#Weather proof tiles

[krishibss]

Roof Cooling Paint In Chennai

If you're looking for roof cooling solutions in Chennai, consider INSULLA - COOL ROOF TILES . These tiles are specifically designed to help reduce the heat absorbed by your roof, keeping your home cooler and more comfortable, especially in hot climates like Chennai's.

Insulla Cool Roof Tiles utilize advanced technology to reflect sunlight and reduce the amount of heat transferred into your home. By keeping your roof cooler, these tiles can help lower your energy bills by reducing the need for air conditioning.

In addition to their cooling properties, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles are also durable and weather-resistant, ensuring long-term performance and protection for your home.

Investing in Insulla Cool Roof Tiles can not only enhance the comfort of your living space but also contribute to environmental sustainability by reducing energy consumption. Consider upgrading to Insulla Cool Roof Tiles for a cooler, more energy-efficient home in Chennai.

[franascims]

Austin Side Yard Porch Inspiration for a large contemporary screened-in side porch remodel with decking and a roof extension

[forpoetry]

Minneapolis Roof Extensions

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[userpedros]

wash your hands || joel miller

joel miller x female reader

summary: you run into dads best friend joel when he comes to pick something up from your fathers. (the shrooms never existed in this and they ate the birthday pancakes and all was good ok)

warnings: 18+ this is smut. age gap (reader is in her late twenties and joel in his mid forties), p in v, creampie, oral seggs, hair pulling, fingering, praise kink, slight cum eating (not really but also yes)

authors note: this has not been beta read or proof read. i haven't written in a long time. this came to mind and it completely spilled out of my head

word count: 5.7k - it's long because i never shut up

Suddenly, there he was. She knew what he was thinking, he knew what she was thinking. It was fair to say they were definitely on the same page. They certainly had been for a while. It was unspoken and only noticeable through small touches here and there, small glances, winks and shifted jeans.

You’d had it bad for you dads’ good friend, Joel for a while now and he had it bad for you. You’d never acted on it and he never did either. But there was a shift in the air that told you things were about to change. The rock that settled in the pit of your stomach and the glance he gave you just now when you walked through the front door was only future indicative of what was to come. 

It’d been a few years since you last saw him. You’d been home from college on a break then. You were in your early twenties, and things had changed significantly since you’d last seen him at 19. You’d grown. You weren’t the same girl Joel had watched go off to college when he met your father. Your body shape had changed, your attitude was different; mature but still held an essence of the sunshine you’d had before. Now you were the same girl that came home from that college break back then, but you were even better. Joel didn’t know that it was possible, for someone to age this well within a few years. You were young, but you’d aged so gracefully in the few years since he’d seen you.

Everything was as it had always been for you, but there was something else there. You felt it when you walked through the door. Joel had aged too. You were in your early twenties then the last time you’d seen him, now you were in your mid to late twenties; he was now in his mid-forties, but you had to admit he had aged like fine wine.

The sight of his salt and peppered dark brown hair almost had you drooling. His dark brown eyes had always captured you in a trance. Today was no different.

“Long time no see, Joel.” You smirked as you passed him in the kitchen. Your father and Joel were standing in the kitchen, talking over the island about some job they had just taken. Joel was leaning against the edge of the island, cigarette dangling from his long, calloused fingers. He took a look up at you, angling his head up slightly as he leaned down to ash his cigarette in the tray. Your father stood across the island from him, arms crossed, as one hand pinched the bridge of his nose, while a cigarette dangled in his other hand.

Smoke filled the air, sun light streamed through the window, illuminating the tendrils of smoke that swirled through the air as your eyes connected.

The air immediately felt thick and heavy as you stared back at him, His back straightened slightly as he took in your form.

You were wearing a light blue sundress that tied in the front, showing off a tiny amount of under boob, the tie leaving a little gap underneath it. He looked you up and down, his eyes instantly shifting moods as he removed his cigarette and coughed into his hand, looking away. As usual, Joel was wearing a plaid and pants that were a little too tight on his thick thighs. Simple but the image did the job for you.

He looked down at the floor while you and your father conversed for a moment, talking about your days and making slight small talk about the weather. Joel stood quietly, keeping his gaze trained on the tile as he took in the spots definitely needed to be re-grouted.

You kissed your father on the cheek as you reached onto the counter top, grabbing some mail that had been incorrectly sent to his house.

 “Do you boys have any exciting plans for tonight?” You looked over to your father and then to Joel and wiggled your eyebrows playfully.

Your father chuckled a laugh as he straightened a little, putting his cigarette out.

“No big plans tonight doll, was just tryin’ to convince Joel here to stay and hangout out with a couple of buddies. Maybe play some poker and drink a little bit.” He shook his head, lowering it as he continued to chuckle to himself.

Joel took the opportunity to look into your eyes before quickly looking away again. “Doesn’t sound like the old mans got it in ‘em.”

You laughed a little as you stepped back taking a look at your dad, giving him a big smile. “Pot callin’ the kettle black huh, old man.”

You stepped around your father as you headed towards the stairs. Your father laughed at your response as you reached the first step. “And what do you have planned for tonight, sweetheart?” He called out.

“’M not too sure, probably just going to hang out around the house, might go out. Depends on if you boys get too rowdy.” You shrugged and laughed as you locked eyes with Joel once more. The look he gave you sent shivers that raked down your body. You winked as you caught his gaze. For once, he winked back before turning away faster than you could register.

“I’ll catch you old men later!” You laughed as you bounced up the stairs. You reached your old room, smiling to yourself before shutting the door with a blush staining your cheeks.

You were practically running down the stairs. It was 11:49 and you were running dramatically late to a lunch with some of your friends, one that had been planned for months for when you came back into town. You’d been out earlier looking at apartments and houses for rent in the area, causing you to be a bit behind on time.

As you reached the bottom of the steps, you heard the familiar boom of laughter that sent your heart straight to the pit of your stomach. You could see his face already, before it even came into view. It was the one that stayed etched in the back of your mind. The face you saw at night when the door was closed and your hand was under the covers. The face that consumed your every thought lately, ever since you came back into town.

Joel’s smiling face came into view as you reached the bottom step. He turned to look at you, his smile dropping and his eyes becoming a bit more serious. He looked down again and shifted his stance before bringing his eyes back to yours. You tried not to notice how intense his gaze was as you reached the front door.

“I’ll see you later dad! I’m heading out to lunch with some friends!” Your hand reached the door knob as your dad called out for you to stop for a moment. You turned to face him as your hand released the knob.

“Quick question honey. Not actually a question from me but Joel has something he needs to ask you.” He nodded over to Joel as he took a sip from his drink.

As soon as Joel’s name dropped from his mouth, you straightened your back and decided that right then and there you could care less if you were late. You quickly took your phone out and texted your friends letting them know you’d be an extra five minutes late.

As you walked over to your father and Joel, you took notice in the way he was leaning against the counter tops. His arms were straining against the short-sleeved tee he had on, his jeans were hugging his thighs as always. He looked damn good today, the sweat dripping from his grey dusted brown locks made you wish you had a pillow to scream into.

You looked over at your father as he began to dive into something you were only half listening too. Your ears only really began to work as soon as the words, “Joel” and “daughter needs a tutor…” were out of his mouth.

You turned and looked back to Joel as soon as your father finished.

“It’s true, Sarah does need a tutor. You think you’d be available in a day or two?” Joel stood up straight, hope looming in his eyes. He’d never admit that Sarah was doing well enough in class to not need a tutor, he just wanted to get you closer to him in whatever way he could.

“Of course, I’d be happy to help Sarah.” You beamed toward Joel. “Here, let’s exchange numbers so you can text me what class she needs help in, that way I know what to grab. I think I still have my old high school things here somewhere.” You looked up to the ceiling as you tried to think of where you’d stuffed your papers as he took your phone from your hand. He was careful not to actually touch you but as he got closer to you, the air started to electrify.

As soon as he put his number in your phone, you texted him so he’d have your number. You both looked back up at each other in the same second, the air getting heavier. You quickly looked back to your dad as you slid your phone into your purse.

“Alright old folks, I really have to get going. I’m already going to be twenty minutes late.”

 Your dad reached over and placed a kiss on your cheek as you waved goodbye to Joel.

“I’ll shoot ya a text tomorrow, Joel!” You called over your shoulder as you headed out the door.

Joel would never admit it but he waited all night for a text. Every time his phone illuminated; he was grabbing it. It was crazy to him to think that one of his best friend’s daughter had him like this, 20 years younger than him no less. It was pretty clear to Joel that you were going to be the death of him, regardless of what the future held.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun shone down on your legs causing your body to become incredibly warm as you held a novel close to your face. Your sunglasses had become more of a statement piece then actually protecting your eyes from the sun. The birds were chirping and it was getting to an incredibly intense part in your book.

You were so entranced in the novel that you didn’t hear the loud truck pull up on the curb down the street. You didn’t even notice the slight breeze as your dress lifted slightly on your thigh, showing a little more skin. The one thing that you definitely didn’t hear was Joel walking up the porch steps, because if you had noticed you wouldn’t be talking to the characters in your book, out loud.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You sighed out as you dramatically dropped your book on the porch floor next to the swing. The dramatic ending of the book caught you completely off guard, but what was standing in front of you was equally just as off putting, if not more. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

“Joel. Hi.” You barely got the two words out as you took him in.

 He was wearing another tight t-shirt and signature thigh hugging jeans. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him but his shirt was covered in dirt. His jeans were also speckled with dirt spots. Your mouth dried up as you looked up at him. You sat up immediately and smoothed your dress down.

 “My dad isn’t here, he just left to meet someone about a job site.” You nervously stepped a bit closer to him, wondering why he was here. Maybe your delusional thoughts about him weren’t as crazy as you’d thought. Maybe he had been flirting with you all those times. Maybe those glances were a little too long, and maybe, just maybe, your revealing dresses did have the effect on him you’d thought they did. But then Joel spoke, sparking disappointment.

“’M aware. He sent me here to grab some tools from your basement. Would you mind lettin’ me in, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks stained a bright red as you nodded, brushing past him to open the front door. You stepped into the foyer and stepped aside as he walked past you. His arm brushed yours as he turned to shut the front door. The electric wave that the brush sent through your skin was intoxicating, and it was over as soon as it started. You were really starting to think you needed to get a grip. You shook it off and turned around, calling over your shoulder to Joel.

“Grab whatever you need, I’m just going to grab a glass of water.”

 You heard footsteps reach the basement door and the door close behind you.  

It was about 15 minutes later as the basement door shut behind him causing you to jump a little as he headed towards the kitchen.

You’d spent the last 15 minutes waiting for him and trying to cool down with a glass of water and redirect your thoughts to anywhere but Joel. You were trying to think of anything but how incredibly delusional it seemed you had been. You still couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t crazy and it wasn’t just you with all of these feelings.

Joel walked into the kitchen, setting the box of tools down on the counter as he walked over to the cabinet with the cups.

“Do ya mind, darlin’? His eyebrows rose as he looked down at you. You nodded and reached to grab the glass for him when you both reached the knob at the same time. The glance you both shared just then was enough to get your blood boiling.

“Here, let me get it.” You said, blushing once more as you filled the cup with ice and water.

The room was silent and still as you turned around to set the glass on the counter near him.

He took a drink, his eyes never leaving yours. Suddenly you were hot again and shifting in your stance and clenching your thighs.

“Hows the apartment search comin’ along? Your dad said you think you found, ‘the one’?” He spoke as he set the glass down, never taking his eyes off yours.

You nodded as you decided to be bold and took a step closer to him. “Yeah, it’s actually really close to you and Sarah. It’s just a small little house but it’s perfect for me.” You smiled up at him as you struggled to breath.

“Glad you found somethin’ good. Seems like a good decision movin’ back here. Your pops really missed you.” He takes another sip as he continues to stare you down. “I mean we all did, weird without you here sunshine.”

You gulp as he starts to speak again, this time the tone shifted and the air changed. You knew that you weren’t making anything up, for once you weren’t delusional. Everything began to make sense.

“Does that mean I won’t get to see you as often?” He stepped closer to you, and you stepped closer to him. “Have to be honest here, I really enjoy seein’ you in those dresses. Your dad isn’t the only reason I continue to stick around.” He smirked as he stepped even closer.

You knew it was time to act and thank fucking god you’d been right this whole time. Age gaps be damned, the heart wants what it wants and all that bullshit right? Age is but a number? Whatever people say. You speak up, setting the tone and praying he’d keep going along with it.

“If I have my address right, I think I might actually be your neighbor.” You took another step closer, the air thick with desire. You stood on your toes so you could whisper the next words out of your mouth into his ear. “Don’t worry Joel. I’ll leave my windows open so you can see me in those dresses whenever your heart desires.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you leaned back a little to see his expression.

“You teasin me, darlin’?” His parted lips were on yours as he spoke his next sentence, his breathing hitting yours. He looked down to where your mouths touched. “’S a dangerous thing to do. I’m not like all the boys your age. I take what I want.”

“Then take it.” You said into his mouth as you looked into his eyes.

When your eyes met, he leaned down and crashed his lips to yours. You kissed him back with full force, tangling your hands in his hair. Pulling slightly as you angle your body into his.

Your mind was reeling as your mouths stayed connected. Joel tapped on your thighs, singling for you to jump. As you jumped into his arms, he spun you around and set you on the counter. As soon as your ass hit the cool counter, you moaned into Joel’s mouth. That only caused him to grip your hips harder.

“Been thinkin’ about this sweet little mouth for a while now.” He said into your mouth before crashing his lips back to yours.

You pulled away to look up at him, your breathing incredibly labored. “I could say the same, Miller.”

The lustful look in his eyes grew as you nodded towards the stairs. “Upstairs. Now.” You managed to say breathlessly.

He didn’t bother to wait to see if you had anything else to say as he grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, attaching his lips to yours once more. As you two made your way to the stairs, you thought you heard someone coming in through the back door. Your mouths detached as you mouthed for him to go into the bathroom directly from the top of the stairs. You clutch onto Joel as he reaches the top stair, taking two long steps before you two enter the bathroom and he is drops you onto the counter.

He quietly shuts the door as he clamps his other hand over your mouth. You both wait to hear who came through the back door, and sure enough it was your father. Joel turns and locks the bathroom door. He turns back to you, leans down and whispers in your ear.

“How quiet can you be, sweetheart?” His Texan accent thick, it was music to your ears.

“’s quiet, Joel.” You mumble against his hand. Just as he goes to remove his hand, the device in his pocket makes a loud vibrating sound. He keeps his hand around your mouth as he uses his other to fish it out of his pocket and pull it out in front of you. You both look down at the text that appears on the screen of the illuminated device.

Did you forget about the tools man?

It was a text from your dad. Joel curses silently as he sends a text back to him, the lie rolling right off his fingertips.

Sorry –forgot to grab ‘em off the counter. Got a call and headed out without thinkin’.

You hear your dad gruff in the kitchen as you both look back up to each other. Just then another text brightens the screen again.

Sure thing – just hope whoever she is, is worth the longer lunch break

You both snapped down to read the text. Your eyes looking back to his as you finish.

“Oh she’s definitely worth it.” He says quietly, looking directly at you. A blush creeps across your face as you two continue to hold eye contact.

As the seconds pass by, his eyes drop back to your mouth.

“You gonna kiss me or what, Miller? You’re growin ol-“ He cuts you off by placing his mouth on yours, the kiss heating up by the second. His fingers grip onto your hip as his phone falls onto the counter behind you. His other hand comes up to rest on your cheek, pulling you even closer. You didn’t think it was possible to this close to someone. If you two were in public kissing like this, it would definitely warrant a call to the police for public indecency. It was down right animalistic. Both of your feelings completely on display. There would be no denying after this that you had it bad for Joel Miller.

“Say old one more time, sweetheart.” He rasped as he pulled back from your mouth. “You sure don’t seem to mind how old I am with my tongue down your throat. Naughty girl. I’m sure your daddy would love to know what I’m about to do to you in his house.”

“And what exactly are you going to do, Joel?” You wink as your head is being tilted back by his hand in your hair. He angles it back further as he goes in to attach his lips to your throat.

“I’m gonna bend you over this counter top, and make you watch as I show ya what you’ve been missin'.’” His lips ghost over your neck as his southern accent thickens, the drawl really coming out. “I don’t think the word ‘old’ will ever come out of your mouth when you talk about me after I’m done with you.”

You moaned quietly as he began to pepper kisses down your throat. His hand moved from your hip to the other side of your face, the other hand falling to your neck. He continued his assault of kisses, moving lower and lower with each peck. He softly moved each of your straps of your dress down off your shoulders as he started to kiss his way back up to your throat. He stopped once more, his landing right in of your ear.

“You think you can handle that, sweet girl? Can you keep up?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath lingering on your ear.

You pulled him forward a bit as you whispered into his ear, “I think we should stop talking and get to it, Miller.”

The second the words left your mouth; his mouth was on yours again. You slid your hands down his t-shirt clad chest and stopped as soon as your fingers reached his belt. As you two continued your assault on each other’s mouths, you managed to work his belt through the loop, yanking it away from the button on his jeans.

You heard the door slam below you downstairs, singling your father was still home. You chose to ignore that thought and started to pull at Joels pants.

“Woah there sweetheart,” He said into your mouth as he removed his hands from your face to take your palms into his. “You’re insane if you think I’m not going to have a taste of that sweet little cunt first.”

You made eye contact as he winked and went back to kissing down your throat, stopping just above your breasts before pulling one out of the top of your sundress, slightly moving it to the side.

“Been teasin’ me with these for a while now.” He looked down at your rounded peak before placing his mouth directly onto it.

He licked and sucked, twirling his tongue around the peak. He removed his other hand from yours, placing it onto your hip, grabbing it tightly. He slammed it back into the cabinet, pushing himself completely onto you. There was no room between the two of you now. Joel’s mouth was on your breast, the other gripping your hip. One of your hands was tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck, trying to push him further into you. Even if that was even possible. 

Without warning he removed his mouth from your chest, a small popping sound filling the air, the cold air of the bathroom hitting your wet breast.

He moved his hand from the counter top and ran it up your now exposed slit, stopping to rub circles onto your clit.  You gasped as his calloused thumb rubbed over your most sensitive spot, tugging on his hair even more.

“Such a dirty girl, completely bare underneath that little sundress of yours.” Without warning, he pushed his middle finger into your heat, completely sheathing it inside of you. “Does this mean every time I’ve seen you in those little dresses, you’ve been like this? You’ve just been waiting for me, an old man to just lift up your skirt and fuck you silly, haven’t you sweetheart?”

“Always. Been thinkin’ about this for a while, Joel. Feels right.” You whispered as he shut his eyes and moaned before he pushed a second finger into you. He angled them, hitting just the right spot as he began to lower himself down onto his knees.

Suddenly, without warning he pulled his fingers from you and attached his mouth directly to your pussy. You stifled a groan as you brought your fist that was gripping the counter top to your mouth. You bit down on your flesh as you struggled to keep quiet as Joel licked up and down your slit, stopping at your clit to suck on it lightly before placing his fingers back inside of you, one at a time.

He sucked your sensitive bud while positioning his fingers in and out of you. The wetness that coated his fingers began to drip down his hands slightly, brushing up against your thighs.

His attack on your pussy lasted for several more minutes before he began to moan into you. “Such a sweet, needy little cunt.”

“Joel please –“ You moaned out as his hand moved from your hip to your mouth. It clamped over it, earning a groan from Joel.

“Gotta be quiet, pretty girl. Can’t let your daddy know I’m in his bathroom completely ruining his daughter, can we? What would he say? If he knew that I was tongue deep in his sweet girl’s pussy?”

With the whisper of those words, he was back to his mouth on your slit and his thumb on your clit. As his tongue dove in and out of you, it became impossible to hold back what you knew what was coming. You shut your eyes, looking away from the sweet sight of Joel in between your thighs and groaned as you begun to see stars. The buildup coming was coming fast and just as fast as it was built up, it was torn down as Joel removed himself from where he had been positioned, and stood up. He made eye contact with you as he shoved those fingers that had been inside you, into your mouth. The taste of his saliva and you exploded on your tongue. You groaned onto his fingers as he watched.

His eyebrows furrowed together and he let out a quiet, “fuck,” as he took in your whole form. Your sundress was bunched up around your hips while your hair dangled behind you, completely tangled from having it wrapped around his fist. He grabbed your hair again, and tilted your head back to look you in the eyes.

His words seemed to catch in his throat as he closed his mouth and flipped you over with one fluid motion, your hair still wrapped around his hand. He leaned you back, placing your back to his front. You looked up in the mirror to meet his gaze, the bite of the counter top glazing your skin. The contrast of the cool stone against your hot skin added another element to everything your body was feeling.

Joel hiked your dress up with his free hand as he kept his gaze trained on you in the mirror. He pulled his jeans down, bunching your dress up in his fist.

You watched as he maneuvered his jeans, then his boxers down, pulling out his incredibly thick length. You two continued to have a stare down in the mirror as he reached around putting his hand in front of your mouth.

“Spit.” You spat into his hand as your eyes burned into his. “Good girl.”

That was all Joel said before placing his now slick hand on his length. You watched as he pumped himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. He swiped his length up and down your slit, bumping your clit each time. It made your grip on the counter top intensify, Your knuckles were beyond white, your hands were going numb.

“Ready for me to completely ruin you, doll? And all with your daddy downstairs?” He leaned forward, barely whispering. His southern accent incredibly thick, which only added to the slick between your thighs.

You couldn’t even speak let alone form a coherent sentence right now, so you settled for a nod.

With that, Joel pushed inside of you, letting out a low groan as he sank himself deep inside. You had never been with someone this thick before and it was a slight adjustment. He didn’t leave too much time for you to get used to it as he began to slip in and out of you, picking up the pace.

Joel grabbed one of your legs and held it in his hand, moving it off to the side so he could slide even deeper into you. With one of his hands in your hair, the other holding your leg up, you couldn’t keep the moans from falling from your lips.

Joel tilted your head back and leaned forward placing his lips on the base of your neck, leaving light kisses. He never took his eyes off of yours, as you two stared at each other in the mirror. He continued to fuck you into the counter. He moved a hand to your hips and laid his head on your shoulder as he continued to pump in and out of you.

Your breasts were threating to jump out of your dress so you moved a hand, releasing your grip on the stone counter top and pulled the top of your dress down. Joel moaned when he looked up, catching the sight of your breasts bouncing up and down, meeting the timing of his thrusts.

You knew he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer by the way his pace had begun to get sloppy. You weren’t either. He was hitting all the right spots, angling himself deep inside of you. He released his grip on your hip and placed his thumb over your clit once more, attending to the sensitive flesh.

That’s when everything seemed to go dark for you, you began to pant and tried to stifle your moans as you felt your release building.

Then it hit you all at once, Joel released his hand from your hair, bringing it up to your mouth to keep it shut as he began to fuck you harder and faster.

“Gotta fill you up sweet thing. Want to have you drippin’ with me so when you walk downstairs you’re reminded of what a filthy little slut you are for daddy’s best friend.” You groaned into his hand as you came, seeing stars.

You rode out your high as Joel hit his, the feeling of you clenching on him sending him over the edge. Thick ropes of his cum painted your insides. He stayed inside of you for a moment as you both collapsed onto the counter top, taking a second to catch your breaths.

“Holy shit.” Was all you could manage to say as Joel pulled away, resituating himself. He pulled up his jeans and boxers while you watched the entire time.

He leaned forward and used his index finger to push what was leaking of him back inside of you, his eyebrows furrowing the whole time.

“Can’t believe I waited so long for this. Would’ve had this sweet cunt for every meal if I knew how good she’d be.” He whistled as he stuck his dirtied finger into your mouth. You sucked the remnants of you and him off the digit. Your eyes never leave his through the mirror the whole time.

“Better wash your hands now Joel, I think you got a little dirty.” You winked up at him as he helped you stand up and situate yourself. He rolled his eyes as your words sunk in, and he gave you a smack on the ass.

“If I’m the dirty one after that doll, you’re down right filthy.” He whistled as you moved over so he could slide past you.

You both took turns scrubbing your hands, removing the cum and slick from both of your fingertips. After he shut the water off, and dried his hands, he turned to face you.

“Think we might have to do that again sometime, Miller.” You winked and turned around to leave, grabbing the handle first. That’s when you both heard the back door shut below you, indicating that your dad had just left. You both took that as your cue to leave and you both spilled out into the hallway above the steps. The stench of sex leaking from the bathroom.

You both walked down the steps, and reaching the front door at the same time. As you went to open it for Joel, he shut it.

“I’ll see you tonight, right?” He lifted your chin so you could meet his gaze.

You had totally forgot about going to his place to help tutor his daughter, Sarah. You both knew now that once you’d gotten a taste of each other it wasn’t going to be enough. You weren’t sure if it ever would. You were certain you weren’t going to miss that tutoring session for the world.

“Of course, I will be there tonight. I, personally, can’t wait.” You smiled up at him. He seemed to like your answer as he began to open the door, stepping outside slightly. He nodded as he pulled you into his side and kissed your forehead. As you leaned away, he pulled you into him and whispered in your ear before the door shut.

“Can’t wait, sweet girl. Maybe we can have a study session of our own once you two are done.”

And with that, he was out the door and gone. You were left to wonder what the fuck just happened.

[saltsicklover]

Title: The Weather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,160

Rating: PG13 - FLUFF

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

It took James Barnes three months to speak more than a 'hello' and an appointment time to the beautiful woman that sits behind the front desk in Dr. Raynor's stuffy office. She is the opposite of Dr. Raynor, her edges are still soft, her soul not bared to the world- covered in blood and devoid of sacrifice and suffering. 

At first, James found her intriguing. The way she sat, stick straight, attention always on her work. Her hair was never quite perfect, a sweet halo of frizz adorning her head, complimenting the way her eyes seemed to always crinkle at the corners whenever she would smile at him.  She would always smile at him while keeping her hands busy with paperwork, tucking loose pages into files- paperclips, pens, and highlighters strewn around her desk. 

Every day he talked himself up in the mirror and then again on the train, saying that today would be the day he would speak to her, finally catch her name, maybe even give her a real reason to smile- something more than just being customer service friendly. She's the one thing that seems to radiate positivity and light in the near desolate office he visits once a week. 

Today it is raining, somewhere between pouring and deluge and Bucky trails a small creek into the office with him. The water streaks down his face, hair sticking to his forehead. Droplets race down his leather clad body, pelting the tile floor. 

"Good morning, Mr. Barnes," The dame behind the desk speaks, her voice like fresh honey and it washes a tidal wave of warmth over Bucky. He shivers, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Bucky is clammy and cold to the touch but it doesn't seem to bother him. The wet droplets that roll off his body don't either. Finally, the women looks up at Bucky, a bit of shock rolls over he features before before it's replaced with a chuckle and her signature smile, eyes crinkling but still shinning under the florescent lights. "Looks like that storm's gotten pretty bad since I got in this morning," She comments, standing up from her chair to greet him, "Don't you own an umbrella?" 

Bucky can't help the laugh that escapes his lips, deep and full like the sweetest expresso she's ever tasted. Her body buzzes from the sound, joy vibrating under her skin at the change in his usually stony demeanor. The furrow of his brow is lessoned now, a smile threatening to pull at his lips, but his expression remains neutral. Yet, somehow, it's like a smile had reached his eyes with the way he look at her.

"Oh, you know, didn't think I'd need one but the weather really took a turn and now I'm swimming in my boots," He almost laughs, almost, the squelching sound of his boots and the harmony of the squeaking floor with each step he takes towards the desk makes him feel the most on display he has in years. The full tooth smile she gives him makes it worth it. "I have an 11:30 with Dr. Raynor."

"I've already got you all checked in, but," his confidence faulters a bit, as does her smile, "Dr. Raynor was called into an emergency meeting this morning, about an hour ago, and she still isn't back yet. She called to let me know that she is on her way, and she wanted me to ask you to wait. So, if you could take a seat and hang out, that would be lovely," She rambles a bit, spinning one of the many rings she wears on her delicate fingers. She plays with the large gem, spinning the band round and round as if she could twirl her anxiety away with each revolution of the silver band. 

 "Yeah, uhh-" Bucky stutters a bit, brushing back his bangs then attempting to flick the water off of his fingers with the shake of his wrist, "I can wait, definitely." He nods at her like he has any other choice, and she nods back, the awkwardness of the whole scenario becoming more palpable with each tick of the clock. 

She sits back down too, after a moment, tucking her skirt under her backside with a quick motion before she turns back to the paperwork in front of her. The only sounds in the room are the light piano music playing over the speakers, almost too quiet for the average person to hear, and the clicking of the keyboard as she types. Bucky can almost hear her breathing, if he strains to listen, the small breathes pushing past her lips and then back in. 

Bucky watches as she works, her tongue poking out of her mouth from between her lips as she concentrates. His heart flutters at the sight, and he thinks he might pass away right then and there when she drags her bottom lip between her teeth. 

He watches the clock too. It hangs on the plain wall behind her, and the minutes seem to tick by slower and slower with each passing glance. But time seems to stand still as he watches her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He notices the diamonds and pearls decorating her ear, a site he isn't quite used to yet but still finds intriguing. The idea that someone might purposefully stab themselves to then adorn their bodies is something he finds perplexing and she finds irresistible. 

"Hey, can I ask you somethin'?" Bucky finally breaks the silence, the clicking of her keyboard slowly dissipating. She flashes that grin of hers at him and he melts. 

"What's up, Mr. Barnes?" She stands to look him in the eye over her computer. He sits in the waiting area, off to the side of her desk. He plays with the cuffs of his coat, fingering at the zippers and tugging at the fabric. 

"I just realized, I've been coming here for a while now and it has never occurred to me to ask you your name," She laughs a bit at him, one of those small laughs that comes from the back of the throat. She gives him her name and it gently falls from her lips like it's the easiest thing in the world and he decides that it is. Bucky repeats her name back, it's liquid sugar on his tongue- he wears a shy smile now, the rest of his body useless, like he's been zipped into a body bag as his mind spins. 

The rain is turning to hail, the small bits of ice pinging off of the windows, echoing though out the office. The lights flicker, off, on, then back off, leaving them sitting in the dark. Bucky tenses, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair as his companion lets out a huff in irritation. 

"Well, so much for getting any sort of work done now," She grumbles, pushing herself away from the desk. She moves around her desk, but not carefully enough. A low smack, the sound of bone hitting wood is heard throughout the room, and so are the swear words and grumblings that leave her lips. 

"Are you okay, doll?" Bucky asks too quickly, jumping to his feet. 

"Oh yeah, I'm- I'm just great. My knee just wanted to make friends with the corner of my desk, that's all," She informs him, rubbing her sore knee with her hands. She moves to sit in front of her desk, making home on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. Bucky tries to make out her form in the dark, but he can barely see her from where he stands. He pulls his cellphone out, clicking the flashlight on to illuminate the room. He places it on the floor, nudging it with the toe of his boot so it sits between them. 

She offers him a quiet thank you, devoid of a smile. 

"Can I ask you something, now? The way I see it, it's my turn," Bucky hums in approval, "What's going on in that head of yours?" Bucky is thrown by the question and it hangs in the stale air. "Let me rephrase, because I'm not asking about the shit you come here to talk to Dr. Raynor about. What do you think about when you're not avenging or chitchatting with the good doctor?" 

Bucky's thoughts flash through his mind quickly, the nightmares and the amends he has left to make. He thinks about Steve, and he thinks about Sam. He thinks about the community Sam has built with his family and the way they take care of each other. He thinks about how he lacks all of that. The family, the community, the honor. But mostly, he thinks about her and the way her eyes crinkle and that one time her hair was braided back and the way he could see her whole face for the very first time. 

"I like the weather," He says simply, sitting himself down on the floor to meet her level. 

"The weather?" She asks him, leaning towards him curiously. 

Specks of dust flutter through the air, visible only through the glow of the flashlight. Each speck seems to dance in the tension around them, her question going unanswered for a few beats before he sighs in an attempt to relieve the strain building in his ribcage. 

"Yeah, the weather. It seems to be the only thing I really understand anymore. That, and I like the rain," He concludes with a hand tugging through the mess of hair atop his head. He can't tell her that the sun doesn't come close to shining as bright as she does, so he settles with liking the rain. It seems more than honest. She tries to hold back a giggle at his answer. The causal air of it and the simplicity of the choice he has made. She doesn't push the topic further, not truly believing that he often thinks of the weather. But she knows better than to challenge the fact. 

Maybe if they were in a different universe, or following a different timeline. One that they may be able to reach out in and dust their fingertips over if it weren't for the fabric of space time holding them firmly in place. Maybe, one universe over, just to the left of where they sit now, they are still sitting together, but not on the floor of a government sanctioned medical facility, but in a cafe. 

They sit together, knees touching underneath the small bistro table in the corner of the cramped cafe. He calls her 'sunshine', because she is. She calls him 'lover', and he hates it in the way to say that he has never loved being called something more. 

Their fingers are intertwined on the table top, not caring who sees them together. Bucky would be drinking coffee, something with actual flavor because he would actually let himself enjoy it. She still drinks black coffee because it makes her soul feel at home.  They both wear genuine smiles, talking and laughing, enjoying each other's company. Definitely somewhere between date fifteen and twenty, planning their lives side by side but not yet together. 

In the timeline on their right they are together, in their apartment. Sunny, that's what he calls her there, is painting the walls sage green. James, sits in the middle of the room attempting to build a coffee table that they purchased from IKEA earlier that week. He grumbles about missing pieces, rummaging through the little plastic baggies and Sunny just laughs at him. 

She walks over and dabs a bit of the paint on his nose; both of their faces end up covered in green by the time they are done locking lips. They lay on the floor, surrounded by half finished projects, completely head over heels in love with one another. 

She has no idea about the ring he has hidden in his sock drawer, or the way his heart beats just a little bit faster every time she goes into that drawer to steal a pair of his socks just because she claims they are more comfortable than her own. He really needs to find a new hiding spot, but he has been so caught up in the life they are creating he really hasn't bothered to think of a better place. 

There is another universe about an arms length away where they are meeting for the first time. One where Bucky is quicker to forgive himself and more gentle with his own soul, with himself. She hasn't been given a nickname here, at least not yet. They cross paths on the train- she is stepping off and Bucky steps on. Their knuckles graze over each other, both turning to whisper an apology just as the doors shut. 

They lock eyes and Bucky offers her a kind smile, one that has come easy to him for years now. She offers a small smile in return, one that is much more shy and reserved than the one she has just received. Just then, the train begins to pull away, their lives once again headed in separate directions. 

She watches as the train pulls away, eyes still on the brunet, feet planted firmly in place. Bucky starts walking towards the back of the train, eyes still fixed on the woman who holds his attention like a vice. When he finally makes it to the end of the train, he is left with nothing to do but offer her a wave and a smile. She returns it in kind. 

But here and now they sit in the darkness, a storm raging outside, leaving them trapped inside with nothing but each others company and the glow of the flashlight between them. Neither one has been brave enough to speak for a little while. They have made themselves comfortable on the floor and in the shared silence. 

Bucky can't help but think about how beautiful she is. The way that she lights up the room with nothing more than her presence. He mulls over the fact that he took so long to talk to her, and the tightness in his chest seems to linger the longer he beats himself up for it. He twiddles with his fingers, fidgeting where he sits. He is almost dry now but his boots are still soaked through, squelching when he moves. She pretends not to notice it, stifling a laugh with the heel of her hand pressed firmly against her lips. 

"I think I'm going to call you Solntse," He says absentmindedly, more to himself and maybe the room than to her directly. "Yeah, Solntse, it suits you."

"What does that mean, Mr. Barnes?" Solntse questions him, peering through the harsh beam of the flashlight. 

"It means sun. It's Russian. And please, call me Bucky, or hell, I'll even take James, but please quit calling me Mr. Barnes," He speaks candidly, rubbing over his face with his flesh hand. He pulled off his gloves a few minutes ago, the action going unnoticed. 

"Okay, Bucky. Russian sun it is," Solntse chuckles, crossing her ankles out in front of her. 

"That is, if you don't mind- I guess I should've asked first," Bucky attempts to backtrack, fumbling over his words as the embarrassment wells inside him. A blush begins to bloom over Solntse's face and neck, a raspberry hue covering her skin. 

"I don't mind, Buck, truly. Plus they say you can't pick your own nickname. It goes against the whole point of having a nickname," She chuckles, a smile spread wide across her face as the pink tint begins to fade. She doesn't know what comes over her but she crawls over to Bucky, plopping herself down in the spot next to him. Bucky can't help the way his heart quickens at he movements, the proximity of her body to his and the scent of her perfume make him dizzy. 

They sit next to each other like that for a while, the silence taking over again. It's not too long after they are plunged back into darkness, the flashlight in front of them shutting off without warning. The sudden darkness catches Solntse by surprise, causing her to jump and let out a little yip of surprise. She grabs onto Bucky, hands wrapping around his metal arm, squeezing tightly. It all happens in a split second; each party feeling a complete and sudden shift in the air around them. 

They turn to face one another, noses almost brushing. Solntse can feel the deep blush burning on her skin again, the heat taking over her senses. Bucky lets a small chuckle escape him. It sounds full and comforting, even if it is at her own expense. 

"You're safe, doll, I've got you," Bucky whispers, pulling her as close as he can in their current position. Solntse can feel the way his fingertips dip into her flesh, the feeling grounding her in the moment, to him and his closeness. She squeezes him back. 

"Thank you," She whispers, voice barely audible. A smirk slips onto Bucky's slips and it goes unnoticed by Solntse until she leans forwards and closes the gap between them. The movement is clumsy in the dark, their noses bumping together at first. 

The kiss is slow and sweet, lips mingling together as if they have a thousand times before- and they have in the universes that surround them. The way their lips move together is not new to the universes else where, and neither is the way Bucky moves to pull her into his lap, her knees finding purchase on either side of his thighs. He tangles his hands in her hair the same way he always has and always will. She pulls at the lapels of his jacket all the same. The newness of it all sparking tingles beneath their fingertips, reverberating all over their bodies and the way they mingle together in this place, in this now. 

She pulls back from his lips, just mere millimeters, far enough to cause a small whimper to leave Bucky. "I think about the weather too," She confesses, the meaning just as deep to her as it had been to him, even if he thought she hadn't originally picked up on that fact. 

"Let me take you somewhere, anywhere you want to go. Coffee, food, drinks, hell I'll take you anywhere, just say the word," He almost pleads, but the words come out more smooth than needy. 

"I have a shift to finish, and you still have an appointment, but you can pick me up from my place tonight," She punctuates her sentence with a brush of her lips against his, "And you can take me to get a pizza and beer on draft and we can talk more."

"About the weather?" He questions her, smirk across his lips. 

"Yes, about the weather." She confirms just before closing the gap between them again. 

[ofmermaidstories]

i’ve mentioned it a couple of times before, but my dream dream project would be to write a My Hero/Attack on Titan AU. No reader-insert, no real shipping. Just the BNHA cast, jettisoning themselves towards an ending that leaves them scattered—or dead. i just!!!!! i want to sink my teeth into that whole universe. just imagine it: what it must feel like to swing—to fly—through tall, ancient trees, your friends cutting through the sunlight and sending it flickering over you as they holler and whoop at each other. sitting at a rough-hewn table, with a heavy, tarnished plate. eating what—potatoes? bread? greens to further a stew as someone further down the bench moans about missing meat. the bruising the straps from the ODEM gear must leave—the way it must pinch your shoulders. their scout jackets—the canvas they’re made from. is it waxed to make it more weather proof? the difference between thundering out into a rolling plane, hyperaware of anything in the distance that moves or lurches forward vs. being in the inner walls, amid the bustle of people who can laugh easily, who feel safe and protected by walls that only allow you the sky above, the clouds. running along a fucking—tiled rooftop!!! a rooftop on a slant, like, are their boots light enough to feel the crack of a tile underneath them, when your weight shifts before you can leap off again? i just—i want to write it. all of it. the blood and the way someone’s spine snaps and growing up in a wave of refugees, in a city that actively resents you. what does it mean to like—choose to serve your people, when you go through that? AoT goes on and on about freedom freedom freedom but like, what does that mean? if you throw a character like Deku into that—a character who’s built on like, pushing through the worst, on helping others no matter what, then like… how does that change him? Does it change him? What does it take to change him? What is freedom to a boy like Deku? in some ways i think he’s perfect for the setting—he seems like he asks himself one hundred thousand questions and I think a combination of that nature and his impulse to help people would spill over into leading him into something foolhardy, like joining the scouts.

it’d be an ambitious project and i am not stupid enough to take it on without clearing the deck of all my other WIPs first (the Big 3 trilogy included) but—every now and then i like to revisit the idea. move characters around, reposition them against the sky or the sea or the red heat of the destruction of the world. just… having a lil think.

[cushfuddled]

Rabbit abuse videos: what to look out for

The internet is just SO rife with rabbit mistreatment and abuse. Rabbit videos rake up millions of views and everyone gushes over the cutesy lil' bunny doing something quirky and I just lose my mind all over again.

Some recurring bits to watch out for:

"Watch this rabbit take a bath!"

Rabbits should never ever be bathed (except as directed by a vet, given a dangerous health situation). Bathing is extremely stressful for rabbits, and damp fur can lead to ear infections (serious) or hypothermia (deadly). Regular bathing also wipes away the natural oils that would normally keep a rabbit's fur clean.

"My rabbit is only calm when I cradle him like a baby!"

When you hold a rabbit in your arms with the rabbit flipped on its back, you're inducing something called tonic immobility, wherein the rabbit is so stressed it resorts to playing dead. That's not a relaxed rabbit, that's a paralyzed rabbit.

"This rabbit once lived in a tiny cage, but now it has full reign of my ranch!"

Free roaming, wherein rabbits are allowed to "free roam" your entire home, is the ideal living situation for a pet rabbit. Rabbits are generally easy to litter box train (there are some exceptions, the same way some cats are fussy about their litter boxes). Cords can be fenced off, and chewable items can be placed on shelves. In a situation where complete free roaming isn't possible, the House Rabbit Society recommends a rabbit pen size of 8 square feet—though I personally would go for something more like 5x8 ft at the smallest! Rabbits should also get 3+ hours of exercise time a day when they're allowed out of their pen to really run and jump around the house.

You'll note my use of the terms "home" and "house." You can keep your pet rabbit outside, but this introduces risk factors like extreme heat, extreme cold, rain, snow, predators, illness, and poison. You'll need a predator-proof, weather-conscious shelter and access to a large, safe area for your rabbit to get those daily 3+ hours of exercise. You'll also need to provide them with adequate weather support (like heat lamps or frozen water bottles/tiles), and be ready to bring them inside when temps become dangerous (anything below like 25°F or above 80°F). You can usually let a rabbit run around your uncovered yard for a while so long as you're there to supervise, but you can't just dump them in the yard with a hutch and a timothy hay bale and call it a day. That rabbit can now be picked off by predators (neighborhood cats or dogs, coyotes, hawks, snakes, etc.), eat pesticides, litter, or poisonous plants (like ivy, daffodils, buttercups, poppies, rhubarb leaves, etc.), fall prey to mites or parasites, catch RHD from a nearby wild rabbit, die of heat stroke or cold, escape the yard and get lost/hit by a car, or even just get into something sharp or heavy in your yard and hurt themselves. Leaving a rabbit to just wander around a giant property is reckless and cruel. The rabbit does not need to free roam your whole yard to be happy; in fact, the rabbit will be less stressed and (statistically) live much longer in a sheltered environment.

"This rabbit gets along with my predator animal!"

Not all these rabbit-dog or rabbit-cat friendships are dangerous (some cats and dogs and rabbits, under the right conditions, can become friends)—but the nature of social media means content creators are often incentivized to capture cute viral moments at the expense of their animals' safety. Just something to consider with channels that produce lots of "prey and predator animal friendships"-style videos.

[tilesbros]

Vitrified Tiles in Coimbatore | Wooden floor tiles | Weather Proofing Tiles

Explore TileBros in Coimbatore for a premier selection of vitrified tiles, wooden floor tiles, and weatherproofing tiles. Our showroom showcases a diverse range of vitrified tiles known for their durability and aesthetic appeal, suitable for various indoor and outdoor applications. Enhance your living spaces with our stylish wooden floor tiles, combining beauty and practicality effortlessly. For areas exposed to the elements, our weatherproofing tiles provide superior protection and longevity. At TileBros, we are committed to quality and customer satisfaction, offering solutions that meet your unique needs. Visit us in Coimbatore today to discover our extensive collection and transform your space with TileBros.

[krishibss]

Cool Roof Tiles - INSULLA COOL ROOF TILES

Cool roof tiles have emerged as a revolutionary solution for enhancing energy efficiency in buildings while combating the adverse effects of heat absorption. Among these, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles stand out for their exceptional performance and sustainability. In this article, we delve into the features, benefits, and installation process of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles, shedding light on why they are a game-changer in the roofing industry.

Introduction to Cool Roof Tiles

Cool roof tiles, also known as reflective roofing, are designed to reflect more sunlight and absorb less heat than traditional roofing materials. They are engineered to maintain lower surface temperatures, thereby reducing the heat transferred into the building below. This innovation plays a crucial role in mitigating the urban heat island effect and lowering cooling costs for homeowners and businesses alike.

Benefits of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles

Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer a myriad of benefits, making them a preferred choice for environmentally conscious consumers and businesses. By reflecting a significant portion of solar radiation, these tiles help in keeping buildings cooler, thus reducing the need for air conditioning and lowering energy bills. Additionally, their durable construction ensures long-term performance, minimizing the need for frequent replacements.

How Cool Roof Tiles Work

The efficacy of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles lies in their reflective properties and thermal insulation capabilities. The tiles are engineered with materials that possess high solar reflectance and thermal emittance, allowing them to reflect sunlight and emit absorbed heat efficiently. As a result, the temperature of the roof surface remains considerably lower than that of conventional roofing materials, leading to decreased heat transfer into the building interior.

Installation Process

Installing Insulla Cool Roof Tiles follows a systematic process to ensure optimal performance and longevity. Before installation, a thorough assessment of the existing roof structure is conducted to identify any necessary repairs or modifications. The installation itself involves preparing the surface, applying appropriate sealants and adhesives, and carefully placing the tiles according to manufacturer guidelines. Proper maintenance practices, such as periodic cleaning and inspections, are also recommended to preserve the tiles' performance over time.

Comparison with Traditional Roofing Materials

Compared to traditional roofing materials like asphalt shingles or metal roofing, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer superior heat reflection properties and long-term cost savings. While conventional roofs absorb a significant amount of solar heat, cool roof tiles reflect much of it, resulting in reduced heat gain and lower cooling requirements for the building. Over time, this translates to substantial savings on energy bills and reduced environmental impact.

Environmental Impact

The adoption of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles contributes to environmental sustainability in several ways. By reducing the amount of heat absorbed by buildings, these tiles help mitigate the urban heat island effect, which is particularly prevalent in densely populated areas. Additionally, the energy savings achieved through reduced cooling needs translate to lower carbon emissions, thus supporting efforts to combat climate change.

Case Studies

Numerous case studies have highlighted the effectiveness of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles in various settings. From residential homes to commercial buildings and industrial facilities, these tiles have consistently demonstrated their ability to enhance energy efficiency and comfort levels for occupants. Real-life examples showcase significant reductions in cooling costs and improvements in indoor comfort, validating the value proposition of Insulla Cool Roof Tiles.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Insulla Cool Roof Tiles offer a compelling solution for improving energy efficiency, reducing cooling costs, and mitigating the environmental impact of buildings. Their innovative design and sustainable features make them an ideal choice for homeowners, businesses, and communities looking to embrace green building practices. By investing in Insulla Cool Roof Tiles, individuals and organizations can enjoy long-term savings while contributing to a more sustainable future.

[raptorsaurusmelain]

Let me show you... Youtube -chapter 17

I went to the dentist today and my mouth is still hurting for the descaling. Send help.

Warning : no proof reading, English is not my mother tongue.

If you are interested in reading this fic, the tag "#twst lmsyy" will give you all the chapters.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Once they had everything they went back to the dorm. The delivery would only be on Sunday so they had a tranquil night. Victoria read the books Trein gave her to help Yuu with their studies. It was interesting to see the story about both worlds and that they still did not have any world wars. The nearest thing they had was the Briar Valley against human war.

She was intrigued by how they achieved peace, she didn’t get there in the game. (we won’t spoil anymore here ;) )

She closed the old dusty book. Maybe she should write all her questions on paper and do a thorough review with Trein. [Not a bad idea. It would be better to learn about the situation with other words to see if I understood correctly.]

She spent her night writing down her questions. She knew from the game that Yuu would be struggling with the classes. At the same time what do you expect from being paired with Grim ? He was cute of course, but a little disorganized. And didn’t listen to classes very well. He was… Quite a bad student to tell the truth. His notes were mostly drawings of fishes and words here and there. She shouldn’t say anything about his notes, hers were a mix between words and little schemas about what the teacher spoke. Her notes were unreadable and she was ashamed of it. Some people tried to understand her notes, but even her best friend preferred to read anyone else's notes. And start talking to me about her thesis notes. It was just a pure drawing of circles and arrows in every direction.

She sighed while brushing her teeth. She should set up an example, she should do her best to show them that rigorous work could bring them everywhere. Even archmages, like Grim wanted.

She lay down in her bed. Tomorrow would be a great day of showing love to Yuu and Grim.

When they had breakfast, she announced her plan for the day : first they would need to repair the roof in case of rain. For the moment they were lucky but from the weather cast Victoria saw on the TV, it won’t last long. Even if NRC had fairies to control the weather you never know what could happen. -*Cough* fairy gala *cough*-. 

To avoid having Yuu and Grim on the roof, she told them they could watch what they wanted on the TV.

Victoria filled multiple buckets with tiles to pull up to the roof and lay a tarp to avoid dirtying her clothes. she delicately took off the old broken tiles and put the new ones, one by one. She stopped for the morning when she finished doing a quarter of the roof.

When she got down, Yuu and Grim surprised her by doing some tuna sandwiches with the tuna they bought the day before. She thanked them and give them their second job of the day : receive the old tiles and put them in the trash pile.

Victoria watched them from the roof doing their best. They were very cute, lifting the bucket like they could. [My babies are so cuuuute].

She continued her hard work and called it a day when half of the roof was done. [I need a bath and make dinner].

She looked at Yuu and Grim. “Play and do your homework, I am going to take a bath for an hour.”

It was a much needed self care after all.

They had hot dog spaghetti that night and Victoria verified their homework. Even if Yuu wasn’t going to school at the moment, Victoria served as the link between the teacher and the Child. She brought the homework, the teacher corrected it and gave it back with new homework.

But when Yuu began to struggle in math, Victoria watched with more attention the homework. The functions given were unnecessarily hard for their year. [What the hell ? What’s happening ?]

Victoria did her best to teach Yuu about integrals from the very beginning, trying to make the class interesting. Yuu then said something very worrying. “I prefer your way to explain it, I understood it better.”

Victoria didn’t like that. It was a teacher’s job to make sure the class understood the class materials.

The morning after, Yuu woke up and while having breakfast decided to tell Victoria that they were ready to go to class again.

Victoria nagged them about the way Yuu was packing their books. “You should be more carefuuul, they are going to be torn like this !”.

Yuu answered. “They are just books, everything is going to be alright !”

Victoria’s eyes widened and placated her hands around the side of the bag. “How DARE you ? They are living beings too !”

Yuu and Grim laughed at Victoria’s seriousness. [So I am funny after all !] Thought a very satisfied Victoria.

When they were at school, Crowley interrupted Victoria in her mindless swiping. “I bid you good morning Victoria ! I saw that the repairs of the dorm have started!”

Victoria was very suspicious. “Hello Sir… I began mending the roof, I only did half of it.”

Crowley was impressed. “Half of it in a day ? Good gracious, you are really determined !”

Victoria was jaded. “I am determined to have a roof that is not leaking, yes.”

Crowley felt a little bit uneasy with this comment. “Where did you learn about repairing a roof ? It must have been strenuous.”

Victoria inhaled and exhaled loudly. “Youtube.”

Crowley blinked. “I have a sense that it will be your answer to all the questions we have.”

And he was right.

Tag : @hipsterteller @boba-tea-fish

[zellkasin]

"Neglected Space" by Imogen Heap is such a good Laudna (& Imodna) song...

I don't have anyone to scream about this to directly so y'all are getting this obsessive thought right here on tumblr dot com.

I've been listening to the song again recently and ??? the yearning & loneliness in it ??? the desperate plea tp care for a once beautiful thing ??? the if you take care of me, i'll take care of you ? ? ? ? ? ? Imogen is the one that took the time to look past the peeling paint and sunken ceiling and found a shelter, a loving home, a lifelong friend.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dW2FFkXIdM > lyrics & commentary from yours truly under the cut / readmore <

Hello I watch you come and go I know you can hear my voice Don't walk away

Come daydream with me In closed loops and future-proof Cardboard to caviar Let’s show them how good we are

>>> Laudna trying to make friends in the woods. The trauma of being shunted everytime, of being feared, of being chased away. Yet the hope that never fades (the worst thing of my life already happened to me). The hope that is rewarded when she meets Imogen...

If you look after me, I’ll look after you

>>> I MEAN ? ? ? ? ? Laudna only wants to love ;;;;;; she is so full of it, yet she had no-one to pour it into. She had houses, the had cabins, she had neglected spaces but it took so long for her to find someone that would take care of her, and that would let her take care of them in return ;;;;

Sonar, night vision Or desperate lovers seeking privacy for they're forbidden I am their defenseless host Through my open wounds they let themselves in Sheltered... (sheltered...) They mock me... (they mock me...)

>>> This is about Delilah Briarwoods lmao

If you stand up for me, I’ll stand up for you

I’m weather-beaten in a losing battle Punctured by nature Becoming organic The air in here ages me ungracefully

>>> The 30 years spent alone that did make her kind go a bit crazy. The talk about nature and the link to her tree form of dread ? ?? ? ? ? ? ?

But if you take care of me, I’ll take care of you

Oh, my crumbling heart! If you’ll be good to me, I’ll be good to you

I’m a nest I could be the best decision you ever made A beacon, your peaceful corner Find me, cherish me Take me on or pull me down You choose

>>> Laudna will be whatever Imogen wants or needs of her... but she also wants nothing more than to just settle with her and have a little simple and calm life and space where they cherish each other ;;;

Wait! Oh, save me the ache of slow-decay! Cause I will remember you, will you remember me?

Bespoke to broken, this interwoven tapestry of tragedy Crooked frames and cracked glazing Slithers of wistful window gazes glint in borrowed light

Where doorways with no door stage a ballet of leaves Who pirouette in the footsteps of once glorious days...

But I'm peeling paint, I’m a sunken ceiling I’m cracking up, and can seem threatening

I’m falling apart I’m scary at night I'm taped up, forbidden Keep out... keep-out! No, no, no-go-zone

>>> Her appearance and vibe that scares most people and keep them at bay. Keeps them from peering in and to see Laudna's potential, and the person that she is.

A has-been, a once was, the leftovers, an eyesore Broken beer bottles, I'm bleeding, rusty nails Oxidising, a few remaining tiles Unloved, no human touch, I'm walked past, I'm a waste of space I'm a nuisance, a hazard, abandoned, unwanted Unwanted! Lights off! I’m losing grip This is not what I stand for This is not what I stand for This is not what I stand for!

It was a perfectly good grand piano

>>> To me this vividly echoes to how Laudna talks about herself. She loves herself but she also DEEPLY internalized the lowest of self esteem... She's not what people like, she's repulsive, she's scary, she's a waste of space. The "it was a perfectly good grand piano" could be about Mathilda... she was a young girl who freshly discovered her magic and had her whole life and potential ahead of her....

Stop in the name of love! I’ve got just what you’re looking for! I’ve got tree-lined interiors Where we can dine with the biosphere

If you’ll take care of me, I’ll take care of you If you be good to me, then I’ll be good to you

I’m a story in mourning, and you’re the author So pour out your masterpiece

>>> BUDDY WILL IMOGEN POUR IT !!! SHE'LL POUR HER LOVE IN LAUDNA SHE'LL FIX THE LEAKY WALLS SHE'LL FIX THE BROKEN WINDOWS she'll build a nest for them both, with Laudna's help (and she will keep some of the cracked paint and some of the burnt corners and some of the wild unkept garden because that is also what she loves about Laudna.

Entropy increasing, how long before I’m dust?

[contremineur]

As with the church at Tottington, the roof tiles are stored inside here, but the benches are gone, the bells have gone. And yet the ghosts of the past remain. [...] Outside, they lie. Quantrills and Clarks, Rudds and Gathercoles. A weathered Gathercole memorial is profoundly evangelical: Weep not for us our children dear, because we die and leave you here. But look to Christ the crucified, that you may feel his blood applied. Another for a Quantrill wife hopes that God shall wipe away all the tears from their eyes. All about, the silence continues.

Simon Knott, from All Saints, Stanford

The 12th-century church of All Saints has stood empty since the Second World War, when the village of Stanford (along with three others and 30,000 acres of Norfolk breckland) were requisitioned to form the military training area now known as STANTA.

The roof of the church is clad in blast-proof sheeting, installed to protect the structure. The original pantiles are stored inside, ready to be restored if the village is given back to the public.

[jkstones123]

Granite Vs. Sandstone: A Friendly Face-Off In Stone Flooring Design

Welcome to the ultimate showdown between Granite Stone and Indian Sandstone — two of the most beloved champions of stone flooring and stone wall tiles! If you’re on the fence about which natural stone to pick for your space, you’re in for a treat. Today, we’ve got Granite and Sandstone stepping into the ring to debate their strengths, styles, and perfect applications. Let’s dive in and see who wins this friendly yet spirited face-off!

Round 1: Strength and Durability

Granite: (Flexing its polished surface)

“Let’s cut straight to the chase — I’m the strongest of the lot. Born deep in the Earth’s crust, I’ve faced intense heat and pressure, which has made me tough as nails. I’m scratch-resistant, heat-resistant, and can handle the hustle and bustle of a busy household or commercial space. Drop a pan, drag furniture — nothing fazes me!

Sandstone: (Smiling with its warm, earthy tones)

“Not so fast, Granite. Sure, you’re tough, but let’s not overlook my own natural durability. While I may not be as dense as you, I’ve been used in architecture for centuries — think Indian palaces and monuments! My strength lies in my versatility and timeless charm. Plus, I weather beautifully over time, giving spaces a unique character.

Verdict: If you’re looking for maximum toughness, Granite takes this round. But for those who appreciate a stone that ages gracefully, Sandstone is a strong contender.

Round 2: Style and Aesthetic Appeal

Sandstone: (Spinning like a model on a runway)

“Ah, aesthetics — my forte! My warm, earthy tones and soft textures create a cozy, inviting vibe. I bring a piece of nature indoors, perfect for rustic or Mediterranean-style spaces. From golden hues to subtle greys, I’ve got a palette that screams elegance and tranquility.

Granite: (Shining under the spotlight)

Cozy is nice, Sandstone, but let’s talk luxury. My rich patterns, sparkling grains, and polished finishes are a testament to sophistication. I’m the go-to choice for modern and contemporary designs, making a statement with bold colors like jet black, emerald green, or even fiery red. Need a dramatic countertop or a stunning floor? I’m your stone!

Verdict: It’s a tie! If you want a soft, natural look, Indian Sandstone wins hearts. For bold, luxurious vibes, Granite stone steals the show.

Round 3: Maintenance and Care

Granite: (Winking confidently)

Let me make this easy for you — I’m low-maintenance. A simple wipe with a damp cloth and I’m as good as new. Plus, when sealed properly, I’m virtually stain-proof. Spills in the kitchen? Not a problem for me!

Sandstone: (Clearing its throat)

Well, Granite, let’s be fair. While I do require a bit more care — sealing and cleaning regularly — I reward homeowners with unmatched natural beauty. With a little love, I stay stunning for decades. Plus, I’m not as slippery when wet, making me a safer option for outdoor spaces or areas prone to moisture.

Verdict: For effortless upkeep, Granite takes the lead. But if you’re willing to invest a bit of time, Sandstone’s natural beauty is worth the effort.

Round 4: Best Applications

Granite: (Rolling out a red carpet)

Listen up, folks — if you need durable, elegant stone flooring or countertops, I’m your pick. I thrive in high-traffic areas like kitchens, bathrooms, and commercial spaces. I can also handle the outdoors, but my polished finish prefers to stay indoors.

Sandstone: (Gesturing to outdoor patios)

Granite, you’re forgetting something — I’m the king of outdoor spaces! My earthy tones blend seamlessly with gardens, patios, and pool areas. And let’s not forget my ability to create stunning accent walls with my unique textures. I’m perfect for areas where you want a natural, relaxed feel.

Verdict: Granite is the champion of indoor elegance, while Sandstone shines in outdoor and rustic designs.

Round 5: Cost

Sandstone: (Smiling smugly)

Here’s where I shine! I’m budget-friendly compared to Granite, making it easier to cover large areas without breaking the bank. Plus, my natural charm gives you plenty of bang for your buck.

Granite: (Shrugging)

I may cost more upfront, but think of me as an investment. My durability and timeless appeal add value to your home, ensuring you get your money’s worth in the long run.

Verdict: Sandstone is a great choice for cost-conscious projects, while Granite justifies its higher price tag with unmatched longevity and elegance.

So, Who’s the Winner?

It’s a draw! Both Granite stone and Indian Sandstone have their strengths and charm. Your choice ultimately depends on your needs:

Choose Granite if you want a durable, luxurious option for indoor stone flooring or countertops.

Pick Sandstone for its earthy beauty, perfect for outdoor areas, accent walls, and spaces where natural warmth is key.

Need Help Deciding?

Still torn between these natural stone titans? At JK Stones, we specialize in both Granite stone and Indian Sandstone, offering a wide range of options to suit your style and budget. Whether you’re designing a modern masterpiece or a rustic retreat, our team is here to guide you every step of the way.

Explore our collection of stone flooring and stone wall tiles today to find the perfect fit for your home or project.

Your dream space deserves nothing but the best — let’s make it a reality with JK Stones!

[waterproofingnroofing]

Achieve Lasting Durability with Expert Waterproofing Solutions

The Importance of a Waterproof Roof Deck

A waterproof roof deck transforms your outdoor area into a functional, weather-resistant space. Roof decks are increasingly popular as they provide additional living areas for entertainment, relaxation, or gardening. However, their exposure to the elements makes them prone to water damage if not adequately protected.

Waterproofing a roof deck involves creating a seamless, impervious layer that prevents water from penetrating the surface. This not only safeguards the deck’s structural integrity but also protects the rooms or spaces below. Without a waterproof layer, even minor leaks can lead to costly repairs, unsightly stains, and mold infestations.

Furthermore, professional waterproofing enhances the aesthetics of your roof deck. Advanced waterproofing solutions come in various finishes, allowing you to choose materials that complement your property’s design while ensuring unmatched protection. A well-maintained and waterproof roof deck increases the value of your property, making it a worthwhile investment.

Safeguarding Recreational Areas with Swimming Pool Waterproofing

Swimming pools are a luxurious addition to any property, but they demand meticulous waterproofing to ensure longevity and safety. Swimming pool waterproofing involves sealing the pool structure to prevent water leakage and protect the surrounding areas from water-related damage. Improper waterproofing can lead to cracks, water seepage, and structural weakening over time.

Professionally waterproofed swimming pools are not only durable but also more efficient. Sealing the pool helps reduce water loss, saving on maintenance and water bills. Additionally, waterproofing prevents chemical seepage into the surrounding soil, ensuring that the pool's water remains safe and uncontaminated.

Swimming pool waterproofing requires expertise and precision, as every corner, joint, and surface must be meticulously sealed. Professionals use advanced materials such as epoxy coatings, flexible membranes, and polymer-based solutions to create a durable and water-resistant barrier.

Benefits of Professional Waterproofing Services

Hiring experts for waterproofing your roof deck or swimming pool ensures that the job is done right the first time. Professionals bring years of experience, high-quality materials, and specialized techniques to deliver long-lasting solutions. They also identify potential problem areas that might not be visible to an untrained eye, addressing them proactively.

For a waterproof roof deck, professionals ensure that the surface is properly sloped to allow water drainage, preventing pooling or stagnation. They also apply UV-resistant coatings to protect the surface from sun damage, ensuring the deck’s durability and appearance.

For swimming pool waterproofing, experts conduct a thorough assessment of the pool structure to determine the most suitable waterproofing method. Whether it’s repairing cracks, applying a sealant, or installing a flexible liner, they ensure the pool remains leak-proof and structurally sound for years to come.

Signs Your Property Needs Waterproofing

Early detection of waterproofing issues can save you from costly repairs. For roof decks, signs such as water stains, peeling paint, or pooling water indicate the need for waterproofing. A waterproof roof deck not only eliminates these issues but also enhances the usability of your outdoor space, even during inclement weather.

Swimming pools, on the other hand, may exhibit cracks in the tiles, water level fluctuations, or dampness in the surrounding soil, signaling the need for swimming pool waterproofing. Timely intervention prevents further deterioration and ensures the pool remains safe and visually appealing.

How Waterproofing Enhances Property Value

A well-maintained property is more appealing to potential buyers or tenants, and effective waterproofing plays a significant role in this regard. A waterproof roof deck offers an attractive, usable outdoor space that enhances the overall living experience. Similarly, a well-sealed swimming pool exudes luxury and functionality, making your property stand out.

Waterproofing also protects the structural integrity of your property, reducing the risk of costly repairs in the future. By investing in high-quality swimming pool waterproofing and roof deck solutions, you ensure that your property remains in top condition for years, ultimately boosting its market value.