellie groaned before plopping back into her chair in a graceless heap.
She stared at him in some sort of bored challenge before grumbling, “What?”
“I need your help before you go and skedaddle-”
“‘Skedaddle’? Is that even a fucking word?”
“Yes,” you answered before biting into a piece of bacon, smiling sweetly at her when her eyes flew up to meet yours.
“Just checking,” she grumbled, slumping further back into her chair as she heaved a world weary sigh. 
“As I was sayin’,” Joel pushed back from the table with both hands, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs left the floor slightly, balancing on the back two. “I need your help gettin’ a bed frame upstairs for her, and a few other pieces. Tommy’s droppin’ them by in a few here.” He checked a clock hanging on the wall, making you knit your brows in confusion as you glanced to the watch on his wrist. Closer inspection showed it was shattered with what looked like a bullet hole, making your eyes widen slightly. Suddenly his reservations about missing something in Texas made a bit more sense.
“Joel,” Ellie whined, going practically boneless in her seat, limbs draping behind her like a broken starfish.
“We should be able to handle that without her, don’t you think?” You mused, pushing your empty plate away and settling into your seat with a satisfied sigh, arms crossed over your chest. 
“Yes, totally, bye!” Ellie sat up so fast you got whiplash. But she didn’t make it completely out of the seat before Joel was saying her name again, and motioning her back down with just his eyes. 
“Sorry. I tried,” you shrugged, giving her a sad smile. “You should just listen to your dad and-”
The two of them interrupted you in tandem.
“I’m not her father.”
“He’s not my dad.”
Joel cleared his throat. “Now, I’ve asked you to stay and help- nicely, I might add- and unlike you, I don’t ask twice, let alone fifty thousand times,” he looked at her pointedly.
“Ugh, fine!” She threw her hands up, letting them slap back down on her thighs before pushing her chair back all the way, the scrape of the feet against the floor making you cringe. She finally got to her feet before she froze, looking at Joel with an exaggerated look you couldn’t quite place.
“What?” He asked after a long silence in a tone that said ‘why did I ask’.
She pointed to the other room. “Can I go this time? I mean….” Joel sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Every other time I’ve tried to execute my rights as a human being and leave this fucking dining room, you’ve stopped me. So, before I get too far and have to backtrack again, I wanted to-”
“Just go,” he waved a hand.
“Thank you,” she called, climbing the stairs, expertly missing the squeaks, a door slamming shut a few seconds later.  
“But be ready to help in-”
“Yeah, yeah,” her muffled voice came through the door before some 80’s song began playing softly. 
You chuckled, Joel picking his head up from where he’d cradled it in his palm to look at you with a raised brow. “I got food and a show.” His head fell back into his hand. “I’m teasing.” He grumbled something unintelligible into his palm. After the chorus of the song played, you stood up, taking the empty dishes over to the sink.
“You don’t have to-” Joel protested from his seat.
“I’ll never get used to hearin’ music again,” you changed the subject as you turned on the water, running it over the plates as you wiped them clean. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I’ve always loved music. It’s just…. After so long in the silence, coming here and having a teenager drown you out with a synthesizer, it’s so….”
“Normal?”
Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at him. “Yeah. And after everything, that’s just….”
“Not normal?”
You snorted. “Exactly.” After you turned the water off, you flung the stray droplets from the tips of your fingers before drying your hands on a dish towel. “I appreciate all the help, I really do. But, you don’t have to go outta your way for me.”
“It’s not outta the way. It’s just upstairs.” He looked proud of himself, the pleased grin pulling higher when you made a face of disbelief at him.
“None of that allowed up there.” You pointed toward the ceiling where the attic extended to. “That is a bad pun free zone.”
Joel shook his head ruefully, leaning his chair back even further on the rear legs, propping his boots up on the corner of the table, one ankle crossed over the other as his hands slowly came behind his head. “Darlin’, this whole house is one giant pun.”
You arched a brow, leaning back against the counter, your hands braced on its top at your sides.
“Ellie tries, she loves her joke books…. But me….”
“Bad dad jokes without being a dad?”
His whole demeanor deflated, just slightly, but enough for you to see. The light behind his eyes dimmed, his smile faded, and his arms dropped almost imperceptibly. “Something like that,” he mumbled, before the smile renewed, just a bit too tightly. After a brief moment, he dropped his feet back to the floor with a clatter, the chair coming back onto all fours with surprising delicacy. “Well, let’s get up there and take some measurements before the furniture gets here.”
Xxx
Joel had followed you up the steps, mumbling a “Lady’s first,” as he stepped out of the way, gesturing forward with one hand.
You arched a brow. “Oh, fancy.” He pulled a face, making you laugh softly. “Nice to know chivalry didn’t also die on outbreak day.” Starting up the stairs, he sighed as he fell in behind you.
“Oh, it did. I’m bringing it back.” Glancing over your shoulder you saw a smug look on his face, making you roll your eyes as you turned back to the task at hand, making sure to avoid the squeaky parts of the steps, sticking to the worn tread of the carpet. An amused hum buzzed out of Joel’s chest when he noticed, making you smirk. “Fast learner.”
Pushing open the door to the attic, it let out a mighty squeak. 
You grimaced. “Not quite fast ‘nough, it seems.”
Joel knit his eyebrows at the door as he reached out, swinging it back and forth, the hinges protesting loudly each time. “It just needs to be tightened up.” Stepping closer, he examined the brackets with a more studious eye. “This takes a….” He turned to you, before glancing at your pile of tools still on the bed where you’d left them. “It’s a specialized screw head. Used to use them all the time before the world went to shit. Surprised they already started complainin’. Normally they last twice as long-”
“Everything complains around you, Joel,” Ellie grumbled as she walked past him, going straight for one of the windows, her forehead falling against it with a dramatic thump before she just stared at the city below.
Joel scoffed, staring at the teenager for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I have one down in my shop in the garage. I’ll go grab it.”
“You got a screwdriver that can turn that musty old shop of yours into a kick ass room for me?” Ellie called after him as he took the steps two at a time. As his heavy footfalls disappeared below, she turned back to look out the window.
“What do you mean?” You asked against your better judgment. “Don’t like your room?”
She sighed. “I just want my own space. Why does he need a room for just his tools? They don’t need privacy! They don’t go through at least one crisis a week, or have to deal with him, or have music they want to play super loud. They’re fucking tools.”
“Well, hey, we could trade? I could take your room, share the garage and tools with Joel, and you could be up he-”
“No,” Joel’s tone was final. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 
“I think it’s a great idea,” Ellie started. “I mean, she’s offering, and-”
“I said no, Ellie.”
“Joel-”
“No!” His grip on the door handle tightened. “We aren’t having this conversation again. Drop it.”
The two of them stared at each other with loaded looks, an unspoken conversation being exchanged between them. 
“We’ll compromise.” Joel’s attention snapped to you, Ellie’s following soon after. “You ever need a place to ‘get away’? You can come up here and keep me company.” Ellie smiled. “That goes for you, too, Joel.”
“Why you gotta be like that?” Ellie mumbled, smiling when you arched a brow at her.
“There’s a catch.”
“Fuck,” the teenager moaned, turning back to look out the window, her head thumping against the frame.
“You have to help me with my projects while you’re up here.” Your eyes flicked between them. “Deal?” When neither of them agreed, but neither of them protested, you moved on. “Good. Now,” stooping down to pick up the various toys and tools that had taken over the floor the night before, you turned to Ellie. “I noticed during breakfast that you like to draw.”
“How-”
“Sketchbook on the counter by the oven. Next time wait until after the bacon is done. You got grease stains all over the pages.”
“I had an idea, I couldn’t wait….”
“How are you with paint?”
She shrugged. “Never…. Never really had the opportunity to use it. I’m sorry. What the fuck is that?” She pointed to the bag around your waist.
Looking down at the fanny pack you’d zipped your tools back into before putting it on, you lifted your gaze back up to her. “My fanny pack?”
“Ellie….” Joel warned, seeing the girl’s face begin to morph in a way he knew all too well.
“It’s called a….” She started snickering before she cleared her throat. “I’ve never seen one before.” Ellie’s eyes shot over to Joel, her features schooled into something almost professional, but it quickly melted into something more sarcastic.
“Very handy,” you said slowly, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’ll get my hands on some paints, and you can help me finish some pieces.” You turned to Joel, brows raised expectantly.
“I’ll ask Tommy when he brings the stuff,” he mumbled, leaning on the door and causing it to squeak again, pulling his attention back to the traitorous hinges.
“For now,” you focused back on the teenager, hands on your hips, “help me clean this place up a little before they get here? Maybe go grab the towel off the kitchen counter to dust off the windowsills?”
Ellie nodded with a small, sweet smile, but you didn’t miss how it twisted into a smirk as she walked past you toward the door. “On it, Miss Fanny.”
You stared after her with wide eyes, noting she had waited until she was a few steps down the stairs before saying it so you were less likely to retaliate. Smart.
Flicking your eyes over to Joel, an amused expression pulled at his features as he pointed toward the bag on your hip with his screwdriver. “It’s because of the….”
“Yeah, I got that,” you snarked. “What I don’t get is why she called you grumpy.”
“It’s kinda obvious,” he drawled, turning the screws on the top hinge.
“You don’t seem grumpy to me.”
“Give it time.”
Xxx
After the door no longer moaned, the hinges good as new, Joel took some measurements around the space while he talked about how he’d been meaning to build some shelves and stuff for storage up here anyway. It’d take a day or two, but he’d have them up and be out of your hair in no time. He also stepped out of one of the windows onto the roof, making you and Ellie exchange a confused glance.
“Joel? Last I checked, the attic was strictly inside the house,” Ellie asked cautiously.
His head appeared around the open window frame, scowling at the both of you. “I’m looking to see if I could put a doorway in here for a private entrance.”
“That’s not-” but he doesn’t let you finish.
Disappearing back around the window frame, his voice drifted back somewhat muffled as he turned away. “It’ll just make things easier. Once you get tired of the two of us, you can come in without having to look at our ugly mugs.” Ellie shot a sideways look at you, making you stifle a small laugh, tucking it into your hand as you looked away. “Could even make a little deck up here at the top of the stairs, good sun, you could plant somethin’ for eatin’. Plus it’s a good spot to,” his feet shuffled on the roof before stopping again. “It’s a good vantage point if things go sideways…. Again.”
Stepping up to the window, you went to poke your head out but had to step back as he hopped back in. “Joel, you don’t have to do all that. It’s-”
“It’s my house, and I want that vantage point,” he huffed, dusting off his hands before turning to close the window.
“The Contractor,” Ellie hissed in an eerie voice with a smirk, drawing out the words in a ridiculous way.
“Knock knock,” a voice said behind you, making you jump slightly, turning to find Tommy. “Sorry,” he said quietly, having the decency to look sheepish. As he pushed the door open a bit wider, it squeaked softly, pulling his focus to the hinges. “You need to fix that, Joel-”
“I-” The older brother looked at the younger, dumbfounded. It quickly melted into annoyce as he whispered an exasperated, “What did you do?” Stepping quickly toward the door.
Tommy stepped back slightly. “Nothin’! I just got here, big brother! So just hold your horses and don’t jump-”
“He just fixed those a few minutes ago,” you offered softly, understanding dawning on Tommy’s face.
His eyes shifted to his brother, wide and somewhat worried. “Now, Joel, I didn’t do nothin’. They’re old, like you, and-” he turned his eyes down to the floor when Joel’s head snapped up to level him with a menacing gaze. “-and,” he repeated pointedly, “before you jump up my ass about somethin’ I didn’t do….” He lifted his head just enough to look at his brother again. “Can we please talk about this like the grown men we sometimes are now?”
Joel simply stared at his brother for a loaded moment before turning back to the door, wiggling it back and forth, making a sour face as it squeaked again softly. “You had to’ve done somethin’….”
“I guess not then,” Tommy sighed, hands that had been held up in surrender falling down to his sides in defeat as he sent an unimpressed glare toward his brother. “You’ve gotten meaner as your hair’s gotten greyer.”
Joel rolled his eyes, turning to inspect the hinges more closely, but reached up a hand to run through his hair after a moment, bringing it down to rub at the back of his neck in what looked like embarrassment as he kept his back to the room.
Ellie strolled over easily toward the two men. “You’re an old man, Joel. That’s how it’s supposed to happen…. I think. I mean, look at Santa Claus….”
Joel slowly looked at her over his shoulder before he let out a strangled grunt of frustration, cleaning his throat to try and cover it up as he shook his head, turning back to his task in an attempt to hide.
Ellie went on as if nothing had happened. “I mean I think that’s how it works.”
Tommy snickered, tucking the lower half of his face into his hand, pointedly ignoring Joel looking at him through the crack of the door by the hinges.
The teen turned to Tommy. “You’re an old man, you tell me. Am I right?”
The hand fell from his face, and Tommy immediately stopped laughing, glowering at Ellie while Joel lost it, a series of growing snickers falling from his mouth as he turned his face into the wall to try and subdue the sound.
You looked on, watching the whole exchange with a smile. Joel may not be her father, but these three were every bit a family unit. They teased and called each other names, but it was all in fun. All from love. You had no doubt that when push came to shove, they’d be there for one another in a heartbeat, and probably be willing to sacrifice close to anything in the name of that bond, that thing they shared but they didn’t dare put that name to. For family.
Joel was still chuckling into the wall, his forehead pressed against it as he rocked it side to side in disbelief. “I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.”
“Fuck you, Joel. I say what I want,” Ellie proclaimed.
“Ellie,” Joel groaned, finally turning to face the room with a sigh, as Tommy snapped a, “Language!”
“Oh, bite me,” she mumbled, turning and meandering slowly to the window to begin dusting again.
“So, Tommy,” you began, clasping your hands in front of yourself. “I hear you have furniture for me?”
His eyes widened in recognition. “Shit! Yeah.”
“Language!” Ellie mocked him from her spot across the room.
“It’s downstairs. Why don’t you come with me, take a look and see what all you wanna bring up while Joel finishes on this door.” He turned to his brother, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Come down when you’re done, we should know by then.”
He nodded, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand. “Give me five minutes.”
“I used to work with you, Joel,” Tommy called, starting down the stairs. “We both know it’ll take you ten.”
Joel laughed humorously. “Fuck you, Tommy!”
“Language!” Ellie yelled again. 
Following the younger Miller, you smiled. He stepped on every squeak in the steps, almost like it was on purpose.
Once the two of you were downstairs, Tommy stepped out onto the front porch, showing you a small array of furniture leaning up against the outside of the house. 
You were about to start pointing to some of the pieces when he began talking to you about something else altogether.
“So how’s it been today? They been treating you okay?”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, holding his serious gaze. His eyes were kind, and you realized he was asking just as much from a place of worry for them as for you.
“Yeah. It’s been great so far.” He looked relieved. “Ellie cooked eggs and bacon for breakfast.”
He smiled proudly. “You have me to thank for that.”
You couldn’t help the grimace tugging on your features. “So I hear.”
Tommy scoffed, hands going to his hips, making you chuckle.
“Ellie called him grumpy earlier, but I haven’t seen any particular reason why.” His eyebrows shot up near his hairline. “I asked him about it and he said to ‘give it time’.” 
He rolled his eyes with a muttered, “Sounds like him.”
You lowered your voice, taking a step closer. “Am I missing something? If he’s not always sunshine and rainbows, that’s fine, I get it. This world we live in now ain’t always deserving of it. But still, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”
Tommy took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Joel stepped out the front door.
“What should I take up first?”
Turning and pointing at the bed frame you knew for sure needed to go up, you smiled. “Definitely that, please.”
Joel nodded, grabbing the headboard and footboard. “Tommy, will you grab the rest of the frame? The girls can be putting it together while we take up the rest.”
The man beside you nodded, staying silent until his brother disappeared back in the house.
“Joel’s not always the easiest to get to know.” You scoffed. “It’s true. I’ve known him my whole life, and I still have days where I wonder why he’s so prickly. He has his reasons,” Tommy looked up toward the attic windows before looking back down at you. “And I’m sure he’ll tell you them eventually, I can already tell he trusts you more than most others here in Jackson.”
With a shake of your head, you chuckled. “You’re crazy. He just met me. I’m sure he-”
“You saw a side of Joel right out the gate some wait a lifetime to miss.”
Staring up into his eyes, your own wide, you saw nothing but sincerity.
“Tommy! Come on, man!” Shaking his head, Joel picked up the rest of the pieces of the bed. “And you say I’m slow.”
The younger Miller held your gaze as he spoke. “That’s because you are slow, big brother.” Lifting his eyes to follow the older man, they narrowed playfully. “Come on, come on, lift those feet!”
“I’m gonna hit you,” Joel grumbled as he passed back over the threshold of the house, Tommy hot on his heels. As Joel continued to complain, Tommy stopped, looking back at you pointedly before turning and heading inside, shouting something you couldn’t make out up at his brother.
Xxx
Once a few of the pieces were set up around the attic, you dug some things out of your backpack to put out, get settled in. Pulling a chair up to the small dining table, you got your screwdriver out of the pack on your hip and began scraping at the paint on the blue metal car from that morning.
“What’cha doin’?” Tommy asked, pulling another chair up and swinging his leg over it, sitting on it backwards. He rested his chin on his wrists on the back of the chair as he stared at the toy in your hands.
Not stopping, you answered him. “I restore things, especially toys.”
Your eyes flicked up to find his face twisted in confusion before darting back to what you were doing. 
After a moment he asked in a quieter voice, “Why?”
You shrugged. “Why not?” Pausing in your efforts, you looked up at him. “It makes me happy, and it makes others happy. And if there’s something people need more of these days, I’d say that’s it.” You turned back to your project.
“Toys?”
You froze, your hands flopping onto the table as you lifted your gaze to look at him flatly.
“Happiness, dumbass,” Joel grumbled lowly from across the room, tightening the screws on one of the window sills.
“How would you know?” Tommy sat up straight in the chair, glaring over at his brother. “You wouldn’t know happiness if it bit you on the ass.”
“Oh, I think I’d be plenty happy if someone bit me on the ass-”
“That’s not-” Joel’s chuckle cut his brother off. “I like how Ellie said it earlier. Bite me.”
“Okay. But not on the ass.”
“You know what….” Tommy pushed away from the table, turning toward his brother.
“Even if I don't, I know you never do.” Joel turned to face his brother, screwdriver once again in his hand. “You’re not the brightest-”
“Boys!” They both turned to look at you, startled, Ellie jerking awake from her spot on your bed where she’d been napping for the last hour. “Enough!”
“Yeah, shut up,” Ellie grumbled, rubbing her eye with the palm of her hand. “I don’t even know what you were arguing about, but I know it was stupid.”
“How would you know?” Joel turned his head slowly to look at his brother, his eyebrows knit in disbelief that he was arguing with a teenager.
She stilled, her hand falling to her lap with a plop. “Because I know you.” She turned to you, speaking over a yawn. “What were they arguing about?”
“That toys and happiness aren’t necessarily important nowadays, and that devolved into name calling.”
Ellie nodded. “Sounds right.” She looked at the two men. “Grow up.” She arched a brow right back at them when they lifted theirs at her. “I babysit for the kids across the street, and if it’s one thing they are severely lacking, it’s toys. We watch the movies down at the town center or a video Joel brings back from a run, and they won’t shut up about all the toys and stuff. They don’t care about the animals or the songs, I mean they do, to an annoying degree, please, somebody, explain how giving children that age singalongs was a good idea, but I digress-” she took a big breath, the corner of her mouth twitching up when you failed to suppress a snort of laughter. “Anyway. Some toys around here wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“I’d be more than happy to restore toys for the kids here in Jackson. But up here there isn’t really enough space for that type of output, plus the noise and smell would eventually bother you, despite what you say, Joel.”
Tommy looked at his brother who shrugged. “We talked about this earlier. Briefly.”
“I see,” Tommy mused quietly, turning back to you with a smirk.
“Would you mind sharin’ your garage?”
Joel grimaced.
“Come on, Joel,” Tommy teased. “Be a big boy, and-”
Joel rounded on his brother, getting close to his face. “You don’t stop talkin’, I’m going to-”
“Okay, so that’s a no,” you chuckled.
“The old book store,” Joel’s voice had calmed, and he turned to look at you. “It’s empty, is filled with shelves to display stuff, and has a wide showroom in the middle you could convert into a workshop.”
“Are you sayin’ she opens a toy shop?” Tommy asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
“Why not?” Joel looked at his brother before turning to Ellie for her input. “Like she said, it’s a need in the town, would boost morale-”
“How?” Tommy scoffed.
“Happy kids, happy parents.”
Joel made a gesture after Ellie spoke, like a ‘there you go’ as he turned his attention back on his brother, smiling as understanding softened the other man’s features.
“A need, morale,” Joel turned to look at you, a playful curl of his upper lip as he went on, “and I get to keep my garage.” The mock disdain melted into a smile and a wink before he turned back to his brother. 
“For now,” Ellie muttered under her breath, her face instantly schooling into something sweet and innocent when Joel whipped his head her way. 
Xxx
With a sigh, you set one of the things on your shelf back upright, looking at the blue metal car that sat beside it, fully painted and restored. It was one you weren’t willing to get rid of, and it held pride of placement on one of the shelves Joel had built not long after that conversation about the shop.
You’d opted to stay out of these arguments, letting them sort their differences out on their own, but something felt different this time. The weight of Joel’s sigh hurt just a little bit more, felt a little bit heavier, and at breakfast this morning, his eyes seemed…. Sad.
Walking to the door that led downstairs through the house, you opened it, smiling when it swung without a sound. Making sure to step on the proper parts of the steps to stay silent, you walked almost all the way up to Joel before you finally cleared your throat to get his attention.
He’d been cradling his head in his hand, but he snapped up to look at you.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
He stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head, looking at the floor. “No, no, don’t worry. Am I in your way? I’ll move, just let me-” 
“Joel.”
At the sound of his name, he relaxed, slumping back against the wall with a sigh, scrubbing his hand down his face as he looked up at the ceiling. “I know.” He shrugged slightly, tilting his head back into the wall with a soft thump, rocking it back and forth. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t….” He looked back down at the floor for a second before his face screwed up. “Goddamnit!” His hand moved up to thread through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It was so much easier with-” Joel stopped with a shuddering breath, his eyes wide and frantic as they flew to you.
He’d done this a few times, started down a train of thought about someone or something in his past, but always stopped just before actually naming them. You couldn’t tell if it was a decision made out of pain or a desire to maintain privacy. Either way, you didn’t push it.
“She’s just being a teenager, Joel. That’s what they do. They drive you crazy, it’s kind of their job.” The corner of his mouth twitched up just slightly, but just as quickly fell back into the frown that twisted his face so painfully. “Didn’t you have teenaged girls in your family? Nieces? Distant cousins?”
He let out a wet laugh, swallowing roughly before he answered in a raspy voice, “Somethin’ like that.”
You leaned on the wall across from him, sliding down to sit on the floor, knees pulled tightly to your chest.
“Did you need something?”
His question pulled your focus back up to his face from the pattern of the weave of your jeans you’d been staring at.
“Yeah. I mean no.” He tilted his head in question. “I needed to come down and check on you two.”
He swallowed again, nodding. “Thanks.”
“Want me to go after her? We’re still learning each other, but we get along well enough. She’d probably listen to me. Maybe.” You grimaced. “I mean I hope so.”
Joel laughed softly. “Don’t do it on my behalf, you don’t need to villainize yourself, too. She needs to trust ‘least one of us.”
“She doesn’t think you’re a villain, Joel,” you groaned, getting back to your feet, taking his outstretched hand he offered in help.
“She sure don’t think I’m a hero,” he said lowly, his hand holding yours longer than it should, his thumb tracing your knuckles as he held your gaze. 
As you studied his face, eyes tracing the laugh lines by his eyes, the scars here and there, the strong angle of his jaw and light smattering of facial hair, you found yourself wishing he never actually had to let go. “I think you’d be surprised what people see when they look at you, Joel.”
He let go of your hand, taking a step back. Somehow you’d both gotten nearly toe to toe as you talked.
“I just need to get my jacket from upstairs then I’ll go look for her.”
He nodded, leaning back against the wall as you went back up to the attic.
Once you were back inside, you spotted Ellie at your desk, painting a little model plane you’d been working on. Looking over at the private entrance Joel had installed, you saw the door was not quite shut all the way. Smiling softly, you set your jacket you’d taken off the hook on the back of a nearby chair, then you walked over, shutting the door softly, clicking the lock into place. Closing the last few feet left between you, you leaned your hip against the edge of the desk as you watched her detail the left wing. 
It was weird to see her so subdued. Normally she was such a spitfire, something sarcastic or sassy coming out of her mouth at all times. You laughed every time she opened her mouth.
Keeping your voice quiet, you finally asked, “Wanna talk about it?”
She didn’t answer at first, but when she did it was as quiet as you had been. “Not really.”
You studied the way she painted the lines meticulously. “That’s fine.”
Pulling up a chair, you sat beside her, arm braced on the desk, head cradled in your palm as you continued to watch her in silence. 
The sounds of the town below you slowly drifted up through the open window. A songbird flitted by. Crickets began to chirp as the sun went down, and a lone owl hooted across the valley as the stars began to shine. One by one they started their march across the sky, twinkling in their dance with the moon, a slow procession of light for those of you left down below.
After a few minutes, you handed her the cup of water to rinse the brush. “He’s trying, you know.”
She rinsed and dried the brush, switching to the next color. A few more minutes passed before she answered. “I know.” 
After the wing was done, she rinsed the brush again and spoke while she dried it on the towel. “We need more paint. We’re running low on these basic colors. I could mix some of the others to make more, but they wouldn’t be quite right.”
“Okay,” you agreed softly. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s not much here in town, but I know there’s a lot out there left over from before.”
She whipped her head toward you, eyes wide in excitement. “Maybe you and I could go together to find some?!”
“No, no,” you didn’t even let her finish before you began objecting. “It’s not safe out there for you. You’re too young.”
She looked back down at the plane, her features immediately turning sour. “You sound like Joel.”
“Well, he and I agree on this.” Picking up the paintbrushes and moving them to the side, you leaned forward on both forearms, trying to catch her eye. “Do you trust me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Leaning back a little bit, you sighed. “You always have a choice, Ellie. You know that.”
“I know,” she grumbled. “I just…. Yes, okay? Yes, I trust you. Why?”
Pushing the chair back, you got to your feet, going to the door back downstairs. “Because I have a plan.”
“What is-”
Turning back to her, you raised one finger and wagged it at her. “Ah ah ah! You said you trusted me. Now do it.”
Opening the door, you stepped through, laughing when you heard Ellie’s muffled voice call through as you shut it, “This sucks!”
Making your way back downstairs, you found Joel at the dining room table, nursing a whiskey. 
“Do you trust me?”
“You know I do, why?”
Smiling, you sat in the chair beside him. “Ellie’s doing really well with her painting, isn’t she?”
His brows narrowed in question, but he answered. “Yeah….”
“Problem is, there isn’t a lot of paint here in Jackson, and she’s already running low on some of the basic colors.”
“I noticed. She was complainin’ about it last week. I was gonna look for some on my next run for her.”
Sitting forward in your chair like you had at the desk with Ellie, you leaned on your forearms as you started in on your idea. “Well, where I stayed before coming here is about a week out. I had a stockpile. All different colors, types, whatever she could want for a long, long time, it’s all there.” Joel’s eyes were wide, you could see his wheels turning. “If we could each take a horse, maybe even a small cart or something, we’d cut that time in half, be there in a few days, and we could go raid my old supply. I had some real specialty stuff, stuff she’d love. Craft brushes…. I just need someone to come with me to keep me safe. I know what I’m doing, but once everything is loaded, the horses will be slower and I need someone to watch my back. Whaddya say?”
He started to smile. “You had me at ‘stuff she’d love’.”
Xxx
The day to leave had come. You’d be leaving tomorrow to get your old stash while Joel watched your back.
You were about to close up the shop for the night when someone came in. 
Smiling up at the woman, your features softened when you saw the tired expression on her face. “Can I help you?”
The woman sighed, the most exhausted sound you’d heard in a while. “Yes! My daughter is sick, and I want to give her something to cheer her up. I can trade you some bread for it. Fresh made this morning.” Flipping a towel back on the small bundle in her left hand, a golden loaf of bread came into view, making your mouth water, the shop filling with the yeasty aroma and making your stomach growl softly.
You would have done it for free, given the circumstances, but since you were leaving the next day, the bread would be handy. And damn did it smell good. “Sure! How about something soft for her to hold while she’s laid up in bed?”
She smiled gratefully. “Sounds perfect.”
Pulling a basket down from a shelf that was filled with a few teddy bears Tommy and Joel had found on supply runs and you’d cleaned up, you set it on a table in front of the woman.
“Beautiful day today,” you said offhandedly, looking out the front window and smiling, your grin growing when you saw Joel appear across the street and wave at you through the window. You waved back, making the woman in front of you look over her shoulder to see what was going on. 
She heaved another sigh, rolling her eyes before turning back to the basket. “Don’t bother. That one’s never gonna crack.”
Your smile faltered, hand falling down to rest beside the basket as you looked at the woman in confusion. “What do you mean?”
She scoffed. “He’s a tough ass. I don’t think he’s ever smiled in his life. Probably made his mom cry when he was born. Something is just off about him.”
Snorting a laugh, you shook your head. “That’s crazy. I live with him.” You paused, ignoring her raised brows as she looked at you through her lashes. “Well, above him. In his attic.” Turning your head just slightly, your face twisted at the way that sounded, too. “But not, like, in a creepy way. His brother set it up.” You tilted your head to the side, staring out the front window, before turning to look at the woman point blank. “I’m renting a room from him.”
The woman looked up at you in pity. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not so bad.” You shrugged, reaching out to straighten the ear of one of the bears.
Resting her hand on your forearm, she gave it a gentle pat. “That’s the right attitude.”
After she picked her bear and you had the bread, you locked up and walked across the street to meet Joel. “Got some extra food for the trip.” You held up the loaf with a grin.
“Good. We’re gonna need it,” he grumbled, his face a sour expression, hands in his pockets as you both turned toward the house.
“What bit your ass?”
“Tommy mentioned to Maria about our little trip. The council didn’t want to lend us the horses for ‘just paint’.”
“Okay. So now what? We walk?”
“No,” he ground out. Turning the corner by the stables, you found a group of people buzzing around, preparing bags and supplies for them and their horses. When you looked back up at Joel, he sighed, speaking lowly. “We have company.”
Xxx
Tags: @dilf-din, @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker, @what-the-heckin-heck, @telarnidaniela, @kalea-bane, @morgaussy, @enjoythelittlethings, @paleidiot, @telepathay Wanna be tagged if/when I write any future Joel stuff? Here’s how to sign up!
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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago
Text
MEMORY CARD [2/?]
ship: artist!andy x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 7.6k a/n: im in love with this fic lolo (part 3 will be up soon) parts: 1
★·.·´🇦‌🇱‌🇮‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★
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The night had stretched on, the saloon slowly emptying as patrons trickled out into the cool darkness, heading back to their rooms or wherever else the night might take them. You had to eventually drag Kiro back to the inn, but sleep had been elusive.
Every time you closed your eyes, his face flashed before you—those dark, unreadable eyes.
You tossed and turned, the thin mattress creaking beneath you as you tried in vain to find a comfortable position.
You knew who he was, of course. How could you not? He was one of the many hosts set up at the park, his face one that had been meticulously designed and crafted to be both compelling and approachable, his narrative tailored to fit seamlessly into the world of Westworld.
But for some reason, seeing him last night had stirred something in you, something that kept you awake as the hours slipped by and the night deepened around you.
When the first rays of morning light began to creep through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of gold and pink, you gave up on sleep entirely.
The faint sound of roosters crowing in the distance mingled with the murmur of early risers beginning their day.
You lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and restlessness. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft, even breathing of Kiro still asleep in the bed next to yours.
You sighed, pushing yourself up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath your feet as you stood, the boards creaking softly under your weight.
You padded over to the window, pushing the curtains aside and squinting against the bright light of the rising sun.
The town below was beginning to wake up, the early morning air filled with the distant clatter of hooves and the low murmur of voices.
It should have been peaceful, calming even, but your mind was still racing, replaying the events of the night before.
The way he had looked, so out of place yet so perfectly at home in the saloon, the lines of his suit sharp and crisp against the rough backdrop of the old western town.
The way his eyes had stayed fixed on the stage, as if he were searching for something in the performance, something that eluded him.
The way his presence had felt like a pull, a magnet that you couldn't resist even from across the room.
You knew you shouldn't be this affected. After all, he was just a host, a product of the park's intricate storytelling and advanced technology. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart had jumped at the sight of him, the way your thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how much you tried to push them away.
And maybe it was because of who you were—because of your connection to this place, to the very technology that had made it possible.
You were the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, a man who had built his empire on innovation and vision. Lionel Hawthorne, a name that had become synonymous with brilliance and ambition.
He had risen to the top of the tech world with a groundbreaking line of AI and robotics that had revolutionized the industry, his brilliance encapsulated in a single, brilliant line of code.
That code had been his masterpiece, the key that unlocked the full potential of artificial intelligence. It was the foundation upon which his company, Hawthorne Industries, had been built.
A code so advanced, so ahead of its time, that it had caught the attention of Delos. They had bought the rights to it, integrating it into their own technology to create hosts that were more lifelike, more autonomous, more… human.
You had grown up surrounded by that brilliance, by the power and promise of technology that could change the world. But even then you knew, despite all the marvels and promises it held, there were lines that shouldn't be crossed, boundaries that shouldn't be blurred.
Your entire life, your father had spoken with a certain reverence about one of his so-called greatest partnerships, his eyes lighting up with a rare kind of enthusiasm whenever the topic came up.
Westworld.
He would talk for hours about the marvels of the park, the genius of its design, the limitless potential of its narratives.
To him, it was the pinnacle of human achievement, the ultimate playground where technology and imagination intertwined to create a world where anything was possible.
He would tell you about how the hosts—so lifelike they were indistinguishable from humans—could adapt and evolve within their stories, how guests could step into another life, another world, and experience things they'd only ever dreamed of.
The freedom, the possibility, the sheer brilliance of it all. He spoke of Westworld as if it were a living, breathing entity, something more than just a collection of code and machinery.
It was his legacy, a testament to the power of his creations.
But for you, it was never that simple.
Even as a child, the idea of it had made you uncomfortable. The thought of people coming here, stepping into this world, and doing whatever they pleased to the hosts—creatures who looked, spoke, and acted like real people—had never sat right with you.
It felt wrong, twisted somehow, this notion that someone could pay for the right to play God, to bend another being to their will, no matter how artificial that being might be.
You'd pushed back for years, your arguments falling on deaf ears as your father brushed aside your concerns with a wave of his hand and that charismatic smile of his. "You don't understand," he would say, his tone always patient, as if speaking to a child who didn't quite grasp the complexities of the world. "Westworld is more than just a place for people to indulge their basest desires. It's a place of discovery, of transformation. It's where people can find out who they truly are."
But you weren't convinced. The stories you'd heard, the rumors about what people did in the park, the violence, the debauchery—it was enough to make you want to stay as far away from it as possible.
That is, until your fifteenth birthday.
He had been relentless that year, insisting that it was time for you to see the park for yourself, to experience the wonder of it firsthand. He'd spoken of the other side of Westworld, the side that wasn't about violence or control.
There were family-friendly activities, he said, places to explore, things to learn.
He'd painted such a vivid picture of it, so different from the dark tales you'd heard, that you'd finally given in.
You'd gone, more out of a desire to please him than any real curiosity about the park.
You still remembered the excitement in his eyes as you'd boarded the train together, his hand on your shoulder as he'd told you about all the things he wanted to show you, all the places he thought you'd love.
Your mother had been there too, her smile warm but distant as always, more interested in the idea of being part of something so exclusive, so elite, than in the park itself.
But when you arrived, your parents had quickly been swept away, caught up in the allure of their own narratives, their own desires.
You'd found yourself left to your own devices, wandering aimlessly through the dusty streets of Sweetwater, feeling out of place and overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.
You'd spent most of those first few days near the inn, avoiding the chaos and the crowds, watching from a distance as people laughed and shouted, their faces flushed with excitement.
It had felt surreal, like you were watching a play unfold around you, each person an actor in a story that you couldn't quite grasp.
Then, one day, you'd drifted further than usual, your feet carrying you down the winding streets until you found yourself standing outside the post office. It had been quiet there, a small, unassuming building at the edge of town, away from the main hustle and bustle.
You'd hesitated, unsure why you'd come this way, what you were looking for.
And that's when you saw him.
He'd had a telegram clutched in his hand, his gaze downcast as he stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him seem smaller, more vulnerable than the other hosts you'd seen.
When you'd walked by, he'd looked up, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn't expected to see anyone there. "Excuse me," he'd said, his voice soft, a hint of a British accent coloring his words. "I—I hate to impose, but might I ask for your assistance?" He'd hesitated, his fingers twisting the telegram nervously. "You see, I've found myself in a bit of a predicament. I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but I seem to have boarded the wrong one."
His story, as it turned out, was one of misplaced directions and missed connections. After contacting his employers via telegram and explaining the situation, he'd been told to catch the correct train at a different station, but he was still unsure of how to get there.
So there he had sat, looking lost and out of place, his elegant attire—a dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt beneath a tailored coat, all of it dusted lightly with the grime of travel—setting him apart from the dusty, rugged townsfolk who milled around the post office.
You'd watched as he struggled to compose himself, his fingers trembling slightly as he'd folded and unfolded the telegram in his hands.
When you'd agreed to help, his relief had been palpable, his shoulders sagging as he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for ages. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere and grateful. "You have no idea how much this means to me."
The two of you had made your way to the Mariposa Saloon, Andy walking beside you with an air of cautious optimism. He'd explained as you walked that the guide he'd found in town wouldn't take him unless he had someone else with him—a strange, arbitrary rule that seemed designed more to frustrate him than anything else. He'd chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe his own misfortune.
"It's just my luck, really," he'd said with a rueful smile. "I was hired to document the progress of the railroad, and here I am, stuck in this town, unable to even find the right station. I suppose it makes for a rather amusing story, doesn't it?"
You'd found yourself smiling despite your best efforts, charmed by the gentle self-deprecation in his tone, the way he seemed so genuinely perplexed by the absurdity of his situation.
He was so unlike the other hosts, so unassuming and earnest, and you couldn't help but be drawn to him.
When you'd finally reached the saloon, you'd found the guide inside, a grizzled old man who'd squinted at Andy with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect. "About time ya' found someone," he'd muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Come on, then. We've got a train to catch."
You'd watched as Andy's face lit up, his eyes bright with relief as he’d turned to you. "Thank you," he'd said again, his gratitude clear in every word. "Truly. I don't know what I would have done without your help."
And then, the three of you were off.
Since then, you'd been back and forth to the park so many times over the years that you'd practically memorized the storylines of most of the hosts that had been part of the park's core narrative for as long as you could remember—like Teddy Flood's tragic tale of love and loss, his unwavering devotion to Dolores Abernathy that always ended in heartbreak.
Each story was a carefully crafted puzzle, a web of interactions and possibilities designed to draw people in, to make them feel like they were part of something bigger, something real.
But by far, Andy's storyline was your favorite.
His narrative was simple, almost quaint compared to the others, but there was something about it that had always resonated with you.
He was a British artist who had been commissioned to come to the frontier and document the construction of the continental railroad through a series of sketches and paintings.
The idea of a refined gentleman artist finding himself thrust into the rough-and-tumble world of the Wild West was endearing in a way—a fish-out-of-water story that felt almost whimsical against the backdrop of the park's more violent, chaotic tales.
After you'd agreed to help him find the station that first time, it had become something you looked forward to, something that felt almost like a secret between the two of you.
The route itself was split into two paths, each leading to a vastly different experience.
The family-friendly one, the one you always took, wound its way through a serene landscape, leading you to a hidden waterfall nestled in a secluded glen. There, the air was cool and fresh, the gentle roar of the water mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the sweet scent of wildflowers. Berry bushes dotted the edges of the clearing, their fruit ripe and glistening under the sunlight.
It was like stepping into a fairytale, a place untouched by the harshness of the world outside.
You'd always found a strange peace there, standing by the water's edge, your hands stained red and purple from picking the berries. Andy would sit nearby, his sketchbook balanced on his knee, his brow furrowed in concentration as he captured the scene with deft, practiced strokes.
It was a simple routine, one you cherished more than you cared to admit.
The other path, the one you avoided, led to something much darker. You'd heard the stories, whispers of what awaited those who chose that route. A ghost town, long abandoned, where the ruins of a saloon stood as a grim reminder of the violence that had taken place there. Inside, there was a reenactment—a twisted, macabre show where guests could play out their darkest fantasies, indulging in acts that blurred the line between entertainment and depravity.
There were no boundaries here, no limits to what could be done.
It was the kind of thing Westworld was known for, the reason so many people flocked to the park in search of thrills they couldn't find anywhere else.
But that wasn't what drew you back to the park year after year.
No, it was the quiet moments, the ones that felt real in a way you couldn't quite explain, that kept you coming back.
It was the feeling of Andy's hand on yours as he helped you over the rocks by the river, his fingers warm and firm against your skin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
It was the way he would look at you, his eyes soft and thoughtful, his words gentle as he called you a rare beauty, his voice carrying an admiration that made your heart flutter in a way that left you breathless and confused.
You'd tried to dismiss it, to tell yourself it was all part of the narrative, that his affection, his kindness, were just another layer of the story he'd been programmed to tell. But the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you—it felt different.
It felt real.
And that was what scared you the most.
Each time you reached the station, having taken the gentler path, Andy would reach into his suitcase, his expression proud and almost shy as he handed you a drawing.
It was always a flower, a delicate rose or a wild bloom sketched with such care and precision that you could almost feel the softness of the petals under your fingertips.
You'd collected them all, carefully storing them in a leather-bound book you kept hidden away, a secret reminder of the time you'd spent together.
But then...reality became crashing down.
You were nineteen, on the cusp of adulthood, and the world outside Westworld had begun to press in on you, demanding your attention in ways you couldn't ignore.
You'd tried to put it all behind you, to focus on your life, your studies, your family. But the memories lingered, the feelings you'd tried so hard to bury still whispering in the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.
You'd found yourself at war with your emotions, torn between the rational part of your mind that told you he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuits, and the part of you that ached whenever you thought of him, that remembered the way your heart had skipped a beat when he smiled at you, the way your breath had caught in your throat when he'd call your name.
It had become too much—the confusion, the longing, the impossibility of it all.
So you'd stopped coming, stopped visiting the park, stopped putting yourself through the torment of seeing him and knowing that it could never be real.
And now, four years later, at twenty-three, you were back.
With a sigh, you turned away from the window, running a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off your muddled emotions.
You'd told yourself you had come here to enjoy yourself, to escape from the pressures of your life for a while, to lose yourself in the fantasy and the adventure of Westworld.
But deep down, you knew the truth.
You'd come back for him, for the chance to see him again, to find out if those feelings, those sparks that had once threatened to consume you, were still there.
And as you stood in the saloon last night, your eyes drawn to his solitary figure in the corner, you'd felt it again—that familiar rush of emotions you'd thought you'd left behind.
The sight of him, looking so lost and alone, had brought it all flooding back—the memories, the feelings, the ache in your chest that had never really gone away.
You knew it was dangerous; you knew you were treading a fine line between fantasy and reality, between what was possible and what could never be. But as you stood there, your heart racing, your mind spinning with a thousand thoughts, one thing was clear.
You weren't done with him.
Not yet.
And this time, you were determined to find out what it all meant, no matter where it led.
The sun had already settled high in the sky by the time you finally left the inn, the warmth of the day pressing gently against your skin as you stepped outside.
You'd chosen to stick with your green aesthetic, just like on the train, but this time you'd added a touch of softness with a dress adorned with delicate flower patterns on the sleeves, the fabric falling gently around your knees in a way that felt both comfortable and flattering.
You were a little embarrassed to admit how long it had taken you to get ready that morning, standing in front of the mirror, making sure every detail was perfect.
Kiro had been exasperated with you, of course.
She'd watched you fuss over your hair and straighten your dress with a mix of impatience and amusement. "You know, you're taking longer than I do to get ready, and that's saying something," she'd teased, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "I'm heading out. Meet me at the saloon tonight, okay? Don't get too lost in your head today." And with that, she'd left, eager to explore the park on her own terms.
Now, as you descended the stairs of the inn, your hand trailing along the polished wooden railing, you felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach.
You smoothed the front of your dress once more, the soft fabric cool under your fingertips, the vibrant green contrasting with the sun-washed browns and reds of the town outside.
As your feet touched the last step, you heard a low whistle, the sound drawing your attention to a small group of rough-looking cowboys lounging against the porch railing nearby.
They were the kind of men who looked like they belonged in this world, their faces tanned and weathered, their hats pulled low over their eyes as they eyed you with a lazy, predatory interest.
"Well, well, well. Now, ain't you a sight for sore eyes," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over you with a slow, deliberate gaze. "Look sweeter than a peach just waitin' to be plucked." His grin was wide, showing a row of yellowed teeth, his words met with a chorus of chuckles from the men around him.
Another leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked you up and down. "Mmm, I'd sure like to sink my teeth into somethin' else," he added, his tone dripping with innuendo as the rest of them cackled, their laughter harsh and grating in the stillness of the afternoon.
You glanced at them, a single, disinterested look that you hoped conveyed exactly how little you cared for their words.
They were either guests—in which case a host would step in if they tried anything due to the Good Samaritan Reflex code, or hosts themselves—which means their behavior is designed to be provocative but ultimately harmless.
Either way, you knew there was no real danger, not here, not like this.
So you straightened your shoulders, your gaze fixed firmly on the path ahead of you, and walked past them without a word, your chin held high as you ignored their lewd stares and crude comments.
They called after you, their voices fading into the background as you continued down the street, each step carrying you further away from their lingering gazes.
It wasn't long before you found yourself near the post office, the familiar sight of it bringing a rush of nostalgia that tightened in your chest.
You slowed your steps, your eyes scanning the area almost unconsciously.
And then you saw him.
Just like all those years ago, he sat on the bench outside the telegram office, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed over a piece of paper in his hands. The same air of frustration and sadness clung to him, a palpable sense of weariness in the way he held himself.
Your heart flipped in your chest, the familiar, almost painful ache spreading through you as you took him in. The sunlight casted a warm glow over his skin, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the line of his brow as he stared down at the paper in his hands.
He looked just as he did the first time you'd encountered him—disheartened and frustrated.
You stood there for a moment, your breath caught in your throat, your feet rooted to the ground as you watched him.
It was as if you'd been transported back to that first day, the day you'd found him sitting here, lost and alone, a small, seemingly inconsequential part of this vast, complex world.
But to you, he'd been more than that.
He'd been the one thing that had made this place feel real, the one person who had made you feel like you belonged.
But you knew better.
You'd told yourself so many times that he was just a host, just a collection of code and circuitry, that whatever connection you felt, whatever emotions he stirred in you, weren't real.
And yet, standing here, watching him, you couldn't help but feel that familiar pull, that spark of something that had never really gone away.
You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as you forced yourself to move, your steps slow and measured as you approached the bench where he sat.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, the anticipation and fear swirling inside you like a storm, but you kept walking, kept moving toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't explain.
And as you drew closer, his head lifted, his eyes meeting yours with that same startled, almost shy expression you remembered so well.
But before you could say anything, before you could even think of what to say, he spoke, his voice soft and uncertain, the words catching in his throat as he looked up at you with that familiar, heartbreaking mix of hope and hesitation.
"E-Excuse me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Could you… could you help me, please?"
You were taken aback by the slight change in his introduction.
Normally, he would launch into the full explanation right away, his voice carrying a rehearsed cadence that was both familiar and comforting. But now, he just stared up at you, his eyes wide and earnest, the plea in them so tangible it made your chest ache.
It was almost unsettling how real he seemed, how much more depth there was to his expression, to the subtle shift of emotions that played across his features.
Four years was a long time, long enough for all sorts of updates and changes to be made to the hosts. Who knew what modifications had been added to his programming in that time?
But even so, it was hard not to feel the weight of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if he were truly lost, as if the question he'd asked wasn't just part of a scripted narrative but something he genuinely needed answered.
Clearing your throat, you tried to steady yourself, your mind racing to catch up with the moment. "Ah, y-yes, I can help," you managed, your voice a little shaky as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, to hold that intense, almost pleading gaze. "Um, what exactly can I do?"
He exhaled softly, the breath escaping him in a way that felt almost too human, his shoulders sagging just a fraction as if the prospect of your help had lifted some great weight off his shoulders.
"You see," he began, his voice still low, the words coming slowly, as if he were choosing each one with care, "I've found myself in a bit of a predicament." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze dropping to the paper in his hands as if he were gathering his thoughts. "I was meant to take a train to the construction site of the continental railroad, but…" He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a kind of quiet desperation that took your breath away. "It seems I've boarded the wrong one."
His hand tightened slightly around the telegram, his fingers smoothing over the creased edges, the gesture almost absentminded. "I contacted my employers, and they told me I should catch the correct train at a different station. But, I'm afraid I'm still not entirely sure how to get there." He glanced around, his gaze sweeping the street, his eyes lingering on the distant shapes of the trains at the edge of town before coming back to you, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. "And I fear my sense of direction is not quite up to the task."
You watched him, your heart thudding in your chest as you took in the subtle nuances of his expression, the way his eyes never quite left yours, searching your face for a response, for some sign of reassurance.
There was something so disarmingly sincere in his mannerisms, the slight hitch in his voice, the way his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as if he were bracing himself for disappointment.
It was impossible not to be struck by how much he had changed since your last visit.
The Andy you remembered had been charming, yes, but there had always been a certain distance to his interactions, a formality that marked him as a creation of the park.
But this version of him felt different, more grounded, more real.
It was as if the boundaries between what he was and what he was supposed to be had blurred in your absence, as if he had somehow become more than just a collection of code and wires.
You were so caught up in your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the way the sunlight played off his features, that you almost didn't notice when he leaned in slightly, waving a hand lightly in front of your face. "Ma'am?"
"Uh—uh, yes! I'll help!" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you snapped back to reality.
You nodded a bit too enthusiastically, trying to regain your composure. But then a sudden thought hit you like a splash of cold water.
You weren't alone on this trip. Kiro was here too, off doing who-knows-what, and you couldn't just disappear without her or at least letting her know.
You turned back to Andy, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. "Oh, I forgot, I'm with a friend," you explained, your voice a little hesitant. "And I'm not sure if she'd want to tag along, and I just can't leave her..."
The moment the words left your mouth, you saw his expression shift, the light in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. His shoulders drooped just a fraction, a fleeting look of disappointment passing over his face.
You were already scrambling to make up an excuse, your mind racing for a solution. "...But then again, she's kinda unpredictable, you know?" you added quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Who knows? She might be up for a wild adventure."
He blinked, his gaze flickering back to yours, the hope in his eyes reigniting like a small flame. "Are you... are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," you said, smiling as you nodded. "Lead the way."
Andy seemed to relax at that, his posture straightening as he offered you a grateful smile.
But then he hesitated, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was almost bashful. "I should warn you, though," he murmured, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "The place I'll be taking you next… it might be a little unorthodox for a lady such as yourself."
He paused, shifting on his feet, his eyes darting away and then back to you. "I apologize in advance," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "if it's not quite what you were agreeing to. I assure you, if there were another way to reach the station, I would take it."
You tilted your head slightly, curiosity piqued by the mix of hesitance and sincerity in his tone. "What do you mean?" you asked, your heart beating a little faster as you tried to piece together what he was getting at.
Andy glanced around, almost as if checking to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in slightly. "We need to go through the Mariposa Saloon," he explained, his voice still soft, his gaze searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. "It's… well, it's not exactly the most respectable establishment, and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
A soft laugh escaped you, the sound surprising you as much as it seemed to surprise him.
You couldn't help it—there was something endearing about the way he seemed so concerned for your comfort, the way he was trying so hard to be considerate, even in the midst of this fictional world. "It's fine, really," you assured him, your smile widening as you met his eyes. "I think I can handle it."
He looked relieved at that, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded. "Very well, then," he said, offering you his arm in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and utterly charming. "Shall we?"
You took his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket, the solidness of his presence beside you.
As the two of you made your way down the street, the Mariposa Saloon looming ahead, you couldn't help but marvel at how much this narrative had changed, how much more intricate and layered it felt.
The Andy you remembered would have already told you everything, laid out his entire predicament in a neat, tidy package, but this version… He was different.
The information was spread out, doled out in small, tantalizing pieces that made you want to know more, made you want to dig deeper into the story.
It felt more real, more alive, and you found yourself drawn in, caught up in the flow of it, in the way he glanced at you with that almost shy smile, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you.
There was a depth to his mannerisms, a subtlety to his expressions that made it feel less like a performance and more like a genuine interaction.
It was like he'd evolved, become something more complex and human in the years you'd been away.
When you both entered the saloon, a familiar scene unfolded before your eyes. The low murmur of voices, the lively music from the piano in the corner, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic symphony that filled the air.
The room was packed, just as it had been the night before, the atmosphere alive with the energy of a dozen different stories playing out around you.
Andy navigated through the throng of people with ease, his hand hovering close to yours as he led the way to the bar.
You took a moment to glance around, your eyes sweeping over the familiar sights. The same rough-and-tumble cowboys leaning against the bar, the saloon girls laughing softly as they coaxed coins from eager hands, the showgirl on stage captivating the audience with her sultry voice.
It was all so familiar, yet there was an added layer to it today, a sense of anticipation humming in the air that you couldn’t quite place.
The bartender from last night caught sight of you as you approached, his smirk widening as he tossed the towel over his shoulder, picking up a glass to polish as if he had all the time in the world. "What can I get for a fine filly such as yourself?" he drawled, his eyes sweeping over you appreciatively.
There was no hint of recognition in his gaze, just the easy charm of a man who was used to making small talk and selling drinks. His purpose here was simple, his role in the story limited to serving alcohol and providing bits of information for those who needed it.
Before you could answer, Andy cleared his throat, stepping a little closer to you as if to shield you from the bartender's gaze. "I'm afraid we're not here for drinks," he said, his voice polite but firm. "We're looking for Mr. Granger."
The bartender's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild annoyance as he jerked his head toward the back of the room. "Granger's over there, playin' cards," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Andy. "Good luck gettin' him to listen, though. That man's more interested in his women and his winnings than anything else."
Andy nodded, his grip tightening gently around your wrist as he turned to lead you toward the corner where the bartender had indicated. "Thank you."
You felt your heart skip a beat at the touch, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.
It wasn't the first time he'd guided you like this, but something about the way he held your wrist now felt different, more intimate somehow, as if he were reluctant to let go.
You followed him through the crowd, the noise and chaos swirling around you like a living, breathing thing, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hand, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he maneuvered you both through the room.
The back of the saloon was dimly lit, the air thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer.
A large group of men were gathered around a table, their voices rising and falling in a raucous chorus as they shouted and cursed at one another, their hands slapping down cards and coins with equal fervor.
It was a raucous, chaotic scene, the players’ faces flushed with drink and excitement as they leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the game with a near-maniacal intensity.
In the middle of the chaos sat Granger, the man you'd been looking for.
He was a rough sight, a grizzled figure with a scruffy red beard that looked like it hadn't seen a razor in weeks and piercing dark green eyes that were sharp and watchful even amidst the drunken revelry around him. His clothes were worn and dusty, the kind of attire that had seen long days under the sun and cold nights by a campfire.
There was an air of danger about him, the kind of man who'd been through more than his fair share of trouble and come out the other side hardened and cynical.
But what stopped you in your tracks wasn't his appearance—it was the sight of Kiro perched on his lap, her legs crossed casually, looking for all the world like she belonged there.
She was wearing his wide-brimmed cowboy hat, the brim tilted jauntily to one side as she held a fan of cards in one hand, her eyes narrowed in concentration. "C'mon, mommy needs a new pair of snake boots," she muttered, the words drawing a burst of laughter from the men gathered around the table.
You watched, dumbstruck, as she threw down her cards with a flourish, the movement quick and precise.
The crowd around the table leaned in, their breath held in anticipation, and then the room erupted in a chorus of shouts and cheers as Kiro's hand cleared the table, sweeping up the pile of coins and bills in the center.
"Well, I'll be damned!" one of the men shouted, slapping his thigh as he laughed, his voice booming over the din. "She done cleaned us out!"
Granger chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down your spine as he looked up at Kiro. "You're somethin' else, darlin'," he drawled, his voice a lazy rumble as he reached up to tip his hat back slightly, revealing more of his weathered face. "Didn't think a city girl like you had it in her."
Kiro just grinned, flashing him a cheeky smile as she scooped up the winnings and shoved them into her pockets. "Guess you underestimated me, cowboy," she teased, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she lifted one of the shot glasses from the table and downed it in one go, the liquor burning a path down her throat.
You exchanged a glance with Andy, your eyes wide with disbelief as you took in the scene.
This was Kiro—your Kiro—sitting on the lap of a man who looked like he could chew her up and spit her out without a second thought, and she was acting like she’d just won a round of poker at a fancy hotel rather than in the back of a lawless saloon.
Without thinking, you pulled Andy a little closer, your fingers brushing against his as you moved to stand directly in front of Kiro, your heart pounding in your chest. "Kiro, what the hell?"
She paused mid-swig, the glass hovering just in front of her lips as her eyes widened in surprise.
Slowly, she turned to look at you, blinking as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Uh… hey?" she said, the word dragging out in a way that made it sound more like a question than a greeting.
You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words to express what you were feeling, but all you could manage was a strangled, "What are you doing?"
Kiro glanced around the table, as if suddenly remembering where she was, and then back at you, her lips curling into a sheepish smile. "Just, uh, making friends?" she offered, her voice lilting up at the end, as if she were trying to gauge your reaction.
"Making friends?" you echoed, gesturing to the pile of winnings in front of her. "It looks more like you're robbing them blind!"
Kiro shrugged, the motion exaggerated as she tossed back the rest of her drink, the liquid disappearing in one quick gulp. "It's not my fault they suck at cards," she said, her grin widening as she leaned back, her elbow resting casually on Granger's shoulder. "Besides, what's the point of coming here if you're not gonna have a little fun?"
You opened your mouth to argue, to say something, anything, but then Andy's hand tightened slightly around yours, his fingers warm and reassuring against your skin.
You glanced up at him, his eyes meeting yours with a look of quiet support, and the knot of annoyance in your chest loosening just a fraction.
Taking a deep breath, you gave Kiro a pointed look, mouthing the word "Later," before turning your attention back to Granger. He was sipping on a cup of whiskey, his eyes sharp and calculating as he watched the two of you.
You cleared your throat, trying to summon as much authority as you could muster in the presence of this grizzled, intimidating man. "Mr. Granger, I need your assistance with getting Mr. Andy to the correct station," you began, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.
Granger tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Andy, and for a moment, you weren't sure if he was going to take you seriously. But then his eyes lit up in recognition, and a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. "Ah, pretty boy," he said, his voice a rough rumble of amusement as he leaned back in his chair. "I see you did what I told ya, yeah?"
Andy stepped forward, his posture straight and respectful as he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said earnestly, his eyes fixed on Granger’s face. "I desperately need—"
"Yeah, yeah, don't care to hear all that," Granger interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes still gleaming with amusement. "Usually, I'd turn down a job like this, 'specially for someone like you." He paused, his gaze flicking over Andy with a kind of wary disdain. "You sound like one of those English uppity types, always comin' through here actin' like they're better than everyone else."
Andy's face tightened slightly at the words, but he held his ground, his jaw clenched as he nodded. "I understand, sir. But—"
"But," Granger cut in, his voice rising slightly as he leaned forward, his eyes locking on yours. "Since you got these two sweet little plums so willin' to get you there, I reckon I can make an exception." He winked at Kiro, who had slid off his lap to stand beside you, her cheeks still flushed from the whiskey.
She straightened her clothes, her hands smoothing down the fabric with quick, nervous movements as she muttered a quiet, "Sorry."
You gave her a small smile before glancing back at Andy. His shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, his eyes softening as he turned to look at you, gratitude written plainly across his features.
Granger leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the two of you. "But I ain't doin' it for free," he continued, his tone turning serious as he met Andy's gaze head-on. "I'll get you to the station, but it's gonna cost ya. I need enough to cover my room and board for three nights when I get back, you hear?"
Andy nodded without hesitation, his voice firm and resolute. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it."
Granger grunted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for any sign of deceit. But apparently satisfied, he pushed his chair back with a scrape of wood against wood, the legs catching on the uneven floorboards as he stood. He reached down, scooping up the pile of winnings from the table with one hand, the coins clinking softly as they fell into his palm.
He glanced at Kiro, his smile widening as he split the pile, holding out half of the coins to her. "Here you go, darlin'. You earned it."
Kiro looked at the pile of coins in his hand, her eyes widening slightly before she shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she reached up to pat his chest. "Keep it, big boy," she said with a grin, her tone light and teasing. "You need it more than me."
Granger raised an eyebrow at that, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he tucked the coins back into his pocket. "Suit yourself," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He nodded toward the door, his expression turning serious once more as he looked back at Andy. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."
You felt Andy's hand brush against yours again, the brief contact sending a rush of warmth through you as he offered you a small, reassuring smile.
You nodded, your heart still pounding as you turned to follow Granger, Kiro close at your side.
Whatever lay ahead, whatever challenges you were about to face, you knew you were ready.
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A/N: i wanted to give it in 2 parts but my sis bullied me and said nobody wanna read that long ahh fic 😭💔 she right tho haha sry bout that lolol
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contreparry · 2 years ago
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Happy Friday, Ann! May I respectfully request "burying face in their chest" from the Cuddle and Snuggles prompts?
Here’s some Isabela/f!Hawke for @dadrunkwriting !
“Mother’s holding another Wintersend party,” Marian Hawke announced as she stomped into Isabela’s quarters in The Hanged Man. She kicked off her mud-soaked boots and tore off her ragged coat. The snowflakes that clung to the thick strands of her dark black hair like jewels melted as she stood in front of the roaring fire. Isabela, who had been sitting in the windowsill to watch the tumultuous winter sea, fixed her gaze on Marian.
“What? Even after last time?” Isabela could scarcely believe it. Between Barkspawn’s mad dash across the crowded dance floor with a whole haunch of ham in his mouth and the Incident In The Linen Closet (that no one was allowed to mention around Fenris unless they wanted a fist in their chest), the last Wintersend event at the Hawke Manor was one for the history books. Lady Leandra was not pleased, not one bit, and that had been the end of parties for some time.
“Even after last time,” Marian sighed before she flopped down in Isabela’s bed and buried her face into the pillows. “She’s called in a ‘mantua maker.’” Even with her voice muffled by fabric and feathers Isabela caught the high, pretentious, affected trill in Marian’s low, gruff voice when she said- whatever it was she said.
“A what now?” Isabela slipped off the windowsill and padded towards the bed. Marian didn’t move, not even when Isabela sat down on the bed next to her. The mattress sunk below their shared weight, but Marian didn’t stir, not even a twitch of her finger. Isabela sank her hand into Marian’s hair, cold and wet from the snow and sea spray, and raked her fingers through the dark locks.
“Someone who makes mantuas, whatever those are,” Marian sighed. “That’s nice.”
Isabela knew what mantua makers were. She knew plenty of things about the upper crust in society: you had to when you were going to rob them blind. Funny that Marian Hawke was the scion of an ancient and noble Kirkwall family, but she didn’t know her salad fork from her fish knife or oyster fork from the salt server. Isabela sort of liked that, the delicious irony of it all. She loved contradictions, like the way Marian’s icy blue eyes thawed to the pale blue of a clear morning sky when she was happy, or how her voice was gruff but her words warm. She continued to comb through Marian’s short hair until the woman reached up with one strong arm and pulled her down into her bed, rolling them about until Isabela lay underneath her and Marian’s head was cushioned against her chest, her ear right above her heart.
If it were anyone else, Isabela would crack a joke about her bosom being magnetic and irresistible. But this was Marian Hawke, and usually she was the first to make the joke, to have a laugh, to make their miserable world lighter and easier to digest. And Marian Hawke wasn’t talking. Isabela sighed and leaned back against the piles of pillows and her headboard.
“Oh, sweetling,” she murmured as she ran her hand down Hawke’s back in slow, steady strokes, as if she was petting a cat. Marian melted into her touch.
“I can’t be what she wants,” Marian whispered, her breath warm against Isabela’s skin. “I- putting me in a fine dress and draping jewels on me would be like stuffing Barkspawn into a suit! I just- I can’t.”
“And you don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” Isabela assured her, and pressed her lips against the top of Marian’s head. “You’re more than enough.”
And she always would be. Marian cuddled closer, and Isabela held her tightly. Strong, confident Marian Hawke could stand up against waves of enemies, a pillar of strength against a relentless tide, but a few sharp words from Lady Leandra and she crumbled. Contradictions upon contradictions made up a woman as changeable and deep as the sea. With Marian Hawke, Isabela would never get bored. With Marian Hawke, Isabela might just linger a little bit longer before setting off.
“But... if I may make a suggestion...” Isabela said slowly, bringing her hand up to play with the wet ends of Marian’s hair.
“Hmmm?” Marian blinked her pale blue eyes.
“Barkspawn could use a good tailor,” Isabela said innocently, and she pulled a roar of laughter from Marian like a fisherman pulled in a net from the sea.
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harish-659 · 1 month ago
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mineralsurfaces · 2 months ago
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Why is Mold a Problem After a Hurricane?
Hey Anna Maria Island and Bradenton Beach neighbors! Hurricane Helene really stirred things up, huh? We know dealing with the aftermath is tough, and here in Florida, we've got an extra challenge: humidity. That's why tackling potential mold growth is at the top of the to-do list.
(If you're just getting started with cleanup, check out our blog post on “Hurricane Helene Cleanup: Where to Begin”.
Here at Lais Luz, we're not just about beautiful countertops and flooring. We're your neighbors, and we want to help you avoid costly mold problems after the storm. Think of this as your friendly guide to keeping your home healthy and mold-free.
Why Mold Loves Hurricane Season (and Florida!)
Think of mold spores like tiny little seeds floating in the air, just waiting for the perfect spot to land and grow. And guess what their favorite thing is? Moisture! After a hurricane like Helene, with all that rain and flooding, our homes can become a mold paradise if we don't act quickly.
But don't worry, we're not going to let mold win. Here's the game plan:
1. Quick Drying = Mold's Worst Nightmare
Mold can't grow without moisture. So, the faster you dry things out, the better. We know it's tough, but try to get those wet areas dried within 24-48 hours if it's safe.
Water Removal 101: Grab those mops, buckets, wet/dry vacuums – whatever you've got – and get that standing water out ASAP!
Air It Out: Open those windows and doors! Let that Florida breeze (and some fans) help dry things out.
Dehumidifiers are Your Friends: Seriously, these things are lifesavers. They suck the moisture right out of the air, making it impossible for mold to grow.
2. Say "See Ya Later" to Soaked Stuff
Those soggy carpets, that comfy armchair...we know it hurts, but sometimes you gotta let go. Porous materials that have been soaked are mold magnets.
Toss It Out: Got carpets, padding, or furniture that got soaked? It's often best to say goodbye. They can be tough to dry completely and become mold magnets.
Sun's Out, Drying Out: For things you want to save, like mattresses, pillows, and clothes, lay them out in the sun to dry. Florida sunshine is great for more than just tans!
3. Clean Like You Mean It!
Bleach Power: Mix up a solution of one part bleach to ten parts water and wipe down every surface that got wet. Don't forget those sneaky spots under sinks and behind appliances.
Hidden Mold Hotspots: Mold loves to hide. Check inside cabinets, under furniture, and anywhere else that might have gotten damp.
4. Mold Detective: Be on the Lookout
Even after all that cleaning, mold can still try to sneak in. Here's how to spot it:
Sniff It Out: That musty, earthy smell? That's mold's calling card.
Spot the Signs: Look for discoloration, fuzzy patches, or black spots.
Allergies Acting Up?: If you're suddenly sneezing and sniffling more, mold might be the culprit.
5. Rebuild Smarter with Mold-Proof Materials
Okay, now for the fun part! When you're rebuilding, let's choose materials that make mold say "no way!"
Sintered Stone: This stuff is super tough and doesn't absorb water. Perfect for countertops, floors, and walls.
Porcelain Slabs: Another great choice for bathrooms and kitchens because it laughs in the face of moisture.
Ultracompact Surfaces: These are like the superheroes of surfaces – strong, durable, and moisture-resistant.
We're your neighbors, and we're here to help you create a beautiful, healthy, and mold-free home. Contact us for:
Free consultations: We'll assess your home and give you expert advice.
Discounted materials: Save some cash on those awesome non-porous and mold-proof surfaces.
Priority installation: We'll get your home back to normal in no time.
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akshayenterprises46 · 3 months ago
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Bio Magnetic Manufacturer in Jaipur: High-Quality Bio Magnetic Products for Wholesale Supply
Bio magnetic products have gained much significance nowadays due to their potential health benefits. Many people believe these items may provide pain relief by managing blood flow and enhance general well-being by balancing the body's magnetic field. Due to the increasing demand for alternative health options, the wellness industry is striving to find reliable supplies of such bio magnetic products to meet customer needs. Among the leading bio magnetic manufacturer in Jaipur, Akshay Enterprises leads from the front in this segment by availing quality bio magnetic products for wholesale supply.
With this blog, we look at what bio magnetic products are and their benefits, and further delve into why Akshay Enterprises is the go-to manufacturer for businesses in need of high-quality bio magnetic products in bulk.
What Are Bio Magnetic Products?
Bio magnetic products are those that have magnets incorporated into them, which are to maintain the balance of the magnetic field of the human body. These include wristbands and timepieces worn on the wrist to mattress covers and bottle covers. Bio magnetic therapy is based on the premise of magnetic fields acting with a force on the energy of the body, which corrects the imbalances through self-healing and general well-being. Concerning the health effect of biomagnetic therapy, proponents affirm that these devices reduce pain, improve blood circulation, and raise energy levels.
Their application ranges widely in wellness and holistic health. They are also popular for those people who want to avoid invasion or medication to treat chronic conditions like arthritis, migraines, and other joint pains. Besides being used for therapeutic properties, biomagnetic products are also highly valued for their strength and ease of use. Benefits of Bio Magnetic Products
1. Pain Relief
Pain relief is one of the major reasons that people use bio magnetic products. Magnets are thought to decrease inflammation and increase blood flow, relieving pain from arthritis, back pain, and even migraines. Products such as bio magnetic bracelets and mattress pads can be used by individuals who want natural pain relief without medication.
2. Improved Circulation
These Bio magnetic products may also facilitate the flow of circulation. The magnets within them are believed to attract and repel charged particles in the blood, hence acting to improve blood flow to specific areas of the body. This can, in turn, be useful in quicker healing and promoting overall well-being.
3. Improved Energy and Wellbeing
Other more significant vitality and balance have also been reported by users of biomagnetic products after their use. The magnetic fields thereby serve to assist the body's naturally occurring energy flow, which results in heightened moods, superior sleep, and a general feeling of well-being. Biomagnetic bracelets, biomagnetic watches, and other such wearables have thus gained enormous popularity because of their potential to give consumers these benefits throughout the day.
4. Versatility and Durability
The Bio magnetic products come in various forms, from jewelry to home products. They are durable and easy to use, thus quick to use, and hence convenient for people interested in the wellness aspect. Besides that, they can be worn or used discreetly; therefore, individuals will be able to benefit from it without making people look at them. More so,
Akshay Enterprises: Top Bio Magnetic Manufacturer within Jaipur
Quality, which is of the essence regarding bio magnetic products, forms the mainstay of Akshay Enterprises. As a major producer of bio magnetic goods in Jaipur, this city has emerged as an assured source of quality bio magnetic products for wholesalers. Dealing in the line of business for years, Akshay Enterprises has been one of the most dependable supplies of bio magnetic products to companies dealing in wellness, health, and alternative medicine.
Why Choose Akshay Enterprises?
1. Quality Engagement
Akshay Enterprises is committed to quality. Advanced manufacturing processes and the best materials are used in producing these bio magnetic products to make sure that each product meets very stringent quality standards. Be it a bio magnetic bracelet, mattress pad, or anything for that matter, you can rest assured with Akshay Enterprises that the products will last long enough to give you the benefits desired.
2. Product Variety
Akshay Enterprises can offer a wide range of bio magnetic products to suit varied customer requirements. Products vary from fashionable bio magnetic jewelry to rather functional mattress pads and bottle covers, making it sure that the product line can appeal to most tastes. This makes Akshay Enterprises the most befitting partner for those businesses that show interest in expanding their lines towards bio magnetic products.
3. Wholesale Supply
Akshay Enterprises is a bio magnetic manufacturer that engages itself in wholesale supplies to make it easier for businesses to get their needs in substantial amounts. The business works hand in hand with its customers for timely completion of an order without errors in quantity to ensure that the business cycle of the customer is not hampered due to lack of adequate amount of bio magnetic stock to sell to its clientele.
4. Expertise and Experience
Incorporated with several years of experience in the bio-magnetic industry, Akshay Enterprises houses expertise to come up with effective and reliable products. The company keeps pace with new advancements in bio-magnetic technology and updates its manufacturing process continually to bring forth optimum products.
5. Customer-Centric Approach
Akshay Enterprises prides itself on customer-oriented methods of doing business. Understanding that each business has its peculiar needs, the company embarks on closely liaising with its customers for the satisfaction of such needs. Be it a small enterprise in need of some specific products, or perhaps a large chain retailer in need of an efficient supplier, Akshay Enterprises remains irrevocably committed to providing quality products and personalized services.
Types of Bio Magnetic Products Dealt in by Akshay Enterprises
1. Bio Magnetic Bracelets
Bio magnetic bracelets are among the popular products falling under the bio magnetic category. These are some fashionable accessories that are normally worn around the wrist and have been proven to help improve the circulation, lessen the pain, and boost the energy level of a person. Akshay Enterprises deals in different kinds of bio magnetic bracelets with several variations in style and design according to the choices of different customers.
2. Bio Magnetic Watches
Biomagnetic watches are the ideal union between functionality as a timepiece with the benefits one achieves from magnetic therapy. The magnets incorporated into these watches, supposedly enhance well-being and amplify the energy balance inside the human body. Akshay Enterprises offer a range of premium bio-magnetic watches that are fashioned to be both stylish and useful in every respect.
3. Bio Magnetic Mattress
Among my favorite purchases are bio magnetic mattresses for people who suffer from poor sleep and need pain relief. These are to be spread over a normal mattress and have magnets embedded inside them, which can help alleviate pain and swellings while improving blood circulation during sleep. Akshay Enterprises produces bio magnetic mattresses that are long-lasting and efficient for users desiring quality sleep.
4. Bio Magnetic Bottle Covers
The Bio-magnetic bottle covers are to magnetize the water or any other beverage inside the bottle. It is really supposed to enhance the properties of water and act as a health promoter. These covers are pretty much convenient to be used and carried anywhere. Akshay Enterprises manufactures high-quality bio magnetic covers which are functional and at the same time durable.
Conclusion
Demand for bio magnetic products has grown owing to the ever-growing demand for natural and non-invasive methods of improving health and well-being. Today, several enterprises are in the market to source top-notch bio magnetic products. Akshay Enterprises is among the leading bio-magnetic manufacturers based in Jaipur, India. The company offers a range of bio magnetic products at wholesale prices. It forms the commitment of Akshay Enterprises to quality, a wide array of products, and excellent customer service in being the premier choice of any business enterprise in the line of wellness.
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perfectsleeppad · 7 months ago
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Cooling Pad or Heating Pad – Water Activated Mattress Pad (Single)
$600.00
✅ Precise temperature control from 55°F (12.78 °C) to 118 °F (47.78 °C) (Wider range temperature than the Chilipad mattress system).
✅ 27.5X more energy-efficient than traditional air conditioning.
✅ Free of dangerous EMFs (Electric and Magnetic Fields)and virtually silent while active (40 dBa).
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premiumcleaningau · 8 months ago
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Uncovering Hidden Dirt: Areas Often Missed During Deep House Cleaning
When it comes to cleaning our homes, we often have our routines and go-to spots that get the most attention. However, there are hidden nooks and crannies that can accumulate dirt and grime over time, easily escaping our regular cleaning sessions. A deep house cleaning aims to tackle these often missed areas, ensuring a truly fresh and sparkling home. Here's a comprehensive guide to what should be included in a thorough deep clean:
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What Is Included In Deep Cleaning:
1. Ceiling Fans and Light Fixtures
   Begin your deep clean by looking up. Ceiling fans and light fixtures are notorious dust magnets. Use a sturdy stepladder and a microfiber cloth or a duster with an extendable handle to wipe away the layers of dust that accumulate.
2. Corners and Cobwebs
   Over time, cobwebs can form in the corners of rooms, especially in those harder-to-reach places. Take a broom or a vacuum with an extension wand to clear out these hidden cobwebs.
3. Baseboards and Moulding
   Baseboards and moulding are often overlooked during regular cleanings. Use a damp cloth and a mild cleaner to wipe down these surfaces, removing any built-up dust and grime.
4. Vents and Air Ducts
   Dust and debris can accumulate in air vents and ducts, impacting air quality. Remove vent covers and vacuum inside the ducts. You may also consider hiring a professional duct cleaning service for a more thorough job.
5. Behind and Under Furniture
   Slide furniture away from walls to clean behind and underneath. This is where dust bunnies love to hide. Vacuum these areas thoroughly, and if possible, use a furniture attachment to clean the upholstery and crevices.
6. Window Tracks and Sills
   Window tracks can collect dirt and grime, especially in areas prone to moisture. Use a vacuum with a brush attachment to remove loose dirt, then follow up with a warm, soapy cloth to scrub away stubborn residue.
 7. Kitchen Appliances
   Don't forget to clean behind and beneath kitchen appliances like the refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher. These spaces can accumulate crumbs, grease, and dust over time.
 8. Inside Cabinets and Drawers
   Take everything out of your cabinets and drawers, wiping down both the interiors and exteriors. This is a great opportunity to declutter and reorganise as well.
 9. Light Switches and Door Handles
   These high-touch areas can harbour germs and bacteria. Wipe them down with a disinfectant to keep your home healthy and clean.
 10. Shower heads and Faucets
   Mineral deposits can build up on shower heads and faucets, affecting water pressure. Remove shower heads and soak them in vinegar to dissolve these deposits. Use a toothbrush or scrubbing pad to clean faucet aerators.
 11. Bedding and Mattresses
   Wash all bedding, including sheets, pillowcases, and duvet covers. Vacuum and rotate mattresses to ensure even wear and remove any dust mites.
 12. Trash Bins
   Empty and clean out all trash bins, including those in the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms. Use a disinfectant to kill any lingering odours or germs.
 13. Pet Areas
   If you have furry friends, their favourite spots can be a breeding ground for dirt and hair. Vacuum pet beds, wash toys, and clean food and water bowls thoroughly.
 14. Behind Toilets and Radiators
   These areas are often forgotten but can collect dust and grime. Use a long-handled brush or vacuum attachment to reach behind toilets and radiators.
 15. Garage and Outdoor Spaces
   If applicable, don't neglect the garage or outdoor areas. Sweep out debris, organise tools and equipment, and give outdoor furniture a good cleaning.
Cover All the Areas Of the House with Deep Cleaning!
A deep house cleaning is a comprehensive reset for your living space, targeting the hidden dirt and grime that accumulate over time. While it may take more time and effort than your regular cleaning routine, the results are well worth it—a truly fresh, healthy, and sparkling home for you and your loved ones to enjoy.
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