#Mom & Pop Co

[nando161mando]

I recently left a Mom & Pop Co and this was in the group chat on payday a week later, from the owner

[bottomvalerius]

Actually re “They Never Break Up” AU, here are thots that are currently living in my head:

obviously, this is the au where Donna completes the trio of weed smoking, collared submissives lmfao which means they get to wear peepaw's blood around their neck :3c would probably look very different than Neeja and Imee's collars, which both are pretty similar to one another. definitely white leather and more iridescent beading

Also means Donna joins the fang gang! I like the idea of them just having a snaggle tooth as opposed to two fangs because the other fang would look awkward with their chipped tooth

Travels full-time with Sam, which is something he has been craving for some time. Imee will join him on some excursions, but she doesn't like being too far from Neeja (who does not travel at all really)

Their dynamic with Sam changes somewhat; when they're on the isles together, it is high protocol 24/7, mainly because Neeja wouldn't accept anything less from a collared sub lmao However, when they're on their solo adventures, Sam is much more lax with them using honorifics, posturing, etc (he likes it better when they brat truly LMAO)

Donna is effectively on the bottom of the kinky hierarchy and they're A-Okay with that lmfao They view Neeja as their dominant just like Sam is; Imee doesn't expect that kind of respect from them, but she still loves torturing them <33 LOL

Refers to Neeja as Mama, which makes her feel all sorts of things as that is the honorific Mara would use in her house (and what Neeja and Sam would refer to her as)

This is Donna at their peak gremlin LMAO definitely not in the healthiest of dynamics, and they and Sam do still fight with one another often. However, this is arguably the happiest AU with these two LMFAO

I think it is fun if they still wind up in Vesuvia so that Sam can fuck Lucio, and they and Valerius have a very steamy one-night stand that he cannot get out of his head LOL however, they and Asra would probably just not be as close at all lmfaooo

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 330

Adjective: Vivacious

Noun: Delta

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Vivacious: attractively lively and animated (typically used of a woman)

Delta: the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet (Δ, δ), transliterated as ‘d’; the fourth in a series of items, categories, etc; (astronomy) the fourth (usually fourth brightest) star in a constellation; a code word representing the letter D, used in radio communication; a difference between two things or values; (computing) a change or set of changes made to a file or program, especially as part of an update to a later version; a triangular tract tract of sediment deposited at the mouth of a river, typically where it diverges into several outlets; a region in northern Mississippi that lies between the Yazoo and Mississippi rivers and is known for its cotton and for blues music

[wandasslut3000]

Welcome to the neighborhood

Pairing: MILF!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, unspecified age gap, mentions of death and cheating, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, switch!reader, powerbottom!wanda, fingering, scissoring, marking, praise, fluff and aftercare.

WC: 3.2k

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The house next door was just sold, a moving truck and furniture adorning the once peaceful lawn. Wanda was observing you through her window, a light flush on her cheeks as she noticed the tight grip your shirt had on your body. Your muscles slightly flexing as you carry one box after another into your new home.

Some movers were also there to help, but Wanda paid them no mind, she just couldn't pull her eyes away from you. She didn't know what it was but something about you made her heart beat faster, she hadn't even met you yet, let alone know your name and you already had such an alluring grip on the older woman.

Suddenly, as though you felt her gaze on you, your head turned and you made eye contact with her. Wanda's breath hitching as she meets your burning stare. You wink in her direction, a small smirk on your lips as you watch her cheeks darken through the window, a tight grip on the curtain slightly tugging the fabric.

Quickly regaining herself, Wanda sends a short smile back, before an idea pops into her mind. Hesitantly, leaving the window's view, she goes over to the base of the stairs.

"Boys!" She calls for her twins, a small patter of steps followed by "Yes Mom?" as they made their way down the stairs to her. "Did you know we have a new neighbor?" she smiles at them and their eyes widen in excitement.

"Really? Who?" Billy asks before Tommy interrupts. "Can we go say hi to him? Does he have a dog? I bet he has a dog!"

Wanda giggles at her boys before she corrects the latter. "She is in the house next door, and I'm not really sure who she is yet, but what do you boys think about making a new friend?"

Both nod in agreement, "We should make her cookies!" Billy suggests and Wanda beams at her son.

"That's a great idea honey."

The next day the boys grab their plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and rush up to your door, their mother right behind them. Wanda couldn't lie that she did in fact get herself ready for you, wanting to make a good appearance in your presence.

"Welcome to the neighborhood!" Both twins greet you as you open the door, a confused smile on your face, but still you accept it, bending down to their height and thanking them. "We made you cookies." Tommy smiles, "They were Billy's idea though."

You practically melt at their sweet gesture. "Thank you so much, you guys are so sweet!" You then look up to be met with the same green irises that were watching you the previous day.

Standing back up, you reach out for her hand.

"Hi, you must be their mother, I'm Y/n, nice to meet you." You send her a charming smile and Wanda can practically feel her knees buckle.

"Yes, hello dear, I'm Wanda, and these are my boys, Billy and Tommy." She gestures to the eight year olds, both of them beaming at you in curiosity.

"Well it's nice to meet all of you, would you like to come inside? There's not really much because y'know, I'm still getting settled, but you can still look around if you'd like." You softly ramble, your hands moving to play with the rings on your fingers.

Wanda loves how you got all flustered around her, she nods and the twins squeal in joy as they rush inside the house.

"Oh lord.. boys! Get back here, you don't just run into other people's homes!" But it was already too late, both of them had gone inside to explore, not hearing their mother as they went to the opposite ends of the house.

Leaving both of you alone at the threshold.

You shake your head. "No no, it's fine really, it's cute if anything." Wanda smiles at you again, something she notices is starting to come up a lot more in your presence. You gesture her inside and bring her into the living room, a few boxes in the corners while the couch and coffee table were already in place.

You sit down on the couch and pat down for her to sit next to you. Placing the cookies on the table in front of you both.

"Thank you so much for these by the way, did you make them?" The older woman finds herself in a struggle to speak at the closeness between you two. "I- um I helped them a little."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

"So.. how's your husband?" This made Wanda halt, her breath hitching and eyebrows furrowing at the random question. "What?"

You chuckle at her sudden confusion.

"Well you're wearing a wedding band, and your children are running around somewhere in my house, so I can only assume a gorgeous woman like yourself is married."

She rolls her eyes before shaking her head in a rush of sadness.

"Actually he um.. He passed away around this time a few years ago, I- I guess I just wear it because I'm so used to it." Wanda sighs, twisting the ring on her finger, and you instantly regret asking the question.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know." You whisper and she just smiles dismissively.

"No sweetheart, it's alright.. I'm over it, I found out he was cheating on me awhile back so, I guess he got what he deserved." You both fall into a fit of laughter, her humor being unexpected in such a dark topic.

"Oh my god! Sorry! I'm so sorry- I know that's not funny..." You wheeze out, and she just giggles along with you.

"It's okay." She nods at you, taking your hand in hers and stroking it with her thumb. "I like your laugh, it's adorable." Wanda flutters her eyelashes towards you and your cheeks redden at the complement.

"T-Thank you."

Weeks went by and Wanda and the twins kept coming over, becoming regular houseguests. Some days it would be the opposite, where you were the one accompanying them for dinner or lunch.

Saturday night was officially 'movie night' where the twins would drag you over and you would all watch a movie of their choosing. Usually something from Disney or Pixar.

Today was Saturday which meant that tonight you would be over at the Maximoff's. Having promised Tommy that you would let them watch a scary movie. You didn't really see the need to dress up so you decided on an oversized shirt and some sleeping shorts.

When you knocked on the door, you were greeted by Wanda herself, her body covered in a pink satin robe that hugged her figure perfectly, her breasts pushed up slightly as you noticed the soft mounds cupped by black lace.

"Hi honey, sorry I forgot to tell you, the boys are at a sleepover tonight." You're brought back into reality at the sound of her voice, and you blink rapidly.

“Oh, that's alright, I'll go then, have a good night." You smile and turn away ready to leave when she calls back to you.

"Y/n wait, come inside, I could use a bit of company anyway." She smiles, and you just can't bring yourself to say no to that face. You slowly approach her, walking past her and suddenly you had never felt smaller.

Mindlessly you make your way into the living room, just as you've done dozens of times before. Sitting down on her couch while she goes off into the kitchen. Coming back with some wine and two glasses.

You smile at her for her kindness, which she returns. Placing the bottle down on the table, and passing you a glass, she moves to sit next to you, opening and pouring the wine into each glass. Turning to face you she holds her face with her palm, eyeing you with an expectant look as you both take a sip.

"How've you been malyash?" A slight accent in her words.

"I- um, I've been alright, how about you?" You could barely find yourself to speak as you felt some sort of tension in the air. So you quickly took a larger sip of wine, grimacing at the taste of the alcohol.

"I'm better now that you're here." She winks and you miserably try to hide your flustered expression.

A few hours go by with you both talking and getting to know each other better. The wine slightly getting to both of your heads as you both enjoy the time to yourselves.

Soon, you're both sitting in her bed, watching a movie together side by side under the covers. A steamier scene pops up on screen and your breath hitches slightly when you feel a cold hand start to rub circles on your thigh.

You turn to Wanda and she doesn't pull her attention away from the movie, her hand moving higher up your thigh and closer to your core, your breathing getting heavier.

Finally she turns to you, and you feel yourself get lost in her beauty for a moment, right before she speaks. "Y/n can I ask you something?"

"Of course." A little silence followed and she slowly debates if she should even tell you "What is it Wanda?

"Kiss me?"

"What?" You ask, shocked at her boldness, yet your whole body encased itself in a layer of heat, blood rising to your cheeks. She smirks at your reaction, biting her lip softly as she straddles your lap, taking your face into her hands.

Almost closing the distance between the two of you.

Just before she makes contact, her lustful eyes drop down to your parted lip. "I said.. kiss me." She whispers teasingly, and you shiver. Your lips then pressed against hers, her hands moving to grip into your hair.

Yours travel to her waist before sliding down to her ass, gripping at her through her robe. Bringing your dominant hand underneath, you discover that the older woman wasn't wearing any panties, your fingers instantly meeting her wetness.

Finding her clit, you slowly circle the little bundle of nerves. "O-Oh!" Wanda breaks the kiss in an affected gasp, her mouth falling open as her eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

Yet it's still not enough for her. Slowly she starts to grind down on your fingers and thigh, grabbing onto your shoulders for support as she tries to use the friction to get herself off.

“Fuck, you feel so good-" She squeals, your free hand moving to the tie of her robe, but she slaps it away.

Still humping your leg, the woman moves to untie the knot, the satin falling open and leaving her in her lace bra, reaching behind her and unclipping it with ease.

"You're so beautiful" You gasp as she throws the robe and her bra onto the floor.

"Thank you detka, you’re doing such a good job for me."

She practically screams as she cums. Her wetness smearing against your skin.

You trail kisses from her sternum to her neck and then finally to her lips when she comes back down from her climax. A small smile coming from her, breaking the kiss as she pushes you down onto the bed.

"You made me feel so good baby, you're just my perfect girl aren't you?" You whimper and nod rapidly, wanting nothing more than for Wanda to have her way with you. To absolutely ruin you.

"All yours."

Her hands move to strip you of your clothes, leaving you bare in front of her. You whine as she straddles her pussy on yours, your wetness rubbing against hers, earning groans from the both of you at the contact.

You throw your head back as she starts to grind against you, your wet clits brushing against each other repeatedly.

Wanda goes to suck harshly at the sensitive skin at your neck, your mouth dropping in pleasure.

"Uh- uh huh, oh-h fuck please!" You moan as she gains speed, your hands moving to Wanda's back and your nails digging into her skin. A sharp hiss comes from her before she pins your wrists above your head.

Your eyes roll back into your skull as she practically slams her pussy on yours, her entrance and outer lips rubbing perfectly against your puffy bundle of nerves. "I'm gonna cum- god, ah! Please, I wanna cum!" You mindlessly babble as your hips start thrashing against hers.

"Go on sweet girl, cum with me, show m-me how good I make you f-feel." Wanda's words come out slightly broken and breathless, her accent running through her voice as it rang in your ears. Her permission is the last thing you need to get to your release.

Both of you gasp as you reach your peaks, Wanda bending down to connect your lips in a messy and desperate kiss. Her hands moving from your wrists, and finding their way back onto your face as she holds you close. Soon her lips move to press little kisses all over your face making you smile.

"You're so perfect." She says in a teasing baby voice. "So so pretty." Her finger goes to slide down the bridge of your nose as she adjusts herself so she's no longer on top of you but next to you.

Your face turns red at the attention. "Stoppp." You groan, turning away to avert your eyes from her burning gaze. "Never." She whispers in your ear, a shiver falling over you at the huskiness in her voice. You turn to face her with a wide smile.

“Good, I don’t really want you to”

You both fall into a fit of giggles at your cheesy actions before you fall into eachothers gazes, getting lost in eachothers eyes in a small pocket of silence. Wanda moves to cup your cheek and starts to stroke her thumb on it, your gaze falling to her lips for a moment before looking back into her forest eyes.

"Can I kiss you again?" She smiles at the question but nods, your lips now on hers in a more sensual and passionate way. In between kisses she says, "You don’t have to ask." You giggle, kissing her a few more times before pulling the covers over your naked bodies and holding each other close.

"Thank you Wanda." You mumble in your sleepy state and she can't the little grin that goes onto her face once more. "For what malaysia?"

“For knocking on my door.” She smiles at that and goes to say something, however she cuts herself off when she hears a soft snore come from you. She adjusts herself to nuzzle your head into her neck as you hold her tight.

The next morning Wanda wakes up to an empty bed. The spot you once resided in now empty and cold. At first a large frown appeared on her face, the first thought in her mind was that it might have all been a dream.

But the smell of cinnamon filled her nostrils making her second guess her theory.

The scent was soon followed by your thumping footsteps up the stairs. You walk into her bedroom with a tray in your hands.

You'd made her breakfast. Wanda soon feels her cheeks burn and her smile widening at the sight of you in her clothes and taking time out of your day to make her food.

"What's all this?" She asks, sitting up slightly as she inspects the tray before her. "I made you breakfast." You smile before moving to explain.

"I made you some french toast and scrambled eggs with sausage." She didn't say anything as she let you ramble on. "Uh- and here's some strawberries, also I didn't know if you wanted it or not but I got you water with ice. Obviously if you don't want the ice then-."

Wanda cuts you off by placing her thumb against your lips. "Breathe baby." Your eyes fall onto her still naked body and instantly do as she says, a small smirk forming on her lips as her finger brushes against your bottom lip:

"Thank you so much love bug, you're so thoughtful for making me all this, but I don't think I can finish it all by myself."

"Let's eat it together, yeah?" She suggests and you smile and nod before grabbing and handing her a shirt when you notice her shiver at the coldness of the room.

You move to sit next to her, moving the food over to make room for the both of you. Wanda goes to grab a fork and take a bite of the eggs and she lets out a surprised expression.

"Y/n, this is actually really good." You let out a gasp of fake offense.

"Why are you acting so surprised?"

"I- Not that it's a bad thing, but I just didn't expect you to be a good cook." You burst into laughter.

"That's what you were thinking about when you first met me? If I was a good cook or not?" You tease and she rolls her eyes.

"Shut up and eat your food." You push her arm playfully but go back to eating. Once you both finished the plate and water, you reached for the strawberries and moved the tray to the floor. You then lay on your back with the bowl of strawberries on top of your abdomen.

Wanda reaches for one and pops it into her mouth, munching on it happily as she leans on her hand, her right hand holding her head up while her left one brushes up and down your arm.

You smile as this is the type of morning you've dreamed of spending with someone, most especially her.

"I wanna stay like this forever." You sigh out as you look at her, Wanda places a quick kiss on your shoulder as she moves to wrap her arms around you. "We can, I mean, nothing's stopping us from being with each other."

"You're right."

The doorbell soon rings followed by the sounds of the twins muffed shouts of "Mom! We're home!"

Your eyes widen as you both scramble to get cleaned up, Wanda goes to put a new set of clothes on and you take a quick peek through the window of her bedroom, looking out to see the boys talking to each other behind the locked door.

Somehow, they feel your gaze on them and look up, making eye contact with you and they gasp in surprise. "Y/n!" "Y/n's here!" They cheer and your face burns. You take a deep breath and slowly walk downstairs and open the door for the boys.

When they see you behind the door they start to bombard you with questions. "When'd you get here?" "Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" "Are we gonna watch movies tonight? Are we..."

He pauses, "Wait, what's that on your neck?" Your heart drops to your stomach, and you look at Tommy confused.

"What was that hun?"

"What's that purple mark on your neck?"

[ragingbookdragon]

The woman sits down beside him on the park bench as he watches JJ run around with the toy soldier in his hand, yelling commands and jumping over playground equipment, pretending to be his dad. She smiles and leans over, asking, “Which one is yours?”

He eyes her from the corner of his hood and mutters, “Tyke with the action figure.”

She smiles wider. “He’s cute. JJ, isn’t he?” She points to a young girl following JJ around with her little nurse box. “He plays with Amelia a lot.”

“Yeah?” He’s not exactly interested in the conversation, but one look tells him she’s a tired mom who just wants to talk to someone not in “Mom-Land” 24/7.

“Amelia was really sick as a baby. When she was well enough to play…a lot of the kids didn’t want to play with her. Said she’d make them sick.”

“Cancer?” He asks before he can stop himself, and she blinks before she nods.

“Free now, but kids can be cruel.” She waves at JJ when he looks over. “JJ was the first to play with her. They like to play soldiers and medics.” A laugh escapes her when JJ tumbles and calls for Amelia, and the little girl bends beside him and starts opening the little box of toy supplies. “Is your wife working?”

He wonders if it’s a hope for a mom friend but he shakes his head. “Not married. JJ’s my godson.”

“Oh? But the woman who brings him?” She blinks. “I thought she was…”

“Missus Price is my CO’s wife. She and him took a vacation. I’m watchin’ JJ.”

“You must be close with them,” she surmises. “I thought she was your wife. She’s always so nice and sweet.”

He smiles at that. “Missus Price is a good one.” He whistles sharply all of the sudden, and JJ’s head pops up in the grass before he gets up and hauls Amelia with him, running over.

JJ mock salutes. “Reporting for duty, sir!” He looks at Amelia. “Lia, you have to salute.” The little girl follows in suit and the woman giggles at them.

“It’s gettin’ time for lunch,” he says and JJ whines.

“But Uncle Simon, we just got to the sandpit.”

Simon glares at him. “Soldiers need sustenance for survival. Without it, you’ll starve.”

JJ’s eyes widen and he turns to Amelia. “Medic, I have to leave my battle station.” He salutes her and she does it back clumsily. “Ready for sustance, sir.”

“Sustenance,” Simon corrects and stands up, placing a large hand on his head; it dwarfs the boy’s skull, fingers going over his eyes.

“Unc’ Simon, I can’t see,” he giggles.

“C’mon Banshee,” he says and nods to the woman before he starts walking.

JJ follows, but stops, a faint pink covering his cheeks as he hurries back and hugs Amelia tight. “Bye Medic Lia.”

Amelia hugs him back and smiles with a wave as the woman watches the young boy run next to his godfather, spouting off about enemies in the sandpit and the security of the nation.

The woman hurriedly rises and picks up Amelia, following with, “Wait!”

Simon stops and turns, looking at her expectingly.

“Um…Amelia and I will be back tomorrow around ten…if JJ and you want to come back and play?” She smiles, feeling heat on her cheeks and Simon gazes at her before he looks down at JJ who is nodding rapidly.

“We’ll be ‘ere,” he agrees and the woman smiles.

“I’m glad,” she holds out her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, his grip firm but warm and inviting. “You as well.”

As they walk off, JJ looks up at him and asks, “Do you like Amelia’s mum?”

Simon rolls his eyes. “I just met ‘er, Banshee.”

“I like Amelia’s mom. She’s nice. She always brings me a snack.” He takes Simon’s hand. “I think you should like Amelia’s mum.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says, and happens a glance back at the woman who is listening intently to her daughter vividly depict her playtime with her friend; a small smile graces his lips and he thinks to himself, “I’ll think about it a lot.”

[deepestnightcolor]

Hello ~ I just binged all of your Sam fics and am obsessed!! I would love to see your take on what happened during Sam's 10 heart event if you stay in the bed hehe. Thank you for your writing!!

ᴀ/ɴ: Thank you so much for the compliment and the request. It really, really means a lot to me. I simply love writing Sam as a pussy-whipped slut. I hope you enjoy, thank you for your time!

☾ ʜɪᴅᴇᴏᴜᴛ ☽

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3402 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: creampie, mentions of blood, drool, fast sex, mentions of being caught, I guess?

"Well, don't do too many push-ups, then. Good night, dear."

The click of the door signaled that Jodi had left the room, the sight that left Sam only verifying your assumption. Still, you waited. Quietly, patiently. There was no need to rush now, was there? And besides, Sam's bed smelled _so_ good. Like vanilla and cola, like fresh air. Like him.

"Shit...I'm sorry. You can come out now."

You didn't want to. Surrounded by his scent and the warmth that your position beneath the yellow sheet had caused, you felt comfortable and safe. Still, Sam could watch you shift around before your head popped up from below the bed sheet. Your hair was ruffled, and your cheeks were red. If from the rush of having to hide, or embarrassment, he didn't know. But he knew he himself was bushing due to the two things combined. He hadn't wanted to hide you, but he was painfully aware that the whole town would have known about...this had his mom seen you. And he didn't even know if you wanted this.

He gave you a smile, small and sheepish. "I'm sorry for hiding you-"

"Your bed is comfortable," you interrupted, stretching your body before slowly lifting the yellow sheet. "Try it. It's a really good hideout."

For a moment, his orbs were filled with disbelief. Confusion, even. That didn't last long, though, the look on his face quickly being swept off and replaced with a lighter one, maybe one of relief. Feeling Sam almost jump on the bed and snuggle up to you, you realized it had been a look of excitement.

His arms felt warm and heavy around you, and there was no other choice but to give in to this comforting touch.

"You know...," he murmured, snapping the rubber band around his wrist behind your back. "I usually put on rubber bands when I don't want to forget something. But this time this was unnecessary...I mean. I... I could never forget how I feel about you, you know?"

Your heart was beating up in your throat, and your breathing was now heavier. You tried to find words.

Really, you did. But all you could do was form a smile on his lips, the throbbing of your heart in your throat screaming at you to make it calm enough for him to go on.

To your great joy, Sam did. "Y'know...I...well. I haven't felt like this about anyone ever...and I-I...y'know."

Say it. Yoba, please.

"I always knew there was something special between us. That..that I really like you," he whispered, gently gripping your chin.

The smile that was plastered on your lips stayed put until you felt Sam's soft ones against yours. You heard your blood rushing in your ears as you flung your arms around his neck, kissing him back.

It started out so soft, so gentle. Mouths moving in sync, whispering the words neither of you had found in your awkwardness without using words.

You seriously didn't know how it could have escalated like this; Sam's tongue was in your mouth now, dominating yours as you eagerly sucked on it. His large hands were tracing up and down your sides, until they finally found the hem of your shirt, vanishing beneath the fabric before you could do as much as even lift it.

You moaned when the palms of his hands pressed against your tits, a sound that riled Sam up. His head was spinning, and he was pretty sure it was because of the lack of blood which slowly made its way elsewhere.

Actually, that was a lie. His dick was hardening faster than he would have ever wanted to admit, and your leg wrapping around his slender hips certainly didn’t help. He could feel the heat of your lower body matching his now, and Yoba did it feel good.

“Sam,” you whimpered in his mouth that pressed sloppy kisses to yours. Only now did he realize that his fingers were pinching your nipples through the lacy fabric of your bra, leading you to grind into his erect penis. It was so tempting, after all. Right there, hot and throbbing against you.  “Mhh?” he grunted back, but the time he gave you to react was barely non-existent as his sloppy tongue entered your mouth again, teeth cluttering together when you inched closer.

 Neither of you cared, too involved in the heat of the moment. Sam’s long fingers wandered behind your back, unclasping the hooks of your bra and pulling it from beneath your shirt.

The piece of clothing landed in the middle of his room without much more regard to it, fingers now pressing down on the exposed flesh, hard enough to send little waves of pleasure through you, but not hard enough to satisfy the greedy hunger that was growing within you, to ease the wetness pooling between your legs.

As if reading your thoughts, he moved his head. Your lips separated with a smack and the moment you didn’t feel them on yours anymore, you craved more. The softness of them, his tongue sloppily massaging yours; the taste of his spit. You wanted it again, felt so lost without them until they met the heated skin just below your skin.

“You are so pretty,” Sam cooed, sucking the skin in his mouth. The wetness combined with the warmth made your head spin, your hips bucking forward in a search for more, more, more. What you were met with caught you both by surprise and yet filled you with contentment as the blond pressed you into the mattress, his face now hovering above yours. “Fuck, I know this is fast-“

“Just fuck me,” you whispered back, voice just barely above a whisper. You at least had to try and be quiet in here, didn’t you? After all, Jodi could hear and check up on you again.

Sam didn’t seem to share the same kind of sentiment; the moan that left his swollen lips – you must have bitten down too hard when you kissed – was loud, edging on a whimper. Even his face looked like he was already close to his orgasm, a sliver of drool falling from the corner of his mouth as he took you in.

You wanted to urge him on some more, slowly but surely growing impatient by the slowing pace, yet you didn’t have to. Long fingers found the waistband of your pants, and with one, strong tug, you felt air caress the skin of your thighs. Your breath was just barely able to hitch before your panties found their way to the ground next. Blue eyes were drawn to your pussy, staring at the glistening wet between the plush of your thighs. You bit your lower lip and spread them slowly for him, allowing him a more exposed view of what he was craving.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off you, the look in them was one you would have never been able to describe. So full of lust and desire. His tongue was now sticking from beneath his teeth, the tent in his pants so obvious it was rewarded by a moan coming from you.

You couldn’t be quite sure what was going on behind those pretty eyes of his, but you definitely felt like he was fucking you with eyes.

“You okay, Sammy boy?” you asked, letting your fingers dance down your own body. You pinched your nipples for him, enjoying the way his eyes followed each and every move. They followed your finger, all the way down to your clit where it now was rubbing gentle circles into the bundle of nerves. You threw a small, breathless moan in his direction, watched how he licked his lips. One time, two times. His cock was twitching in his pants, you could see it strain against the fabric. Even now he looked absolutely delicious. “Don’t you wanna fuck me?”

That seemed to bring the blond back to life. His hand flew to the fly of his pants, shaking fingers trying to slide it down. But it seemed that the zipper tried to punish him for his sudden impatience, getting stuck more often than it slipped down. You watched with an amused look in your eyes, yet if you had to be honest, this was killing you. It felt absolutely amazing to be desired in such an open, shameless way, and yet it was like your pussy was throbbing with agony over the fact that Sam wasn’t acting on it. “Come on, Sammy boy, ah fuck,” you sighed, tilting your head back into the pillow, your hips bucking upwards just as though they were inviting him. His scent was still surrounding you, which only turned you on more.

A moan was to be heard, coming right from the man towering above you. “You clenched around nothing,” he whispered, albeit his words were more stammered than coherently formed. You grinned to yourself, which was harder than it seemed because the pleasure you felt from adding pressure to your sweet little clit had you scrunching up your face. “And to think, all this time, it could have been you.”

Something wet touched your thigh. You did not need to look down to know that Sam had drooled on you, but what you hadn’t expected was to hear a ripping sound. Your head shot up, and you saw that Sam had simply ripped his jeans. The blue fabric hung loosely around his hips now, though not for much longer. Without even a moment to blink, you could hear the sound of Sam’s cock smacking against his stomach.

Your throat tightened upon seeing it; it was big and red with how hard it was. A piercing adorned the drooling tip, and if you looked closely, you could see globs of pre-cum dribble down the thick shaft, kissing the pulsing veins along the way.  “Finally- Fuck!” You gasped out, spreading your legs wider in an attempt to accommodate the red tip that was prodding at your entrance already.  “Gonna be..shit, you’re..suckin’ me in so good, baby,” he breathed, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to at least regain a small amount of composure. But your cunt – holy fuck, your cunt was pretty, so, so, pretty – sucking his tip off so well… how could he? He couldn’t, because there was no composure left.

His knuckles turned white as he slowly pushed forward, pierced tip entering you, just for his shaft to stretch you slowly. The movement of his pale hips was accompanied by a low moan that tore from the place of heated pleasure you felt deep within you. He had to stop- just had to. He was about to cum, fill you up despite not even being halfway in. You simply sounded so sweet, and your squishy walls were so wet, so welcoming. So… tempting.

That was why it wasn’t his fault! It really wasn’t – not at all. His hips did what they wanted, shoving forward quickly before he could stop himself. The moan that filled the room now came from two bodies but entered the air as one. Sam was big. Stretching your walls in an almost uncomfortable way, especially since he reached so deep. Your world seemed to spin; the only thing you could actually focus on was the face of pure pleasure above you. A thin layer of sweat had formed on his forehead, strands of blonde hair sticking to his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, eyes searching yours.

The bright blue sea had turned into a dark one now, and you could have drowned in them. If there had been the time.

Sam pulled out of you, only a little at first, just to thrust forward again. His eyes still were plastered on your face, gauging your reaction. You sucked in a sharp breath through your gritted teeth. Another thrust; again he was still filling you up almost completely, just to thrust into you, bottoming out. This thrust felt better than the first one, much better. And fuck, his pretty, pretty face. He was focused, working hard to not just lose control. You could see it in the way he was staring at you, in the way he bit his lip hard enough for it to draw blood. His brain might have switched to standby, but he still didn’t want to hurt you. Even if he felt like a bitch in heat right now, your comfort was his highest priority.

“Sam-“ you breathed as another short thrust filled you up. The sound of his name mixing with pleasure leaving your sweet mouth, swollen from the kisses you had shared, it all was too much. He had seriously attempted to take it slow, but his hips moved faster than his brain could think.

He leaned down to kiss you again, and this time you could not only taste his saliva but also the metallic taste of blood. You sucked on his lower lip, feeling a sudden emptiness threatening to wash over you. That feeling didn’t last long, though as Sam quickly fucked his dick back inside of you. Short, deep thrusts had now become long ones, and his hips moved fast enough to make your body bounce. Your tits jumped along with his fast rhythm, not that you cared. All you cared about was the feeling of being so perfectly full, of having his lips press kisses all over you. “So fuckin’ hot, ya know that? Listen to your pussy, baby- fuck you’re suckin’ me off,” he gasped, one hand moving beneath your thigh to push it towards your bouncing chest. The stretch his girthy dick caused was long forgotten, and again you felt the desire to have more. Lucky for you, Sam was happy to deliver.

His hips humped into you with a fast speed – the blonde wasn’t one to thrust hard, but he did thrust deep. The squelching sounds of your cunt trying to suck his wettened dick back in whenever he left you filled the room, just like Sam’s whimpers and whines of your names. He tried to busy his mouth by leaving wet spots all over your body, here and there he even was able to focus enough to suck a hickey into your flesh. Yet you doubted that it was to stay quiet; you yourself didn’t even care much anymore.

You moaned his name shamelessly, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt, fingers twisting into it. You were sure that your nails dug crescents into the skin despite the thin layer of protection, but even if you did, it didn’t seem like Sam cared. Quite the opposite, actually. Lapping at your nipple through your shirt, his hips pounded into you what he had tried to tell you before.

That he found you amazing, absolutely gorgeous. That he wanted you and needed you to be his. Even though no words were shared, your body seemed to understand, nonetheless. Working with Sam, your hips bucking up to allow him deeper. “Such..such a good girl,” he praised, the faltering of his voice, however, was a clear enough sign that he had long lost all senses of control. His dick was fucking you fast, the bed beneath you creaking dangerously, but why should he have cared? Fuck, he wanted to fuck you through the mattress, break the damn bed, too. It didn’t mean he would have stopped. “Sam!” Your moan was now high pitched, eyes clenching close. You were nearing your climax; the way you clenched around him only proved it further. It was like your  pussy was scared of him to stop, trying to prevent him from slipping out of you before you could get your sweet release.

Sam was in quite a similar position. His eyes for once had left your face, now following how well your cunt took his dick. Watching how you swallowed him whole, and how he pulled out with some more wetness covering his pulsing dick. He wasn’t sure if it was his precum or your wetness, maybe it was both. What he did know was that he wanted more. Despite his balls already pulling tight, he sped up his hips. Hands clinging onto your body to refuse you all opportunities to escape, he humped into you as if his life depended on you. Droplets of spit from his lolling tongue landed on you, but they didn’t get the string of moans and begs that now left your mouth to cease.

Suddenly, it was there. Grabbed you, threw you in the air. Your toes curled, your back arching upwards as you tried to chase Sam’s dick with your hips, your eyes rolling back in your skull. Your orgasm pulsated through you in a way that made your face and legs feel numb, and still feel the pounding into your cunt.

“Fuck, go- where do you want me-“

You were barely able to form the words that described the desperate, hot need you felt. His dick was twitching within you, and you knew he was dangerously close to the edge. Sam was panting now, his head slowly falling back. Your high was still lingering, yet the perverted need that filled your head needed to be spoken out.

“Fill me up,” you begged, your voice barely above a strained whisper, but it was enough for the blonde.

A sharp slam forward made the bed creak and the headboard slam into the wall, though the feeling that washed over you distracted you way too much. Ropes of hot cum filled you up, marking your bullied walls as Sam’s property. His head was still thrown back, his thighs twitching as he whimpered your name, voice a pitch higher than normal, and yet he shamelessly exposed what you did to him. The load that filled you up was much more than anticipated, and yet it was the only thing that could have filled the pit in your stomach that had been feeding on greed and lust for Sam.

Panting replaced the sound of skin against skin, the sound of moans as the blonde finally pulled you out, biting his lower lip when he saw some cum drip from your pretty cunt. He dropped down next to you in exhaustion, one arm immediately wrapping around you.

“Fuck,” the two of you breathed in unison, just to share a laugh. Sam smiled at you, tiredly, but also contently. You gave him a small smile back, before pressing your lips together in a last, sleepy kiss.

You had slipped out through the window with Sam after the blond had helped you clean up. He had removed any trace of dried spit and cum that he had been able to find, even though it had been much to your dismay. The walk to your farm had been quiet, but a silence that was comfortable. Your hand was wrapped in Sam's, the blond carrying a goofy smile on his tired face. The sun had just begun to rise when Sam and you shared another kiss on the front porch of your house, promising one another to meet again the very same afternoon, and Sam had left your farm both feeling giddy and totally exhausted.

He slipped in through the window of his bedroom, just barely able to get the sheets off of his bed when he heard someone clear his throat behind him. Turning around, he was met by his mom. One of her arms was crossed over her chest, the other held up a bra.

“Samson,” she began, one brow cocked. “I thought I raised you better.”

Blood shot in his cheeks, his brain whirring as he tried to come up with a way to explain things, but Jodi just shook her head.

“Hiding a nice girl like her; she deserves better than that, Samson! Here. I put her bra in the wash and dryer, so at least be a gentleman this time and give it back to her.”

He felt like the blush that had blossomed on his cheeks had now wandered to his lips, making them too heavy to speak. Instead, he stared at his mom, with his mouth open.

Jodi rolled her eyes, throwing the bra at him. “You know, there was a time when I was young, too,” she said, already turning to leave his room. Sam looked at the piece of clothing in his hands, swallowing thickly.

“Oh, and Sam?”

It was the first time he had been able to speak: “Yes, mom?”

“Next time you do “push-ups”, be quieter. Or maybe visit your gym buddy.”

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. ��They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

[ninguitar]

୨୧　𝓧O TATTED ALL OVER HER BODY　˒˒　MMB

─── ﹙🎱﹚wanting to get your first ever tattoo, you take a recommendation from one of your college friends' on which parlor to go to, and which specific tattoo artist—meret manon bannerman, who was ultimately drop-dead gorgeous.

pairing. tattoo artist!manon x f!r genre. fluff wc. 1.7k+ notes. missing manon sb nd i JUST saw the clip of her w dominic fike w a cigarette in her hand. 💔💔 all the freaks on twt nd tt hating on her gmfu 😒 ⚠️ PLEASE NOTE THAT I DO NOT CONDONE THE DEPENDENCE ON ANYTHING NICOTINE-RELATED—IF EVER USED, USE IT AT A MODERATE PACE. ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ timeless by the weeknd, ft. playboi carti

THE BUZZING OF TATTOO GUNS spread across the parlor, as manon runs a hand through her hair, adjusting her white tank top and leather jacket. a cigarette remains slack in between her index and ring fingers, a sigh drifting from her lips. contrasting her cold demeanor was the hello kitty lamp sitting on her desk accompanied by a tattoo gun.

grabbing disinfectant spray, the ghanaian girl meekly disinfects all the surfaces, sterilizing all her equipment. tattooing other people's bodies—leaving parts of herself and her art forever on them—always seemed magical to manon, and so, she started in highschool, buying a shitty tattoo gun online. eventually, while at high school parties, she'd take commissions from people begging her to etch designs into their skin, usually taking cash as payment—sometimes nicotine, even.

simple, rugged designs on random people's skins at parties eventually turned into nights spent in her bedroom, practicing her apprenticeship by cross-hatching designs on mannequins. every night, the ghanaian girl would be at home, cornered in her bedroom—sometimes with her friends to keep her company—shading with pointillism from designs she found.

meret manon bannerman was never the type to really think about tattooing newbies, especially with the way her temper sometimes ran short, barely able to have the patience to deal with their face. however, because of her charming character, her co-workers usually assigned her to tattooing newbies, never letting her protest.

grabbing her phone, a myriad of notifications pop up on her lock screen. her eyes narrow at seeing daniela's name pop up, as she swipes up.

dani: turn the lights off before u leave manon. dani: if i see that the electric bill is high again im gonna fr gonna pocket ur paycheck

manon huffs, though a smile tugs the corners of her lips, before her thumbs move a mile a minute, typing back cheeky responses.

manzanita: i willll promise 🤗🤗 manzanita: pocket my paycheck nd im telling ur mom.

the ghanaian girl plops her phone onto the counter, setting it face down. the bell at the front door rings, making manon slightly jolt up, a chain of shivers running down her back. a muffled curse escapes her breath, as she whips her head towards the front door, noticing you gingerly leaning against the front door.

"i- one of our mutual friends, lara, suggested for me to come here. i don't know if she told you considering the look on your face," you shrug, your voice barely above a whisper. with the ghanaian girl nodding, you saunter towards her, a meek smile on your face.

"yeah, she told me—just didn't think you would be so… gorgeous," she bluntly drawls out, making you cock your head to the side. a giggle escapes your breath, both your cheeks and ears tinted with flushness. a small puff of amusements leaves your plush lips, shaking your head.

"look at you—talented, creative, and stunning," you reciprocate her energy, a wide grin painting your face. the ghanaian girl pats the seat beside her at her station, beckoning for you to sit down. you slowly sit down, your heart practically pounding—your first tattoo, and it was done by the most gorgeous girl ever?

an unbearable grin quirks up at the corners of her lips, your words garnering a chuckle from her, "yeah, you think so? you new—to tattooing, i mean?" her eyes trail from your eyes down to your lips, her gaze piercing. with your eyebrows furrowed and knitted together, you nod sheepishly at her question.

"no need to worry 'bout the pain; you got me," she lets out a giggle, making your heart tremble at the thought of a tattoo gun against your arm, held by a pretty girl, at that. the ghanaian girl crushes the cigarettes in her hand, disposing it into the ashtray by the window. she continues, "trust me; i've gotten a few tattoos and piercings."

"you got any ideas?" manon asks, as she disinfects her supplies once more, being cautious, especially with somebody who was only getting their first tattoo. that same smile lingers on her face, wanting to try to rid the worry lines creasing your forehead.

you shake your head, "still dunno what to get, i just know i want it on my hand. any ideas from you? i know you have good ideas in that head of yours." your eyesbrows furrow in question, your eyes fixating on the girl's features. a smile dances on her cheeks, almost elated to recommend any.

"what category? like funny, memorable, y'know," manon bites the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from just pressing your velvety lips against hers. her eyes scan your features, trying to think of an idea.

"surprise me?" you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper, as your gaze softens, your breath hitching in anticipation. and manon was just a simple girl—a girl who couldn't help but indulge in your pleas, especially when you were the textbook definition of adorable.

and so, over and over again, the needle of her tattoo gun hits against your delicate skin. sometimes it breaks, though other times, your skin is left raw and swollen. her dark eyes bore into your face, chuckles escaping her breath at the way you tried to suppress your winces.

a smile dances at her cheeks, "you okay, pretty?" making your heart pound. you nod, your eyes bright, as you ease into manon's touch, the needle lifting every few minutes to give you some clarity. she rubs your shoulder gently while pausing, before continuing.

while she continued, you mindlessly rant on and on about work, your mouth running miles a minute. words spill from your lips, as the ghanaian girl softly hums, showing indication that she was listening. every few minutes, she makes small, humorous quips, playing along to your jokes.

"y'know hand tattoos can fade away easily," manon hums, her hand rubbing against yours to soothe your worries. she sucks a breath in through her teeth before continuing, "it's a shame, isn't it?"

"i could always come back to you—no big deal," you shrug, taking deep breaths to suppress the sounds of pure pain escaping you.

"already wanna see me again? i'm just that great, aren't i?" she teases, as she wears a shit-eating grin on her face. that same grin morphs into a smirk, the corner of her lips lifting into one hastily. manon cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows slightly raising.

the ghanaian girl continues, faking a questioning face, "well, i don’t know. you may have to convince me to do a touch-up on it." she scrunches her eyebrows, giggling.

a pout juts on your lips, "i could take you out for dinner, or well, advertise you! the same way lara does—always talkin' about your beautiful self and your work." you taunt, giving her a gentle smile.

"trying to bribe me now—wow! did not expect that," manon coaxes, as her gaze fixates back on your hand, the needle leaving marks on your hand. as she finishes it up, she softly hums. standing up, manon grins at her work.

the tattoo had come out flawless, the cross-hatching done by the girl practically perfect. you blink your eyes, almost shocked at the sheer precision and patience needed for the perfect thickness of the lines; you knew manon was talented, but fuck.

on your hand was a crown etched onto it; you didn't know the meaning of it at all, but you could tell it meant something to the ghanaian girl. breaking your train of thought was her gentle, melodic voice.

"you like it?"

"'course i do! holy shit," you exclaim, immediately standing up, and pressing yourself against manon, wrapping your arms around the ghanaian girl's neck. safe to say, you were practically over the moon.

raising her fists, manon reciprocates your sheer enthusiasm, "i've won! you ought to take me on that dinner date, y'know." your eyes widen at her request, your eyebrows shooting up, alongside your smile wide. excitement bled from you, traveling through your veins.

shameless, without little thought in your head, you plea, "really? we have to!" your pleas elicit a series of chuckles from manon, the girl rubbing your shoulder. catching her breath, she nods.

"you and i, tomorrow night. i get off my shift earlier tomorrow," the ghanaian girl proposes, her eyes scanning your face for any indication of emotions. in response, you press your lips against manon's cheek gently.

"see you then, pretty girl," you drawl, slipping your payment into her pockets, as you saunter away.

tucked away in a small, up-scale restaurant in the heart of the beach, you and manon made quip remarks towards one-another. with your cheeks and ears flushed, you kept a lingering smile adorning your face. the moon hung low in the sky, as you two look out the window, your gazes' tracing the stars. a giggle escapes your breath, as your hand cups manon's jaw, gently drawing patterns on her cheeks.

shortly, though, the ghanaian girl dragged you to the waves, swinging you around in exhilaration. sitting down on the sand, you two ease against one-another's touch, interlacing hands. the beach ripples crashing harshly contrast your guys' gentle touches, the dark, midnight-hued water glimmering.

"thank you for this date," manon murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as she swallows a lump down her throat, "maybe i'll actually touch-up your tattoo now." her words elicit a giggle from you, as you nudge her.

feeling the breezy, cold air hitting against your skin, you take deep breaths—only for the ghanaian girl to cover your shoulders in her jacket. a wide, animated grin plasters her face, making you swoon in endearment.

"what was the crown for anyway?" you mumble, turning your head to face the girl, as you raise your hand up, your new crown tattoo now in sight. she shakes her head, her gaze softening.

"it's like, a light of hope—just a small touch from me to you," manon rasps out, leaning further towards you, as her eyes were practically of hearts while etched on your lips. your lips fall open, as the ghanaian girl presses her lips against yours, her touch firm and precise.

her hands find its way to your hips, your breath hitching. a playful glint appears in manon's eyes, as she nips at your lower lip, her kisses fervent and magnetic. your hands meet her neck, the ghanaian girl shivering at the trifling lace of your cold hands.

"i better get that touch-up for my tattoo if it fades away," you playfully assert, now straddling the girl's lap, as you cup her cheeks, tenderly squeezing them. before you could press your impatient lips against manon's, her phone blares out a ding.

dani: you forgot to turn the lights off today.

xo tatted all over her body, yeah (body, yeah)

she just wanna roll, and i don't mind it, yeah

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

"Guess I'm Just Good With Them" - 2

PAIRINGS: James "Bucky" Barnes x SingleMom!Reader

WARNINGS: Slight insecurities about being a single mom, extreme fluffiness

WORD COUNT: 915

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

Sinking into the couch, you groan. It's been an hour trying to put Leila to sleep. And with consistency, you finally have achieved that goal. You run your hands over your face trying to get the drowsiness to evade your eyes, you need to do some more chores. And you know you won't be able to get to them in the morning, with work and the babysitter coming to sit Leila.

Your phone pings. That's weird, it never pings.

It only does when it's your co-worker asking to cover their shift, or it's when your boss is telling you the unfortunate news of you having to work overtime.

But it is neither of those situations. It's an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: Hey there, this is James from Walmart.

You stare at the electronic brick in your hands. You tap on the notification and see the actual message.

Your jaw drops. He actually texted you. James actually texted you.

Your heart races slightly as your thumbs do that little dance over your screen. Biting your lip, you think about what you should write about.

YOU: Hi James! How are you? :)

You groan and tip your head back, thinking your reply is similar to that of a fourth grader. But, that thought instantly vanishes as you see the texting bubble on his side jump in a pattern. While they do you save his name in your contacts.

JAMES: I'm doing alright. How are you, and Leila? 🙂

You let out a deep breath and type again.

YOU: Oh! We’re doing well, thank you. YOU: Happy to hear that you’re doing well too! :)

What’s with you and that smiley face, you whine in embarrassment and throw your phone to the side. “God, why am I like this?” You whine as you run your hands down your face. You never thought twice about texting.

But when it comes to James, you had to. You don’t know why, but you feel flutters in your belly when your brain strays to think about him. You don’t force your brain to do so, it’s just a second nature, an unconscious habit.

You can’t help but think about his charming smile that was on display the whole time Leila looked at him, the way he let your baby girl play with his metal arm, the way he would coo at her when she became fussy.

Your phone pings. Reaching for your phone, you inhale and open the text.

JAMES: That is great to hear. 🙂

You push out your lips, wondering what to reply with.

YOU: :)

You internally groan at your teenage-like response.

JAMES: I just wanted to know if you and Leila are busy this weekend.

You’re heart races again, is he going to ask you out?

YOU: We're not :). Why?

Ok, you were really bold with that response.

JAMES: There is this thing at the Zoo a friend told me about, thought it would be a good idea for Leila to see it?

You are in shock, he really thought about your daughter when his friend mentioned a Zoo.

YOU: That’s a great idea :)

There’s a smile on your face when you hit send on your reply. The bubbles pop up again on James’ side.

JAMES: What about her mother? 🙂

Your heart does a loop. You re-read the message at least 10 times, repeating the words out loud just to make sure if you read it right. And you did.

He, kind of, asked you out.

YOU: Her mother would be happy :)

-----

The shade really did nothing to cool you off from the summer sun. You adjusted the battery powered fan to face Leila completely on the arm rest of the stroller.

Getting up from your bent position you see James approaching you with a backpack on his shoulders. He gives you that sheepish smile he gave you the first time you met. You raise your hand and wave at him, and he returns a two fingered wave.

“Hey,” he smiles at you again, before squatting and caressing Leila’s cheek with his finger. “Heya, peanut,” he smiles, and Leila giggles and grabs onto James’ finger.

“Ah, Leila. We don’t grab fingers, bubba,” you say slowly at your little girl. Leila slowly lets go of James’ finger but still smiles at him.

“She’s learning to listen,” he chuckles, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. You laugh and respond, “only because you are here, James. Otherwise, it’s a cryfest.” James laughs at your statement, nodding his head.

“Please, call me Bucky. My fri-people who know me do,” he clears his throat, and you nod smiling. “Of course, Bucky,” she smiles, and it immediately is pulled into a frown when Leila starts to whine. You’re quick to pick her up and carry her at your waist.

“She was fussy during nap time this morning, I'm sorry,” you explain, your insecurities of being not a good enough mom started to kick in.

Bucky gives a sympathetic smile and he nods along. He puts his hand on the stroller, “I can push the stroller.”

"Really?" You ask in shock, bouncing Leila in your arms. Bucky chuckles and nods, "yeah, it's not a problem for me."

"Thank you," you give a downward smile, and he smiles back.

“Shall we?” He asks with a small grin, ready to push the stroller.

You smile and nod, this man really is the nicest thing that has happened to you in a while.

💌💌💌

TAGLIST <3: @toffeacademia

Here is the part two lovelies!!!

I will be transferring this to a series, so yay!

(if you wanna be tagged in the series, pls comment here 🤗🤗)

The next thing I'm most gonna be posting is the first chapter of "Infinite Solutions"

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[mostlysignssomeportents]

No, “convenience” isn’t the problem

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Using Amazon, or Twitter, or Facebook, or Google, or Doordash, or Uber doesn't make you lazy. Platform capitalism isn't enshittifying because you made the wrong shopping choices.

Remember, the reason these corporations were able to capture such substantial market-share is that the capital markets saw them as a bet that they could lose money for years, drive out competition, capture their markets, and then raise prices and abuse their workers and suppliers without fear of reprisal. Investors were chasing monopoly power, that is, companies that are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

The tactics that let a few startups into Big Tech are illegal under existing antitrust laws. It's illegal for large corporations to buy up smaller ones before they can grow to challenge their dominance. It's illegal for dominant companies to merge with each other. "Predatory pricing" (selling goods or services below cost to prevent competitors from entering the market, or to drive out existing competitors) is also illegal. It's illegal for a big business to use its power to bargain for preferential discounts from its suppliers. Large companies aren't allowed to collude to fix prices or payments.

But under successive administrations, from Jimmy Carter through to Donald Trump, corporations routinely broke these laws. They explicitly and implicitly colluded to keep those laws from being enforced, driving smaller businesses into the ground. Now, sociopaths are just as capable of starting small companies as they are of running monopolies, but that one store that's run by a colossal asshole isn't the threat to your wellbeing that, say, Walmart or Amazon is.

All of this took place against a backdrop of stagnating wages and skyrocketing housing, health, and education costs. In other words, even as the cost of operating a small business was going up (when Amazon gets a preferential discount from a key supplier, that supplier needs to make up the difference by gouging smaller, weaker retailers), Americans' disposable income was falling.

So long as the capital markets were willing to continue funding loss-making future monopolists, your neighbors were going to make the choice to shop "the wrong way." As small, local businesses lost those customers, the costs they had to charge to make up the difference would go up, making it harder and harder for you to afford to shop "the right way."

In other words: by allowing corporations to flout antimonopoly laws, we set the stage for monopolies. The fault lay with regulators and the corporate leaders and finance barons who captured them – not with "consumers" who made the wrong choices. What's more, as the biggest businesses' monopoly power grew, your ability to choose grew ever narrower: once every mom-and-pop restaurant in your area fires their delivery drivers and switches to Doordash, your choice to order delivery from a place that payrolls its drivers goes away.

Monopolists don't just have the advantage of nearly unlimited access to the capital markets – they also enjoy the easy coordination that comes from participating in a cartel. It's easy for five giant corporations to form conspiracies because five CEOs can fit around a single table, which means that some day, they will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

By contrast, "consumers" are atomized – there are millions of us, we don't know each other, and we struggle to agree on a course of action and stick to it. For "consumers" to make a difference, we have to form institutions, like co-ops or buying clubs, or embark on coordinated campaigns, like boycotts. Both of these tactics have their place, but they are weak when compared to monopoly power.

Luckily, we're not just "consumers." We're also citizens who can exercise political power. That's hard work – but so is organizing a co-op or a boycott. The difference is, when we dog enforcers who wield the power of the state, and line up behind them when they start to do their jobs, we can make deep structural differences that go far beyond anything we can make happen as consumers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

We're not just "consumers" or "citizens" – we're also workers, and when workers come together in unions, they, too, can concentrate the diffuse, atomized power of the individual into a single, powerful entity that can hold the forces of capital in check:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

And all of these things work together; when regulators do their jobs, they protect workers who are unionizing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

And strong labor power can force cartels to abandon their plans to rig the market so that every consumer choice makes them more powerful:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

And when consumers can choose better, local, more ethical businesses at competitive rates, those choices can make a difference:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/10/view-a-sku/

Antimonopoly policy is the foundation for all forms of people-power. The very instant corporations become too big to fail, jail or care is the instant that "voting with your wallet" becomes a waste of time.

Sure, choose that small local grocery, but everything on their shelves is going to come from the consumer packaged-goods duopoly of Procter and Gamble and Unilever. Sure, hunt down that local brand of potato chips that you love instead of P&G or Unilever's brand, but if they become successful, either P&G or Unilever will buy them out, and issue a press release trumpeting the purchase, saying "We bought out this beloved independent brand and added it to our portfolio because we know that consumers value choice."

If you're going to devote yourself to solving the collective action problem to make people-power work against corporations, spend your precious time wisely. As Zephyr Teachout writes in Break 'Em Up, don't miss the protest march outside the Amazon warehouse because you spent two hours driving around looking for an independent stationery so you could buy the markers and cardboard to make your anti-Amazon sign without shopping on Amazon:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

When blame corporate power on "laziness," we buy into the corporations' own story about how they came to dominate our lives: we just prefer them. This is how Google explains away its 90% market-share in search: we just chose Google. But we didn't, not really – Google spends tens of billions of dollars every single year buying up the search-box on every website, phone, and operating system:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Blaming "laziness" for corporate dominance also buys into the monopolists' claim that the only way to have convenient, easy-to-use services is to cede power to them. Facebook claims it's literally impossible for you to carry on social relations with the people that matter to you without also letting them spy on you. When we criticize people for wanting to hang out online with the people they love, we send the message that they need to choose loneliness and isolation, or they will be complicit in monopoly.

The problem with Google isn't that it lets you find things. The problem with Facebook isn't that it lets you talk to your friends. The problem with Uber isn't that it gets you from one place to another without having to stand on a corner waving your arm in the air. The problem with Amazon isn't that it makes it easy to locate a wide variety of products. We should stop telling people that they're wrong to want these things, because a) these things are good; and b) these things can be separated from the monopoly power of these corporate bullies:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

Remember the Napster Wars? The music labels had screwed over musicians and fans. 80 percent of all recorded music wasn't offered for sale, and the labels cooked the books to make it effectively impossible for musicians to earn out their advances. Napster didn't solve all of that (though they did offer $15/user/month to the labels for a license to their catalogs), but there were many ways in which it was vastly superior to the system it replaced.

The record labels responded by suing tens of thousands of people, mostly kids, but also dead people and babies and lots of other people. They demanded an end to online anonymity and a system of universal surveillance. They wanted every online space to algorithmically monitor everything a user posted and delete anything that might be a copyright infringement.

These were the problems with the music cartel: they suppressed the availability of music, screwed over musicians, carried on a campaign of indiscriminate legal terror, and lobbied effectively for a system of ubiquitous, far-reaching digital surveillance and control:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

You know what wasn't a problem with the record labels? The music. The music was fine. Great, even.

But some of the people who were outraged with the labels' outrageous actions decided the problem was the music. Their answer wasn't to merely demand better copyright laws or fairer treatment for musicians, but to demand that music fans stop listening to music from the labels. Somehow, they thought they could build a popular movement that you could only join by swearing off popular music.

That didn't work. It can't work. A popular movement that you can only join by boycotting popular music will always be unpopular. It's bad tactics.

When we blame "laziness" for tech monopolies, we send the message that our friends have to choose between life's joys and comforts, and a fair economic system that doesn't corrupt our politics, screw over workers, and destroy small, local businesses. This isn't true. It's a lie that monopolists tell to justify their abuse. When we repeat it, we do monopolists' work for them – and we chase away the people we need to recruit for the meaningful struggles to build worker power and political power.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/12/give-me-convenience/#or-give-me-death

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[valley-of-headcanons]

Heyy! So I just found your stuff and it’s all super cute I love this kind of thing 😊 feel free to decline but do you think you could do a little fluffy one shot type thing where you’re just gaming with Sebastian and then whoops you both fall in love 😳

best gamer of all time || sebastian x reader oneshot

hanging out with your friends is always fun, but gaming alone with him may be your new favorite thing <3

warnings: fluff fluff fluff fluff oh my god, you may suck at this game but you do NOT suck at winning his heart

requested by: @juleboo , this is such an adorable request! i'm sorry this took like forty billion years, life has decided to kick me off my feet, but im doing a lot better so yippeeeee. i hope you enjoy, hopefully it was worth the long wait 🙏

Hanging out on a Saturday night was a ritual for you, Sebastian, Abigail, and Sam. You all rotate on who's place you hang out at, and tonight was Sebastian's. Abigail was laid out on the couch, Sebastian sitting on his bed, and you and Sam were on the floor. After a very intense game of Jackbox, with a lot of chaotic answers and laughter, it was nearing midnight.

“I cannot believe you put that! That was a direct jab at me and you know it!” Sam said towards Abigail's direction, obviously not actually upset.

“Then clean up the fuckin' pizza boxes in your room! That rat would've become your best friend if your mom didn't find him- wait- what time is it? ... oh shit, my dad is gonna kick my ass!” Abigail said, jumping up at lightning speed and grabbing her bag. “Sorry to kill the party, love you guys, if I get lectured one more time this week I am going to pull out my hair. Bye bye!”

And off she goes, leaving just as chaotic as she came. Sounds about right. The remaining three of you laughed, before Sam stood up and grabbed his things as well. “For some reason Mom wants me to come to church in the morning, she saw some lyrics to one of our songs and she kind of flipped her shit. Soooo, gotta atone for my sins. Have fun you two,” he said, sending a small wink Sebastian's way before making his way up the stairs.

You saw the wink, it definitely caught you off guard. You immediately snapped your head towards Sebastian. “What was that for?” you said with a smirk, which wasn't held for long. It slipped into a smile, moving from the floor to the now empty couch.

Sebastian's expression remained neutral, rolling his eyes. “Sam is always up to something, ignore him. Do you wanna stay and hang for a little while? I don't have anything to do tomorrow,” he said, looking towards the cabinet of games that sat beside his gaming console. He never asked anyone to stay later, especially when it's his night to host. He usually wants everyone out, Sebastian cherishes his alone time.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach when he asked you this, he actually wanted to spend more time with you? You felt so honored and special, of course you were going to stay. “Yeah, what did you wanna do?”

“I bought a game, it's co-op. Wanna try it out? It's a platformer, it seems pretty easy,” he said, walking over to the cabinet and grabbing the case. He made his way back over to you, showing you the back of the case, carefully studying your features. He wanted to make sure you were actually interested, and when your face lit up, he couldn't hold back a smile. It was rare for him, but it was perfect.

“Hell yeah, let's pop this bad boy in!” you said, sitting up excitedly and scooting over so that you two could share the couch. After 'popping that bad boy in', he sat next to you and handed you the controller.

Sebastian put on the tutorial before beginning to show you the controls. He described what to do, but due to your drowsiness from working all day, you just couldn't grasp what the controls were. “Here,” he mumbled, thinking for a moment before carefully putting his hands over yours.

“Alright, shoot with this button, alright?” he said, making sure not to get too close to you. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but these little touches were really nice ... he could get used to this.

“Mhm ...” you hummed, although your brain was short-circuiting. Every single thought in your brain was rendered useless in that moment, every place where you two touched felt like it was on fire. You clumsily tried to recreate his movements, shooting when he asked and jumping when he instructed. You learned the controls, but barely.

“Got it?” he said simply, slowly beginning to let go of you. He didn't really want to, but he didn't want to overstep your boundaries. He really cared about you, he didn't want to jeopardize that.

With a hesitant nod of confirmation, you two began the game. It was a mess, you definitely did not grasp the controls whatsoever. However, he enjoyed seeing what kind of trouble you got yourself into. How could you even get up there?

“Okay- when you jump, press the trigger to latch on to that cliff, and do NOT let go-” he tried to explain as you jumped with all of your might ... just to not even touch the cliff. Your body hit the floor with a splat, and you both sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other. Small snickers turned into full blown laughter, falling down onto the couch as you both held your faces.

“How the hell am I so stupid?? That was so easy! How the hell did I miss that??” you cackled, wiping the tears that began to fall from your eyes.

“I have no idea but it was one of the best things I've ever seen,” Sebastian's laughter began to quiet as he sat up, his gaze making its way down to you. You looked so perfect in the soft light of the television, so happy from the laughter that was encasing the both of you. He could not stop smiling.

“What?” you said softly, a gigantic grin on your face. You couldn't move, you just wanted to stay in this moment forever.

“... nothing. Just ... capturing this moment,” Sebastian said in a gentle tone, taking a deep breath before looking back at the screen. “You're a ghost now, but you can still help me and eventually I can revive you.”

You slowly sat up, but you had an idea. You slid a little closer to him than you were before, your legs touching. “Alright, I'll be the best fuckin' ghost in town,” you laughed, knowing you were bound to fuck it up but you had no care in the world. This was too fun.

He looked over at your legs touching, smiling even wider before continuing the game. He would ask you to do things as a ghost as you did ... with enough trial and error. He did notice that you kept adjusting and scooting closer and closer. He really liked this.

“Do you know how to freeze someone?" he asked, which you shook your head to. “Let me see this-” he mumbled, wrapping his arm around you, definitely just wanting to help you see the controls. You were essentially sitting in his lap at this point, a soft pink blush creeping onto both of your faces.

His face was so close, pressed almost right up against yours ... you wanted to stay here forever, but you didn't want to say anything that would ruin the moment. Nervous silence held you two for a moment, before he did something that both of you wanted more than anything. He carefully kissed your cheek, before going back to the game as if nothing ever happened.

Your brain melted, a feeling of bliss overtaking your body. You've been waiting for that for ages. You slowly leaned back into his chest as he laid down his controller for a moment. He wrapped his arms around your waist for a moment, giving you a careful squeeze. You reached your arms up around his neck, hugging him back. Neither of you cared about the game anymore.

“Stay here tonight. If you want to,” Sebastian muttered softly, holding your body close to his. He didn't dare let go, and neither did you.

You stayed there that night, you stayed wrapped up in his arms until the daylight and you had to work on your farm. But you hoped one day, you could wake up next to him everyday. Maybe someday, but for now, you had many Saturday nights where you stayed over later than everybody else.

[mystic-writings]

closing time | robin buckley

PAIRING — robin buckley x fem!reader

SUMMARY — robin has a crush on you. what happens when you're locked in keith's office after the store closes?

WARNINGS — fluff, banter, love confessions, mentions of panic/anxiety & season three

WORD COUNT — 2,353

NOTES — something short and sweet for my beloved robin!! i hope y'all enjoy and don't forget to leave feedback please! also, this was very loosely inspired by sparks fly by taylor swift

masterlist | navigation

Robin Buckley was utterly, helplessly, in love. 

There was no denying it anymore; Robin was completely in love with you. She would light up every time you walked into class; her heart stopped every time you smiled at her, and spluttered back to life when you’d say her name. Her mind ran away from her every time you shared a shift at the video store, full of daydreams of what you and her would even do if you dated, only to be shut down by the brutal fear of rejection. 

 But you didn’t know that.

As far as Robin Buckley was aware, you only thought of her as your anxious, rambling friend who, more often than not, spent her shifts making fun of your co-worker Steve and his almost inexplicable lack of game. 

Most of the time that she was around you, Robin was forced to ‘act normal’, as if she’d ever done that before. It usually resulted in useless rambles about something weird she’d read about, like gingivitis or how most of the backdrop scenes from Star Wars were actually just still paintings. But you usually seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and that took some of the uncomfortable anxiety away. And sometimes, you’d even laugh. A genuine one, too, and it would make Robin’s day.

Tonight was a lot like that. It was Friday, and the typical customer buzz around the store was enough to keep you, Robin, and Steve occupied for a while. But by 9pm, the clientele died out, and the three of you were behind the counter playing a round of Crazy 8s. 

“Hah!” Robin said, slamming her palm to the pile of cards. She pulled it back to reveal an 8 of clubs, a proud smile on her face. “Suck it, Steve! Last card,” she huffed, leaning on the counter as you and Steve stared expectantly at her. “Oh, right. And it’s hearts now.”

Steve huffed, glancing at his cards before taking one from the pick-up pile. “Dick move, Buckley.”

“Dick face, Harrington.”

“What does that even mean?” You asked, looking at yours before placing a 3 on the pile. 

Robin just shrugged, her lips forming a smirk as she placed her final card down. “I win!” 

“Alright, I’m out,” Steve huffed, tossing his cards on the pile. You couldn’t help the overwhelming amount of clubs he had, causing you to stifle a giggle. “See you losers tomorrow.” 

“Good luck with that, Steve, ‘cause I won’t be here.” You mentioned, scooping the cards into your hands. “Mom’s taking me to Indianapolis for some family thing. Had to cancel my morning shift, which means…” 

Steve, who had been retrieving his jacket and car keys from under the counter, turned back with what you could only describe as a look of horror painted on his face. “No,” 

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’.

“No! You can’t do this to me, Y/n!” 

“I already did, Steve.” You began shuffling the cards. 

“But Keith always smells like eggs in the mornings! And he hates me,” Steve whined. “I can’t believe you.” 

“Sorry,” you shrugged half-heartedly. “Can’t un-cancel my shift now, Keith’ll be pissed if I call him this late.” 

Robin scoffed, arms folded across her chest as she watched you shuffle the cards intently. “No, he won’t. He’s practically in love with you.” 

You shuddered at the thought. “Ew, gross. Please never say those words to me again, Robin. I beg of you. I think I’ll die, or… contract something if I think about it for more than 30 seconds.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve gotta get outta here,” Steve said, spinning his keys on his finger. “See you weirdos later.” 

You and Robin shouted farewells as he exited the store, the bell ringing, signifying his departure. Glancing up at Robin from your focus on the deck of cards, you asked, “Another round?” 

The girl nodded, a shaky exhale leaving her lips. You were closing together, and while it wasn’t uncommon, time alone with you was something Robin treasured. And the way you looked up at her through your eyelashes… Robin was going to be combating the butterflies in her stomach all night, it seemed. 

The next hour seemed to fly by with no issues. 

No customers came by after Steve left, so you and Robin played cards and watched a movie on the big TV hanging from the ceiling until your watch beeped, signalling 10pm — closing time. 

The pair of you worked in tandem, one of you counting the cash and working out what the deposit would be while the other made sure that everything looked nice and that the return carts were empty — of course they were, Steve had done them long before he left. 

Disaster struck when you went into Keith’s office to finish closing for the night. 

The analog clock on Keith’s desk read 10:18pm when you passed it, Robin just behind you. All that was left was to write up the deposit in an email and send it to the regional inbox. It was a delicate procedure, to say the least, but with Robin reading everything out to you as you typed it up made things a lot easier. 

“You got that?” Robin asked, hopping off the desk beside you. 

You glanced at her, fingers typing away. “Yeah, Robin, I think I can remember how many five dollar bills were put in the deposit envelope.”

Robin snorted beside you, the already-open safe door creaking as she pulled it. Slipping the envelope inside, along with the deposit slip, she shut the door with a loud clang, causing you to flinch slightly. 

“And…” you pressed a few final buttons on the keyboard, the computer trilling as the email finished sending. “We’re off! Let’s shut this place down and get the hell out of here.”

“As if I’d actually want to stay,” Robin grimaced as you powered down the computer. “This place smells like…” Robin sniffed the air, her face scrunching further. “Cheetos and B.O.” 

You giggled, pushing the chair into the desk. “Gross,” 

Robin made her way to the office door, a giddy smile on her face. “What? I’m right! It’s like Keith doesn’t know what air freshener is. Or a shower.”

She pulled on the door, her smile falling as she twisted the knob. 

“What? Robin, what is it?” 

“I— I don’t know,” Robin twisted the doorknob again, pulling the door toward her, to no avail. She twisted again, frantically, panic setting into her gut. “I think it’s locked!” 

“No,” you nearly gasped. “It can’t be locked!” 

“Okay, well, I’m turning the doorknob and it’s not moving, so…!” Robin said, voice shaking as she turned to look back at you. 

“Let me try, Robin. Maybe it’s just stuck.” You suggested. Robin relented, stepping to the side as you grasped the cool metal. You twisted and pulled, your movements growing frustrated and frantic as you realised that the door wasn’t stuck — you were, in fact, locked in. “Damn it!” You exclaimed, kicking the door. “I can’t believe this,” 

Robin’s hands flew to her hair, grasping at her scalp as she tried to calm herself down. She watched you begin to pace, chewing on your thumbnail, thinking of something, anything you could do to get yourselves out of this office. 

You were suddenly beginning to feel cramped, like the walls were closing in on you. But you took a breath, eyes scanning the room, landing on the phone conveniently placed on Keith’s desk. “Ha!” 

Robin watched you rush to the other side of the desk, picking up the receiver and beginning to dial a number. “Are you calling the police?”

“The police?” You scrunched up your nose, holding the receiver to your ear. “No, that’s stupid. I’m calling Steve.” 

“Calling the police when we’re locked in a room with no way out is stupid?” Robin scoffed, taking up your previous state of pacing. 

The phone rang in your ear as you sat down on the chair. “Of course it is, Robin. Steve has a set of keys, and there’s pretty much a guarantee that no one’s going to answer a Friday night call. They’re all out busting parties and pulling over drunk drivers. They’re gonna put us on the back burner. But Steve won’t. Besides, he’s not doing anything tonight, his date cancelled on him this morning.” 

Robin barely acknowledged your words, mind running wild with the thoughts running through her head. Steve would help, of course he would. Ever since Starcourt, he knew how much Robin hated being stuck somewhere with no way to get out. She just hoped he’d get here quickly. Being stuck in a room with no real way out was one thing, but being stuck in a room with the girl you’re practically in love with was something entirely different. 

“Steve!” You practically shouted with joy.

“Jesus,” Steve groaned. “Tone it down, please! What’s up?”

You huffed, leaning back in Keith’s chair. “Look, Robin and I locked ourselves in the office, somehow, and we need you to come by with your keys and let us out.” Steve sighed on the other line. “Pretty please? I’ll buy you Burger King on Sunday.” 

“Fine. But I’m taking my sweet time getting there. I’m on the other side of town, if you even care to know.” 

“I know where you live, Steve.” You rolled your eyes. “Just hurry up. I think Robin’s losing her mind in here.”

“When is she not losing her mind?” 

“Steve,” you warned, sighing a farewell as he hung up on you. “Okay, he’ll be here soon. I think.” 

“God,” Robin groaned, palms pressed to her forehead. “My mom’s gonna kill me. My cousins are coming into town for the week and I’m supposed to clean tomorrow and instead I’m stuck here, in a room that smells like death, where I’ll probably actually die! Of, like, dehydration or starvation or something meanwhile my cousin Evan is happily sitting on my mom’s couch eating cookies or something!” 

“Starvation?” You asked yourself as you stood from the chair. “Robin, it’ll be fine. Steve’s on his way,” 

The girl barely acknowledged you, still pacing, arms flying around as she spoke. “And, by the way, starvation? A really painful way to die! It hurts, Y/n, a lot. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve read, but who am I to judge! I mean, I’ve never starved to death before! Not until now, at least!” 

You sighed, stepping in Robin’s path, making sure to grab her shoulders firmly, eyes locked onto hers. “Robin,” you said, eyebrows raised as the girl fell silent. “Steve should be here anytime soon. We won’t starve to death. All we have to do is wait out the half an hour before he gets here, max. We’ll be fine.” 

Robin’s eyebrows cinched before she shook her head. “But what if something bad happens, Y/n? Then what are we gonna do? We’ll die! And I can’t die! I haven’t seen Evan since I was 9! He lives in Pennsylvania! Hershey, Pennsylvania! Do you have any idea how far that is?”

“It’s, like, an 8 hour drive, Robin,” you said, voice quiet. Your eyes stayed locked on hers, watching the anxiety swim through her green irises. It was like you could see the gears turning, clicking and grinding to form more anxious thoughts for her to spew out in a breathless panic. 

“Not to mention the smell in here! It’s horrible! I mean, seriously, could Keith not afford a fan, or-or some sort of air freshener! And the windows! They’re so small, and they barely open, and—” 

Robin’s words ceased when you pulled her forward, crashing your lips onto hers. Her muscles tensed for a moment, eyes wide, until she realised you were kissing her. You were kissing her. Robin barely had the time to kiss you back, to place her hands gingerly on your waist before you were pulling back, sucking in air. 

“What was that for?” Robin asked, voice squeaking. 

You only smiled. “I really needed you to stop talking.” You joked, a hesitant hand reaching up to brush some of Robin’s hair from her face. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that for, like, 6 months.” 

“Oh,” Robin said, nodding briefly before she smiled, cheeks burning red. “Can you do it again?” 

You smiled wide, nodding ecstatically before placing your hands on Robin’s neck, pulling her closer so that you could kiss her again. 

It was slower this time, a test of the waters as you both melted into one another’s touch. A delicate kiss, one that said a lot more than either of you could find the words for. Robin’s fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, her mind barely comprehending what was happening right now. 

The rest of the world seemed to fall away at that moment, so much so that neither of you paid attention to the soundscape around you, failing to hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock — the door to the office squealing as it opened, and the subsequent screams of Steve Harrington. 

“What the hell, guys!” Steve screamed, covering his eyes as you and Robin jumped away from one another, lips swollen and cheeks burning. “I leave you by yourselves for an hour and a half and you’ve got your tongues down each other’s throats!” 

“Thanks, Steve,” you said, sheepish as you took Robin’s hand, leading her past his gobsmacked form. 

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than just Burger King for making me see that.” 

“Sure thing!” You called out as you and Robin slung your bags over your shoulders.

“Thank you, dingus!” Robin shouted over her shoulder, smiling wide at Steve, following you out of the store.

You huffed a laugh and smiled at Robin, swinging your hands as you grabbed your keys from your pocket. “Want a ride home?”

“Sure,” Robin smiled, relishing the feeling of your hand in hers. She made sure to keep it there during the entire drive to her house, and as often as she could after that, too.

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

robin buckley taglist: @sunshine-daisies-library (open!)

taglist form here!

[toomanythoughts2]

Here's some miscellaneous Metalocalypse headcanons. I'm gonna put them here just to get them down.

Skwisgaar has flat feet, which will result in leg problems later in his life.

Toki has nerve damage to his back and he can't feel it in places. He has to go to massage therapy for it every week so it doesn't get too bad.

Murderface has long hair, his fro is just so dense. It's as long as Skiwsgaar's hair.

Stella Murderface is William Murderface's paternal grandmother, so his mother is Stella's Daughter-In-Law and his father is their biological son. Murderface's looks skipped his father, so his father and his mother were average looking individuals. The idea that Murderface's looks were the catalysis for his father's mental break were probably intensified because of the paternal skip.

Murderface's mom was very excited for William's birth. She spent a long time getting ready for his arrival. William was a wanted, planned child, whose mother was fully encapsulated in being a good mom. She took so many photos of her pregnancy and had a baby book prepared. Mama Murderface was fully ready to be a mom. When William was born, she fell in love with him. William is probably less than a year when they died, but more than 4 months. Up until their death, his mom obsessed over him, loved him, cared for him. There are so many baby photos of him up until their death, and his baby book ends at the same age of when they died.

Murderface has multiple photos of his mother tucked safely in his room. He looks at them when he's feeling particularly sad and lost. He'll look back over the home movies she took, listen to her voice, listen to how much she loved him and how she was waiting for him. He blocks out his father in the video as much as he can. He hates him more than he hates himself.

Toki has a hobby grave yard. However, he is not afraid of any hobby and will at least become competent in them.

Pickles still doesn't really understand the internet. He's got the concept but it alludes him for the most part.

Toki's family is actually the black sheep of the majority of the family and Toki is the black sheep within the black sheep.

Toki was on his way to becoming the next Reverend after Aslaug, but the family at large was very wary of this possible development. They avoided Toki at all cost due to his presence with death and his possible future position in the family.

Everyone has neck pain from head banging and windmilling, so they have physical therapy on their necks to keep them strong and to stop any further deterioration.

Nathan has back pain. Like really bad back pain. Him and his father, since they are larger men, have consistent back issues that make it hard to stand for long hours.

Rose is Nathan's biggest supporter. She co-signed on the apartment, she helped get him his first van, she helped pick out stage clothes, she painted his nails. He would read his lyrics out to her (and his dad) at the dinner table and she would help him with lyrics and support his direction. Rose knew that Nathan's life was not leading him to college, but to something else, and she fully believed that he could do anything he set his mind to.

Skwisgaar is double jointed and can pop and crack his knuckles. Murderface and Pickles DESPISE it.

While there are many "Deaddy Bears", there is only one true, original Deaddy Bear. It's the one that got burnt up in "Dethkids" but it came back afterwards. Why? BECAUSE IT'S POSSESSED! ITS A POSSESSED DEADDY BEAR KINDA LIKE THE VELVETEEN RABBIT! TOKI MADE IT BE ALIVE WITH HIS LOVE AND THE TRUAMA! TOKI NEVER QUESTIONS IT AND THE BAND IS VERY WORRIED ABOUT IT!

Murderface has gotten himself stuck in the Iron Maiden before.

There's a lot more wholesome/domestic moments within the band dynamic than their fans or even the label knows about. It's regular shit, like a routine they have worked out with themselves about how to live with each other without going crazy.

They do the "Do you want my broccoli?" "I can take your rice." "Here, take the pepper, I dont want it." kind of switch with their food when they go out. It's just a choirs of plate scraps from one plate to another.

[l0v3tast3]

the pervy older bf konig was amazing, pleaseee can we get one for price!! on my knees begging cos damn the konig one hit the spot mammm

god i love john price so fucking much. he makes my daddy issues go off the damn charts and his voice?!?!?! good god (*♡∀♡) also uwu tysm ily anon i hope you like this!!! <33

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 18, john is late 30's), body worship, semi-public s3x, car s3x, mirror s3x, he fucks you while you're on the phone with your mom, dirty talk, abuse of pet names, edging, overstimulation, tiny bit of dacryphilia, some fluff, john is basically your sugar daddy

✎ word count: 1.6k (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who wouldn't take his hands off of you even if there was a gun to his head. you're just so soft and full of youth, it makes him feel a little bit younger too. he's obsessed with smoothing his hands and his lips over every inch of your skin, always taking his sweet time with you, always making sure to worship every bit of you before he presses your thighs to your chest.

✧ ˖ ° he doesn't take for granted what you give him; he makes sure to thank you in the best way he knows how. it's after a lavish dinner and a stroll along a beautiful river that involves him buying you flowers and chocolate from vendors open late. john always means to end the night with just a kiss, opening your door for you and leaning against the car to watch you walk down the street back to your house (you make him park a few houses down so your parents don't see him). somehow the drive always ends with the car parked in some inconspicuous spot so he can fuck you in the backseat, because you insisted that you couldn't stay at his house overnight without your parents asking too many questions.

✧ ˖ ° despite your disapproving whines and squirms, john still takes it slow while he has you laying in the back of his car. he does it mostly because he loves how your legs shake when he builds your orgasm slow, but also because he knows that your parents will call you to check in soon. sure enough, while he's got two fingers buried knuckle deep in you and his mouth latched around one your nipples, the buzzing tune of your ringtone sounds from your bag on the floor. you barely notice it until his mouth pops off your breast and his fingers nearly slow to a halt, and he's holding up your phone for it. "answer it, love. don't want to make them worry, right?"

✧ ˖ ° when you have the phone in your weak grasp he presses the answer button and sinks back down, grinning while he hears you stutter out your greeting. he picks up the pace again, curling his fingers into the spot that makes your hips jerk. your hand is pressed into your mouth as you try to listen to what your mom is saying. her bleating practically becomes white noise when john's tongue licks a stripe from your hole to your clit and starts laving across it. you manage to spout out that you'll be home soon, you and your friends lost track of time, and john makes sure the call is actually ended when you throw it onto the floor again before he finally makes you cum.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who absolutely loves fucking you in front of literally any reflective surface. bedroom mirror, bathroom mirror, entryway mirror, windows, the tv, anything will suffice if he can see your pretty tits bouncing while he fucks into you from behind. it's high on his (long) list of his favorite ways to have you.

✧ ˖ ° if you're standing up, he'll use one hand to keep your hips lifted high enough to line up with his, the other wrapped around your neck and partially holding your jaw to keep you looking at yourself. "look at how pretty you are, darling, don't y'see how beautiful you are? say it, love, tell me how pretty y'are. c'mon, know you can do it." when you try to avert your eyes in embarrassment he'll use the hand on your throat to press you into his chest, slowing his hips until he's dragging his thick cock back and forth across all the spots that make your brain go haywire. "you know the rules, darling, won't let you cum until y'say it. well? don't start being a brat now. we both know how that goes, don't we?"

✧ ˖ ° it's also a semi-regular occurrence for john to bring you shopping at higher-end stores and fuck you in the secluded dressing rooms. he sits and tells you how gorgeous you look in each pretty dress and outfit you try on, always doing a little spin for him that makes his dick twitch in his too-tight pants. after a particularly short sundress or skirt he follows you into your fitting room, feeling you up before you even get the chance to squeak about how he's not supposed to be in here with you. john loves watching you scratch at his arms as he holds you up to fuck you, one hand shoving his middle and ring fingers to keep you quiet. it's addicting how quickly he can make you forget that you could be caught by someone at any moment.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who might as well shine an actual spotlight on you when he brings you with to formal military events that he's "required" to attend (you always overhear about people skipping out when you're there). he tells you not to worry about buying a dress for it, and when you show up to his home you find he spent probably hundreds on a dress, heels, and all-matching jewelry, all matching your favorite style and colors. and he does it every time you go to an event, always buying you new things; not to mention the matching set of lingerie he gets you for each outfit.

✧ ˖ ° john makes sure to always wear a coat long enough to cover his straining cock when you squeeze his hand or press yourself closer to him when he brings you with. he knows you're nervous, never straying from his side and always glancing to make sure he was still next to you, but of course he wouldn't let you go even if you wanted to. there was always a hand on your back or waist or holding yours, kissing yours knuckles in between brief chats with other officials and soldiers.

✧ ˖ ° the way you cling to him while he introduces you to everyone he makes small talk with for a few minutes makes him so eager to leave already, to finally get home and rip off your dress (you've learned by now that he doesn't care how much he spent on it just to destroy it). just you being dependent on him made both john's heart and cock swell; you were so adorable with your puppy eyes looking up to him for what to do next.

✧ ˖ ° john wants nothing more than for you to rely on him and to trust him enough to take the reins for you. that especially applied to your sex life, of course. "there y'go, sweetheart, that's my girl. just let me handle it all. all you have to do is lay here all pretty and take my cock. i'll go slow, sweetheart, don't worry. i know you're still sensitive, but you can cum for me one more time, can't you? oh, don't whine, love, i know you can do it, just one more for me. you feel so good around me when you cum, don't you want to feel good too?"

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who is obsessed with making you cum. he only uses the threat of edging you as a way to get you to say or do whatever dirty thing he wants; the rest of the time, he prefers you to be a blabbering, overstimulated mess. he's known (by you) to spend hours going down on you, switching between his mouth and fingers when either gets tired. when you tug at his hair and try to push him away, you always get "jus' one more f'me, darling, know y'can," and a quick kiss to your thigh before he's right back at it.

✧ ˖ ° the sight of you trembling and twitching from the overload of pleasure he gives your little body is just the most satisfying sight in the world to john. after sating his near-constant hunger for your sweet cunt, he'll crawl up to hover over you and press kisses across your face, gently wiping away the trails of tears that escaped during his mouth's endless assault. "y'with me again, love?" he asks softly, pressing little kisses to your swollen lips until you start returning them. the moment is sweet and slow before he's pressing his cock into your tight hole, pushing deeper and deeper until his fat tip is kissing your cervix.

✧ ˖ ° john doesn't give you enough time for your nerves to calm down before he's thrusting into you; the gasps and whines and tiny pleas that stumble out about needing a break. "but i already gave you one darling, just now, remember? shit- so fuckin' tight, even after i spent so long workin' y'open- hah, don't try to squirm away, princess, just take it- fuuuck-" he groans. john's calloused hands collect your smaller ones to intertwine his fingers with yours and hold them above your head, nose-to-nose with you as he coos down at you about how well you're doing for him.

✧ ˖ ° every time he gets you into his bed (or yours, or any bed, really) you know you're in for a long night. john will fuck you until you're about to pass out. he lives for pushing your limits, finding new tricks to get you to cum faster or harder for him, molding you to his cock and drilling it into your head that he's ruined you for any other man.

[dallasgallant]

Country/southern slang and vernacular-

This is what I’m going with for the title as honestly I’m not sure what else you would call it, but it is also linked to class a little bit? It’s complicated. Anyways, surprised I haven’t done one like this sooner as I’ve done:

JD slang. 60s slang. Rodeo terms

However, it can’t include everything! As usual take this as a jumping off point, it’s funny as Oklahoma is technically southern, culturally and such. Some are sourced from general knowledge, others from southern or “Oklahoma slang” which heavily overlaps but is more accented.

A lot of this ended up actually being more writing accented speech with some slang thrown in, a lot of it is about contractions! Also word usage! They’ll be a more “general grammar” and accent section at the bottom.

—

All get out- sentence enhancer (ex. Funny as all get out)

Air up - Pump air into something (Tires, mattress)

Ain’t - am not; are not; is not. has not; have not.

An’ all - and all

Awfulest - Most awful *air guitar* , very bad [Appalachian?]

Belted- beaten

‘Bout - about

Billfold- Wallet (Oklahoman, used in place of wallet)

Caint- Can’t

‘Cos - cause/because

Coke- soda (any kind) (ex. You wanna get a Coke? What kind?)

Crick- creek

Do up - prepare : clean/repair (Ex. Y’all do up the dishes)

Do wut - say again

D’yall - Do y’all or did y’all

don’tcha - Don’t you

Drop trou- pull down one’s pants , especially as a stunt in public

dyeet - did you eat?

Figure- Calculate, consider, decide

Fixin’ - on the verge of something : getting ready to

fronta - in front of

Fo’ sure- for sure

Fussin’- overexagerated concern, fidgeting

Gettin’ round - getting ready to go somewhere or do something (ex. Gettin’ round to it)

Gonna- going to

Good-for-nothin’ - Worthless/useless person or object (usually said while worked up)

Gussied up - dressed nicer than everyday (ex. Church clothes)

hafta- have to

Hankering- desire, yearning, craving

Heap - a large quantity (ex. Heap of trouble)

Highfalutin- pompous/pretentious/fancy

Holler- loud cry or shout

Honky tonk - bar where people dance (typically to county, line dance )

Hootin’ and Hollerin’- wild shouting, making a bunch of noise

Howdy- Greeting or used to express surprise

howta - how to

Hush- quiet, shut up

Ice box - fridge (Oklahoman or rural)

I’mma - I’m gonna or I am

Imma geddin sig n tard" - I’m getting sick and tired

ja'eet yet?- did you eat yet?

Keep your shirt on- stay calm (also see : Be cool)

Kin- family (not always by blood. Could be someone you’re close to)

Laying out - staying the night (doing something illicit) or

Let alone - leave alone or to indicate somethings less likely

Like to - Almost (rare)

Lick [Noun] - any amount (Ex. Didn’t get a lick of sleep last night)

Lick [Verb] - beat (ex. Steve Licked that soc good)

Musta- must have

Mom’ n’ em - Mom and them (literal), asking how one’s family is doing

Might could - might be able to

Muddin’ (Oklahoman) - off-roading, going down muddy trails

‘N - then/than or and

‘N em’ - And them

Naw- no

Neither- not one or other (sometimes used in place of either)

Nuss - To nurse

Okie- native resent of Oklahoma (formerly derogatory during dust bowl)

Ornery- combative, mean

Ought- indicate something correct or probable

Oughta- ought to

Ope- oops

Outta- out or

Preddy sure - pretty sure

Prolly- probably

Pop- soda

Purdy- pretty

Pitch a fit- throw a fit, be really upset

Reckon- think: suppose

Rise- upset someone (ex. He sure got a rise out of her)

Rile- upset someone (ex. Don’t rile up the dog)

Ruther - rather

Shouldn’t’ve- shouldnt have (double negative)

Shoot- polite way to say shit : go ahead and speak

Sho’ nuff - sure enough

‘Sides - besides

s’not - it’s not/is not

s’okay - it’s okay

Sorta- sort of

Sprinklin’ - light rain

stocking feet - wearing just socks

Sumbitch - son of a bitch

Tailing- follow without being noticed

The city - Oklahoma City (even if you live in Tulsa. ‘The city’ is Oklahoma City)

Tore up - upset

Tryan- Heavily accented Tryin’

Twister- Tornado (used to be more regional)

Upitty- conceited, fancy, snobby

Welp - well or expression (ex. Welp, I better head out)

Whup/whoop- hit

Whipped- beaten

won’tcha = won’t you

Y’all - you all

Yall’re- y’all are

Y’ain’t - you ain’t

Yer - your

-

Grammar-

The more I added to the list the more I realized writing for the gang is just as much learning to write accent than it is slang, it’s the way they talk and that includes grammar etc. Im going to try and explain some points that I’ve noticed in an understandable way, but it’s also important to note that these rules don’t apply every time necessarily.

Using the wrong word

less words in certain sentences (ex. Don’t mean nothin’)

With above, fewer words to describe things.

Drop the G occasionally (ex. Nothin’ )

Adding ‘d instead of saying ‘would (ex. Soda’d)

Real> really (descriptive)

Anybody > anyone

Weren’t typically goes with a double negative ( ex. weren’t nothing we could do)

Use of ‘you’ (used instead of a name or ‘your’)

Use of ‘was’ instead of ‘were’ ( ex. I knew you was)

Both Aren’t and isn’t become ain’t (sometimes even more)

A LOT OF CONTRACTIONS

Combing words - either a new contraction or new spelling to emphasize accent, especially around questions (ex. ja'eet yet?)

Use of expressions/idioms (ex. That dog won’t hunt)

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 5 Nevermore

Chp. 5 Summary: It's hard to understand why everything feels so right. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, heavy kissing, unprotected piv sex, semi-rough sex, creampie, praise kink, (kinda) size kink, aftercare, fluff and a LOT of angst, light banter, lots of emotions, mentions of past trauma, brief flashback of trauma, another cliffhanger (sorry) A/N: Well, if you're here, I hope you're prepared for what's coming. A HUGE shoutout to @loonmartell for helping co-conspire the trajectory of this story. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it as always <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in love with you. I think he’s already falling in—

“Miss Smith?” 

Your head jerked up at the sound, and the pencil you were drawing circles with fell against your desk. Bradley, one of your students, was standing at the edge of your desk with his test in hand.

“Sorry about that, sweetie,” you smiled, extending a hand. “Thank you.”

Bradley eyed you curiously before turning and skipping back to his desk. You dragged a hand over your face, wanting to crawl into the furthest corner of the world and never be seen again. Beth’s words had been plaguing you for days since you called her. Over and over again, they annihilated your thoughts, a constant broken record that you couldn’t shut off. You still had your nightly calls with Joel, talking past midnight and falling asleep together, but you kept making excuses not to see him. 

“I’ve got lesson plans to make,” you lied.

“I’ll help,” Joel had offered.

“You’re a distraction.”

“I ain’t that bad,” he huffed.

The next night, you lied and said you were going out with Maria, which was an even worse lie since you were avoiding her at all costs. Telling Beth the news was one thing, but telling Maria was another matter. She was nosey and a bit too loud-mouthed to trust. The last thing you wanted was for the entire faculty to know your dirty secrets. Joel had to remain a secret—at least for now.

It’s not like you wanted to avoid Joel; you were just scared. You were not ready for this new territory, and if Beth was anywhere near correct in her assumptions, it only made you want to shy away more. The only problem was parent-teacher conferences this week, meaning you’d have to see Joel and Sarah…together.

The class bell rang, and your free period between classes began. You dropped your head on the desk and took a few deep breaths, trying to wrangle some semblance of calm back into your body. The final class of the day would be Sarah’s, and you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to see her. The blaring reminder that her dad had fucked you sore over the weekend still hung over your head, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for it. How was your fall break, Sarah? Oh yeah, mine was great. Your dad fucked me so hard I ended up having a complete breakdown. 

Fuck. 

You wanted the day to be over. 

The free period went by much faster than you wanted, and as you watched the next slew of kids take their seats, you made a conscious effort not to stare at Sarah as she walked in. She wore her usual smile, the impression of her dimples digging into her cheeks. Some wild thought popped into your head that you had no time to recover from: if you and Joel went any further, God help you, you’d be Sarah’s step-mom one day. Your stomach rolled with nausea as you tried to will those thoughts away. Joel wouldn’t stick around that long; you were a lost cause. There was no chance that would happen. Right? 

Clearing your throat, you rose from your desk and made your way over to the projector to set up the lesson for the day. Since the school year was nearing Halloween, you decided it would be fun to teach Edgar Allen Poe, completely forgetting you had chosen “The Raven”—which was about losing someone. This would have a bite to it that you weren’t ready for.

“Okay, everyone,” you announced. “Did we all finish the reading assignment this week?”

There were a few nods and murmurs of agreement, and you quickly shifted to the first few slides of your presentation. 

“Alright, so who can tell me the overall theme for Poe’s ‘The Raven’?”

Georgia, one of your top students, shot her hand up without a beat.

“Yes, Georgia?”

“It’s about his grief for losing Lenore,” she answered.

“Good,” you smiled. “Can anyone tell me what other theme the poem contains?”

“Madness!” Another student chimed in, causing an uproar of laughter amongst the students.

“Okay, okay, settle down. Very good, you guys.”

You switched to the next slide, staring blankly at the words typed out. Lenore is gone forever. Something struck you as you silently read it, realizing you weren’t too far off from Poe in his grief. Although Bennett wasn’t dead, he wasn’t coming back. That fact hadn’t hurt as deeply throughout the last few weeks, especially with Joel around, but it still threw salt in the open wounds still scattered over your heart. 

“In stanza two,” you cleared your throat. “In stanza two, Poe refers to Lenore as ‘nameless,’ which can imply that she has died, and he’s now consumed with grief. Where else did you guys find his grief prominent?”

Georgia quickly raised her hand again, and you motioned for her to speak. 

“In stanza four, he talks about his dreams, which I think he means he’s dreaming of her to return to him. But if she’s dead, there’s no way she’s going to come back,” Georgia said.

Fuck. You felt the sting of tears rim your eyes and briefly paused to gather your bearings. Bennett left. He left, and you had spent years dreaming he would return. 

“Good,” you choked out.

You glanced around the room, your eyes connecting with Sarah’s. It took all your strength not to break down and cry as she studied you with the same concerned furrow in her brows as her dad would do. 

Clicking to the next slide, you exhaled, focusing on the following theme to discuss. Madness. 

“Now, with the theme of madness, where do we see this begin? Obviously, the dreams can be interpreted as his descent into madness, but what else do we find?” You asked. 

To your detriment, Sarah was the one to raise her hand.

“Sarah,” you sighed, nodding.

“It’s the raven,” she said plainly. “The raven is what drives him mad.”

“What does he do to drive Poe mad?” You questioned.

“The raven only says one word,” she explained. “And that word drives him mad until the end of the poem.

“And why does it drive him mad?”

Sarah shifted in her seat, looking around at her classmates before responding.

“Because it’s the answer Poe doesn’t want to hear. Poe doesn’t want to be reminded that Lenore is dead, but that’s the only response the raven will give.”

You were swaying in place, trying to hold yourself together as the memories started ricocheting back into your mind. Now wasn’t the time to collapse, not in front of twenty students staring at you, confused and concerned. You only responded with a nod and flipped the projector off.

“Good job, you guys. Now, does anyone have any questions on this unit? Any questions about the stanza format or the themes?”

Sarah raised her hand again.

“Did his madness kill him?” She asked.

“Who?”

“Poe.”

“Oh, um, no. Well, it’s a mystery, really. Some people say he died of delirium, so, I guess, madness. But other people speculate he drank himself to death.”

The class grew morbidly quiet, which made it harder for you to continue. No one else spoke up after Sarah, so you resorted to handing out the quiz and sinking back into your desk chair.

One by one, the students came up to turn in their quiz, and you averted your gaze each time with a nonchalant ‘thank you.’ When the final bell finally sounded through the room, you hardly had the energy to wave goodbye. 

Sarah was the last to leave, and that same concerned look lingered on her face as she shuffled out. 

That night, you didn’t pick up the phone when Joel called. You stared as it rang repeatedly, watching the light fade from the screen when the ringing stopped. You buried your head under the covers and tried to sleep, but then the nightmares started.

You woke up to your alarm, hyperventilating and drenched in sweat. Squinting at the morning sun streaming through the blinds, you grabbed your phone to check the time. Your fingers froze as you read the screen.

Seven missed calls from Joel

Two voicemails from Joel

With shaky fingers, you pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Hey baby, it’s me. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m hopin’ you’re just asleep, but if you’re up, please call me.”

Then you played the next.

“Baby, it’s me again. I miss you, and I’m worried ‘bout you. Please don’t shut me out, okay? I just wanna hear your voice and hear ‘bout your day. If you don’t wanna talk, that's okay. I understand. Just please lemme know you’re alright. I’ll drive my ass out to you if I need to just to make sure you’re okay. Call me when you get this. G’night, baby.”

You dug your knuckles into your eyes to try and force the tears back. Last night, you had the worst of the nightmares: the memory of something you tried to forget. You hadn’t touched that memory in so long. It was just the brutal realization you were truly at fault for everything with Bennett. No matter how badly you wanted to blame him, it was always your fault. 

Glancing back at your phone, you rechecked the time: 7:35. Fuck, you were running late, and you really didn’t want to call Joel back right now. At least not right now. You’d muster the energy and strength to do it later, but you needed to gather yourself and get ready for work right now. Tossing off the sweat-slick sheets, you rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. You couldn’t bother to put makeup on, so you opted to go without it and found a simple dress to wear. It was still in the high eighties in Austin, and a dress was the easiest option for the day. 

Scrambling for your purse and keys, you ran to the garage to start your car and head to the school. 

It wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot that you realized you left your phone on the nightstand. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Maria questioned, sipping her lukewarm coffee. 

She had nagged you into spending your free period in her classroom, demanding that you tell her everything that you had been withholding. You sat on the edge of her desk, your dress flowing over your knees as you stared out her class windows. 

“Nothing, Maria,” you lied. 

She said your name sternly, forcing your eyes to snap to hers. Her usual chipper demeanor was replaced with that ‘mother’ look, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“Something is going on,” she pressed. “Could have something to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. 

“You did it, huh?” She raised a brow. 

You exhaled heavily, nodding your head—no point in lying now. 

“We talked on the phone the entire break, and when I got home, he insisted on taking me on a date. Then one thing led to another… and yeah, we had sex.”

Maria squealed, clapping her hands and grinning wide. You stared at her blankly, unamused by her reaction to your words. 

“This isn’t a good thing, Maria,” you said pointedly. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re finally putting yourself out there! Oh my god, was it good?” 

“It was,” you sighed. “It was good—really good. He’s so sweet and caring.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” she interjected. 

“But I can’t let it go any further,” you finished. 

Maria leaned forward and placed her hand on your knee. 

“Does he make you happy?” She asked softly. 

“So fucking happy, Maria. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be happy, sweetie. That’s all I’ve been saying for years, and now you have it! Don’t force it to fail before it even begins. I saw the way he looked at you at the father-daughter dance. You can’t fake that.”

“I know. I know. I just—ugh,” you slid off the desk with a groan. “He’s too good for me. I’m still trying to get over Bennett and everything that happened. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all my misery. That’s not fair to him.” 

You were pacing around the room, your eyes darting between the science posters hanging along the walls of Maria’s classroom. You heard her desk chair scrape against the floor as she approached you. She gripped you by the shoulders and leveled you with a heavy stare, but her eyes remained soft. 

“He’s still around, right? I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sweetie. If anything, I think he’s in it for the long haul.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you leaned into her, letting her wrap you up in a motherly embrace. She rubbed circles against your back, hushing you as you wept quietly. 

The rest of the day passed by in a numbing blur. You packed your things quietly and headed to your car, ready to drown yourself in a glass of wine. 

Joel’s truck was parked in front of your house as you turned the corner onto your street. His tall figure was leaning against the driver’s door; his eyes focused on your car as you pulled into the driveway. You inhaled sharply before putting your car in park, mentally preparing yourself for whatever anger he might unleash. 

You barely shut the car door before Joel had his arms around you, tugging you into a warm embrace. You couldn’t make sense of it; why wasn’t he mad? He should be angry at you. 

“Joel?” you whispered, your fingers twisting into his shirt. He smelt of cedarwood and smoke, the lingering scent of the workday still on his clothes. 

“I was so fuckin’ worried ‘bout you,” he muttered into your hair. “Been tryin’ to get ahold of you all day.”

“I left my phone at home this morning,” you explained. “I listened to your voicemails from last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call back. I was just running late this morning.”

“Why didn’t you pick up last night?’ He asked, pulling away. 

“I needed some space. I’m just trying to figure this all out. I want you—I want this. I just don’t know how to be fully vulnerable. I know that’s silly to say since I’ve cried every time I’ve seen you.” You laughed at the thought of it.

“You coulda just told me that, baby. I would’ve understood,” Joel sighed. 

“You’re not mad at me?” 

“Of course not,” he smiled softly. “Had me worryin’ like crazy, but I ain’t mad. I know this is all new, and you’re scared. Just don’t shut me out, ‘kay? I wanna talk to you and understand what’s goin’ on with you. I told you I wanna work on it with you.”

“I’m s—.”

Joel was pressing his lips against yours before you could say those two words. The kiss was all-consuming and tender, strong enough to erase every thought in your mind. Your mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwined and exploring. It was dizzying to be kissed this fervently; the first kiss couldn’t hold a torch to this moment. You tangled your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck, slanting your lips to open yourself even more to him. Joel’s hands twisted into the fabric of your dress that hugged your hips and pulled you tighter against his body. You whimpered at the feeling of his cock straining in his jeans, and he hauled you upwards until you were wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Spinning you around, he pinned you to the metal of your car door, breaking away from your mouth to kiss down your neck. Was it possible to be branded by a dozen kisses? He left a trail of sweltering kisses over every exposed part of your upper body, and all you could do was pant and moan helplessly. To hell with the neighborhood and their lingering eyes; the world around you could collapse, and you’d still be clinging to his body. 

“I told you I didn’t wanna hear those apologies,” Joel muttered against the hollow of your neck. 

“What are you gonna do about it, Joel?” You moaned, his teeth grazing your collarbone. 

“All I want right now is to hear you screamin’ my name, so you better invite me inside before I fuck you right here.”

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered.

“Wrong name, baby.”

With one strong arm braced around your back and a firm hand on your ass, Joel carried you out of the driveway and through the open garage. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the bare patches in his beard. Joel stumbled into the living room and sat you on the edge of the couch. You clung to him, refusing to lay back, too afraid to disconnect from his body. There was something so addicting, so right about being in his arms—almost familiar. 

“Y’look so beautiful in this dress, baby,” Joel breathed. “Turn around.”

You unattached yourself from him, spinning until your thighs pushed against the leather of the couch. Joel’s hands roamed over your calves, dragging your dress up until it piled against your lower back. You gasped as his fingers tore apart your underwear, the scraps falling down your legs and piling at your feet. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, your slick coating your inner thighs. 

“Joel,” you whined as he swiped a finger through your wet folds.

“Use your words,” he hummed, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“I need you, Joel.” He curled his fingers against the spot that left you breathless, coaxing you to speak more. “Need it rough—please.” 

You needed to feel how bad he needed you; you needed to show him you wanted him, even if it meant doing it without saying it aloud.

“Y’want it rough, baby? I can do that. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” you exhaled. 

Joel pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to your mouth and smearing your arousal over your parted lips. You hummed as you tasted yourself, pushing your ass back into him. You heard the clang of his belt and the soft sound of his jeans hitting the floor before he swiped his cock across your slick entrance.

“Don’t be gentle,” you moaned.

“Anythin’ you want, baby.”

That was all he said before splitting you open, the fullness of his cock inside you robbing you of all the breath in your lungs. Joel kept his hips flush with yours, his fingertips drifting down the fabric of your dress covering your spine. 

“Joel,” you whined. 

You shifted yourself onto the tips of your toes, nudging yourself back until the tip of his cock rubbed against the right spot inside you. You mewled at the sensation, wiggling your hips to find some sort of relief from the pleasure churning inside your stomach.

“Impatient, baby?” Joel teased.

He moved against you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You had been in such a haze last time you hadn’t realized how big he actually was, but now you felt every glorious inch of him inside you. You let out another frustrated whimper, and Joel responded with an onslaught of forceful thrusts. Your body shoved further into the couch, your midsection rubbing against the edge every time Joel snapped his hips against yours. 

Joel’s hand snaked around your neck, drawing you back into his chest, the angle of his cock spearing deeper inside you. Your wails turned to sobs as you listened to Joel grunting harder behind you, his fingers squeezing rhythmically around your throat. 

“That’s it, baby,” Joel crooned. “That’s it. Doin’ so well for me.”

You gasped for air as the desire coiling within your core became agonizing and all-consuming. Your fingers wrapped around his hand holding you up, clawing at his skin as his thrusts became erratic and determined. You were teetering on the edge of euphoria, your body buzzing with pleasure. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” Joel whispered into your ear. 

You fought against your dress to find your clit, the instant connection of your fingers causing you to cry out. Joel’s mouth ravaged your neck, sucking marks into the skin as you drew tantalizing circles over the sensitive bud. It was right there— that explosive pleasure bubbling under the surface. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice strained under his grip. “Don’t—right there. Right there, Joel!”

Joel quickened the pace, your eyes blurring as your orgasm raced through your veins and set your nerves ablaze. Your sex clenched around his cock, forcing him to slow his thrusts as he groaned into your ear. 

“S’fuckin’ good, baby,” he punched out, releasing your neck.

“More,” you heaved. 

“Think y’can take it?” He asked, pinning you down onto the couch cushions.

“Just want you, Joel,” you said. Your words were muffled into the couch as you exhaled, “Want everything with you.” 

You didn’t know if Joel heard you, and you prayed he didn’t. Your brain was lost in some euphoric haze, dizzying you and your ability to control your emotions. Joel knew every part of your body, like the back of his hand. He knew exactly what you needed and what you wanted, and it was so confusing. 

But all your thoughts grew quiet as the lewd sounds of your arousal and his ragged breathing echoed around the house. Joel’s hand pressed into your hair as he pushed you further into the couch. Bent over this way, you were entirely at his mercy, putty in his hands, and helpless. 

“Swear y’were fuckin’ made for me, baby,” Joel grunted. “You’re mine, baby. Mine.”

“Yours,” you cried. “I’m—.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as Joel seized up, choking out your name as he spilled into you. His body slumped over yours, the weight of his chest heavy against your back. The hammering of his heart matched yours as you both recovered in silence, the house growing quiet aside from your labored breathing. 

“Too rough?” Joel muttered into your hair. 

You shifted your face to the side, rewarded by his lips pressing into your cheek. 

“Perfect,” you sighed. “It was perfect.”

“You weren’t lyin’ when you said you weren’t a fan of vanilla, huh?” Joel chuckled, pulling out of you. 

You slumped further into the couch, laughing softly. 

“I was talking about cake, Joel. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sure you were, baby. Stay right there, okay?”

You heard his footsteps disappear toward your bedroom, the distant sound of water turning on and off floating down the hallway. A second later, Joel was behind you again, the cool touch of a towel making you jerk away in shock. He gently rubbed the cloth over your inner thighs, taking extra caution of your sore entrance. You’d feel him everywhere tomorrow, and you didn’t hate that for some reason—you wanted the reminder of him. 

“C’mere,” Joel urged, helping you stand. 

He pulled you over to the couch, curling you into his arms and bracing you against his chest. Joel intertwined his fingers with yours, his breathing evening out as you shimmed further into his embrace. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was just being around him, but all your doubts and worries seemed to fade away. It was just this moment; you and him with limbs entangled together. 

“Tell me somethin’ no one knows about you,” Joel whispered. 

“Only if you tell me something in return.”

“Of course, baby.”

You paused, considering all the possibilities of what you could share. You had forgotten pieces of yourself over the years, the layers of heartbreak and trauma suffocating the person you once were. You still weren’t sure if that girl you had once been was still inside you. 

“I hate pancakes,” you said.

Joel laughed, his body shaking behind you as you buried your head into the couch. 

“Pancakes? Really?” He teased. 

“I just don’t like them!” You defended. 

“Y’gonna tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” you grumbled. “They’re just too sweet.”

“So y’don’t like sugar in your coffee, and y’think pancakes are too sweet,” Joel mused. “What do you like?”

“Don’t tease me, Joel.”

His fingers prodded your sides, forcing you to shriek at the contact. You hated to be tickled and hated it even more when he kept you pinned to your chest with nowhere to go. You rolled toward him, squirming against his touch. Joel leaned in to kiss you softly, muffling your protests as you settled into his arms. 

“Your turn,” you sighed. 

“Hmm, well, I like pancakes.”

“Be serious, Joel,” you frowned. 

“Okay, okay. I love watchin’ cartoons.”

You giggled, watching that grin stretch across his face. 

“Been watchin’ them with Sarah since she was a kid,” he chuckled. “I still do sometimes, even if she ain’t home.” 

“That’s cute,” you smiled.

You brought your fingers to his face, scratching at the stubble covering his chin and jaw. Joel’s eyes shut as your touch drifted over the patchy spots, your fingertips drawing circles in the places his beard disconnected. 

“Tell me somethin’ else,” he said.

“I think you’re really handsome.”

It was a quick response—almost too fast—but you couldn’t swallow back the words. You glanced up at him, peeking through your lashes to see his brown eyes soften. 

“Handsome, huh?”

“Well, I can’t call you cute,” you scrunched your nose. “It doesn’t fit you. I like handsome more.”

“I like it,” he smiled. “Call me handsome all y’want.”

You dragged him to your mouth, saying everything you couldn’t form into words. Joel moved with you, his head tilting and mouth molding to yours. He made everything feel so simple; maybe that’s what scared you. It was too easy with him—falling into this idyllic routine. Joel mumbled your name, pulling himself reluctantly from your lips. You chased one more kiss and settled back into his chest. 

“Did you know it’s good luck when it rains on your wedding day?” You thought out loud.

Joel tensed up, his arms flexing around you. 

“Superstition says it means your marriage will last,” you continued. “I’ve always thought it was funny, you know? I used to believe in that before my wedding, but after that, I figured everyone had lied to me.”

“Baby,” Joel whispered. 

“No, it’s okay. There’s a point to this, I promise.”

“Tell me,” he urged softly.

“I think the rain was good luck. Maybe not in the way people think, but I don’t think Bennett and I were meant to get married. My sister hated me for going through with it. We didn’t really talk once Bennett and I got engaged. Everyone warned me about him; they told me he wasn’t who I should be with. I was so stubborn to make things work. He—he was there for me during a really awful time in my life. I thought I owed it to him to stay.

“But then here you are, and it makes me re-think everything. The rain? It’s still good luck, just in a different way. I wasn’t meant to be with him because maybe… maybe I was meant to be with you.”

Joel was painfully quiet, his eyebrows furrowing together as he closed his eyes. Oh, fuck. You had rambled out everything you were scared to say, and now it was biting you in the ass. This was why you were too afraid to acknowledge your feelings: the rejection. Joel didn’t see it the same way; he didn’t think of you in the same way, and you just made a complete idiot of yourself. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to pry yourself out of his grip. You kept the tears at bay, trying not to let yourself succumb to the heartbreak shattering inside you. 

Joel’s hands wrangled you back to his chest, his eyes leveling with yours. You inhaled sharply as his fingers brushed away the rogue tears falling down your cheeks. 

“There ain’t a doubt in my mind y’were meant for me, baby. I’m thankin’ God every day for bringin’ you into my life,” Joel confessed. “I know this is all new, but I promise to keep provin’ myself because whatever this is between us, it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you echoed. 

“Don’t run away from me,” Joel pleaded. “Gimmie all the good and bad stuff. I swear I can handle it.”

“What if you get tired of me? What if I’m not enough?” You rambled. 

“I could never get tired of you, baby. If anythin’, I keep wantin’ more.”

You snuggled further into his embrace, inhaling his scent as you pressed your nose into his chest. Joel ran a hand through your hair, his fingers catching on a few knots left from earlier. 

“What’d you mean when you said he was there for you durin’ somethin’ awful?” Joel asked after a beat of silence. 

Flashes of the crash came back into your mind, or at least the ones you could recall. You squeezed your eyes shut as your nightmares began to see the light of day. It was a memory you never liked to revisit.

“Easy,” your mom whispered. “Easy, honey. Don’t move too much, okay? Take it slow.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh lights above you burning into your retinas as you tried to adjust to the room fading into the forefront. You were tucked into a hospital bed, IVs and tubes sticking out of both arms. Your head was pounding, and everything hurt. That’s all you could focus on. Everything hurt so fucking bad.

“Bennett?” You croaked, searching the room. 

Your mom, dad, Beth, and Stella were all grouped around the foot of the bed, their eyes glassy with tears. Bennett was nowhere to be found. Beth’s fear-stricken eyes shifted from your mom to your dad before she bolted from the room.

“I’m going to go get the doctor,” your mom announced, turning and leaving the room.

Stella shifted uncomfortably and promptly followed, leaving your dad alone at the foot of your bed.

“How’re you feeling, peanut?” He asked, rounding to the side of your bed.

“Pain,” you cried softly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Baby?” Joel said cautiously. 

“S–sorry,” you mumbled. “I don’t know if I really want to talk about it.”

Joel’s brows scrunched together, his eyes staring at you with concern. You turned away from him, lifting yourself from the couch. Pacing the living room, you stared blankly at your bookshelf beside your entertainment center, still collecting dust after two years. You heard Joel shift against the couch behind you and glanced back to see him staring at you intensely. Anxiety was thrumming in your chest the longer you stood in front of him, too many thoughts reeling inside your mind. You never talked about the accident; you didn’t want to be reminded of what had been the catalyst in your relationship's failure. Because that’s what it was. You owed everything to Bennett for sticking by your side through it all, and in the end, you weren’t enough. Nothing you did was enough to salvage what had been your life with him before it all.

“Hey,” Joel exhaled. “C’mere.”

“I—I need a minute,” you cried.

You bolted from the living room and went down the hall, gasping for air when you reached the edge of your bed. The room was spinning as you dropped your head in your hands, the nausea surging up inside you the longer you stayed stuck in the memory. You needed out of it; you needed out. You needed—.

Joel rushed into the room, falling to his knees in front of you as he said your name over and over to coax you out of the trance. Nothing was working. Your head was throbbing in pain, and you couldn’t work around it. 

“Breathe with me, baby,” Joel whispered. “Breathe.”

You heaved in a lung full of air, only to choke on it and gag back the nausea crawling up your throat. Joel rubbed his hands over your thighs, the sensation of his touch jarring you enough to make you cringe. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he crooned, a distant echo of your dad's words. “It’s okay.”

The shrilling sound of your phone ringing pulled you both from the moment, and you crawled over the bed to grab it. 

Beth

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I can’t—I can’t answer it.”

“Give it to me, I’ll do it,” Joel offered with an outstretched hand. 

You practically tossed it at him while you crumpled into the sheets with your hands clutching your head. 

“Hello?” He answered with a brief pause before he said, “This is Joel.”

Silence.

“Fuck, okay. Gimmie a second,” he replied.

“Baby, she needs to talk to you,” Joel said.

You stifled your cries before taking your phone from his hand, already hearing Beth’s frantic voice on the other end of the receiver. 

“Beth, what is it?” You asked, your body shaking. 

“It’s dad, sis. You’ve got to come home, okay?”