#but I really just wanna get back into the groove of things

[crybaby-bkg]

I love mythology so much and it’s taking everything in me to not write a full fledge fic about a Cupid and Psyche au omfg

justttttt Cupid Bakugou who is just so, so fucking beautiful. he’s always been recorded by other mortals for being akin to sunlight himself—all golden hues and sharp angles and high cheekbones and massive wings. wings that span as wide as an entire village, that sparkle when the light hits them, loud when they beat to send him soaring into the skies above. but his mouth? his attitude?

everyone always wonders why he was never the god of war, instead. but he’s damn good at his job, with his arrows propped up on his back, swift with discharging them into another stupid mortal who’s fallen for the local towns idiot. but hey, they’re in love, and it’s his job to enforce that love go over well.

and then he sees you—the most beautiful mortal, that you’re even compared to the gods, to his mother. he wants you so bad, if not to treasure and keep you against his side as he travels over the oceans cold waters, than to keep you safe from the vile men who want you as their partner and the disgusting women who envy you for having it all.

omg and the part where he takes you to stay in his palace and asks you not to ever look at his face???? it’s killing him, to wear that mask to your nightly dinners, to be able to look at the soft curve of your mouth when you frown and ask him to reveal himself. to be able to look at how you stare back at him, eyes pretty and furious, frustrated and mad, wanting to go back on the conditions you agreed upon because having to sit across from him without seeing him is absolute torture. I am. vibrating.

[nina-ya]

Pokes head in HI EVERYONE!!

I know I don’t owe anyone any sort of explanation or apology but I do sincerely apologize for just up and going on a random mini hiatus!! With that, I wanted to give myself a bit of a fresh start. I’ve deleted about 99% of all asks, wips, and drafts and I intend on starting fresh with ideas for writing. I may open up requests briefly to take in a few to get my writing juices kick started, but I do have something written out that I’m probably going to toss into the world tomorrow. I’m just going to take things one step at a time.

[sketchy-tour]

Happy Easter if yall celebrate it!!!!! Otherwise I hope yall have an absolutely fantastic Sunday!!!!

Aaaa I feel like I'm not as chatty as I once was on here. Been a bit all over the place! Also feel silly making a ton of text posts with no art so I try and limit how often I blab on here.

But just know I still appreciate all of you who follow and like my art! Every bit of interaction I still see and it still baffles me to see such kind words. It means the absolute world to me!!!! 💖💖🌻

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Anyone else out here haunted by the unknowns of recovery?

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

moodboard | main masterlist | playlist [in case you wanna vibe in sad] | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

[ageofstarkey]

Hi! Could you write a Mattheo one, where it’s that time of the month, and you’re just really not feeling like facing the world.

poor thing ✰ m. riddle

summary: you’re on your period, and matthéo’s there to help you feel less awful.

pairing: bf!matthéo x reader

warnings: reader is implied to be afab, mentions of reader having their period, discussion of period-related symptoms, nothing else really???

note: hello!! thank you so much for the request!! i’m still trying to find my groove with writing, but i hope i did your prompt some justice :’) also pretend that boys can in fact enter the girls dorms in this universe lmfao

masterlist

comments & reblogs are so appreciated!

✰ ✰ ✰

“aren’t you getting up for potions?”

when you roll over, you see pansy watching you from the doorway. she’s dressed and ready for the day - book bag slung carefully across her body. she studies you with something akin to concern; awaiting your response with perfect, furrowed brows.

with a quiet sigh, you push yourself into a half-sitting position. “i don’t think so. i got my period last night and i feel absolutely horrid.”

“want me to tell riddle? i’m sure he’s looking for an excuse to skip anyway”

you roll your eyes fondly. “he’s already missed too many lessons this year - let him figure it out on his own time, yeah?”

pansy shrugs. “fine. hope you feel better.”

you groan, flopping none-too-gracefully back on your pillow. “me too.”

when pansy leaves, you take a few moments to savour the silence. it does little to ease the uncomfortable ache in your abdomen, but it’s quiet enough that you can almost pretend your head hasn’t been throbbing since the second you opened your eyes.

eventually, you snuggle back under your thick quilt, resigned to sleeping away your misery. it doesn’t take long for your fatigue to take over, pushing you steadily towards the edge of unconsciousness.

you’re nearly asleep, when you hear a sharp knock at the dormitory door. your brows tug downwards in confusion. with a quiet groan, you drag yourself out of bed. the floors are shockingly cold against your bare feet, and you curse quietly under your breath as you approach the door.

when you tug it open, you’re pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriends handsome face. although he should be in class, you can hardly fight the grin that tugs at your lips. “you are not supposed to be here.”

matthéo quirks an eyebrow, sporting a smirk you know all too well. “shall i see myself out then?”

you roll your eyes fondly. “no.”

“didn’t think so.” he lets himself in, kicking the door shut behind him. “do you wanna lay down?”

“merlin - more than anything.”

he tugs you gently towards him, pressing his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. “i figured as much.” he murmurs the words against your skin, punctuating them with another kiss. when he pulls away, he nudges you gently towards the bed. “how are you feeling?”

“awful.”

“cramps?” he shrugs off a few layers of clothing, before tugging back your quilt and laying on the bed.

with a gentle little tug, you’re falling into the empty space beside him. “my entire body just… aches.” with a defeated sigh, you drop your head on his chest.

matthéo hums softly, stroking a gentle hand up and down the length of your spine. “poor thing.”

“tell me about it.”

with a quiet little laugh, he tilts your head up towards his own. “do you think you’ll survive?”

“i really might not, théo. this might be it for me.”

matthéo rolls his eyes, but he wears a fond little smile that gives him away. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i am not!” your lips turn downwards in an involuntary pout. “it hurts.”

“i know, sweetheart.” he closes the small gap between you, kissing away your feeble little frown. “why don’t you try and get some rest, hm?”

“you’ll stay?”

he kisses you again - longer this time, and you swear you’re feeling better already. “‘m not going anywhere.”

[runninriot]

written for today's @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event ☀️

Heat of the Moment

prompt: summer | wc: 1000 | rated: T | no cw | tags: Eddie has a crush on Steve, pining, Steve's 'stupid tiny swim shorts' deserve their own tag, (implied) friends to lovers | also on ao3

Eddie wipes a hand over the back of his neck, regrets it instantly when his palm comes back wet.

    Gross.

His hair is sticking to his forehead and no matter how little he moves, his body betrays him, wants to drown him in sweat.

It’s too fucking hot.

And Steve isn’t helping. He’s the reason for a different kind of heat wave just by lying there in these stupid tiny swim shorts, no shirt. Unfairly fucking beautiful, even in this unbearable heat, just blissfully existing.

Eddie is going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he doesn’t stop staring at him. If he doesn’t stop following the droplets running down his neck. He’d lick them right off, if he could. Would follow their trail down to where they collect in Steve’s glorious chest hair. Would swipe his tongue through the little rivulet that has formed in the groove between his abs, wouldn’t stop there.

    God.

It’s really not fair. How can someone look so good in this heat?

Steve always looks good. That’s why Eddie loves him. Or it’s one of the reasons. He has a thing for pretty boys, sue him! He wished it was different, too, but oh well.

The real tragedy is that Steve doesn’t know because he wouldn’t care – or worse. And Eddie really should stop staring if he wants to keep his little secret.

Steve is side-eyeing him when he stands up from where he was lying on his deck chair, his bronze skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat, glistening in the golden afternoon sun.

   “You good, Munson?”

Eddie swallows thickly, nods.

   “Want a beer?”

Another nod because Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to let out an embarrassing whimper if he dares to open his mouth.

Those shorts should be illegal.

It takes everything for Eddie to hold Steve’s gaze, to give him a polite smile in thanks for his offer, when his eyes are begging to drop down to where clingy fabric does shit all to hide Steve’s... form.

Steve thankfully seems unfazed by Eddie’s sudden inability to talk, just shrugs and walks inside, which – to Eddie’s blessing and misery – offers a whole other view that would send Eddie over the edge if he hadn’t at least one tiny bit of dignity left in him.

That. Ass.

    Jesus.

How is Eddie even allowed to exist in the same sphere as this perfection of a man?

And how is he supposed to ever get over his goddamn crush if Steve keeps inviting him over to spend time together, just the two of them, alone in this big ass house with no one around to save Eddie from his own dangerous mind, no one to keep him in check?

Had anyone told him he’d be spending the summer hanging around in Steve’s backyard, being served beer by the man himself, who’s walking around in these godforsaken shorts – Eddie would’ve laughed.

But now that it’s reality, all he can do is gawk and wonder and try not to lose his mind when Steve walks back out, two beers in one hand, the other outstretched to where Eddie is sitting.

   “Let’s sit by the pool, cool down a bit. Your face is so red, I don’t want you to have a heat stroke.”

    Oh god.

Eddie hesitantly takes Steve’s hand, lets himself be pulled up, hopes Steve doesn’t mind how sweaty his palm is. Hopes he doesn’t notice his staggered breathing, his trembling knees.

Maybe he does have a heat stroke? Maybe that’s the reason why he’s feeling a little dizzy right now.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Steve still hasn’t let go of his hand as he leads him to the pool.

Maybe, the fact that Steve is smiling at him brighter than the sun herself, is what’s making it harder to breathe.

They sit down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the refreshingly cool water. The bottle in his hand is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Steve’s hand he instantly misses, now that it’s gone.

   “Wanna go for a swim?”

The water is nice, perfect to cool down his overheated skin and mind.

Steve is just chilling there, both arms splayed out over the edge, his head tilted back, eyes closed; soaking his body in the water while enjoying the sun on his face. Just minding his own business, not even batting an eye at Eddie who’s awkwardly splashing around, watching the beautiful man from a safe distance.

A distance that’s keeping him from mindlessly swimming over to him, to cage him against the tiles with his arms on either side, one leg slotted between Steve’s, pressing his own wanting body up against the other man’s.

He wants to kiss him so bad.

It’s not the first time that thought hits him but it’s painful every time.

    Fucking hell.

Eddie closes his eyes, groans in frustration over his stupid heart’s stupid fluttering. What a waste of time and energy to pine after someone so far out of reach.

Eddie takes a deep breath before he dives down. Lets his body sink deeper into the pool until his toes reach the ground before he resurfaces with a loud gasp.

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is suddenly right there, right in front of him, smiling his pretty smile.

And then he reaches out, fingers playing with a rogue curl before tugging it back behind his ear.

Eddie feels like the water around him is boiling, feels too hot again now that Steve is so close.

So close, Eddie could easily reach out to pull him in and-

   “I want to kiss you.”

It is Steve who reveals Eddie’s secret back to him. It’s not a question; he’s stating a fact – unashamed and clear. No talking around it, no shy blush painting his cheeks.

Eddie feels brave, carried away by the heat of the moment.

   “Then what are you waiting for?”

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x f!reader. reader is wearing a bathing suit. established relationship, very suggestive, mentions of marriage. | divider thanks to cafekitsune like always, wc 1k even.

The haze of summer has settled thickly over all of Makochi, the air almost heavy enough to wrap around you and wear it. A subtle sheen of humidity settles over your shoulders and face; cicadas sing their song in the distance and wind chimes tinkle when a breeze mercifully blows by to cool your heated skin. The heat can’t prevent you from being outside, though. You lie on your belly beneath the blazing sun in your stringiest bikini, legs stretched out behind you while Hajime cares for his personal garden - the one meant just for the two of you - atop his apartment building. He hums a little tune, occasionally throwing in a whistle for good measure to make you giggle at him while your cheek rests against your folded arms, watching his every move.

It didn’t feel so hot about fifteen minutes ago but now that you’re watching sweat dampen the back of his white t-shirt and cling to his body, you sigh dramatically and he’s at your side in an instant, ever in tune with whatever you need.

“What’s wrong?”

You glance up at him and smile, unfolding your arms and stretching them above your head, flipping from your belly onto your back to give him a view of the front of you, gentle grooves in your skin when you shift from how tightly your bathing suit is secured around you. He doesn’t hide his ogling, raking steel blue eyes from your throat to your belly button and to your thighs, wiping his hairline with his forearm.

“Wanna use those broad shoulders to block the sun for me for a few minutes?”

Hajime smiles and nods wordlessly at your request, taking a few big steps to the left to block the sun from getting in your eyes, casting a tall and cool shadow over your upper body. He wipes his hands together to free them of any dirt or grime from the plants, twisting his body to point them in the opposite direction of where you lie across a large old sheet, your sandals pinning down opposite corners to keep the breeze from blowing it up. Removing one of his gloves, he pops it in his pocket and reaches down to press his palm against your skin, hissing through his teeth.

“Hot even for you.” He raises a brow, wrapping up his perpetual fussing over you in humor to prevent you from insisting that he does too much. “You really do need shade, huh? Poor thing.”

“My hero.” You nod, putting a smile on his face. 

Umemiya sinks down, kneeling beside you and changing his shadow so that it covers even more of you, your thighs now cooled by the shade provided by his size. He drags his palm from your waist upward toward the triangles of your top, slipping a finger beneath the tiny string stretched across your sternum.

“Do you want to go inside?”

Glancing up at him, you bite back a smile and shake your head, his finger still gently toying with your top. You reach out to toy with him now, gently tugging at the damp collar of his shirt, dragging your palm down his chest.

“No, I wanna be out here with you. You’re hot too, we can suffer together.”

Neither of you are suffering very badly if the way each of you is glancing at the other is any indication of what's really happening here, eyes half lidded, fingers itching to explore sweat slicked skin. Hajime wants to spring into action and plan a way to grow an entire canopy over the roof to ensure you are never uncomfortable but he’s a little distracted at the moment, your hand sliding further down his torso and beneath the hemline of his shirt to rest against his warm skin and hardened muscle.

“What are you up to?” He asks with a smile. He drops from his squat position to sitting next to you, legs spread while he leans down to kiss your lips gently, as sweet as the breeze that ruffles the ends of his hair. “Besides making sure I get nothing done today.”

Giggling, you kiss him back. One set of fingers thread through his hair, brushing it back from his face in the style he prefers and the other drags down his torso toward the waistband of his shorts, playfully tickling him along the way.

“You just make the best umbrella.” You crane your neck to kiss him again, hand settling around the back of his neck to keep him close to you. “Maybe that should be your new name, Hajime Umbrella.” He chuckles and moves closer to you, lowering himself until his arms cage either side of you, his body twisted to hover slightly above yours.

“Then you’d just be Mrs. Umbrella someday but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

You wiggle beneath him at the insinuation that you’ll be carrying his last name, something even warmer than today’s temperature pooling beneath your skin. Umemiya laughs and leans in to kiss you again, foregoing any sense of decorum to slowly slide his body over the top of yours. His thighs join his arms in caging you in, pinned to the sheet beneath your back, the sound of distant wind chimes carrying across the cloudless sky to mingle with your giggles.

“Come on Mrs. Umbrella,” he jokes again, sliding his hand up your side. “Let’s work out here a little longer and then we can go inside, alright?”

Your back arches in response to his touch. He takes advantage of the position, reaching into the small space between your back and the sheet to untie your top. He doesn’t immediately move it to expose you, allowing you to make that decision for yourself. 

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

You grin up at him until he envelops you in a sultry kiss, one that truly matches this summer heat, helping him remove his sweaty shirt an arm at a time and tossing it aside. 

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P4]

[Series Link]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: misogyny, explicit language, violence, harrassment, bodily harm]

(A/N: i see some of yall find Lukas so offputting 🎯yall not rocking with him? Why❤️What for✨️ is it his personality 💕is he vile and disgusting 🥹? do u hate him💋? Do u wanna beat his ass 🫶? )

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

He didn't expect to see a familiar face in the tight, dim, sweaty corner of Tokyo. He regretted going to this silly punk rock concert in the first place, but he did say this morning that he would go to one so he could talk to you about it. Mostly he was set on going because he wanted to try out something new, something to talk about - his peers wouldn't set foot near this underground coffee. It was unfortunate that he had no genuine interest in the music - it was loud and complicated. Unpredictable. The guitar might sound cool, but there wasn't a groove to which he could chill and bob his head or trip balls on mushroom while making out with a stranger. No trippy backdrops here - just the dim, anxiety-inducing colored stage light.

So he was there at a standing table way back, watching the crowd dance and scream. He found it strange - the hair, the makeup, the eccentric clothes. The only thing he would safely get behind was the fishnet and leather skirts that some girl really rocked. Sometimes, the girls over at the States would wear that to bars or theme nights. He liked that. He didn't like the way he feel here - half aroused, half judgemental. He would rather the tight sportwears on tanned blond surfers or yoga instructors. The ones who earned nods and hums and vile comments from his frat brothers were he to kiss and tell. Being attracted to them made him feel normal. Accepted. Approved. He wouldn't be caught dead eyeing these women.

But his friends weren't here, so he got to look. Never tell, though. Or if he did, he would say "oh, they dressed crazy", or "their eyeliner were scary", or "their piercings freak me out".

Deciding that it was time for another beer, Lukas begrudgingly went to the bar again. He felt anxious and alone, sticking out like a sore thumb. He earned quite some looks from women, but he couldn't be so sure if they liked what they see or if they could tell he was a poser who only came just to say he did it. He couldn't read their expressions, partly since he was drunk, partly because he was now considering the cultural differences, even if only for a morcel. He was made aware of it most pointedly this morning: the couple faux-pas he made with Sakamoto might have been intentional, but the guy's lack of reaction made him question how big of an insult he had put out there.

Sakamoto made him feel defensive, though Lukas decided not to dwell on it. He wasn't one to feel insecure, especially with guys like that - soft faced and soft-spoken. His big round eyes and sickly skin made him look like a woman, too. At least, Lukas would acknowledge that he was tall. But that was his only saving grace.

He wasn't explicitly aware that he was feeling more territorial over you. It wasn't about you anyway, it was by default. Even in the past, he had done these things - putting down other men to get to women. They were his wingmen, he would justify, they weren't supposed to outshine him. When it was his turn to wingman, he definitely let his brothers dog on him for days. It was common and understandable. If anything, Sakamoto should make ways for him. A girl like you wouldn't suit that guy - he was too uptight and serious. What would two high-strung people do together? You should be with someone who know what a good time is. Also, he saw something Sakamoto didn't - a glimpse of your tattoo. Those family-man wouldn't know how to deal with that. How would he take bring that up to his family? They would freak. Even his sister's "31:25" tattoo freaked his parents out, and they were already the most liberal rich family in his neighborhood.

Yeah, Sakamoto should leave you to him.

Settling in on a barstool, he ordered another beer, then repeat himself when the bartender couldn't quite make out what he was trying to say.

Lukas let his eyes scan the people sitting near him. Only a few, he noticed. It wasn't a crazy crowd to begin with.

After this beer, he'd go home.

As the bartender come back with his bottle, Lukas noticed something he didn't expect. From the crowd, you emerged, making your way toward the bar. He blinked, trying to see if he was mistaken.

No... that was definitely you.

All black from head to toes, you treaded silently like a death omen, your sleek heels clicking. Your short sleeved turtle neck and your tight pants started a heat within his chest. Your face wasn't any different, though - just the usual look. No crazy eyeliner, no bold dark lipstick. Seemed like you did not come here to impress the crowd.

You didn't notice him. Hopping onto a stool at the other end with your back facing him, you ordered something.  You knew Japanese, or just enough to get by. A lot of expats got to that point eventually.

Lukas debated on confronting you about your lies - you said you would be at dinner with a friend. Or maybe he could do that tomorrow.

He didn't peg you for such a casual liar.

Lukas hatched another plan: he could observe you, and see how deep your lies could go. Sipping on his beer, he followed your movement. You adjusted in your chair, still with that calm manner you carried yourself. Then, his eyes rested on your skin left bare by the bold backless top. You looked good, but clueless. Would you know the implications of such a shirt? The way your body moved in it... men would think you were asking for troubles. Bad men. Asshole men who didn't know they were pigs. At least he had the decency to admit that he was a pig, but he was an honest pig who respected women. He was a pig who knew to ask once, then if rejected a couple more time just to make sure, then he would leave it alone. Most pigs wouldn't know to even ask.

You sipped on your pink cocktail. That was cute. Your right now style reminded him of those ravebabes he met during spring break, but you were more subtle and quiet. Your movement were less urgent, and your clothes were less exposing. It was a nice feminine touch.

Your moment of rest didn't seem to last long. A man had chosen to sit down right next to you. This man was lanky, dressed in a very unbuttoned black button-down. He started to chatter, first in Japanese, then in English. Another sleazeball trying to test out his games. Lukas wondered when would be appropriate to interfere.

Your body language made it clear you weren't interested, but not afraid. Immediately covering your drink, you tried to turn your body away. The man seemed not to mind. If anything, his speech seemed more excited, his hands moving around like a stupid puppet. Desperate, Lukas thought, that was not a good look.

Deciding your half-finished drink wasn't safe anymore, you laid it on the bar and stepped down, trying to leave. Upon this, the man caught your wrist, forcing you to turn his way. Lukas' stomach twisted - here it was, the moment where he step it and scare off this asshole.

A loud, off-tune note shred through the music. Lukas looked at the stage. The band played on, but it seemed there was a technical issues with the guitarist.

The momentary distraction cost him his chance to intervene. When he turned his eyes back to you, he was hit with a strange scene - in a swift movement you twisted your arms around the man's and grabbed onto his forearm, forcing it down so hard he stumbled. Your face, now turned sideway during the commotion, was eerily calm when you talked. Lukas heard "Sir... I said no."

The man said something in Japanese, something that sounded bitter. Probably a curse word. Lukas jumped off his seat just as the stranger swung with his free arm to slap you across the face. The bartender seemed to have decided that whatever was going on was enough, and she rushed to you. Before she could, you clenched your idle fist and landed an uppercut so hard the harrasser let out a cartoonish "oof", his limp fingers releasing you as he stumbled backward, hitting right against the bouncer who appeared as if from the shadow.

Something in Lukas awakened in that moment. Your stone cold feature and your bruised knuckle left him slack-jawed. He stepped closer, intending to ask if you were okay. Once again, he was interrupted.

"Sir and ma'am, please explain what happened", the burly bouncer commanded. The pathetic guy excitedly tried to speak, but you only crossed your arms and watched. Your eyes was set on the sad attempt at vidication, but you were patient to let him finish his spiel.

"Is it true that you attacked this gentleman unprovoked, ma'am?"

"I apologize for the commotion, sir", your bowed, hands now hanging right atop your knees. Pulling yourself back up, you continued, "this young man seemed to have taken my rejection poorly, and he had slapped me across my face. I understand that my punch was unseemly, but I did that in an attempt to protect myself. He had gotten ahold of my arms and hit me, so I was fearing for the worst."

The bouncer's scowled, but he decided that he had heard it all. His big hand grabbed onto the stranger's wrist, and together they exited out the backdoor.

The fight definitely grabbed some attention. Lukas stood watching you look around, soaking in the side eyes. Taking in a breath, you dusted yourself off and hopped back onto a barstool. The thick, moist, cigarette-dense air fell heavy in Lukas' lungs. He felt his heart drumming, his body hot from an excitement he couldn't surpress. Something about the way you fought hit him like ecstasy.

He wondered if your punch hurts.

Lost in the unprecedented euphoria, he could only gaze at you as some women came up and asked if you were okay. You reassurred them with a familiar smile, one he had seen you wore at work. Your voice was soft again as you thanked the chirpy crowd for their concerns.

Lukas didn't say anything to you that night. He went home and let the image of you and your victorious knuckle bruises lull him to sleep.

___

"Do you need me to find out who he is?"

Yuki wasn't happy when he asked that. The sight of your bandaged hand and the medical patch on your face stirred his stomach with guilt.

"No, of course not", you shook your head, "I'm fine! Really, it was nothing."

Yuki pursed his lips. The lunch he packed himself suddenly tasted like cardboard.

He tried to make it easier by reminding himself that at least Lukas didn't push to have lunch with you today. In fact, the guy had been stoic for the entire morning. Even though you weren't around, Lukas had somehow been working on his computer silently instead of sprawling on his chair like a slacker. Perhaps you had reminded him about his attitudes at work?

If you did, Yuki was impressed that the newbie knew to listen. He didn't think that kid would be the type to do so.

"Sakamoto, please don't worry. I had fun, and your set was great."

He looked down. He knew he wasn't directly to blame, though the guilt never went away- he was well-acquainted with this sort of harrassment. Right in his childhood home he had witnessed worse. What grated him the most was the silence afterward. The way his mother's frail form would hunch, casting a bent shadow on the shoji, her hands cupping her face. He was too young and small to do anything but stand in the hallway and watch as she eventually moved, mute and rigid. He heard the folds of her clothes creasing against one another and the floorboard barely creaking under her feet.

She couldn't have fought back. She was sickly. When he grew into his middle school uniform, Yuki tried to fight on her behalf but his teenage body bounced off his father's sturdy chest. His father was a merciless man, strong like the grey stone wall surrounding their mansion. Yuki remembered the disappointment in the old man's voice as he lamented "my only son is emotional like a woman, and weak like one, too."

"I see...", he said to you, his voice weary. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to bring up the fact that when he saw your tug of war, he let his hand slip across the strings, messing up the song. He had planned to jump off the stage, but his lead singer had tugged on his sleeve and eyed the bouncer who was already coming your way. What was there to tell you? He couldn't say that he had almost done something. Either he did something or he did nothing. In this case, he did nothing. Yuki tried to find solace in the fact that you held your own, but he couldn't. You shouldn't have to, not right in front of a friend.

Another wave of bitterness hit him when he remembered Lukas standing there watching, hesitant to interfere, tall and awkward like an useless telephone pole. Yuki wondered if he should bring Lukas up, but he decides against it. He didn't want you to feel worse - a friend and a junior watching you getting hit, that would not brighten anyone's day. He felt sorry for you to have to deal with two cowards.

Well, if he couldn't feel better, the least he could do was to keep you from feeling worse. He had been of no help with his stupid sad face. After all, this should not be about him. Yuki shamefully put his feelings in the corner as he tried to think of something that would cheer your up.

"Hey, would you like to check out a cat cafe this weekend with me?"

Your eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's right down the street from where I live. I have been meaning to visit, but it would be awkward to go alone."

Yuki already visited. He liked their cakes and tea. Still, he saw no harm in a little white lie to make his invitation seem more natural. He would hate for you to get the idea that he felt obliged to make up for what happened. That would be a transactional spin on what was supposed to be a gesture of friendship.

"That would be so nice! I also was hoping to relax a little lately..."

The knot in his chest unraveled at that.

___

You were intimidated by Lukas' switch-up. Since morning, he was quiet. Upon seeing your bruises, he asked what happened, to which you gave a vague respond about tripping on the sidewalk. No more inappropriate attempts of flirting nor small talks - he appeared to be engrossed in the tasks you handed to him. You found it simultaneously nice and unnerving, so a part of you were glad that you were scheduled to teach until lunch. You were worried that if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to resist asking him what triggered this change.

You thought of asking him to join you and Sakamoto for lunch, remembering the agreement you had made the day prior. Though, by the time you reached the lounge, he was getting ready to leave. "Please don't mind me", he said with an oddly soft smile, "I need to pick up something at the convenient store nearby. I hope you and Mr. Sakamoto have a good meal". His out of character veneered grin hit you like a brick.

By the time afternoon rolled by, Lukas occupied only a corner of your mind. You were mowing through the last days of school, teaching, writing, planning the end of year school festival. When you landed from the whirlwind and came back to the lounge for your last hour, you barely noticed the junior colleague who was still hunched over his laptop. Brushing past him, you got settled. Your tense body completely dropped its guards as you melted in your chair.

Your gaze met with a bottle of cold green tea in your cubicle. From the thin condensation, you figured it hadn't been around for long.

"Afternoon", Lukas' voice echoed from the other side of your corner, "you seemed tired. It's not much, but I hope you feel a little more refreshed drinking that."

"Mr. Lukas... it's so nice of you. I'm embarrassed to not have anything in return."

He didn't move to look at you.

"Don't mind it! You had a long day."

His tone was cool and distant, a long shot from the flirtatiousness you had to suffer so far.

"Really, thank you, Mr. Lukas. I do like this brand a lot, so this definitely made me feel better."

There was a quick pause before he spoke again: "I'm glad."

He moved at last, turning to you. You missed his gaze as you twisted open the cap and took a sip.

"If you don't mind, I would love your opinion on the powerpoints I made so far."

"Of course", you nodded, rolling your chair his way. He arched back, giving you the space to take a look

Your attention was on the mistakes he had made. You had a flaw: you were a perfectionist. Despite your lack of vocal reaction, you knew you could be critical when you saw someone take over your work incorrectly. It comes with expertise. Still, you had trained yourself to manage the uneasiness and maintain an encouraging attitude - something your close friends called "softening the blow".

You often forget, though, that your face could betray you.

"Okay, you did great so far", you said, neglecting to meet his eyes, "but I want to make some notes here. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

For someone so surprisingly tough, you lacked an eye for details. You didn't see the look on him as he watched your hardening face and bandaged knuckle as if he was starving.

[fear-is-truth]

༉‧₊˚. j’s note. for @redskies-7. turned out a bit longer than i expected but only because i adored your request … warnings: mature content. 18+. mastūrbation. fingēring

peter had been on high alert ever since the mission that left you with nasty gashes across your abdomen. the memory of you collapsing, blood soaking through your suit, haunted him, and he’d been an absolute wreck ever since. even now, with bandages wrapped snug around your waist and most of the pain fading to a dull ache, he still treated you like you were on death’s doorstep. “okay, careful, careful,” he’d mutter every time you so much as shifted on the bed. peter would zip over in a blur, fluffing pillows and checking the bandages even when you insisted you were fine.

you had tried to hint that you wanted his attention for something other than fussing over you. but to your disappointment, he’d just shake his head, “uh, no can do, babe,” he’d say, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “you need rest, and i’m, like, a terrible influence when it comes to resting. last thing i wanna do is, y’know, make things worse.”

but you were feeling better. really. and you were tired of the distance he was forcing between you, however well-intentioned it was. late one night, you woke up feeling restless, perhaps a little too desperate. the ache of your injuries having dulled considerably, transferring to a different kind of ache, slow and burning between your thighs. peter was sprawled next to you, completely conked out and snoring softly. wincing, you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position before slipping your fingers under the waistline of your panties.

you squirmed at the much-needed contact, hoping it would be enough to take the edge off. you bit your lip, trying to stifle any moans… but your small fingers were far from enough to ease some of the pent-up frustration from two long weeks of forced rest. but then, just as you finally felt the tickle of a weak orgasm, you heard your boyfriend let out a low, sleepy groan.

“hey… what’s goin’ on?” you turned your head to see him blinking himself awake, silver hair sticking up in all directions. as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, they landed on the guilty look on your face, how your hands were conveniently under the covers. a slow, lazy grin spread across his face as he put two and two together.

“wait a sec…” he raised an eyebrow, looking far too pleased with himself. “are you…?” heat flooded your cheeks, and you froze, pulling the blanket up over your face in embarrassment. “peter, it’s nothing. just… go back to sleep,” you mumbled, but he only chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“wait, are you…?” he asked, a hint of poorly concealed amusement in his voice. “no way.” he stretched out his arms and looked at you, that amused smirk making your face go even hotter. “you couldn’t just ask me for help?”“peter,” you whispered, mortified, pulling the blanket up in an attempt to hide your face.

“just—g-go back to sleep.”

“nah, can’t do that now,” he gently tugged the blanket back down to see your face. his smile turned downright devious. “you’re over here trying to go solo when i’m literally right here?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “babe, i’m almost offended. i thought we were supposed to be a team.”

you buried your face in your hands, utterly embarrassed. but, to your surprise, the teasing stopped immediately; off like a switch. peter nudged your hands away gently, looking at you with earnest concern.

“look,” he began, softer this time, “i know you’re still healing, but—i’ll get back in the groove real quick. don’t want you wearing yourself out, right?” peter flexed his fingers, stretching them out with a flourish, and then, his whole hand started to tremble, no that wasn’t the right word — his hand was vibrating. there was a slight blur to it, as his fingers quivered like a hummingbird’s wings, the movement almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

“…or did you forget my specialty?” he wiggled his eyebrows. you giggled despite yourself, embarrassment starting to melt away as peter braced himself with one forearm planted carefully by your side, making sure not to press into your bandaged torso. “so… what do you say?” he whispered into your ear, “let me take care of you?”

and just like that, you were granted something you’d been denied for weeks. peter had always prided himself on his unique style of “multitasking”. thanks to his ADHD, focusing on one thing wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but with you, he was hell-bent on trying. besides, he was pretty sure he could handle it—especially since you’d made it clear you really needed him right now.

“mghm ohmygod yes, right there, right there–”

he let out a little chuckle at your enthusiasm, lips brushing along your jawline as his vibrating fingers plunged in and out of you. “you know i kept telling myself, ‘peter, you gotta be responsible, let her heal,’” his voice dropped, almost like he was letting you in on some big secret.

“but… c’mon, you’re you. how was i supposed to stay away?” he moved to press a kiss just below your ear, letting out a little dramatic sigh. normally, you would’ve been slightly annoyed with peter’s chattiness, but his voice now possessed a soothing quality that served the purpose to ground you… and distract you from the lewd squelches that reached your ears.

“fuck, you’re, like, my kryptonite. i missed you like this,” your fingers were tangled in his hair, threading through the soft, messy silver strands, and as you gave a gentle tug, peter let out a low hum of contentment. his eyelids fluttered for a second, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a lazy grin as his lips continued their slow, lazy journey from your collarbone down to the soft curve of your breast.

“mhm, keep doin’ that baby. you’re so good fer me.”

he mumbled against your skin, swirling his tongue around your rock-hard nipple while sinking in knuckle-deep. reduced to nothing but a writhing mess in the sheets, the only response that sounded from you was a strained whimper, the moment you felt his fingers curl against your sweet spot. the glorious stretch made you realise just how much you were missing out in this two weeks of abstinence, and how hard it must’ve been for peter as well—judging by the way his hips were rocking against the mattress.

“should’ve woken me up sooner—would’ve saved you a whole lotta trouble.” another moan slipped past your lips as peter began to thrust his fingers with more vigour, reaching deeper than you never thought possible while simultaneously maintaining that delicious vibration in his fingertips. the heat that had been building in the pit of your stomach was fuelled with each stroke of his thumb on your on your clit, and within seconds, a mind-numbing pleasure set your entire bloodstream ablaze. as you rode out your orgasm, peter’s other hand slid over yours, lacing your fingers together.

as your breathing finally started to even out, you glanced over at your boyfriend, who was watching you with that soft, starry-eyed look, his teeth catching on his bottom lip. he caught you staring and gave you a small, lopsided smile, reaching over to brush a few stray hairs from your face. “feelin’ better?” you nodded yes, still catching your breath, and leaned forward to press a slow, lingering kiss to his lips, feeling the heat of his erection poke against your abdomen.

when you pulled back, you whispered, “i wanna do something for you, too. with you, to be exact.”

his eyes widened, that hint of pink deepening in his cheeks. for a second, he just stared, looking torn, like he was debating with himself. you could practically see the gears turning in his head, weighing his worry against his own need for you. then peter sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair, trying to muster his usual bravado.“okay, fine,” he finally relented, shifting to move on top of you carefully, his hand bracing by your side to avoid putting any pressure on your bandaged torso. “but if i hurt you—or if you start bleeding again—i’m… i’m wrapping you up in so much gauze you won’t be able to move,”

a/n: sorry if this sounded ooc… it’s been a while since i’ve written for peter </3

 fear-is-truth

[number1jeonginstan]

Heyyy!!! I just wanted to ask if u could write this very interesting idea of mine. Chan making you roll a dice and what number you roll, is the amount of thrust you take. But you keep calling him daddy and he can't hold back anymore so he starts pounding u like a pup in the heat. NO PRESSURE totally fine if you don't feel comfortable writing this. But just thoughts. Have a nice day/night!💗

A/N: YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW EXCITED I WAS TO WRITE THIS. Like I wanted to write it as soon as I got this, but I got really sick so writing has been on the back burner, but I hope I did your ask justice with my writing. ALSO, my mentions are still open y'all so....

wc: 1.2k (not enough in my opinion 😔)

warnings: 18+ only, minors do not interact, unprotected sex, afab!reader, reader is called slut, daddy kink (obvi), some fluff as well because I love fluff

It was the first day Chan had off in ages. It was the afternoon and you were snuggled up on his bed, laying on top of him, head on his chest watching a movie. “All I’m saying is Andrew Garfield is hot.” You said with a shrug, eating another piece of popcorn. Chan was above you rolling his eyes. 

“You think everyone is hot,” he said stealing a sip of your drink. You lift your head from his chest looking up at him, “You can’t possibly deny it, look at him.” 

“I never thought you had a thing for skinny white guys, maybe I should stop going to the gym?” before he could tease you even more you quickly shouted out a “No!” 

“If you stop going to the gym, it better be for yourself, you know I love you no matter what,” you said giving him a big hug. He kissed your forehead as you both fell back into a comfortable silence.

An hour had passed and you both finally finished the movie. You got up from the bed, stretching your body since you were both lying down on the bed. Chan was still on the bed, stretched out like a starfish. “What should we do next? Do you want to play a board game?” you asked trying to put all the dishes you guys ate from earlier away. 

“Yeah we can do that, I think it would be fun,” you said whilst pulling out Monopoly from the stack of board games you both had accumulated over the last two years of Friday game nights with the rest of the members. 

“If you get park place again, I will never talk to you again.” 

“Chan stop being such a baby,” you said while rolling your eyes. “You love it though,” he said whilst pouting, placing a kiss on your cheek. 

You both finally got into the groove of playing the game, giggling at each other throughout it. “Hey! You are cheating, you can’t steal money from the bank.” Chan said swatting your hand away from the pile of money lying on his bed. “Oh come on,” you groaned, “I purposely gave you Park Place this time.”

“What! I won that place fair and square.” he looked at you with a confused face. “You keep telling yourself that Channie,” you said patting his cheek. 

“Oh, you wanna play that game?” he said while dragging you on top of his lap messing up the game along the way. “I was about to win” you whined. “Were you, were you really?” he said while kissing your lips. 

“Yes!” you said while kissing him back. “If you want to play a game, I have a great one for us to play,” he said with his signature smirk. “Mhm, and what would that be?” 

“We still have this die,” he said while rolling it in his hands, “let’s have some fun with it.”

“What do you have in mind” you asked looking up to him, still on his lap. “Why don’t we play a game? You roll the dice two times, and I multiply whatever it is.”

“Okay?” you asked a bit confused. “Sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish. Whatever that number is, is the number of times I’ll thrust into you.”  He said with a coy smile, “Don’t you think that will be fun baby?” 

You hesitantly agreed, thinking that, with luck by your side, you would roll all 5’s and 6’s, but you were so wrong. 

“Please Channie, I just need you to fuck me” you pleaded. You were underneath him, his cock rutting in and out of you to whatever you rolled the dice to. “Please, I need you in me,” you whined. 

“But I’m already in you unless you want me to stop?” he said while slowly slipping out of you. “Wait!” you stopped him and he stilled in you. You quickly rolled the dice twice, not wanting him to stop. “You rolled three twice, so that means 9 thrusts doesn’t it? Should we make the best of it sweetheart?” he said whilst rubbing your clit. 

You just nodded, wanting to feel him inside of you. He slowly thrust inside of you, wanting you to feel every inch of his cock, every vein as your pussy clenched around him. “You are such a good girl, taking my cock so well.”

His words made you clench around him, moaning at the way he was hitting so deep inside of you. You could cum with just his cock inside of you, the stretch being so big that he had to always prep you so well, just to take it. But him fucking you so sensually and slowly was getting you nowhere. 

“I need more” you moaned, feeling him particularly deep inside of you. “Awe, is my cock not enough? Do you need to get fucked like a slut? I don’t think I can do that baby, you gotta take it like a good girl. Maybe roll higher next time and I can fuck you faster.” 

It was torture and he knew it, you were squirming underneath him. “Roll again,” he said while kissing your forehead and you did “6 and 6 this time sweetheart, guess I’m going a bit faster.” 

He began pounding into you and you couldn’t control yourself “Fuck daddy, it feels so good.” You didn’t mean to say that, you had never called him daddy before and you had no idea how he would react, before you could even apologize, he began pounding into you.

“Fuck baby, you like that? Do you need daddy to fuck you til you forget your own name?” you just moaned, he was fucking you so good your tongue was loling out to the side. “Come on baby, answer daddy. Do you like my cock fucking into you like the little slut you are?” 

“Yes daddy, so good daddy, I’m gonna cum” you said as he began circling your clit simultaneously. You couldn’t control yourself, he was pounding into you so well 

“Fuck baby, be a good girl and cum for me, cum on daddy’s cock okay. You can do that for daddy right baby?” you just nodded, your walls squeezing him tighter as he started thrusting inside of you harder. “Will be a good girl for daddy, gonna cum on his cock” you hiccuped as you finally felt that strand in your stomach snap. 

You were cumming all over his cock as he continued to rut inside of you. “Where do you want me to cum baby? Where do you want daddy to cum?” 

“Inside of me please” you whimpered and he started pounding into you. “Fuck want daddy’s cum don’t you baby? Want daddy to fill you up.” 

“Fuck” he groaned as he stilled inside of you painting your walls with his hot cum. He laid next to you, still inside. “Where did the daddy come from baby?” he asked kissing your forehead. “I have no idea, but I’m glad I did because I think that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” you said with a giggle.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Tender-headed

Tee Higgins x Black!WifeReader

Word Count: 670

Things Are Changing | Main Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Tee I swear to god if you move again."

It's the night before the first Bengals game of the season and you're helping your husband get ready to start the season off right. Which includes doing his and Ja'Marr's hair, usually you'd have already done it, but they like doing things last minute just because they can.

"Man, it's really not that bad." Ja'Marr smirks as he watches his fellow receiver squirm.

"You trippin, baby you are grippin my damn brain right now." You roll your eyes at Tee's antics.

"Tamaurice stop acting like a baby. Did you or did you not pick 'Pop Smoke braids?"

"I thought it was gon' be fast, I aint think you'd be putting your whole self on my head. Ow shit-" He winces as you start another plait.

"You know, I've had children sit better than you." He turns his head with a deadpan look on his face. Ja'Marr, from the kitchen, immediately busted out laughing.

"You too, Uno! And why are you eating my chicken?"

"Cuz' you my sister and I'm hungry." You shake your head and go back to Tee's hair, which would be done if he would just sit still. But instead of letting you finish he lifts himself off the floor and joins your younger brother.

"I need a break."

"I want a divorce." You slump back on the couch, brushing the loose hair off your pajama pants.

"What was that?" Your husband calls out.

"Oh nothing, just me regretting following my idiot brother to Ohio." Ja'Marr snorts.

"You should be thanking me. I got you better clients and even though I told you stay away from my teammates, you found a husband."

You give him a stank face even if he may have a point.

Tee comes back to the couch with a plate so full you'd think he hadn't eaten dinner an hour ago. "Didn't get your fill earlier?"

"Nah, but half of it is yours." He says handing you a fork.

"Baby I'm good, I ate with y'all remember?" You chuckle while low-key eyeing the homemade potato salad.

He rolls his eyes before 'force' feeding you. "You forget that I know you, that shit was cute on our first date, but you my woman now." You close your eyes as the flavors marry together in your mouth.

"Mhm exactly." He leans and pecks your lips.

"That's my cue. Goodnight ya nasty lovebirds." Ja'Marr announces. The front door slams shut a few seconds later.

"I thought he'd never leave." You chuckle.

"Thank god he did, cause now I can do this." He cups your chin and pulls you in for a much deeper sensual kiss. You immediately melt against his plush lips and allow him full access past your lips. The remnants of his cologne fill your senses and ignite a fire in your chest. You clutch his shirt closing the inches of space between you as his tongue relearns the grooves of your mouth.

"Baby." You attempt mutter, but it's swallowed by your lover.

He finally pulls away with a deep rumble in his chest, "yea?" He asks with lidded eyes.

"We need to finish your hair." You say taking your swollen lips between your teeth. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Yea." Neither of you move, too engrossed in each other's gaze. His eyes flicker back down to your lips and a smile grows on his face.

You break away from your trance as his hand strokes your thigh. "I mean it." Slapping away his hand, but he just grips it harder.

"Tee..."

A deep grumble is released into the air. "Why you wanna get rid of me so bad?"

"I don't, but the faster we get done the sooner we can move to the bedroom." A look of mischief flashes in his eyes that has him planting himself back on the carpet.

"Aight, let's go and skip the mousse." A light giggle leaves your lips.

"I'll see what I can do."

• ♡ •

a/n: not 'Legacy' but I could not stop thinking about this idea so I had to write it. but now I'll be able to focus on 'legacy' lol

[mcflymemes]

THE EMPEROR'S NEW GROOVE (2000) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

how shall i do it?

oh, is that hard to believe?

is this really the best you could do?

check out this piece of work.

i'm here because i received a summons.

word on the street is you can fix my problem.

the drinks were a bit on the warm side.

okay, i admit it. maybe i wasn’t as nice as i should have been.

do you really want to kill me?

so is everything ready for tonight?

i thought we’d start off with a soup and a light salad, and then see how we feel after that.

we’re about to go over a huge waterfall.

bring it on.

you got all that, honey?

what about dinner?

all right. a quick cup of coffee.

but what does that have to do with anything?

you’re sort of confusing me.

how did you get back here before us?

by all accounts, it doesn’t make sense.

i never liked your spinach puffs.

ah. should have seen that coming.

you know what, you could have told me that before i set it up.

now you stop being hard on yourself. all is forgiven.

it’s not the first time i was tossed out of a window, and it won’t be the last.

what can i say? i’m a rebel.

i can’t believe this is happening!

break the door down!

are you kidding me? this is hand-carved mahogany.

so you lied to me.

couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes, huh.

why did i risk my life for a selfish brat like you?

i was always taught that there was some good in everyone, but, oh, you proved me wrong.

now i feel really bad.

you threw off my groove!

he didn’t pay his check.

this had better be good!

this is the last time we take directions from a squirrel.

yeah, like that would ever happen.

will you take a look at this?

oh, is that hard to believe?

just thought i’d give you a heads up.

what do you mean the door’s stuck? try jiggling the handle.

you’re the criminal mastermind here, not me.

just leave me alone.

it’s my birthday gift to me. i’m so happy.

hey, it doesn’t always have to be about you.

uh, he doesn’t really wanna talk to you.

hey, did you see that sky today? talk about blue.

don’t drink the wine.

our moment of triumph approaches!

oh, he’s doing his own theme music.

i’m so glad i was unconscious for all of this.

you’re not just gonna let him die like that, are you?

don’t listen to that guy.

if it were me, i’d march right back there and demand to see him.

you just saved my life!

believe it or not, i think i need a bath.

maybe i’m just new to this whole rescuing thing, but this, to me, might be considered kind of a step backwards.

i ate a bug today!

what is this guy babbling about?

i’ll be sure to tell him you stopped by.

i gotta go wash something.

anything sounds bad when you say it with that attitude.

let me guess, you have a great personality.

thanks for going back on your promise!

how long has that been there?

someday you’re gonna wind up all alone, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

hmm. don’t know, don’t care. how’s that?

for the last time, it was not a kiss.

[fandomnerd9602]

Square Dance: Ladies Chain

Part Two of Square Dance Series

Country!Wanda x Male Reader

You didn’t expect to fall in love so fast on a week long trip, much less fall in love with your best friend’s beautiful southern accented, country girl of a sister. The first night at the homestead was a little awkward to say the least.

Well at least at first. Piet couldn’t really look at you or Wanda that night. He just mumbled something about of all the chances…his best friend dancing with his sister, and then he went into his room. Wanda couldn’t help but giggle a little as you and her made your way to your respective rooms.

Wanda stopped in the doorframe of the master bedroom, her eyes full of mischief and adoration.

“You really are quite a dancer, city boy.” She made sure her accent leaked thru on every syllable. You could already feel your knees getting weak.

“You’re not so bad yourself. Good night.” You say gently.

“Night (Y/N). It was lovely meetin ya” and with that she walked in and closed the door. A small smile made its way across your face and you went into your own room.

You came downstairs the next day to find Piet waiting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee. "Hey" he offers you a slight smile, "if you're wondering where your little songbird is, she's out with the horses"

"Look Piet" you try to articulate, "I-I can find other lodging. I don't wanna-"

Piet cuts you off with a wave of his hand, "My sis is a big girl now. She can make her own choices...if she was gonna end up with someone I knew, I'd rather it be you." He offers you a toast of his coffee cup and a friendly wink, "you're one of the good ones"

"Thanks" he give him a little smile before grabbing your own cup of coffee.

You went out to the homestead stable and found Wanda strumming on her guitar. Her brownish-red horse next to her, it's tail swishing as if in line with the melody on the guitar.

(Crazier - Taylor Swift)

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I'm falling and I I'm lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier, crazier

You found yourself lost in the little melody as she continued strumming. Her eyes were shut tight, lost in the composition. It made her look all the more heavenly in your eyes. She was driven by a passion for her music, her songs.

I watched from a distance as you Made life your own Every sky was your own kind of blue And I wanted to know how that would feel And you made it so real You showed me something that I couldn't see You opened my eyes and you made me believe

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I'm falling and I I'm lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier, crazier, oh-oh

She brought her little jam session to an end and it was only then that she realized you were there with her.

"Sorry" she apologized, "pardon my enthusiasm"

"I love your enthusiasm" you sit down next to her. "I wish I was brave enough to do the things you do."

"Aw shoot" she giggled, trying to hide her face from you, "you're gonna make me blush"

"Why haven't you tried going to like...Nashville?"

She lets out a long, sorrowful breath, "I did. They didn't want me there so I-I came back. Sometimes the big leagues don't like small town country girls"

"But you shouldn't give up on it. You're great" you tried to build her up, "If one door closes, you find a window to jump thru"

"Now you're sounding like Piet after Crystal's Pa found him in her room again" she laughs, her infectious laugh caused you to join her for a laugh too.

Wanda rises from her spot, patting the hay and dirt off her perfectly formed butt, "You looking for a ride, city boy?"

"I-I'm sorry?"

"On a horse" she lets out another little laugh, "come on. Let's take a ride together"

The better part of the afternoon was spent riding horses with Wanda. Piet joined you an hour or so later.

The next two days were spent settling into a nice little groove with the Maximoffs. Piet showed you the ropes of living on the homestead while Wanda showed you small town comforts and how to enjoy them. She always took your hand and led you somewhere. Something about small town life just appealed to you. It was far away from the hustle and bustle, it allowed you to slow down and appreciate life for what it could be.

And then came Thursday night. Wanda put down a flier for Ladies Chain Night at the watering hole. "It's ladies choice night and I choose you to come with me" she flashed you a smile.

"You better go" Piet tells you, "Crystal's dragging me to the same night and I need someone to talk to"

"Oh hush you" Wanda exclaimed, lightly smacking her brother.

Wanda couldn't be more excited as she led you into the watering hole. Her band, Good Witch Scarlett was playing softly. You could see her pal Nattie give her a little wink as Wanda led you to the dance floor.

"Alright, this one's an old favorite of a friend of ours" Nattie said, "we hope you like it too."

(You're the Only One - Dolly Parton)

I found out the hard way And I'm never gonna break your heart I know, too late And I don't wanna break your heart Guess I had to go away just to find What I left behind

You're the only one, you're the only one Take me back to where we started from And let's make it now like we made it then This old heart ain't gonna break your heart again

Wanda and you danced to the music. Her eyes, those doe-like orbs that you could never get tired of, just stared into yours. She playfully took your hat and dipped it a little over your eyes.

"You keep looking at me like that and I know I'm gonna be a goner," she warned you with a little chuckle.

"Too late for me" you say back with a chuckle. She simple leaned against your chest. She sighed, just lost in the beat of the song and the lulling sound of your heartbeat.

Nights I lay in bed And your covers wouldn't warm my feet And mornin' found me bitter or a bit too sweet Oh, baby, I had to go away just to run back and say

You're the only one, you're the only one Take me back to where we started from Can we make it now like we made it then? This old heart ain't gonna break your heart again

She lifted her head and looked into your eyes again. "I lied" she whispered.

"Huh?"

"I'm already a goner too, city boy" she looked to your lips. "kiss me"

"yes ma'am" you smiled before taking her chin gently with your free hand and leaned in to kiss her. Maybe there was something in the air, but the moment your lips touched hers, you swear that there was electricity between the two of you.

"Aw shoot" she giggled, "I ain't never letting you go now"

"Your brother's gonna have to lasso me to keep me apart from you" you answered back with a chuckle.

"My lasso's out in the truck" Piet cut in before his gal immediately pulled him away from you and Wanda.

Something felt so right about this moment with Wanda. But yet the truth hit you like a ton of bricks. You only had three days left on your vacation with the Maximoffs.

To Be Continued...

Tags: @lifespectator @ma1egamer @jacenradio7 @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @deafeningsharkslimeempath @konstantin609 @family-house-of-m @kingofthelizardpeople @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @multi-fandom-enjoyer @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @revanshand @russianredassassin @sapphic-s1mp

[eat-limes-bitches]

The Sounds That Bind Us

PAIRING: Female Farmer! Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: Music has a way of tying two people together, in ways that only the universe can design.

WARNINGS: umm, major fluff, so so so fluffy! Minor injuries (for Bucky any way)

Word Count: 2967

Alternate Jun-iverse: C4027 | Square 1: Soulmate | Square 2: Country

A/N: OOO! I'm excited for this one yall! I've been working on it for a while! (Hence the word length hehe) But this is my first attempt at a soulmate AU and I hope I did it justice, but I'm really happy with it and I hope you guys love it as much as I do!

Song lyrics are in italics and the songs are:

Honey Take My Hand by Cody Francis

Didn’t See It Coming by My Brothers and I

Fallen Like A Star by St. Lundi

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne, graphic by Eat-Limes-Bitches

Bucky was going to kill him. Steve had promised an easy in-and-out mission, something low stakes to get back into the groove after some time off in Wakanda. This was everything but that. Bucky was snapped out of his murderous thoughts by a bullet whizzing by his head, making him curse as he sped up. These HYDRA soldiers were hot on his tail, and not letting up. It didn’t help that he had been hit, the pain coursing through his right thigh a constant reminder of the bullet lodged in the flesh. As he tumbled through the treeline into a clearing, he saw an old barn, the moonlight reflecting off the tin roof seemed like a beacon of hope. Without any other options, he skillfully hopped over the fence, ducked into the barn, held his breath, and listened. The soldiers came exploding through the treeline and stopped, seeing no sign of Bucky anywhere. Bucky listened carefully as he heard them approach the barn and stop. Their boots crunched on the fallen leaves as they circled the barn. His heart was in his throat, blood rushing in his ears but after a moment that seemed like forever, they left. Bucky didn’t move for almost an hour, listening and making sure that he was in the clear before he pulled out his transponder. He looked down to activate it and saw that it had been trashed by a stray bullet. He groaned out a curse and threw the useless device across the barn. He tried to stand but the pain in his leg prevented him from supporting any weight so he pushed himself up against the wall, deciding that he’d just rest for a bit.

He was on the verge of sleep when a song started to flow through his mind, louder than it had been since, ever, causing him to startle. See, everyone had a soulmate, something Bucky never believed in, having never heard any music in the 40’s. After he fell off the train, he figured whoever they were would be long dead by now. However, since coming out of recovery, he started to hear the music again. Part of HYDRA’s programming, he found out, was to block the music that would be pumping into his mind from his soulmate but now that he was free from all of the things that HYDRA put in his head, he started hearing music. He didn’t think much of it, as it was always quiet and in the background like a thought, but this song was so loud that it sounded like it was being whispered in his ear. 

“Let's get out, we can leave this city. Let's drive to the open air. Yeah, the countryside is so pretty. With the wind blowing in your hair. We can look back someday Baby, don't you understand? That we only get one love, I wanna make it count. Honey, come on now and take my hand”

It was a soft melody, the gentle guitar soothing his frayed nerves, and just as quickly as it startled him awake, it soothed him back to sleep.

He was woken up by something cold and wet nuzzling into his cheek. Bucky groaned and tried to shift away from the intrusion but he was too stiff from his awkward sleeping predicament to move very fast. Swatting at whatever the hell was messing with him, he was greeted by more music flooding his senses. This time, even louder than the last. The guitar was vibrating his bones and the drums rattling his teeth when all of a sudden there was a gasp and the music promptly stopped. 

“Jake! Get away from him! Jesus, hey guy, are you ok?” 

A panicked voice called out as the presence next to him disappeared. Bucky shot open his eyes and shot up into a position ready to defend himself when he saw a woman staring at him. Her light blue button-up was tucked into a pair of old worn-out jeans with a dark belt securing them in place around her hips. A large black and white dog was standing at her side, tail wagging furiously back and forth as its warm brown eyes stared at him. 

Bucky blinked, all the memories of what happened yesterday came flooding back into the forefront of his brain.

“Uh- yeah, I uh- I think so.” He groaned, his leg screaming at him in pain causing him to hiss out in discomfort. 

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like it, here, let me help you.” The woman walked over, tucking an arm underneath his and wrapping it around him, hoisting him onto his feet and leading him to a bench on the other side of the barn. She gently placed him down and ran her eyes over him when she noticed the dried patch of blood on his thigh.

“Shit, have you been shot?!” Bucky was too busy gawking at how stunning this woman was to notice that he was bleeding again, her words caused him to look down where she was staring.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I was. I kind of forgot about that.” Bucky shrugged as he watched the woman wander off to another area.

“How in the hell do you just forget that you were shot?!” She called out in between the slams of cabinet doors. Bucky took a deep breath, opening his mouth to respond when he noticed the dog, who he presumed to be the ‘Jake’ the woman had called out to, resting his head on Bucky’s non-injured thigh. He ran his fingers through the soft silky fur of the pup’s head, looking back up when he heard the woman's rapidly returning footsteps. She appeared from around an old tractor, med kit in tow. She saw the dog vibrating happily underneath Bucky’s attention and smiled softly.

“Jake! Leave…” She paused looking at Bucky for his name. 

“Bucky. You can call me Bucky.” She smiled.

“Y/n. Nice to meet you Bucky.” Bucky’s heart flipped in his chest at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. His eyes followed her as she crouched down next to him, placing the med kit on the bench. 

“Are you ok with me taking care of this or would you rather do it,” Y/n asked as she began to rifle through the box looking for all of the necessary supplies. Bucky was shocked, she just found this strange man in her barn and was going to help him out instead of calling the cops. He realized she was waiting for an answer, her eyes full of worry staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“Or, um, I can take you to the hospital, but that's a bit of a drive.” Bucky just shook his head.

“No, no. It’s fine. If you leave the supplies here I can take care of it. Thanks.” Y/n nodded standing up.

“Of course! I’ll get you a change of clothes. My brother left some clothes here, he’s about your height. Hopefully, they fit.”

Before Bucky could say anything else, Y/n walked out of the barn and disappeared, leaving Bucky alone with Jake and a med kit. Bucky gave the dog a final pet before tending to injury.

Once, he was cleaned up and in a fresh pair of clothes, Y/n brought him to the little farmhouse for some breakfast. Bucky sat on a stool watching Y/n cook.

“So how did you end up in my barn? It’s not every day that I get up to start chores and find a man in there.” She asked, flipping over the pancake in the skillet. Bucky chuckled scratching the back of his neck, trying to decide what to say.

“Well, uh… It’s kind of a long story...” 

A few days had passed since breakfast that morning, him spilling his entire life life story to this woman. She promised to try and help him get back to his team, however, the first snow of the season had fallen that same evening and there was no way for them to drive to the town some thirty miles away with the ice and snow covering the roads. 

“Being in the middle of nowhere has its advantages and disadvantages.” She had told him, shoveling a path out to the barn the next morning. “The fact that no plow trucks come through here just happens to be one of the shitty things.” 

Bucky felt strange just sitting around while she worked so he offered to help out while he was there. A sort of thank you for inadvertently saving his life. The more he worked around the farm, the more music he heard playing through his mind, but every time he tried to find the source, it would disappear and Y/N would appear from around a corner, tucking something into her pocket and then asking Bucky a question as she approached. 

The same thing was happening again as Bucky heard the first few chords from a new song drift into his mind, the same volume as the song that first night he slept in the barn.

“Fell in love with a girl that's a few years younger. Was a sister of a friend, didn’t see it coming.”

Bucky set down the bale of hay he had started to take to the horses, to follow the music. He walked over towards the door of the barn, the music getting louder with each step he took.

“I was hanging with him when I heard the door open.”

He pushed open the door and looked out to see Y/n and Jake walking towards the barn. She had earbuds tucked in under her hat, humming softly, and with each step she took towards the barn the louder the music in Bucky's ears got. He felt his heart start to race, his mouth ran dry.

“She walked into the room with a smile and that’s when, her eyes looked at me and said quietly,”

Y/n looked up to see Bucky staring at her and plucked the earbuds out of her ears and tucked them into her pocket, the music playing in Bucky’s mind disappearing with them.

“Hey, Bucky! I was lookin’ for ya!” She smiled at him, continuing to walk closer. “I was wondering if you could help me with something a little different.” She was standing right in front of him now, her bright eyes locking onto his. His pulse started to quicken as he hoped the cold masked the blush forming on his cheeks. 

“W-what might that be?” Y/n giggled and placed a hand on his shoulder sparks flooding throughout his body as she pushed him back into the barn. 

“I have to round up the cows today, since it’s snowed that means all of the bot flies are gone so we can go ahead and deworm them. I was hoping you could tag along. I know you’ve probably never done anything like this but it would really help me out a ton.” She smiled sweetly at him as she paused by the tack room, heading inside to grab her saddle and other equipment for the task at hand. 

“Uh sure, I’ll give it a go,” Bucky replied, following her into the small room, grabbing the other saddle sitting on the rack. It was then Bucky decided that he would do just about anything to get Y/n to smile at him like that again. It was so warm and bright that he felt ten times warmer than he did just moments ago.

“Awesome! Thank you so much, Buck! If you want to tack up Shanty I’ll hop on Zippy and we can go bring those cows up to the cattle shed!” 

Bucky saddled up Shanty with some difficulty due to the fact he had no idea what the hell he was doing, but with Y/n’s help, the pair were ready to go. Bucky watched as Y/n skillfully mounted the red horse who was stomping around impatiently waiting for her to get on. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pulled himself up into the saddle and nodded for Y/n to lead the way. As the pair began to jog through the snow Bucky called out,

“I hope you know I haven’t been on a horse since 1943, an’ never used em’ on a farm before so I have no idea what I’m doin’ darlin’.”

Y/n let out a laugh that seemed to sing off of the ice that covered a nearby pond. She looked over her shoulder and Bucky was convinced he had never seen a more beautiful sight. The morning sun reflected off the snow, causing its golden glow to dance across the landscape. Its golden rays were blocked by the brim of her dark cowboy hat, but the leather band almost seemed to be turned into gold as the beams of light that slipped around the edges wove into the intricate braid. Her eyes sparkled with something so warm and bright that Bucky was sure he was seeing an angel in person. 

“Don’t worry too much!” She replied, oblivious to the effect she had on the man. 

“Shanty’s a pro. She can basically do this on her own, she just prefers having someone on her back or a little extra guidance.” Y/n explained as the cow herd came into view. “Just point her in the right direction, she will do the rest.” 

Bucky nodded and watched as Y/n kicked Zippy forward toward the cows and once she rounded the back, the herd started running in his direction. Gripping onto the reins, he pointed Shanty in the direction and when the cows tried to jump out of line, Shanty would run and slide to a stop, forcing the cows to stay in a group as they ran towards the cattle shed. 

The journey back to the cattle shed was considerably more work than the ride out, constantly trying to keep the frisky cows from darting off one way or another but eventually, they were all secured in the barn, Y/n smiled at Bucky.

“Thank you for your help. I can take it from here. Meet you inside for dinner? I prepped some ravioli last week that’s in the freezer.” 

Bucky smiled and agreed, leading Shanty and Zippy back to the barn, the goofy grin remaining on his face all the way there.

Bucky grumbled angrily as the wrench slipped out of his hand. He reached out from under the tractor with his left hand when he remembered that his left hand was, essentially, an all-purpose tool. After finally getting the stubborn bolt off, he pushed himself out from underneath the tractor and took a sip of the hot cider in his mug that Y/n insisted he take with him after dinner. In between bites of the best ravioli that he had ever eaten, Y/n mentioned that the tractor had a bust pipe and that he had gotten the parts but hadn’t had the time to fix it herself so naturally, Bucky set off to fix it as soon as the dishes were done. 

Just as Bucky was about to get back to work, he heard a new melody whisper in his ear.

I'm flying, shining, bright like just like the Leonids, Heading for you.

Wiping his hands off on an old shop towel, Bucky made his way back to the farmhouse, and with each step he took, the music got a little louder.

Slowly, but surely, lighting up the pyramids, On my way to you

Kicking off his snow and mud-covered boots in the mud room, Bucky followed the sound of the music, to the back porch where he found Y/n sitting with a mug in her hands gazing up at the stars.

Ooh, ooh. I've fallen like a star for you

The music was so loud at this point, that Bucky was convinced that it was integrating itself into the very fiber of his being. Taking a steadying breath, he reached out a hand and placed it on Y/n’s shoulder startling her her slightly before realizing it was just him. He watched as she hit the pause button, and the music that was flowing so clearly stopped. Bucky felt his heart rate pick up. There is no way that he's finally found her after all this time.

“Hey Buck, What going on?” Y/n asks softly, offering a smile

“Can I see your Phone?” Bucky asks all in one breath.

Puzzled Y/n hands it to him. “Uh, sure why?”

“I just want to try something” He mumbled as he put the earbuds in and walked away from her to the opposite end of the porch. He locked eyes with her and hit play.

He watched as Y/n’s eyes grew wide, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She heard it too. Bucky swallowed as he took a shaky step toward her, the music getting louder with each step he took until he was standing face-to-face with her.

Ooh, ooh. I've fallen like a star for you

“I think you’re my soulmate” He whispered, reaching out to cup her face with his flesh hand, the metal one still holding onto the phone.

Y/n blinked a few times in surprise before surging forward and tackling him in a hug planting a firm but warm kiss on his lips. Bucky blinked in surprise but responded immediately, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her flush against his body.  Eventually, they parted and Y/n smiled up at him.

 “Does that mean you’ll stay here with me?” She whispered.

Bucky pressed his forehead against hers before he replied, “Forever and always, for as long as you’ll have me.”

[majinbangus]

Majin~ idk if my original ask sent so I'm gonna send it again just in case, Tumblr must find my asks delicious bc they get eaten like 85% of the time 🥲

Hello! Idk it you're taking requests now, or if you've already done this prompt/theme before, but I was wondering what it'd be like to be one of the many people Johnny flirts with on base, and you brush it off bc he's such a flirt. And yes, while Johnny will flirt with just about anyone bc thats his default setting, he's low-key going out of his mind bc he wants you to see that with you, it's different! It's genuine and sincere! What will it take for you to realize that the only person he's got a huge crush on is you?

Idk just wanted to see this from your perspective! No worries if you don't feel like writing anything for this, still love ya!! 😘

hey anon, sorry for the wait, getting my groove back slowly, but here it is. i might do another version of this some other time tho bc i had another vision for it but ended up with this

You don't know why he's been so affectionate with you lately. His playful flirting has gotten excessive, too. It's weird. He's being weird.

It's not like you dislike the attention, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it. That's just how he is. You know you're firmly designated as ‘friend’ in his eyes. A painful fact you've known ever since he made that comment to his ex about never seeing you in a different light because you ‘weren't his type.’ 

Yeah, that stung a bit, and you were a little offended, but that was more ego talking and less romantic feelings at the time. 

Unfortunately, things have changed. Feelings have changed. Yours, specifically.

You don't quite remember when exactly it happened, but you know it was sometime during the last few months of his last relationship. That was an agonizing time, and over a year since the end of that relationship plus several flings later, you're still pathetically pining over a man who will never see you as anything more than a friend because quote ‘he could never be attracted to someone who wasn’t his type’ unquote.

Now, you have to put on a smile and pretend it doesn't make your heart malfunction whenever he flashes that dimpled smile at you, or when he rests an arm over your shoulder while he walks next to you calling you all sorts of pet names he's never called you before. Not to mention all the times he feeds you a piece of his lunch, and when he grabs your wrist and makes you feed him. That barely scratches the surface of his newfound behavior around you.

Soap has never shown you more flirtation than the usual shallow amount he gives to anyone he's not dating. To be bathed in it out of nowhere is a shock to your system. An enigma you can't comprehend, nor are you eager to question it lest you lose his sudden affection. And despite the delusional part of you wishing he meant something by it, deep down you know it's simply false hope making you imagine the romantic adoration reflecting in those pretty ocean blues of his.

“–so what do you say?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You blink a few times, trying to force yourself to focus on Soap and not how bright his eyes are, or how warm his body feels pressed up against yours with his arm slung around your shoulder. He's so close, it's making your heart do fireworks.

“I asked if you wanna meet up next time we're on leave? We rarely hang out outside of work and drinks at the pub.”

“I can't.” It's not that you don't want to, but you don't really see the logic behind it, either. “One, we don’t live remotely close to each other, and two, I have family coming to visit.”

Soap laughs at your excuses, tightening his arm and pulling you impossibly closer. “That just means I can meet them, love! I've been meaning to sight see where you’re from anyway!”

It's your turn to bark out an incredulous laugh. “Sight see what? Soap, the city I live in is shit.”

“Och, can't be that bad if the locals are half as lovely as you, darlin’.”

“That was terrible!” You giggle, nearly doubling over at his cheesy flirtation, but despite yourself, you can't stop the fluttering in your heart, hoping he doesn't realize how much you actually like his attention and stupid charming words, or how you can barely share the same space with him without feeling like your chest is going to burst, or the obvious hearts in your eyes every time you look at him. “Please tell me you use better lines than that!”

Soap pays no mind to your laughter with that lopsided smile on his lips. He stares at you with those stupid, pretty blue eyes, strong arm still around you almost as if he's staking some kind of claim on you, like a leash or collar. You wish that was the case. You'd give anything to be marked as his.

“They seemed to work for me so far.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Aye.”

“Psh, then save the cheese for someone you want.”

“What if I want you?”

“What?” He sounds so earnest you have to stop a moment, shrugging off his arm, and turning to face him. Soap doesn’t flinch, staring back at you with such intensity you laugh uncomfortably to ease the growing tension in your chest. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Soap. You almost got me.”

“I’m being serious. I want you.”

“Since when?”

It’s a genuine question. You’re not playing dumb intentionally–well, maybe a little–but after so long of pining after him, this is something you need him to spell out for you. Even then, a part of you is ready to laugh off whatever he says next. 

Because what you have with Soap doesn’t go any deeper than a close friendship. It never has and never will be anything more than that. Even when you want it to be more, you know he’d never love someone like you. 

“Soap?” You tilt your head at him when he doesn’t answer. His smile has dropped and he’s looking at you with that cute frown of his you’ve always loved. The one when he’s deep in thought, doing all sorts of calculations or analysis on whatever has him stumped. 

“I don’t know how I can be any clearer, hen.” He talks slowly. Low and soft as if in disbelief. “Thought I’ve been obvious with my flirtin.”

“We ‘flirt’ all the time!” You laugh, trying to deflect the growing hope you feel. “We’re friends, Soap. Stop messing with me! Besides, I know I’m not your type.”

Surprisingly, he sounds offended when he asks, “Where’d you get that idea?” 

“What, that I’m not your type? You said it.”

“When?”

“When you were with what’s-her-face? The crazy possessive instagram model.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’, that always stuck with me, so thanks for that.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

You give a derisive laugh. “Then why’d you say it?”

“She was insecure.” Soap furrows his brows in regret, running a hand through his mohawk. “I thought I liked her at the time, so I said it to make her feel better. She didn't like you.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” You mutter bitterly. “I respected boundaries, and she always thought I was trying to ‘steal you from her.’”

Soap mumbles under his breath, “Don’t think I would have complained if you did.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin’, bon.” He sighs, the tension falling out of his shoulders before he squares them again, staring at you in a way that makes your breath catch. “Listen. I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not takin’ the piss. If you give me the chance, let me prove how serious I am about you.”

“Soap…”

“Darlin’...”

Fuck. A flash of those blue eyes and you can feel yourself hope. Would it really hurt to give in? Just this once? Maybe, maybe not.

Sighing, you inwardly scold yourself knowing you’re jumping headfirst into the unknown, but…

 “Fine. One chance.”

Soap’s never broken that trust before, and from the grin on his face, it tells you he’ll always be there to catch you.

“One chance is all I need.”